The apartment was too small for secrets.
Tyler had known that the day he moved in, hauling his boxes up three flights of stairs to find Chris, tall, broad-shouldered, and too casually confident, already sprawled on the couch. Chris had grinned, offered him a beer, and said, "Welcome to the shoebox."
For months, they coexisted like brothers. Tyler was straight, or so he kept telling himself, while Chris was openly, unapologetically gay. It had never been a problem. Chris dated men who came and went at odd hours, and Tyler ignored the heat in his chest when he heard muffled laughter through the wall.
But curiosity is a stubborn thing.
It started small. Tyler noticed how Chris's towel slipped too low when he left the shower, how his laugh rolled deep and easy when they played video games
