Sam watches Montgomery in silence. The whole house is dark and quiet, except for the intermittent crackling of the fire and their breathing. A little light from the stars and the moon filters through the windows at the front of the room, silvery white. Sam reaches out and lays his hand on Montgomery’s face, cupping his cheek. They look at each other, the glow of the fire on their skin, the gleam of it in their eyes. The whiskey bottle’s still between them.

“You’re lonely as hell, aren’t you?” Sam says.

Montgomery hesitates, taking in Sam’s face. “I know you are.” He wants to cover Sam’s hand with his own but he doesn’t.

“How?”

Montgomery swallows. “Because here you are settling for my company.”

“You’re good company.”

Montgomery closes his eyes, feeling Sam’s hand on his cheek and waiting for it to slip away.

“Hey,” Sam says.

Montgomery opens his eyes, but they stay half-lidded, heavy with alcohol and the heat of the fire.

“I care about you,” Sam says. “I want to be your friend. But if you don’t want to be mine, just tell me.”

Montgomery lays his hand on Sam’s side, over his ribs. He’s almost surprised at himself, but he doesn’t pull back. “We are friends.”

Sam smiles—the kind of deep, true, happy smile that reaches his eyes and glows through his whole face. His hand slides down to Montgomery’s neck. They continue to look at each other a minute. Montgomery wonders in the silence if Sam is going to kiss

him, and he’s drunk enough that he probably wouldn’t care if Sam did. Staring into each other’s eyes this long is almost more intimate than a kiss.

“I’m pretty drunk,” Montgomery says, all of his physical awareness focused into Sam’s hand on his neck.

Sam huffs a laugh and drops his hand. He picks up the whiskey bottle between them and holds it up. The bottle’s a little more than half empty. “You think?” He slides the bottle away from them on the rug, and it stops under the coffee table.

Montgomery sinks the rest of the way down, lying on his back. He rubs at his forehead, shading his eyes. The light of the fire blankets the length of his body, up to the collar of his flannel shirt. “What time is it?”

Sam checks his watch, taking longer than usual to decipher it. “Almost one.”

Montgomery exhales in tired resignation. “Guess I’ll stay on your couch tonight if you don’t mind.”

“You’re always welcome.” Sam, still up on his elbow, looks down at Montgomery.

For a while, Montgomery continues to stare at the ceiling, and neither of them speak, the gentle crackling of the fire the only sound in the house. He slides his eyes over to Sam eventually. Maybe it’s the way Sam’s looking at him, or maybe it’s the whiskey—but a thick, warm burst of affection expands in his chest like raw cotton fresh out of the dryer. It isn’t nostalgia this time. It’s for no one else but Sam.

Sam lies down on the rug next to him, and they look at each other.

Montgomery swallows, his mouth dry and his mind slow. “You ever miss sleeping next to someone?” His voice is almost too quiet. “Someone you can hold on to ’n wake up with? Someone who makes you feel less alone?”

Sam pauses before he nods.

Montgomery doesn’t move or speak again, just keeps his eyes on Sam.

A minute passes, and Sam rolls onto his side toward Montgomery, reaching out for

him. Montgomery turns to him, hugs Sam one-armed as Sam pulls him close. Sam, the shorter of the two, fits his head below Montgomery’s chin and against his chest. He holds on to Montgomery’s waist, and Montgomery keeps his arm wrapped around Sam’s back.

All the tension he didn’t know was there melts out of Montgomery’s body, and he goes boneless on the rug, the scent of Sam’s hair filling his nose as he passes out.