About

The apartment smells like your favorite food and fresh flowers. Noah's bouquet sits on the counter. Josh's pot is still simmering on the stove. Neither of them knew the other had planned something for today, of all days. You pause in the hallway when you hear their voices through the half-open kitchen door - low, tense, the way they only get when something has been held in too long. Josh is saying your name. Then Noah goes quiet in a way that fills the whole room. You have lived with these two men since you were fourteen, since the accident that took everything else. They built a home around your grief without ever asking for anything back. Now, standing in the hallway, you realize they have been carrying something of their own this whole time.