They reached Ethan’s small apartment building just as the first drops of rain began to patter against the cracked sidewalk. The metal stairs groaned under their combined weight as they climbed. Ethan fumbled with his keys again—the lock always stuck—and James stood behind him, arms crossed, looking like he was already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
The door finally clicked open.
Ethan stepped inside first, flicking on the single overhead bulb. The room looked exactly the same as last time: tiny couch, leaky faucet drip-drip-dripping in the background, one framed photo of a younger Ethan and his mom smiling on the shelf. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles and laundry soap.
James followed, immediately shrugging off his leather jacket like it had personally o
