Evan woke up convinced two things had gone terribly wrong.
First: his head felt like someone had filled it with damp cotton.
Second: Noah was asleep on his couch.
Very asleep.
One arm hanging off the edge.
Tie loosened.
Gun holster abandoned on the table like it had resigned from duty.
Evan stared.
"…Did I accidentally adopt a detective?"
He sat up slowly.
The room tilted.
He waited.
It stopped.
He shuffled to the kitchen, made coffee, forgot to place the mug under the machine, stared at the counter as coffee spilled everywhere, whispered a quiet apology to no one, fixed it, then returned.
Noah hadn't moved.
Evan hesitated, then poked his shoulder.
Nothing.
He poked harder.
Still nothing.
He picked up a cushion and dropped it directly on Noah's face.
Noah exploded awake, half-standing, heart racing, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
"EVAN—"
"Good morning," Evan said politely.
Noah blinked at him.
Then at the cushion.
Then at the room.
"…You assaulted me with furniture."
"You were dead."
"I was asleep."
"Suspiciously."
Noah rubbed his face. "Why am I still here?"
"You tell me. You refused to leave."
"I did not."
"You said, and I quote, 'What if you stop breathing at night.'"
Noah froze.
"…I said that out loud?"
"Yes. Then you threatened my mattress."
Noah closed his eyes. "I need a new profession."
They sat with coffee.
Sunlight leaked through the curtains.
The world felt… normal. Borrowed. Temporary.
But warm.
Noah studied him quietly.
"You holding up?"
Evan nodded. "Better than yesterday."
A pause.
Then Noah spoke again, awkwardly.
"So… childhood."
Evan blinked. "What?"
"Do you remember yours?"
The question landed gently. But it landed.
Evan's fingers tightened around his mug.
Silence stretched.
Noah noticed instantly.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "That was— you don't have to—"
"No," Evan murmured. "It's just…"
He didn't finish.
Noah leaned back. "Mine was chaos, if it helps."
Evan glanced up.
"My mom ran a beauty salon from our living room," Noah continued. "There were always women screaming about bangs and heartbreak."
Evan snorted before he could stop himself.
"My dad tried to cook once and set the curtains on fire. Twice."
"Twice?"
"He claimed it was character building."
Evan smiled.
Noah warmed to it.
"My little sister used to lock me outside whenever she was mad. I once did homework in the rain for three hours."
"That's… cruel."
"She's a lawyer now."
"That tracks."
Noah chuckled.
Then he looked at Evan again, softer.
"You?"
Evan stared into his coffee.
"I had a good family," he said quietly.
No jokes this time.
"A warm one. Loud dinners. Bad singing. My mother used to overcook everything and refuse to admit it."
Noah listened.
"My father used to fix things that weren't broken just so he could say he was useful."
Evan smiled faintly.
"They loved me."
Past tense.
Noah noticed.
Evan stared into his coffee.
"They're gone," he said.
Not dramatic.
Not broken.
Just… empty.
Noah's chest tightened.
"I'm sorry."
Evan shrugged. "It's okay."
It clearly wasn't.
But he said it anyway.
They sat in silence again.
But this time it was different.
Not lonely.
Shared.
Noah stood up.
"You should rest."
Evan nodded.
At the door, Noah paused.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he said.
Evan didn't answer.
But his eyes did.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like he was standing in the world by himself.