He learned to be frugal with his money long before he learned to be frugal with his heart. His father used to say that it’s not about what you earn but how you spend it. He wanted to spend it on Noah. Not all of it, because he knows better than that, and because Noah would never stand for it, but sometimes. Adrian is allowed to spoil Noah every now and then.

  “Hey,” Adrian takes Noah’s jaw in his hands, lifts his head so he can’t look away. He presses a kiss to Noah’s forehead to say it’s okay, then one to his lips to say I love you. “I didn’t expect anything.”

  Noah nods, gives him a small smile.

  Adrian realizes that maybe he’s overdoing it. He isn’t completely out of touch, and he realizes that this is a pretty pricey gift for a six-month relationship. But for the first time in his life Adrian understands what people mean when they talk about love.

  Ben and Conrad get married in March. It’s a small wedding of less than fifty guests. All of Conrad’s family and Ben’s friends. It makes Adrian think of his father, something he tries not to do, and miss his mother. Something he never does. But he’s thinking about them now and he can’t seem to stop himself from wishing they could be here to see this. He thinks they would be so proud of Ben. Adrian wonders if they would be proud of him too. He wonders if he cares.

  The wait at the end of the aisle feels like years, and Adrian can’t even begin to imagine how long it feels for Ben. He is getting antsy; fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, the hem of his jacket. Adrian has to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to calm down more than once.

  Adrian is the only person standing beside Ben at the altar. His best friend and best man, now and forever. But Adrian isn’t used to being this close to the spotlight, prefers to live his life in the shadows, away from prying eyes. Ben’s nerves must be contagious, because Adrian is starting to fidget too. But then his gaze finds Noah, who shoots him a subtle wink and an easy smile. Adrian smiles back.

  The music swells and Adrian watches in real-time the way Ben’s eyes light up. Conrad is beaming as he walks down the aisle, accompanied by his younger cousin because his best friend was already waiting under the rustic arch.

  They exchange vows and promises of love and friendship in sickness and in health. They declare until death do they part, and Adrian’s eyes sting. He hopes death doesn’t come for a long, long time. Ben has experienced too much loss for just twenty-eight years of life. Adrian tilts his head to the sky and prays to gods he doesn’t believe in that it’s enough. He silently begs the universe to give his brother a break. To let him have this one thing, free of any conditions or clauses.

  It felt a little more like making a deal with the devil, but if that’s what he had to do to guarantee Ben’s happiness, he would do it. In a heartbeat.

  There’s not much Adrian wouldn’t do for Ben, he thinks. He couldn’t do much when they were younger, because Adrian was just thirteen when their mum died, and while Ben was only eighteen, he wore responsibility like a well-tailored suit. Whatever Adrian could do to repay him now, he would.

  It takes everything he has to keep it together when they exchange rings. He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a sob when they say I do and kiss the groom. Rows of people Adrian had almost forgotten about erupt in applause, a literal standing ovation. There may only be thirty-something guests, but their cheers are a thunderstorm.

  His gaze catches Noah again, and Noah mouths I love you as he applauds. A rogue tear slides down Adrian’s cheek.

  “I wish Mom and Dad could be here,” Ben whispers to Adrian. They’ve just cut the cake, and everyone is too preoccupied with the strawberry-lemon sponge to pay much attention to them. Adrian is grateful for this moment alone with Ben, but the topic of conversation makes his blood boil. “Well, maybe not Dad,” Ben amends, “But Mom.”

  Adrian shakes his head. Stabs his fork into the square of soft pink sponge on his plate like he has a personal vendetta against it.

  “Neither of them deserve to be here,” he says, looking down at anything but the hurt that’s sure to be on Ben’s face. Strawberry jam is smeared across fine china. It looks like there’s been a slaughter.

  “Adrian,” Ben sighs his name. It sounds a little like he’s sorry for him, but also a little like he’s tired. “You don’t mean that.”

  But he does. He means it more with each day that passes without them. Ben takes his silence as hesitation, not the stewing of rage that it is.

  “Mom loved us,” he says, nudging Adrian with his elbow.

  “They both chose to leave us. Even Mom.”

  This is the last time they talk about it.

  It’s close to midnight when they arrive back at Noah’s apartment. Biscuit is waiting behind the door for them. Adrian can hear her sniffing excitedly as he puts the key in the lock. A head of bright white fur jots out to greet them before the door is even fully opened. Adrian rubs her head as he walks inside. Noah picks her up and plants so many kisses on her face that the dog starts to dodge them.

  Suit jackets are removed, and Noah throws his across the back of the scratchy grey sofa that Adrian will never admit he hates. Adrian snatches it off and takes it to a hanger before it can crease. Socked feet pad across the creaky floorboards of Noah’s cheap (“It’s affordable.” — “It’s ancient.”) Apartment. There’s a yawn that makes Adrian bite down a yawn of his own, and then a hum as Noah stretches. The springs of the mattress screech as Noah sits on the side of the bed, ready to settle in and call it a night.

  But Adrian likes routine, so even though he’s exhausted from the drinking and the dancing and the small talk (maybe most draining of all). He walks over to the bed and takes Noah’s hand, pulling him to stand before he can curl up under the covers.

  “Hey!” Noah whines, but he doesn’t fight it. Lets Adrian lead him to the tiny bathroom. Watches with half-closed eyes as Adrian dabs micellar water on one of those fancy microfibre cloths he likes so much. He hands it to Noah first.

  As Noah cleans the day’s grime off his face, Adrian rinses their toothbrushes, rests them side by side on the inch of space on the bathroom counter beside the sink. Noah’s toothpaste is cobalt blue and translucent, speckled with something Adrian doesn’t want to know about. He’s sure anything that looks like glitter glue shouldn’t be put in someone’s mouth, but Noah likes it. Adrian is careful as he squeezes the tube from the back end, pushing the blue goop toward the cap and squeezes a small line onto each toothbrush with practiced precision. He gives that to Noah too, and he takes it with tired hands and a mumbled thank you. Noah wants nothing more than to be in bed, but Adrian can wait. Adrian has a routine.

  He cleans the face cloth under the faucet, usually he would use warm water but the hot water in Noah’s building is hit or miss on a good day. Tonight, it seems, there is none.

  “D’you wanna move in with me?”

  The words come out thick, spoken from beneath the ocean of blue foam that floods Noah’s agape mouth. They catch Adrian off-guard. He almost drops the microfibre face-towel he paid too much in express postage for. But Noah is still brushing his teeth when Adrian finally turns to look at him. His cheeks go pink, then pull taught like he’s trying to offer Adrian a smile around his Spider-Man toothbrush.

  Adrian knows he shouldn’t be so thrown by the question. It wasn’t quite something they’d talked about, but it was something Adrian has hinted at. It is something Adrian wants. When he reminds himself of that, he realizes that the problem isn’t the question. The problem is being asked.

  To be the one asking is to be in control. On this side of the proposal, Adrian feels unmoored.

  Something calm settles inside of him. If Adrian is a ship adrift on a stormy sea, then Noah is a lighthouse. A shining beacon of hope. A promise of solid ground and warmth and safety.

  Yes is on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes catch his foggy reflection in the worn cabinet mirror. A good chunk of the bottom right corner is missing, and the glass is so scratched and weathered he can barely see himself in it unless the light from the tiny bathroom window is hitting just right, usually around 4:30 PM during golden hour. A useless time of day to need a mirror, he thinks.

  Behind Noah is a frosted glass shower door with hinges so rusted it doesn’t close properly anymore. The bathroom is always clammy because of it, tiles slippery with spilled water and walls dripping with condensation. Noah liked to joke that he got a free steam room with the apartment, but Adrian tells him it’s a safety hazard. He’s mentally counting down the days until black mold starts growing in the corners of the roof.

  There’s a crack in the tiled floor below Noah’s feet. It’s a miracle neither of them have stepped on it wrong and cut themselves open on it yet. Just the other day, while Adrian was getting ready at an ungodly hour of the morning to make it to work barely on time, he stood on that tile and felt the crack deepen beneath him. The sound was worse than the damage, the grating of raw tile like grinding teeth, but at the time it felt like the earth was opening up right under his feet wide enough for him to fall through. If it’d happened to him a year earlier, he would’ve been grateful. On that particular morning, however, he had a sleeping boyfriend in the next room who he would very much have liked to see again, and he found himself clutching his chest to calm his racing heart.

  The answer comes easily this time.

  “No,” he says it with the kind of resolve that lets Noah know there’s no room for questions or negotiation. It’s the same tone of voice Noah has only heard him use when talking to Lucas and Maggie about double dates, and that one time he worked remotely for half a day from Noah’s kitchen counter.

  Noah’s shoulders drop and he flinches, face contorting in confusion like this isn’t an outcome he considered prior to asking. Though with how late it is and how much they’d had to drink throughout the day, Adrian doesn’t think he considered much prior to asking.

  But Adrian has considered everything. Noah and Biscuit spend most nights at his place. It’s central enough that Noah can get to work or class without having to wake up with the sun. He has a bedroom big enough for both of their closets and a small balcony that offers enough space for Biscuit to run around on days where they don’t have time to walk her. Living with Noah was something that Adrian has been thinking about for months. Weighing the pros and the cons. He thinks the only con would be living together in this apartment.

  Adrian waits until Noah has spit out the most-likely-toxic blue foam, rinsed the sink and his face and has put his Spider-Man toothbrush back in the red solo cup that sits beneath the cracked mirror-cabinet. Then he presents his counter offer, “Do you want to move in with me?”

  Noah’s relief is a shaky exhale and a tired smile. His answer is a kiss.

  The curtains beside Adrian and Noah’s bed aren’t closed properly. They’d spent all day unpacking Noah’s things, stopped for half an hour to have cup noodles for dinner and make out on their shared sofa (which wasn’t grey or scratchy), then kept unpacking until they were done. When they dragged themselves to bed, eyes half-closed, almost too exhausted to change, the curtains hadn’t mattered.

  A rogue ray of sunshine blinds Adrian. It’s not exactly how he’d hoped to wake up this morning, but then he turns onto his side and he doesn’t mind being awake.

  Noah’s face is pressed against his white silk pillow (the one he can’t sleep without. The one Adrian bought another of for when Noah would stay at his apartment) and there’s a wet trail of drool falling from the corner of his parted mouth. It pools on his pillow and turns the white silk a light-gray. Adrian makes a mental note to take the pillow to the dry cleaner’s.

  He’s careful not to wake Noah or Biscuit, who is curled in a ball at the end of the bed, when he gets up. This is the only day this week Noah doesn’t have work, and he’s caught up on school, so Adrian lets him sleep. When he turns on the coffee pot, he makes sure there’s enough for two.

  As the coffee is brewing, Adrian steps outside to call his boss. He tells him he’s not feeling well, thinks he ate something bad last night and can’t make it into the office. Adrian has never taken a day off of work before—that’s not part of his routine—so his boss doesn’t mind. Changing his routine so drastically, and on such a whim, throws him a little bit, but Noah is free all day, and Adrian wants to be free with him.

  When the coffee is done, Adrian doesn’t sit at the table, choosing instead to lean over the kitchen counter and complete today’s Wordle. He needs to keep some part of his routine.

  Most days he’s rushing off to work with a quick, “Goodbye! Love you!” and a travel mug, Biscuit trying to escape out the front door with him.

  But not today. Today, he leans on his kitchen counter and drinks his coffee from one of Noah’s mismatched mugs that now fill his once-sparse (but well organized) cabinets. This one is teal green and curved at the bottom, with the face of an octopus printed on the front. The handle is a tentacle. This particular mug has always made Adrian somewhat uncomfortable, but he’s already one step outside of his comfort zone so he figures why not keep going?

  Noah is a maximalist (a trait he inherited from his mother) which makes Adrian’s already small New York apartment feel even smaller. Potted plants now decorate every corner and window sill. Adrian has no idea how to care for them, but Noah has promised to teach him. There are polaroids and printed photos taped to his matte black fridge, the only magnet they have is a novelty one that reads Talk Nerdy to Me. It’s only now that they’re in his space , where he sees them every day, that Adrian notices more than half the photos are of him. Of them. Butterflies wake from their slumber in the pit of his stomach and start to stir.

  He has never had any photos in his minimalist apartment. It has always been easier that way. Adrian hates dusting, doesn’t like having to move things around to clean them. He doesn’t like the clutter that comes with photo frames and knick-knacks and souvenirs.

  When he moved into his apartment, Maggie had gifted him with a framed collage she made as a housewarming present. It was filled with pictures of the three of them—Maggie, Lucas and him—and memories she’d collected over the years. There was a ticket stub from when they saw Dirty Dancing at the drive-in. Neon yellow wristbands she’d taken from them after their first 18+ concert. Bad photo booth pictures they’d taken at a carnival on a 90-degree day, all of them dripping with sweat, Maggie’s mascara smudged like a sad clown.

  “Something to make it feel like home,” she had said at the time. Adrian had thanked her, hugged her, told her he needed to find somewhere to hang it and left it on the floor beside the TV unit until she left. Then he shoved it to the back of his storage closet and didn’t think of it again. Not until now.

  Guilt churns deep in his gut at the memory, a clawed-hand digging around at his insides. He hasn’t even called them lately. Every now and then they spoke via text, or Instagram DM or a quick snap captioned only, “Streaks.” The last meaningful conversation he had with them was when they told him about their relationship, and he hadn’t taken it well.

  Adrian realizes then, standing in his and Noah’s shared kitchen, holding an octopus-shaped mug, that somewhere along the way he sacrificed being a good friend for being a boyfriend. He’s starting to think the two may not be mutually exclusive.

  He adds hang collage to the to-do list he keeps in his notes app.

  They pack a picnic and Biscuit’s lead, and they go to Sakura Park because Noah wants to see the cherry blossoms in bloom.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Noah is laying on the picnic blanket. Biscuit has made herself comfortable on his chest, licking the top of her paw. Adrian knows her breath must smell terrible, but Noah seems content as he looks up at the sky.

  “I guess,” Adrian replies.

  He has never been fascinated by flowers that only bloom for a short time. Moon flowers, ghost flowers, cherry blossoms. They’re all just a novelty, overpriced and overrated. If he buys Noah flowers, he doesn’t want them to be gone in a day. Adrian doesn’t see beauty in fleeting things, but Noah does.

  Noah taps the space on the blanket beside him. Adrian puts the lids on the Tupperware, packs away strawberries and cheese slices and folds over the box of crackers. He packs them away in Noah’s Too Blessed to be Stressed tote bag that he’d impulse-purchased at the markets a few weeks ago when he’d bought too many books to carry at the stall before.

  Adrian lays back on the blanket beside Noah, slips his palm into Noah’s and looks down at their joined hands where they are no longer two people but one whole person. He thinks back to New Year’s and he can’t believe how much time has passed. Can’t believe Noah is still here.

  “Look up,” Noah tells him, and Adrian doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

  He looks up. The cherry blossoms in Sakura Park are more white than pink, and when he squints, they look like clouds against the gray, polluted sky.

  “See?” Noah says. Not like the question that it is, but like he’s made some kind of point.

  “I see trees that will be dead this time next week.”

  “They won’t be dead. They just won’t be in bloom.”

  “Right. So, they might as well be dead.”

  Noah heaves a sigh so deep it makes Biscuit grumble. Adrian feels a little bad that he’d been so dismissive of something that made Noah so happy.

  “Just because something doesn’t last forever, doesn’t mean it can’t still be beautiful.”

  “Sorry,” Adrian says, looking over at Noah. He’s pouting. It makes him look a little childlike. It almost makes Adrian laugh, but mostly it just makes him feel bad. Maybe he can’t be a good friend or a good boyfriend. Noah stays quiet for a moment too long. Adrian tries to bridge the sudden distance he feels between them. He offers an olive branch. “My mom loved cherry blossoms, too.”

  (He tries not to think of that statistic he once read about two-thirds of men falling for people like their mothers, mostly because he refuses to believe that Noah could ever be as selfish as she was.)

 

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