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Once Knox turned off the light in the hallway, nighttime painted the bedroom an uneven black, like charcoal. All he could make out were vague shapes. His target, the bed, was in the center of the room.
It should've been an easy walk, despite the fact he was practically blinded.
The door creaked when he pushed past it. Charlie stirred in his sleep. That caused Knox to wait before taking another barefooted step onto the soft carpet.
Outside, there was the distant sound of an ambulance's siren.
Then Knox confidently and unmistakably slammed his foot into Charlie's briefcase. That certainly shouldn't have been on the floor.
"Shit!"
Charlie, who was, apparently, not asleep, only laughed.
"Are you okay?" he thought to ask after a moment.
"No," Knox answered, though the briefly bone-deep pain was now only a distant throb. "Kiss it better?"
In the dark, Charlie was only an obscure figure, shadowlike. "Sure." He patted the empty space beside him, Knox's side of the bed. "What'd you kick anyway?"
"Your briefcase," Knox said before curling up against him.
Charlie's wordless apology was a loving hand ran through Knox's hair. From then on, he always kept his briefcase in the closet.