Bill had taken Long without going to Blaze’s apartment that always smelled like incense, books, and that particular strain of chaos that came from having too many plants and not enough surfaces. He opened the door barefoot, shirtless, and holding a glass of something amber.
“Jesus, you look like a haunted Victorian bride,” he said by way of greeting.
Bill rolled his eyes. “Hi to you too.”
Blaze stepped aside. “Come in, drama queen. Let me guess heartbreak, guilt, or an identity crisis?”
“All three,” Bill muttered, stepping inside.
“Perfect. I’ll pour you the expensive whiskey I save for mental breakdowns. Plus you’ve not been communicating ever since you moved to your new apartment. Did you even move in? How’s everything coming along?”
Minutes later, they were seated on the floor wit
