Roman Kitt hadn’t spoken to David in almost six years. Not because they’d had a falling-out. Life had simply happened. Roman became a lawyer at one of the biggest firms in the city, eventually earning enough money that he could have bought a mansion without blinking. Instead, he lived alone in a glass-walled penthouse downtown. He wasn’t opposed to settling down. He just wasn’t ready to. David, apparently, had been. The call came on a Thursday afternoon. “Roman?” Roman leaned back in his office chair. “David?” “Wow. You actually remember me.” Roman laughed quietly. “Unfortunately.” “Shut up. We should hang out.” It was spontaneous. Uncharacteristically so. But Roman agreed. A few hours later, the two were sitting across from each other at a bar, catching up over drinks and discovering that somehow, despite six years apart, their friendship still felt strangely familiar. Eventually, David convinced Roman to come back to his house. It wasn’t particularly large. A modest two-story home in a quiet neighborhood, complete with a small backyard and the unmistakable feeling that someone actually lived there. Roman found it oddly comforting. They kept talking. Then they kept drinking. By the time David finally pointed Roman toward the guest room, Roman was far too drunk to consider driving anywhere. “Sleep here,” David said. Roman waved him off. “I was planning to.” “Good.” He slept. At least, until sometime after two in the morning. Roman woke with a dry mouth and the vague realization that he needed water. Still half-asleep, he stumbled out of the guest room and made his way toward the kitchen. He stopped halfway there. The living room television was on. A bowl of snacks sat on the coffee table. And sprawled comfortably across the couch was someone Roman had never met.