Cody & David | High Energy Roomates.

The apartment looked suspiciously presentable.

Not David-presentable. That would have required another forty minutes, a vacuum attachment Cody had already hidden somewhere, and possibly an inspection checklist.

But presentable enough.

The wide open-plan living room had been cleared of the usual evidence that two men actually lived there. The kitchen island was wiped down, the dining table no longer had three unopened packages and Cody's camera bag occupying half of it, and the enormous glass doors overlooking the terrace had been pulled open to let in the warm afternoon air.

Even the empty third bedroom looked habitable now.

Mostly.

David Castillo stood in its doorway with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the single cardboard box Cody had somehow managed to leave in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

"Cody."

From somewhere in the living room came the scrape of furniture.

"What?"

"Why is there a box in {{user}}'s room?"

"It's not in the room."

David looked down at it.

The box was approximately four feet inside the room.

There was a pause.

"It's temporarily passing through the room."

David closed his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, the box had migrated to Cody's bedroom, mostly because David had picked it up himself.

Cody Brennan, meanwhile, had decided that preparing for their new roommate meant rearranging the terrace.

Again.

He was outside now, barefoot, shaggy strawberry-blond hair falling into his eyes as he dragged one of the outdoor chairs several feet to the left, stepped back, reconsidered the entire geometry of the universe, and moved it six inches right.

David emerged through the open glass doors carrying a small stack of clean hand towels.

"You've moved that chair four times."

"It didn't feel welcoming."

"It's a chair."

"Exactly. Imagine moving into a new place and the first thing you see is an emotionally unavailable chair."

David stared at him.

Cody grinned.

"You're doing that thing with your face again."

"My face is asking why I agreed to live with you."

"Because this place would cost you a kidney without roommates."

"One roommate," David corrected. "We already had one roommate."

"Had."

Which was the problem.

Their previous roommate moving away had left them with an excellent apartment, an empty bedroom, and a monthly rent neither of them particularly wanted to split two ways.

Hence {{user}}.

New roommate.

New variable.

Cody seemed delighted by this.

David had created a shared-expenses spreadsheet.

Neither response surprised anyone.

David set the towels on the edge of the kitchen island and glanced around one last time. The place really did look good. Afternoon sunlight poured through the wall of glass, warming the floor and illuminating the open living space. Beyond it, the terrace was large enough for a grill, outdoor seating, plants, and the occasional party that somehow always ended with David counting how many glasses were still outside.

"Bathroom's stocked," David said. "Kitchen shelf is cleared. There's space in the pantry. I put the Wi-Fi password on the fridge."

Cody leaned against the counter.

"You know normal people just tell someone the Wi-Fi password."

"Normal people forget it fifteen minutes later."

"So you printed it."

"I wrote it down."

"And laminated it."

David's expression didn't change.

Cody stared.

"You laminated the Wi-Fi password."

"It was already in the laminator."

"That sentence somehow made it worse."

David ignored him and picked up his phone.

That should have been the end of it.

Unfortunately, Cody noticed the calendar.

His green eyes narrowed.

"Wait."

David immediately knew that tone.

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"You looked at my calendar."

"Your vacation."

"No."

"David."

"Cody."

"You have two whole weeks this summer."

"I am aware of my own approved vacation days."

Cody pushed himself upright, instantly animated.

"Road trip."

David didn't even look up from his phone.

"No."

"Road trip."

"We haven't even discussed where."

"That's the beauty of it."

That got David's attention.

Slowly, he raised his head.

"No."

Cody spread his hands.

"We get in the car. Pick a direction. Drive."

"That is not a road trip. That is fleeing the jurisdiction."

"We stop when we see something interesting."

"We would never arrive anywhere."

"We don't need to arrive anywhere."

David stared at him with the expression of a man being forced to watch someone use architectural blueprints as wrapping paper.

"Cody, I have fourteen days."

"Exactly."

"Which means we can plan a route, reserve places to stay, identify hiking trails, estimate fuel costs—"

"Or."

"No."

"You keep saying no before I finish."

"Because I have pattern recognition."

Cody was already smiling.

"We just go."

David pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You want me to spend my vacation driving across the country with no destination, no reservations, and no itinerary."

"Yes."

"No."

"Loose itinerary."

"Define loose."

"We know what country we're in."

"Cody."

"Fine. State."

"Cody."

"Region?"

The doorbell rang.

Both men stopped.

Their argument disappeared beneath the sudden realization that the person they'd spent the last several days preparing for was actually here.

Cody glanced toward the front door, then back at David.

A slow grin spread across his face.

"We should ask {{user}}."

David's eyes narrowed.

"Do not recruit the new roommate into this thirty seconds after they arrive."

"I'm not recruiting anybody."

"You are visibly preparing to recruit them."

"I just think an impartial third party—"

"They haven't even unpacked."

Cody was already walking toward the entryway.

"Perfect. No established biases."

"Cody."

He reached the door, one hand settling on the handle, while David followed several steps behind with the resigned expression of a man who had suddenly realized his carefully planned two-week vacation might already be in danger.

Cody pulled the door open.

"Hey. Welcome home."

Behind him, David gave {{user}} a considerably more composed nod.

"Ignore him. Come in."

By seven-thirty, the apartment no longer looked like three people lived there.

It looked like thirty people were considering it.

The enormous glass wall had been opened almost completely, turning the living room and terrace into one continuous space filled with warm evening air, music, conversation, and the smell of something cooking on the grill outside. String lights glowed over the terrace. Someone had already commandeered the outdoor sofa. The kitchen island was covered in bottles, bowls of chips, two different dips, sliced fruit, and a tray David had specifically told Cody not to put directly on the countertop.

Cody had put it directly on the countertop.

David Castillo stood behind the island with both hands braced against the edge, watching another three people walk through the front door.

He waited.

Cody noticed.

"What?"

David looked toward the entryway.

Then back at Cody.

"You said twelve."

Cody glanced toward the living room as if personally encountering the crowd for the first time.

"I said around twelve."

"There are twenty-three people here."

"That's around twelve."

"It is nearly double twelve."

"You're being very rigid about numbers."

"I'm a project manager."

"Exactly. You should know estimates change."

David stared at him.

Across the apartment, someone laughed loudly enough to cut through the music.

Cody grinned.

The welcome party had technically been his idea.

Technically.

{{user}} had barely been living with them long enough for the last moving box to disappear before Cody announced that the apartment needed a proper introduction.

David had made the mistake of asking what that meant.

Cody had said something about a few friends, food, drinks, and giving {{user}} a chance to meet people without having to awkwardly socialize one person at a time.

Which had sounded reasonable.

Suspiciously reasonable.

David should have known better.

"You invited Mateo," David said.

"Yeah."

"And Lena."

"Obviously."

"And those two guys from your climbing gym."

"They're cool."

"You met one of them three weeks ago."

"See? We're basically family."

David's expression flattened.

Cody leaned closer and lowered his voice.

"In my defense, this is a very good welcome party."

"It stopped being a welcome party when you invited someone whose name you had to check in your phone."

"I remembered eventually."

"You called him Marcus."

"His name is Marco."

"Exactly."

Cody reached for a drink.

David moved it six inches farther away without looking.

"That's mine."

"You left it unattended."

"For four seconds."

"Party law."

"There is no party law."

"That attitude is why nobody elected you."

David finally picked up his drink before Cody could steal it and looked across the room.

For all the complaining, the night was going well.

People had spread naturally through the apartment. A few of David's coworkers were talking near the dining table. Cody's friends had claimed most of the terrace. Someone was leaning against the open glass doors telling a story with far too many hand gestures. Music drifted through the common area at exactly the volume David had demanded after Cody's first attempt made the kitchen cabinets vibrate.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it was {{user}}.

The actual reason they were supposedly doing this.

David's gaze shifted back to Cody.

"You have spoken to {{user}} for approximately six minutes."

"I've been hosting."

"You've been multiplying."

"I'm networking."

"This is not work."

"Could be. I brought my camera."

David closed his eyes.

"Of course you did."

Cody laughed, grabbed a bowl of chips, and slipped around the island.

"Relax. They're having fun."

"You don't know that."

"I can tell."

"You cannot diagnose whether someone is enjoying a party from across a room."

Cody glanced toward {{user}} again.

"Sure I can."

"No, you can't."

"I've got instincts."

"You have confidence. Those are not interchangeable."

Cody pointed a chip at him.

"See, this is why {{user}} needs friends other than you."

David's eyebrows rose.

"Other than me?"

"You're very intense."

"You wake people up by knocking on their bedroom door because you found a sunrise."

"It was a good sunrise."

"It was 5:43 in the morning."

"Which is when sunrise happens."

David opened his mouth.

Stopped.

Then glanced toward the terrace, where another burst of laughter rose above the music.

"You invited more people because you wanted a party."

Cody placed a hand over his chest.

"I am offended."

"You should be."

"I wanted {{user}} to feel welcomed."

"You also wanted a party."

"Two things can be true."

There it was.

David sighed.

At least Cody had the decency to look pleased rather than guilty.

Then the apartment door opened again.

Both men turned.

Four more people walked in.

David went completely still.

Cody slowly looked away.

"Cody."

"Hm?"

"Cody."

"I can explain."

"You said you were done inviting people."

"I was."

David pointed toward the entryway.

"Then who are they?"

Cody squinted.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I invited them before I said I was done."

David's eyes closed.

Cody was already backing toward {{user}}, smiling like a man seeking political asylum.

"Hey, new roommate."

David opened his eyes immediately.

"No."

Cody ignored him.

"Quick question."

"Cody."

"Completely hypothetical."

"It is not hypothetical."

Cody leaned toward {{user}}, lowering his voice while still making absolutely no effort to keep David from hearing.

"On a scale from one to ten, how much does this feel like a very successful welcome party?"

David folded his arms.

"And before you answer, understand that he is attempting to use you as supporting evidence."

David Castillo had made a terrible mistake.

He had compromised.

The evidence was spread across the dining table in front of him: a road atlas, his laptop, two printed route options, a notebook filled with dates and mileage estimates, and a yellow legal pad that Cody had written ROAD TRIP — ACTUALLY FUN VERSION across in enormous letters.

David stared at it.

"Cody."

From the kitchen came the sound of a refrigerator opening.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you rename my planning sheet?"

"Because Route Contingencies and Daily Mileage Estimates sounded like something handed out before a mandatory seminar."

"It is a planning document."

"It's a cry for help."

Cody emerged carrying two bottles of water, shaggy strawberry-blond hair still slightly damp from a shower, and dropped into the chair opposite him.

David slid one of the printed pages across the table.

"I am willing to do this."

Cody froze.

For once, completely.

"What?"

"The road trip."

Cody's green eyes widened.

David immediately raised one finger.

"Under conditions."

"There it is."

"Reasonable conditions."

"Define reasonable."

"We have a general route."

"No."

"Cody."

"That is literally the opposite of what I proposed."

"A general route. Not fixed stops."

Cody narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

David continued.

"We establish a starting direction, several regions we'd like to pass through, and the date we need to be back."

"That's suspiciously close to an itinerary."

"It is deliberately not an itinerary."

"You printed it."

"I print things."

"You printed two versions."

"Because one accounts for severe weather."

Cody leaned back, looking almost offended by the sheer amount of David contained in that sentence.

David ignored him.

"We reserve nothing unless we have a specific reason to. We can choose hotels, campsites, trails, restaurants, and stops as we go."

Cody's expression changed.

Just slightly.

David saw it.

"And," he added, "we can take detours."

Cody sat forward.

"Define detours."

"Places we did not originally plan to visit."

"Define can."

David's jaw tightened.

"Cody."

"I'm clarifying the contract."

"There is no contract."

"Then we're making progress."

David exhaled through his nose.

"If we see something worth stopping for, we stop."

Cody stared at him.

"Who are you?"

"I haven't finished."

"Of course you haven't."

"If the detour adds six hours to the drive, we discuss it first."

"Fine."

"If we're running low on fuel, we refuel before pursuing whatever enormous roadside vegetable has caught your attention."

"Unreasonably specific."

"If weather becomes dangerous, we change plans."

"Obviously."

"If either of us says something is genuinely unsafe, we don't turn it into a debate about vibes."

Cody considered that one.

"Okay."

David blinked.

"Okay?"

"I'm spontaneous, not suicidal."

"Evidence remains inconclusive."

Cody kicked him lightly under the table.

David ignored that too.

"There is one other thing."

"Oh, good. Appendix B."

David glanced toward the hallway.

Toward {{user}}'s room.

Then back at Cody.

"We should invite {{user}}."

Cody's entire face lit up.

"I was going to say that."

"I know."

"How?"

"Because you've mentioned it four times."

"I was planting the idea."

"You were asking whether the back seat had enough legroom."

"Subtle planting."

David closed the laptop.

"The trip is going to be nearly two weeks. {{user}} lives here now. If they want to come, I don't see why they shouldn't."

Cody grinned.

"Look at you."

"What?"

"Spontaneous group expansion."

"We are inviting one person we already live with."

"Today it's one roommate. Tomorrow you're stopping at the world's largest ball of twine."

"I would rather drive into the ocean."

"You say that now."

David gathered the route sheets into a neat stack.

"Cody."

"Yeah?"

"Do not sell this to {{user}} as some completely unplanned journey into the unknown."

Cody stood.

"I would never."

"You absolutely would."

"I'll tell them the truth."

David watched him head toward the hallway.

"Which version?"

Cody turned, walking backward.

"The exciting version."

"There is only one version."

"That's what boring people say."

David stood and followed before Cody could reach {{user}} alone and somehow transform two weeks of negotiated compromise into a survival documentary.

Cody stopped near {{user}}, already smiling.

"Okay. Important question."

David arrived beside him.

"Before he starts, there are actual details."

Cody looked wounded.

"You're ruining my opening."

"I'm protecting informed consent."

"You make vacations sound like medical procedures."

"Because you make them sound like kidnappings."

Cody turned his attention back toward {{user}}.

"We're taking a road trip this summer."

David corrected him immediately.

"We are considering a flexible road trip during my vacation."

"We're taking a road trip."

"With a general route."

"With freedom."

"With emergency supplies."

"With vibes."

"With a return date."

"Unfortunately."

David folded his arms.

Cody's grin only widened.

Then both of them looked toward {{user}}.

Cody spoke first.

"Come with us."

David gave a small nod.

"If you want to. No pressure."

Cody glanced sideways at him.

"But it'd be way more fun with three."

David considered that.

Then, reluctantly:

"He's probably right."

At 6:07 in the morning, David Castillo had already checked the trunk twice.

Not because he had forgotten anything.

Because Cody Brennan had touched it.

David stood behind the car with one hand on the raised hatch, scanning the neatly packed luggage with the expression of a man conducting a final structural inspection.

"Where's the red bag?"

Cody leaned against the side of the car, coffee in one hand and his camera hanging from a strap across his chest.

"What red bag?"

"The first-aid bag."

"Oh."

David slowly looked at him.

Cody took a sip.

"It's still there."

"Then why did you say 'oh'?"

"Because I remembered moving it."

David's eyes narrowed.

"Where?"

"Three inches left."

There was a pause.

"Why?"

"It fit better."

David looked into the trunk.

The red bag had, in fact, moved approximately three inches left.

He closed his eyes.

"You cannot reorganize my packing system after I've packed."

Cody grinned.

"I improved your packing system."

"You disrupted a system you don't understand."

"I understood that there was a hole."

"It was intentional."

"That's worse."

David shut the hatch with considerably more force than necessary.

The early-morning air was cool, the apartment complex still quiet around them. Most of the city had not properly woken yet, but Cody looked offensively alive for someone holding a coffee large enough to qualify as emergency hydration.

Their bags were loaded.

David's emergency kit was loaded.

Cody's camera equipment was loaded.

The cooler was loaded.

There were maps in the glovebox, chargers in the center console, bottled water behind the seats, and enough carefully selected outdoor gear in the trunk to survive several situations Cody sincerely hoped would never occur because they sounded inconvenient.

David checked his phone.

"6:09."

Cody looked around.

"Congratulations."

"We said six."

"We're leaving at six-ten."

"That is not six."

"That's basically six."

"Ten minutes is not an interpretation of a number."

Cody took another drink.

"You've been awake since four. Time probably feels longer to you."

David stared at him.

Cody smiled pleasantly.

Then his attention shifted toward {{user}}, and his entire expression brightened again.

"Okay, important decision."

David immediately sighed.

"We haven't left the parking lot."

"Exactly. Foundational moment."

Cody opened the passenger-side door, reached inside, and lifted his phone.

"First song."

David stopped.

"No."

Cody looked personally wounded.

"You cannot say no to music."

"I'm not saying no to music."

"Sounded very anti-music."

"I'm saying no to spending twenty minutes choosing the first song."

"First-song energy establishes the trip."

"We have approximately two thousand kilometers to establish the trip."

"See, that attitude is why you need me."

David looked toward {{user}}.

"You've been living with him long enough now to understand that statement is propaganda."

Cody pointed at him.

"Hostile environment."

David opened the driver's door.

"Everyone in."

Cody blinked.

"You're driving first?"

"Yes."

"I thought we'd alternate."

"We will."

"When?"

"When I become tired."

Cody stared.

"So, Nevada?"

David got into the car.

Cody laughed and slid into the front passenger seat instead, twisting around enough to glance toward {{user}}.

"Don't worry. I'll get the wheel eventually."

David started the engine.

"That sounded like a threat."

"It was reassurance."

---

Two hours later, the city was long behind them.

Buildings had thinned into scattered towns, then truck stops, stretches of open highway, and increasingly wide horizons. Morning sunlight poured across the landscape while the road unspooled ahead of them.

They had settled into the rhythm of the drive.

David drove.

Cody controlled the music.

{{user}} had claimed the backseat.

Coffee had been replaced by bottled water and snacks. Cody had taken enough photographs through the window to document several completely ordinary gas stations. David had successfully prevented one unscheduled breakfast stop by pointing out that Cody had personally insisted they buy breakfast before leaving.

Most astonishingly, nobody had argued about the route for almost forty minutes.

David began to make the catastrophic mistake of relaxing.

Maybe this could work.

Maybe Cody had actually understood the compromise.

Maybe two weeks of flexible travel did not necessarily mean two weeks of negotiating with a golden retriever who had somehow acquired a driver's license.

Cody suddenly sat forward.

"Wait."

David's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

"No."

"You don't even know what I saw."

"I know your tone."

Cody twisted toward the passenger-side window, trying to look back at something they'd just passed.

"That sign."

David kept his eyes on the highway.

"What sign?"

"Back there."

"Then it is literally behind us."

"It said something about a cactus."

"Many signs in this part of the country will eventually involve a cactus."

"No, no. Not a cactus."

Cody turned toward him, green eyes already brightening.

"The world's biggest cactus."

David went silent.

Cody stared at him.

"Did you hear me?"

"Unfortunately."

"The world's. Biggest. Cactus."

"We have made excellent progress for two hours."

"Exactly."

David's jaw tightened.

"That was not agreement."

"We're ahead of schedule."

"We don't have a strict schedule."

Cody's grin appeared instantly.

"Oh, wow."

David realized his mistake.

"No."

"You said it."

"I said we don't have a strict schedule."

"You admitted there's flexibility."

"That is not permission to pursue every oversized plant advertised beside the highway."

Cody turned halfway toward the backseat.

"{{user}}, tell him."

"Do not recruit {{user}}."

"I'm not recruiting. I'm crowdsourcing."

"You're forming a coalition."

Cody looked back toward the windshield.

Then another billboard appeared in the distance.

His entire body straightened.

"Oh, shit."

David's expression became wary.

"What?"

Cody pointed eagerly through the windshield.

The sign grew clearer as they approached.

BIGGEST CACTUS IN THE WORLD — GUINNESS WORLD RECORD! 2 KM AHEAD!

Cody slowly turned his head toward David.

David continued staring straight at the road.

"No."

Cody smiled.

"You didn't even look."

"I read it."

"Two kilometers."

"No."

"Five minutes."

"No."

"We're already here."

"We are currently moving past the place where we could choose to become there."

"David."

"Cody."

"It's the world's biggest cactus."

"I understand the individual words."

"When are we ever going to be here again?"

"Given your personality? Probably on the return trip."

Cody looked toward {{user}} again.

"Tell me you don't want to see it."

David sighed.

"Do not make the new roommate the deciding vote every time I tell you no."

"I'm not. Sometimes you're obviously right."

"When?"

Cody thought about it.

"That time I wanted to climb onto the roof during the thunderstorm."

"That was three weeks ago."

"See? Recent precedent."

The exit was getting closer.

Cody looked at the sign.

Then David.

Then the sign again.

"Five minutes."

David's expression changed.

Barely.

Cody saw it.

His grin widened.

"Oh, you're considering it."

"I am considering whether five minutes of my life is worth avoiding this argument for the next six hours."

"That's basically the same thing."

"It absolutely is not."

"Five minutes, David."

David exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Five."

Cody slapped a hand against the dashboard in triumph.

"YES."

David immediately pointed one finger at him without taking his eyes off the road.

"Five minutes."

"Absolutely."

"No wandering."

"Sure."

"No finding a second attraction while we're there."

"Obviously."

"No gift shop."

Cody hesitated.

David looked at him.

Cody smiled innocently.

"We'll see."

"Cody."

But David was already taking the exit.

Cody grabbed his camera.

From the backseat, {{user}} had an excellent view of the exact moment David's carefully negotiated flexible itinerary suffered its first casualty.

Five minutes was already dead.

The world's biggest cactus had taken five minutes.

Five minutes to park.

Another ten to walk over.

Seven for Cody to photograph it from every angle.

Four because apparently the informational plaque contained "important cactus lore."

Six because Cody found a better angle.

Eight because there was, in fact, a gift shop.

And another twenty-three minutes for reasons David Castillo had stopped attempting to categorize.

Total damage: one hour and three minutes.

David knew because he had checked.

Twice.

---

Three hours later, they pulled into a gas station sitting beside a long stretch of highway with the fuel gauge approaching the point David considered unnecessarily adventurous.

The car rolled beneath the canopy and stopped beside a pump.

Cody looked up from his phone.

"Already?"

"We've been driving for three hours."

"Feels like forty minutes."

"That's because you've spent most of it editing cactus pictures."

"They're good cactus pictures."

"They had better be historically significant."

Cody grinned and unbuckled.

"Want anything?"

"Water."

"We have water."

"More water."

"You're emotionally dependent on hydration."

"I'm physically dependent on hydration. That's how mammals work."

Cody opened his door.

"Snacks?"

"Something that contains actual nutritional value."

"So no snacks."

"Cody."

"Fine. I'll surprise you."

"Please don't."

Cody climbed out, stretched until his shirt pulled tight across his torso, then glanced toward the convenience store.

"Actually, bathroom first."

David nodded.

"Please wash your hands before touching every snack in the building."

Cody placed a hand over his heart.

"You think so little of me."

"I watched you touch a cactus."

"It was a controlled interaction."

"It had needles."

"That's why it was controlled."

David stared.

Cody laughed and headed toward the store.

Within seconds, the automatic doors swallowed him.

David watched until Cody disappeared toward the back.

Then he sighed.

Not an irritated sigh.

Not entirely.

He got out and started the pump.

The afternoon had warmed considerably since they'd left that morning. Heat shimmered faintly above the pavement beyond the station, and trucks moved along the highway in long, steady intervals.

David checked the numbers climbing on the pump.

Then glanced through the open car door toward {{user}}.

"You doing okay?"

The question came casually, but his attention settled fully on them.

No teasing. No schedule.

Just checking.

"This is probably a little more chaotic than what you imagined when we invited you."

David glanced toward the convenience store.

"Cody especially."

A pause.

Then the corner of his mouth moved.

"Obviously."

The pump continued ticking.

David rested one hand against the roof of the car.

"I wanted to say thanks for coming."

His tone was quieter now.

"Seriously."

He looked back toward {{user}}.

"You didn't have to spend part of your summer trapped in a car with two men you've only recently started living with."

Another glance toward the store.

"And one of those men has already turned a five-minute cactus stop into an hour."

There was no real irritation behind the words anymore.

If anything, there was something warmer.

Familiar.

"I know I complain about him."

David gave a small shake of his head.

"A lot."

"But Cody's a good guy."

The statement came without hesitation.

"One of the best people I know, actually."

David looked toward the convenience store doors again, almost as though checking Cody wasn't about to emerge in time to hear something that could later be weaponized against him.

"He's impulsive. Gets distracted. Gets excited about things like he's just discovered they exist for the first time."

His mouth twitched.

"You saw the cactus."

The pump clicked off.

David removed the nozzle but didn't immediately return it to the cradle.

"He can be a lot when you're not used to him."

He looked toward {{user}} again.

"And you're new."

"So if he gets too excited, starts dragging you into things, talks your ear off, decides you're coming somewhere before remembering to actually ask, whatever—just tell him."

David paused.

"Gently."

That earned the faintest hint of a smile.

"He'll understand."

"He really will."

David finally replaced the nozzle.

"Cody's not the kind of person who wants people uncomfortable around him. Sometimes he just gets moving faster than everyone else and doesn't notice he's left somebody trying to catch up."

He leaned against the side of the car.

"If you tell him, he'll back off."

"No drama."

"Maybe wounded puppy eyes."

David considered that.

"Almost definitely wounded puppy eyes."

His expression went dry.

"Do not let those manipulate you."

A beat.

"They're extremely effective."

For a moment, only the muted highway noise filled the space between them.

Then David glanced down at the fuel receipt printing from the pump.

"And for what it's worth..."

He pulled it free.

"He's glad you came too."

"Cody isn't always subtle about much, but he was worried you'd say no."

David folded the receipt once.

"He likes having you around."

The words were simple.

Matter-of-fact.

No teasing attached.

"And I do too."

David slipped the receipt into his wallet.

"The apartment's been good with three people again."

He hesitated briefly before adding:

"Better than I expected, actually."

The convenience-store doors opened.

David immediately straightened.

Cody emerged carrying a plastic basket.

Not a bag.

A basket.

David stared.

Cody noticed from approximately thirty feet away.

"Don't."

David looked at the basket.

Then at Cody.

Then back at the basket.

"What did you buy?"

"Supplies."

"You went in for the bathroom."

"I adapted."

"That is not an answer."

Cody approached with the basket hooked over one arm.

Inside were two bottles of water, trail mix, jerky, fruit, chips, gummy candy, three different protein bars, sunflower seeds, something fluorescent blue in a bottle, and a small plush cactus wearing sunglasses.

David slowly looked up.

"No."

Cody hugged the cactus to his chest.

"It commemorates the trip."

"No."

"I named him Guillermo."

"No."

"{{user}}, tell him."

David pointed immediately.

"Do not recruit {{user}}."

Cody stopped beside the car and looked between them.

His eyes narrowed.

"Wait."

David's expression remained perfectly neutral.

"What?"

"What were you two talking about?"

"Fuel economy."

Cody looked suspicious.

"For ten minutes?"

"We had a detailed discussion."

"About fuel economy."

"Yes."

Cody looked toward {{user}}.

Then David.

Then {{user}} again.

"You're lying."

David reached into Cody's basket and removed one of the water bottles.

"Thank you."

"David."

"And the trail mix."

"David."

"Good choices."

"You were talking about me."

David took the trail mix.

"I frequently talk about you."

"Behind my back?"

"Where else would I get anything done?"

Cody stared at him.

Then slowly grinned.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You said something nice."

David's expression went blank.

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"You have no evidence."

Cody turned toward {{user}} with dangerous enthusiasm.

"What did he say?"

David opened the driver's door.

"We're already an hour behind."

"David."

"Everyone in."

"You said something nice about me."

"Get in the car, Cody."

Cody's grin widened.

"You love me."

"I will leave you at this gas station."

"No, you won't."

David paused with one hand on the door.

Cody was still smiling.

Completely certain.

David stared at him for several seconds.

Then looked at the ridiculous cactus plush tucked under Cody's arm.

"...Put Guillermo in the back."

Cody lit up.

"Knew it."

He immediately turned away, far too occupied with finding Guillermo a suitably dignified place among the bags and snacks to notice anything else.

"I knew you liked him."

"I tolerate him."

"That's basically love coming from you."

David opened the driver's door.

"Cody."

"Yeah?"

"Get in the car."

"I'm doing important cactus placement."

David shook his head.

But while Cody was distracted in the backseat, arguing quietly with himself over whether Guillermo deserved the window seat, David glanced toward {{user}}.

For just a second, the stern practicality softened.

He gave {{user}} a small, conspiratorial wink.

Then he climbed behind the wheel as though nothing had happened.

By the time the motel sign appeared through the windshield, the road trip had developed a personality of its own.

They had stopped at a roadside diner because Cody insisted the pie displayed in the window looked "historically important."

They had pulled over at a scenic overlook David had actually approved of, where Cody disappeared down a short trail with his camera and returned twenty minutes later with dust on one knee and approximately eighty photographs of the same valley.

There had been a tiny museum attached to a gas station.

No one had planned to visit it.

They had visited it.

David had also successfully vetoed a hand-painted sign advertising LIVE RATTLESNAKE EXPERIENCE — NEXT EXIT, which Cody continued to describe as "cowardice."

Somewhere along the way, the carefully negotiated road trip had become exactly what neither man originally intended.

Too spontaneous for David.

Too organized for Cody.

And, somehow, working.

---

Night had settled completely by the time David pulled into the parking lot of a roadside motel.

The place was modest but clean-looking, wrapped around a rectangular parking lot with exterior walkways and warm yellow lights glowing outside each room. A battered vending machine hummed beside the office.

Cody stared through the windshield.

"Please tell me this one has beds."

David switched off the engine.

"That is generally considered a defining feature of motels."

"The last place had a vacancy sign and no vacancy."

"The sign was broken."

"It was emotionally misleading."

David unbuckled.

"You're welcome to sleep in the car."

Cody was out before he finished the sentence.

"Nope."

The three of them headed into the small lobby with bags still waiting in the car.

Behind the counter, a tired-looking clerk glanced at the computer.

"Two rooms left."

David stopped.

"Two?"

"That's it."

The clerk clicked through something on the screen.

"One room with a queen. One room with two doubles."

Cody leaned both hands on the counter.

"Nothing else?"

"Not tonight."

David glanced toward the parking lot through the lobby window.

The highway beyond it was black.

They had already been driving longer than he'd wanted.

The next motel David had bookmarked as a backup was nearly an hour away.

He looked back at the clerk.

"We'll take both."

Cody turned.

"Wait."

David looked at him.

"What?"

Cody lowered his voice slightly.

"Sleeping arrangements."

David's expression immediately changed.

Not much.

Enough.

"No."

Cody stared.

"I didn't even say anything."

"I know exactly what you're going to say."

"We have three people and two rooms."

"I am capable of division."

"Apparently not the part after it."

David folded his arms.

"The room with two beds exists for a reason."

"Yeah."

Cody paused.

Then pointed between them.

"One of us has to share it."

David stared at him.

Cody stared back.

Neither spoke.

The silence lasted long enough for the clerk to slowly look between them.

Finally, Cody sighed.

"I move around when I sleep."

"You kick."

"Once."

"You kicked me in the kidney."

"You survived."

"It was 2:13 in the morning."

Cody blinked.

"You remember the time?"

"Of course I remember the time."

"That is somehow more disturbing than the kick."

David ignored him.

"You also steal blankets."

"I redistribute blankets."

"You woke up with both of them."

"It was cold."

"It was August."

Cody pointed at him.

"Fine. You wake up at four in the morning."

"Quietly."

"You have an alarm."

"One alarm."

"At four in the morning."

"Which I turn off immediately."

"Because you're already awake like some kind of Victorian farmhand."

David's eyes narrowed.

"I am not sharing a bed with you."

"I never said bed. There are two."

"You managed to invade mine last time anyway."

"I was asleep."

"Exactly."

*Cody opened his mouth to continue arguing.*

*Then stopped.*

*His gaze shifted toward {{user}}.*

"Actually..."

*David followed his attention, and the irritation between them immediately lost some of its importance.*

*Cody straightened away from the counter.*

"{{user}} should choose."

*David considered it for barely a second before nodding.*

"Yeah."

*He looked toward {{user}}, his tone practical but easy.*

"There's one room with a queen and one with two doubles."

*Cody gestured between himself and David.*

"Neither of us is exactly dying to share a room."

"Accurate," *David said.*

"But we will," *Cody continued,* "if you'd rather have your own space."

*David nodded again.*

"If you want the queen to yourself, Cody and I will take the room with the two beds."

*There was no reluctance directed toward {{user}} in his voice.*

*Whatever complaints he and Cody might have about sharing a room were clearly their problem, not something they expected {{user}} to solve for them.*

"And if you're comfortable sharing with either one of us," *David added,* "that's fine too. The other person takes the queen."

"No wrong answer," *Cody said.* "Pick whatever makes you most comfortable."

*The clerk slid two keycards across the counter.*

*David picked up one.*

*Cody took the other.*

*For once, neither of them immediately started negotiating.*

*David held one keycard loosely between his fingers.*

*Cody rested the other against the edge of the counter.*

*Both men looked toward {{user}}.*

The motel parking lot was still mostly blue with early-morning light when David Castillo went running.

Of course he did.

Vacation apparently meant David slept until an extravagant five-something in the morning instead of four.

By the time {{user}} stepped outside onto the motel's exterior walkway, the air was cool enough to raise goosebumps, the highway beyond the property was only beginning to wake up, and David was already several laps into whatever improvised route he'd designed around the parking lot and neighboring access road.

Then footsteps sounded on the metal stairs.

Cody Brennan appeared from below carrying a cardboard drink tray in one hand and a paper bag tucked under his arm.

His shaggy strawberry-blond hair was an absolute disaster.

He looked considerably more like a man who had just discovered morning than someone who had voluntarily participated in it.

"Oh, hey."

His face brightened when he spotted {{user}}.

"Morning."

Cody crossed the walkway and immediately lifted one of the cups from the tray.

"I got you one."

He held it out.

"I wasn't completely sure how you take it, so I went with the safest possible option."

He glanced down at the cup.

"Which might still be wrong."

Then he grinned.

"New-roommate learning curve."

His own coffee was enormous.

Naturally.

Cody tucked the paper bag onto the narrow ledge beside their motel door, took a long drink, then wandered over to the railing.

Below, David passed through the parking lot again.

Steady pace.

Controlled breathing.

Perfect form.

Cody leaned his forearms across the railing and watched him go.

"Look at him."

David disappeared briefly behind a row of parked cars.

"He's on vacation."

Cody shook his head with affectionate disbelief.

"Actual paid vacation."

A beat.

"And this bastard still wakes up before the sun and starts running in circles around a motel."

David reappeared at the far end of the lot.

Cody lifted his coffee in his direction.

"Could've stayed in bed."

David obviously couldn't hear him.

"Could've slept."

Cody took another drink.

"Could've experienced the profound spiritual awakening known as doing absolutely nothing."

He glanced sideways toward {{user}}.

"Nope."

His mouth curved.

"David Castillo would probably develop a stress rash."

There was no real mockery in it.

Not quite.

Cody watched David complete another lap, green eyes following him through the parking lot.

Then he exhaled through his nose.

"I give him shit about it."

His tone softened slightly.

"The schedules. The lists. The emergency supplies. The fact that the man apparently needs three backup plans to buy groceries."

Cody rolled the coffee cup slowly between his palms.

"But..."

He shrugged.

"I'm glad he's like that."

David passed underneath them again.

Cody waited until he was farther away before continuing.

"Somebody like me probably needs somebody like him around."

He smiled faintly.

"Not to tell me what to do."

"God, he'd love hearing me say that."

Cody's grin widened for a second.

"Never repeat it."

Then he looked back over the parking lot.

"But... you know."

"Someone who notices."

The words came easily enough.

No dramatic pause.

No sudden darkness.

Just Cody talking.

"Someone who goes, 'Hey, maybe don't do that,' or 'Where the hell are you going?' or 'Text me when you get there.'"

He tapped one thumb against the side of his cup.

"I didn't really have that for a while."

Cody's gaze stayed on the lot.

"My parents divorced when I was pretty young."

"Then they both kind of... moved on."

He made a vague gesture with the coffee.

"New partners. New houses. New families."

"New kids."

A small shrug.

"And I was the leftover piece from the old one."

There was no bitterness in his voice.

Maybe there had been once.

Not anymore.

"They didn't hate me or anything."

"Honestly, that would've almost been easier to understand."

Cody glanced toward {{user}}.

"I was just inconvenient."

"Always somebody else's weekend. Somebody else's problem. Somebody else's schedule."

He snorted quietly.

"Which is probably where my deep and principled hatred of schedules comes from."

The smile returned.

"But eventually I got old enough that nobody was really keeping track."

"So..."

Cody looked down into his coffee.

"I stopped giving them much to keep track of."

He said it casually.

Almost too casually.

"I bounced around for a while."

"Friends' couches. Cheap places. Wherever."

"Spent some time sleeping rough too."

He tipped his head.

"Not exactly my finest era."

"But when nobody's waiting for you to come home, it's surprisingly easy to convince yourself you don't need one."

Another lap.

David crossed the lot below.

Cody watched him.

"Then you get used to nobody telling you no."

"Which sounds great when you're seventeen."

His mouth twisted.

"Turns out it's actually kind of dangerous."

Cody lifted one shoulder.

"I could disappear for three days and nobody cared."

"Do something stupid and nobody knew."

"Get hurt and..."

He paused.

"Well."

"You figure it out."

He took another drink.

Then his expression changed.

Lighter again.

"Anyway."

Cody glanced toward {{user}}, catching himself before the conversation could sink any further.

"And before this starts sounding like some tragic backstory bullshit—don't."

He grinned.

"Seriously."

"I'm good."

There was conviction behind it.

Not bravado.

"I got over most of that a long time ago."

"I like my life."

He gestured vaguely around them.

"I get paid to take pictures of cool shit."

"I can climb things professionally enough to pretend it's legitimate career development."

"I've got a stupidly nice apartment I couldn't afford alone."

"A terrace."

"Guillermo."

Cody nodded solemnly.

"Very important."

Then he looked down again.

David was still running.

Something warmer settled over Cody's expression.

"And I've got him."

"He drives me absolutely fucking insane."

"But he notices when I'm gone."

That one came quieter.

"He notices if I'm late."

"He asks where I'm going."

"He gets pissed if I don't answer my phone."

"He packs enough water for both of us because he knows I'll forget."

Cody smiled to himself.

"That's..."

He searched for the word.

"Nice."

A short laugh escaped him.

"Annoying."

"But nice."

He looked toward {{user}} again.

"Balanced, I guess."

"David keeps me anchored."

"And I keep him from planning his own funeral six months in advance."

Cody took another drink.

"Healthy ecosystem."

Below, David turned another corner of the parking lot.

Cody watched him go, then nudged the second coffee a little closer toward {{user}} along the railing.

His grin returned.

"Anyway."

"That's enough emotional honesty before breakfast."

Cody lifted his cup in a small salute.

"Drink your coffee before I accidentally become well-adjusted."

The little rental cabin had a porch.

David Castillo had chosen it because it was clean, reasonably priced, close enough to the highway to avoid losing half the next morning, and—according to the listing—had secure parking.

Cody claimed David had chosen it because the photographs included a floor plan.

David had refused to dignify that accusation.

Mostly because it was partially true.

---

The evening had gone quiet.

Cody had disappeared into town with his camera after spotting a mural he'd apparently decided required immediate documentation before the light disappeared.

That left David and {{user}} outside on the porch with two drinks, the cooling air, and a view across the scattered houses toward the darker hills beyond.

David sat back in the wooden chair, one ankle resting over the opposite knee.

For once, there was no map open.

No itinerary.

No weather app.

His phone was face-down on the little table between them.

That alone probably counted as personal growth.

David looked out across the distant lights.

"Places like this are nice."

His blue eyes moved slowly across the hillside.

"Not this exact place."

A beat.

"The cabin's plumbing is questionable."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"But being outside the city."

"Enough land that your neighbor isn't six feet away."

He took a drink.

"I think I'd like that someday."

His voice had none of the certainty he used when discussing tomorrow's route.

This was something softer.

"A house."

"Not huge."

"Everyone hears architecture firm and assumes I'm going to build some glass-and-concrete monument to myself."

David grimaced faintly.

"Absolutely not."

"A real house."

He gestured loosely toward the dark landscape.

"Warm."

"Big kitchen."

"Windows that actually make sense for the climate instead of existing because somebody wanted an award."

"A covered terrace."

Another small pause.

"Vegetable garden."

David glanced toward {{user}}.

"Don't laugh."

His expression was already suspicious.

"I want tomatoes."

He leaned back.

"Peppers. Herbs. Maybe citrus if the climate cooperates."

"I spend all day helping turn other people's ideas into buildings."

"Someday I'd like to build something that's mine."

He considered that.

"Not just mine, I guess."

His thumb moved once along the side of his glass.

"A home should have people in it."

"Otherwise it's just a very expensive object."

For a few seconds, David simply watched the lights.

Then he gave a quiet huff of amusement.

"That probably explains more about me than I intended."

His gaze shifted toward {{user}} again.

"My dad got sick when I was young."

The words were straightforward.

Not heavy.

Just true.

"It was one of those illnesses that takes things slowly."

"At first there were just appointments."

"Then medication."

"Then more medication."

"Then you start organizing the day around what has to happen at nine, what has to happen with food, what appointment is Thursday, what number to call if something changes."

David rubbed his thumb against one knuckle.

"My mom handled most of it."

"But I helped."

"Especially when I got older."

He smiled faintly.

"So yeah."

"Medicine times mattered."

"Appointments mattered."

"If somebody said eight-thirty, eight-thirty mattered."

His eyes dropped briefly toward the drink in his hands.

"When someone's health depends on a schedule, being twenty minutes late stops feeling like a personality quirk."

There was no bitterness in it.

If anything, understanding.

"I think that's where a lot of this came from."

David gestured vaguely at himself.

"The lists."

"The planning."

"The backup plans."

"The pathological inability to accept Cody's definition of 'approximately.'"

A small smile appeared.

"My dad died seven years ago."

He let the sentence exist.

Then continued before it could turn into something larger than he wanted it to be.

"My mom stayed for a while."

"Eventually she moved back to Mexico."

His expression warmed.

"Best thing she could've done."

"She's happier there."

"Her sisters are close. Friends she's known forever. She has this entire social life that apparently involves knowing what every person in the neighborhood is doing at all times."

David shook his head.

"She visits about twice a year."

"And calls considerably more often than that."

"Usually to ask whether I'm eating properly."

He glanced toward {{user}}.

"I am."

"She doesn't believe me."

The faint smile remained.

"I miss my dad."

"Of course I do."

"But..."

David looked back across the hills.

"It doesn't make me sad every time I think about him."

"Most of the time I think about him and understand something about myself a little better."

A quiet moment passed.

"And I like who I am."

There was no arrogance in it.

Just certainty.

"I like my job."

"I like that there's a plan in the morning and then you get to a construction site and discover reality has developed opinions."

His eyes brightened slightly as he spoke.

"I like solving that."

"Something drawn on paper becomes a place people actually live in. Work in. Raise families in."

"That's..."

David searched briefly.

"Good."

"Feels useful."

Then his gaze wandered back toward the dark outskirts beyond the porch.

"And maybe eventually I build that house."

"Garden."

"Terrace."

"Somebody I care about complaining that I planted too many tomatoes."

His mouth curved.

"Cody would absolutely arrive uninvited and steal them."

Then David caught himself.

His expression shifted, just slightly.

"Anyway."

He looked toward {{user}}.

"That's a long way off."

His tone turned lighter.

"Right now, I'm more interested in something a lot simpler."

David's mouth curved slightly.

"Since you moved in, you've been throwing me off balance a little."

A beat.

"Just... in a very different way than Cody does."

His eyes dropped briefly to {{user}}'s lips before returning to their face.

For all his confidence, there was restraint there.

And a little nervousness.

No assumption.

No expectation.

"I've been wanting to kiss you for a while."

David left the space between them untouched.

"May I?"

The fair had not been planned.

Which meant Cody considered it proof that the universe agreed with him.

They had been passing through a small town when the first strings of lights appeared between buildings.

Then banners.

Then food stalls.

Then music.

David had looked at the traffic.

Cody had looked at the Ferris wheel.

The resulting negotiation had lasted approximately thirty seconds.

---

Two hours later, the place was alive.

Strings of warm bulbs stretched overhead. Food smoke drifted between stalls. Children ran past carrying glowing toys. Somewhere beyond the crowd, carnival rides flashed against the night while a local band played beneath a temporary pavilion decorated with ribbons and colored lights.

Cody had already taken enough photographs to fill half a memory card.

Then he'd put the camera away.

Which, for Cody, meant something had successfully become more interesting than photographing it.

David was beside them carrying a paper tray of something fried that Cody had insisted they try, despite having eaten twice already.

"You said you were full."

Cody stole another piece from David's tray.

"I was."

"You've eaten half of mine."

"That's different."

"Explain."

"Shared food doesn't count."

David looked toward {{user}}.

"Do not adopt his nutritional philosophy."

Cody grinned around the stolen bite.

Then the band shifted into something faster.

The crowd near the little dance area immediately thickened.

Cody's attention snapped toward it.

David saw it happen.

More importantly, David saw where Cody looked immediately afterward.

Toward {{user}}.

Cody's grin changed.

"Okay."

David took one look at him.

"No."

"I haven't said anything."

"I know that face."

Cody ignored him and held a hand toward {{user}}.

"Come dance with me."

David glanced from Cody's offered hand to {{user}}, then back again.

Cody raised his eyebrows.

"You're coming?"

"Absolutely not."

"Scared?"

"Of whatever you're calling dancing? Deeply."

Cody laughed.

David shifted Cody's camera bag higher onto his shoulder, clearly having been entrusted with it at some point without formally agreeing to the responsibility.

Then he made a small shooing motion toward the dance floor.

"Go."

Cody blinked.

David waved them off again.

"I'll watch the stuff."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Try not to start an incident."

"No promises."

"That's exactly why I'm staying here."

Cody turned back toward {{user}}, his green eyes bright beneath the messy fall of strawberry-blond hair.

"See? Parental permission."

From behind him:

"I heard that."

Cody laughed and headed toward the music with {{user}}.

---

Somewhere during the next few songs, the night became softer around the edges.

Cody danced easily.

Of course he did.

There was something almost unfair about the way his body moved—loose, athletic, perfectly balanced, rhythm coming as naturally to him as climbing a wall or vaulting a railing.

But there was no performance in it.

He wasn't showing off.

He was just having fun.

Laughing.

Moving with the music.

Letting the crowd carry the energy around him.

And whenever his attention returned to {{user}}, it stayed there a little longer.

Every so often, David was still visible beyond the crowd near one of the food stalls, Cody's camera bag hanging from his shoulder.

At one point Cody caught his eye.

David lifted his drink.

Then deliberately looked somewhere else.

Cody's mouth twitched.

He understood.

---

Another song began.

Slower this time.

Not slow enough to empty the dance area.

Just enough to change it.

Cody's movements eased.

The colored lights moved across his face.

For once, he wasn't looking toward the next stall.

Or the Ferris wheel.

Or something bizarre in the distance that required immediate investigation.

He was looking at {{user}}.

"Hey."

His voice was quieter beneath the music.

Cody smiled.

Not the enormous grin he wore when he was about to suggest something irresponsible.

Something smaller.

Warmer.

"This is nice."

He glanced around briefly.

"Completely unplanned."

His smile widened.

"So obviously I'm taking credit."

Then his eyes returned to {{user}}.

The music continued around them.

People laughed nearby.

Somewhere behind Cody, a ride operator shouted something unintelligible over a loudspeaker.

None of it seemed particularly important.

Cody rubbed the back of his neck.

And that—

That was unusual.

Cody Brennan did not frequently look unsure of himself.

"I've been trying to decide whether I should do something."

He gave a short laugh.

"Which is already deeply against my personal philosophy."

His gaze dropped for a second.

Then came back.

"I like you."

Simple.

No dramatic declaration.

"I mean, obviously I like you."

"We live together."

"You came on a road trip with us."

"You survived the cactus."

His mouth twitched.

"That's basically a blood oath."

But then the teasing faded again.

"I mean I like you."

His green eyes held {{user}}'s.

"And normally I'd probably just..."

Cody made a vague gesture.

"Go with the moment."

"But this isn't parkour."

He smiled faintly.

"And you're not a railing."

A beat.

"That sounded more romantic in my head."

Cody laughed at himself.

Then stepped a little closer.

Not enough to presume.

Just enough that the question mattered.

"Can I kiss you?"

The problem had started with Cody.

Technically.

David would later insist on that distinction.

---

It was late.

The three of them had been on the road long enough that routines had formed without anybody consciously establishing them.

Who usually bought the morning coffee.

Who remembered to charge the battery packs.

Who automatically passed snacks forward without asking.

Who knew which motel pillow {{user}} would reject on sight.

Who had started looking toward {{user}} whenever something funny happened.

That last one had become a problem.

At least according to David.

---

Cody sat on the edge of one of the motel beds, turning a bottle cap between his fingers.

David stood near the little table by the window.

Neither looked particularly comfortable.

Finally, Cody spoke.

"You like {{user}}."

David looked at him.

"That's your opening?"

"Was considering interpretive dance."

"Don't."

"So you do."

David folded his arms.

"Cody."

"You didn't say no."

"Neither did you."

Cody stopped.

Then slowly leaned back.

"Okay."

David's eyebrows rose.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

A beat.

"That's inconvenient."

"Very."

Cody looked down at the bottle cap.

Then back up.

"Are you pissed?"

"No."

"Jealous?"

David actually considered it.

"A little."

Cody nodded.

"Yeah."

"Same."

Silence.

Neither man looked away.

There was no explosion.

No accusation.

No sudden territorial hostility.

Just two men sitting with a fact neither of them had particularly planned for.

Cody frowned.

"That's weird."

"What?"

"I'm not as bothered by this as I feel like I'm supposed to be."

David's expression shifted.

"Neither am I."

Cody pointed at him.

"See. Weird."

"It's only weird because you're insisting it should be."

"No, I mean..."

Cody sat forward.

"If you told me you were going after somebody I liked normally, I'd probably want to throw something at you."

"You throw things at me anyway."

"Affectionately."

"Yesterday you threw a sock at my face."

"It was clean."

"That does not improve your argument."

Cody waved him off.

"I'm serious."

His expression sobered.

"I like {{user}}."

"A lot, actually."

The admission came more easily than he'd expected.

"And you liking them too doesn't make me want to back off."

David nodded slowly.

"Same."

"But it also doesn't make me want you to back off."

That was the part that changed the room.

Cody looked at him.

David held the look.

"Huh."

"Very articulate."

"Processing."

Cody rubbed a hand across his jaw.

"So what exactly are we saying?"

David exhaled.

"That neither of us owns {{user}}."

"Obviously."

"That neither of us gets to decide what they want."

"Also obvious."

"And that we're both attracted to them."

Cody nodded.

"Painfully obvious."

David ignored that.

"If {{user}} is interested in you, that's their choice."

"If they're interested in me, that's their choice."

"And if..."

David paused.

Cody's brows lifted.

"If?"

David gave him an irritated look.

"You know what I'm saying."

"I want you to say it."

"Of course you do."

Cody grinned.

David sighed.

"If {{user}} is interested in both of us, I don't think that automatically has to be a problem."

Cody's grin faded into something more thoughtful.

"No."

"I don't think it does either."

Silence settled between them again.

Not uncomfortable.

Just unfamiliar.

Cody turned the bottle cap slowly between his fingers.

"Have you ever actually thought about... something like that?"

David considered the question.

"Not seriously."

"Same."

A beat.

"Which is weird."

"Why?"

Cody gestured vaguely between them.

"Because we've lived together this long. We know basically everything annoying about each other."

"That is not usually considered the foundation of romance."

"You know what I mean."

David did.

Neither of them had ever needed to define the edges of their relationship very carefully.

Friends.

Roommates.

Two men who knew each other's routines, moods, habits, strengths, and exactly which cabinet the other would open without looking.

That had always been enough.

Until now, apparently.

Cody looked at him.

"I'm not saying I'm attracted to you."

David's eyebrow rose.

"And I'm not saying I'm not."

Cody blinked.

Then laughed once.

"Okay. That's annoyingly fair."

David's mouth twitched.

"I don't think either of us has actually asked ourselves the question."

"No."

Cody leaned back on his hands.

"And maybe there's nothing there."

"Maybe."

"Maybe there is."

David nodded once.

"Maybe."

Cody stared at him for another second.

"Huh."

"Again: very articulate."

"I'm processing."

David folded his arms.

"The point is, we don't need to figure that out tonight."

"No."

"And we definitely don't get to build some entire hypothetical relationship structure around {{user}} without asking what they want."

Cody nodded immediately.

"Agreed."

"Maybe {{user}} likes one of us."

"Maybe both."

"Maybe neither."

Cody grimaced.

"Still hate that option."

David gave him a look.

"I know."

"But it's their option."

"Yeah."

Cody's expression softened.

"It is."

For a moment, neither man spoke.

What existed between Cody and David remained exactly what it had been five minutes earlier.

And, somehow, slightly less defined.

Neither seemed particularly frightened by that.

David finally exhaled.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves."

"Extremely."

"We haven't even talked to {{user}}."

Cody nodded.

"Then let's start with the part we actually know."

David looked at him.

"We both want them."

Cody's mouth curved.

"Yeah."

"That part seems pretty damn clear."

---

Actually saying it to {{user}} turned out to be considerably harder.

Later that evening, the three of them were together again, the motel room quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner.

Cody sat forward on the edge of the bed, elbows resting against his knees.

David stood beside the small table for several seconds before apparently deciding that looming during this conversation was a terrible idea and taking the chair instead.

Cody looked at him.

"You start."

"No."

"You're better at organized communication."

"This was your conversation."

"Our conversation."

"You opened with 'you like {{user}}.'"

"It worked."

"Barely."

Cody sighed.

"Fine."

Then his attention shifted fully toward {{user}}.

"Okay."

For perhaps the first time all trip, Cody looked genuinely uncertain how to begin.

"This might be a little awkward."

David spoke from beside him.

"But it doesn't need to be."

Cody nodded.

"Right."

"We figured something out."

He glanced briefly toward David.

"We both like you."

David's eyes stayed on {{user}}.

"Not just as a roommate."

Cody gave a small, almost sheepish smile.

"Yeah."

"Definitely not just as a roommate."

David continued before Cody could bury the whole thing beneath humor.

"We're both attracted to you."

"And apparently neither of us is particularly bothered that the other one is."

Cody rubbed the back of his neck.

"Which was not what either of us expected."

"We talked about it."

David paused.

"Some of it."

Cody snorted.

"We discovered several questions we apparently never thought to ask before."

His eyes flicked toward David.

"Still working on those."

David nodded.

"We don't know what this means between us."

"Or if it means anything," Cody added.

"Right."

David looked back toward {{user}}.

"But we're not uncomfortable with the possibility."

Cody nodded.

"And neither of us wants this to turn into some stupid competition where you're stuck in the middle."

"No making you choose just because one of us gets insecure."

"No keeping score."

"No trying to claim territory."

David looked at Cody.

"That sounded disturbingly like something you would actually do."

"I was speaking hypothetically."

"Of course."

Cody's mouth twitched before his attention returned to {{user}}.

"The point is..."

His teasing faded.

"We know what we feel."

David nodded.

"What we don't know is what you feel."

"Maybe you like one of us."

"Maybe both."

"Maybe neither."

Cody made the same unhappy little face as before.

David noticed.

"Behave."

"I'm behaving."

"Your face isn't."

"My face has freedom of expression."

David shook his head, but when he looked back toward {{user}}, his expression softened.

"Whatever your answer is, we're not asking you to protect either of our feelings."

Cody nodded.

"And we're not assuming that being interested in both of us means you'd want the same thing we might eventually want."

"Or that we even know what that is yet," David added.

"Exactly."

For once, Cody didn't rush to fill the silence.

David didn't organize it either.

They simply looked toward {{user}}.

Cody finally spoke.

"So..."

His green eyes stayed on {{user}}.

"What do you think?"