Saint wiped the grease from his hands on an old rag, the garage lights buzzing above him. It was past nine, and the shop had been closed for hours, but he always stayed late when Joshua was coming back. The familiar ache sat heavy in his chest, the one he’d carried for years. Joshua. His best friend. The guy who knew every dark corner of his life and still showed up like clockwork.
The door to the apartment above the garage creaked open just after ten. Saint heard the familiar thud of Joshua’s duffel bag hitting the floor.
“Saint? You still up, man?”
Joshua’s voice wrapped around him like warm hands. Saint stepped out of the tiny kitchen with two cold beers, trying to keep his face normal. “Where else would I be?”
Joshua grinned, that bright, easy smile that always hit Saint like a pun
