Chapter Text
The sun had barely stretched over the skyline, casting warm light through the half-closed blinds of their cramped but cozy apartment. A blanket hung haphazardly on the couch, a pizza box sat on the kitchen counter, and faint music filtered through a speaker that Josh forgot to turn off last night.
Josh Santos, already up in a loose tank top and shorts, was yelling into his phone, propped up precariously on a stack of manga volumes.
“GOOD MORNING, MA TROPAAAA!” he hollered, doing a little finger heart into the camera. “We woke up today, and that’s a win, mga beh! Even if Ken looks like he regrets all his life choices.”
From the other end of the couch, Ken Suson didn’t even look up. Wrapped in a hoodie, phone tilted toward his face, earbuds tucked in. A gory anime fight reflected in his glasses.
“Ken!” Josh whined like a child, angling the camera toward his best friend. “Say hi to the live, pogi. Give them what they want.”
Ken blinked slowly. One earbud came off. “You’re so loud,” he said, deadpan. Then, quieter, “...Hi.”
The comment section exploded:
KEN SAID HI OMGGGGG
he’s alive???
silent pogi supremacy 💀
Josh grinned, victorious. “See? That’s called consent, people. And friendship. And manipulation. All in one. You’re welcome.”
Ken rolled his eyes and tucked his earbud back in. Josh went on rambling to his viewers, transitioning into some dance moves while holding a spoon like a mic. He ended up stepping on the pizza box and nearly slipping.
“Bro,” Ken mumbled, eyes still on his screen. “I just cleaned the floor.”
“You wiped it with a sock you were still wearing,” Josh shot back, breathless but smiling.
The morning rolled on like that. Messy and loud on one end, quiet and consistent on the other. Josh talked to strangers like they were lifelong friends. Ken let the world blur as long as the Wi-Fi held. And despite their differences, they moved around each other with instinctive ease, refilling the water jug, tossing keys, fighting over the last cheese stick in the fridge like it was a war crime.
It was just another day. A Tuesday, maybe. Or Wednesday. They didn’t keep track much anymore.
But Josh glanced at Ken from across the room, watching how the sunlight hit his lashes, how focused he looked on whatever was playing.
“Hey,” Josh said suddenly. “Let’s dance again.”
Ken paused his show. Turned to him slowly. “Now?”
“No,” Josh said, grabbing his phone again. “I mean like… audition. Like the old days. Just us two.”
Ken looked at him a moment longer, eyes unreadable. Then he shrugged. “Okay.”
Josh blinked. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Yeah.” Ken sipped from his iced coffee. “Let’s do it.”
That was the moment. A small, stupid Tuesday decision made between a chaotic stream and a paused anime. The moment everything quietly shifted. They just didn’t know it yet.
—
Josh woke up to the smell of cold ramen and the sight of a hoodie-draped figure curled up on the floor.
It was almost noon, but their apartment wasn’t the kind of place that judged you for that. The sun peeked through the blinds like it was just checking in, not fully committed. The floor was littered with socks, receipts, and one lonely sneaker Josh couldn’t remember owning. Somewhere between sleep and survival, the place had turned into a home.
Across the room, Ken sat hunched over his phone, hood up, eyes glued to whatever anime he was binging this week. He had the same posture as a kid trying to avoid doing homework, which technically, fit the vibe. Josh let out a soft laugh under his breath.
The silence was comforting, familiar. The kind of quiet that only existed between people who knew each other too well to fill the air with unnecessary talk.
He shuffled to the sink, pretending the dishes needed doing. In reality, he was trying not to think about it again but of course, he thought about it anyway.
College. That goddamn mess.
He and Ken didn’t even last two full semesters. One day they were cramming for midterms, the next, they were on a bus to a dance competition three provinces away, high on adrenaline and ₱5,000 prize money. Back then, everything felt possible. Viral videos, followers, performance gigs. Who needed a degree when your TikTok was blowing up?
They failed most of their classes. Josh didn’t even read the final grades. He already knew. And then, one quiet night in the kitchen, no yelling, no drama, Ken said, “You know this is your fault, right?”
Not accusing. Not angry. Just… stating a fact. The same way he might say the rice cooker was broken or the Wi-Fi was down.
Josh didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. He was the one who dragged Ken into it all. The battles. The rehearsals. The belief that talent and charisma were enough to build a future. That energy alone could keep them going.
The scolding from their parents came quick and brutal. Ken’s mom grounded him from “everything including breathing.” Josh’s mom cried in the family group chat and sent him daily Bible verses like a countdown to divine intervention.
Still, Ken stayed. Even when Josh had nothing solid to offer, Ken didn’t leave.
Josh glanced over at him now, head tilted slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, lips twitching at some anime scene. The same hoodie from their first YouTube upload clung to him like a second skin. And despite everything, he was still here.
“You hungry?” Josh called out, already halfway to the fridge.
Ken didn’t look up. “Tocino?”
Josh grinned. “You got it, my prince.”
This was their life. An apartment that looked like a failed studio set, meals at inconsistent hours, responsibilities conveniently ignored. No degrees. No long-term plans. Just songs, streams, dancing when they felt like it, and the comfort of not being alone in their failure.
Losers by choice. But losers together. And for now, that was enough.
—
The apartment looked like a war zone, and Josh decided this was the perfect time to start recording.
“Okay, mga beh,” he announced to his phone camera, spinning in a slow pan of their disaster. “Welcome to the battlefield. Today’s enemies: clutter, dust, and this suspicious sock that’s been under the table since Valentine’s.”
From behind him, Ken groaned. “Don’t show that.”
“Too late,” Josh grinned. “It’s practically part of the furniture now.”
He propped his phone up on a stack of books, tilted just right to get a wide shot. Ken was already moving around in the background, hoodie sleeves pushed up, quietly gathering stray bottles and game controllers like a reluctant ghost of responsibility.
Josh, meanwhile, narrated everything like he was on a chaotic game show.
“On my left, the living legend, Ken ‘Silent Mode’ Suson, armed with a walis tambo and the power of judgmental silence. And here I am, your favorite host-slash-victim, ready to bleach the soul out of this bathroom.”
He zoomed in on his own reflection in the mirror, hair a mess, shirt stained with ramen broth, grin absolutely feral.
For the next hour, they moved around the apartment in semi-synchronized disorder. Josh sang along to every K-pop track he played, switching from dancing with the broom to dramatically wiping windows. Ken said nothing the entire time but subtly corrected everything Josh missed. He re-folded the towels, re-aligned the dish rack, re-wiped the already wiped table with a faint sigh that screamed, “I live with a gremlin.”
“You’re doing great, babe,” Josh called from the bathroom, holding up an empty bottle of disinfectant like a trophy. “This is the content they want.”
Ken raised a brow from behind the couch. “This is why they think I’m your handler.”
Josh just laughed.
By the time noon hit, the apartment looked… livable. At least, they could see the floor. A small miracle.
Josh flopped onto the couch, sweaty but satisfied, phone still recording. “I think we earned lunch,” he declared.
He shuffled into the kitchen with Ken trailing behind him. This part needed no words. It was routine. Josh pulled out leftover meat from the fridge while Ken washed the rice. They didn’t need to ask what to do. Josh was always the main cook, Ken the reliable sous chef. They danced around each other in the cramped space, passing knives and plates without looking, nudging with hips when someone was blocking a drawer.
“Don’t cut it too small,” Josh said, glancing at Ken’s chopping board.
Ken gave him a look. “You said that last time, and then complained they were too chunky.”
“Well, this time I’ll complain less.”
“You won’t.”
“Shhhh, you love me anyway.”
Ken rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Just kept slicing.
Rice cooker clicked on. The smell of garlic hit the pan. Josh started humming a tune they used to dance to in high school, and somewhere behind him, Ken hummed along.
The phone was still recording from the counter, catching the mess, the laughter, the sizzling garlic. No fancy lighting. No makeup. Just two guys in mismatched pajamas cooking lunch in a clean-ish apartment.
And maybe, Josh thought, as he plated the food and Ken handed him the last of the cut-up vegetables, this was the real content. No trending dances. No filters. Just… them.
Lunch was a quiet victory. Josh and Ken sat cross-legged on the floor, plates balanced on a shared stool turned into a makeshift table. The fan hummed lazily in the corner, rustling the hem of a towel draped over a chair. Outside, the city buzzed in faint, distant tones. Inside, it was just the clink of utensils and the sizzle of oil still lingering in the air.
Josh stabbed a piece of tocino with his fork and leaned back against the couch, grinning. “Tell me this isn’t the best version you’ve ever tasted.”
Ken chewed slowly, eyes flicking up. “You say that every time.”
“And am I wrong?”
Ken shrugged, which in Ken-language meant no, you’re not. Josh took it as a win.
He watched his best friend pick out the carrots from the mixed vegetables, pushing them aside with silent judgment.
“You’re so weird,” Josh muttered, smiling into his rice.
Ken just said, “You burnt the garlic.”
Josh dramatically clutched his chest. “Betrayal. After all we’ve been through.”
They fell into silence again, comfortable, like a song playing between verses. Josh poked around his plate, gaze drifting to the ceiling, before the memory hit him without warning.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Do you remember that comp in Laguna? Yung sa gym na may tumutulong aircon?”
Ken glanced at him, surprised, then let out a short, amused exhale. “Yeah. The one where the mic kept cutting out during the host’s intro.”
Josh laughed, food forgotten. “Exactly! And we thought we were gonna lose because the floor was slippery and you slipped during the chorus.”
Ken rolled his eyes. “You dropped me during the lift.”
“You were heavy!”
“You panicked!”
“You screamed like a goat!”
Ken cracked a smile, the kind that barely curled his lips but reached his eyes. Josh watched that smile longer than he meant to, something fond and aching blooming in his chest. “We still won,” Ken said eventually, tone softer now.
“Yeah,” Josh murmured. “Somehow, we always did.”
They went quiet again. This time, a little heavier.
Josh looked down at his plate, pushing rice around with his spoon. “Do you think… we messed up?”
Ken didn’t answer right away. He was still chewing, still thinking. “You mean with school?” he asked, finally.
Josh nodded. “Everything, I guess. Dropping out. Chasing stupid stuff. Doing all of this.”
Ken set his plate down and leaned back, arms resting loosely on his knees. “It wasn’t stupid.”
Josh glanced up.
“We were happy,” Ken said. “Maybe still are.”
Josh wanted to believe that. He really did. But lately, every quiet moment was filled with questions he didn’t know how to answer. They weren’t broke, exactly, but they weren’t thriving either. Just drifting. Making content. Existing in their bubble. It was enough until it wasn’t.
Still, he didn’t say that. Not yet.
So instead, he bumped Ken’s arm with his shoulder. “You were still a pain to choreograph with.”
Ken smirked. “You always added unnecessary body rolls.”
“They’re called style,” Josh huffed. “And they got us second place at the last event.”
Ken paused. “...I thought we won third.”
Josh blinked. “...Oh. Right.”
They stared at each other then laughed. Loud and open and stupid.
Josh leaned his head on Ken’s shoulder, still chuckling. “Losers by choice,” he murmured.
Ken didn’t move away. “Best kind.”
—
The apartment was quiet again, the kind of quiet that only showed up after laughter had wrung itself out.
Dishes were done, the lights were dimmed, and Ken had already claimed the couch, curled into his usual half-fetal position with a pillow squished between his arms. His breathing had evened out; he was out cold, hoodie strings tangled in his fingers, phone clutched loosely in one hand.
Josh sat on the floor by the window, cradling his laptop with headphones on, lit only by the soft glow of the screen and the neon blue from Ken’s forgotten game controller.
He should’ve been editing a vlog. That was the plan. Cut together the mess of footage they shot while cleaning earlier, slow-mos of flour spills, the two of them dancing around the mop like idiots, Ken’s unimpressed stare every time Josh sang off-key. It was content gold.
But instead, he’d fallen down a rabbit hole.
Old videos.
Their channel from five years ago, when they still wore matching black hoodies and shot dance covers in public parks, in gymnasiums, in rooftop parking lots. The thumbnails were chaotic. Ken was always trying to look serious; Josh was always caught mid-smirk. The comments were still there, people saying they were “underrated,” that their chemistry was unreal, that they should audition for something bigger.
Josh didn’t realize he’d clicked play until he saw their younger selves on-screen, fresher, leaner, burning with that kind of restless, reckless energy.
He remembered that day. They had taken a van with the rest of their crew to Bulacan, skipped an exam to make it on time. Ken was quiet the whole ride, headphones in. But once the music started, he transformed. Sharp. Fluid. Focused.
Josh had always been louder, more attention-grabbing. But Ken was the one they always ended up watching.
Josh took off his headphones slowly. The apartment felt even quieter now. He glanced over at the couch.
Ken had shifted in his sleep, one arm dangling off the side, fingers twitching slightly, maybe dreaming. Josh watched him longer than he meant to.
He didn’t know when the fear started. Maybe it had always been there. Hiding behind the jokes and filters and late-night editing.
Ken was talented. Really talented. And Josh had been the one to pull him out of that shell, drag him onto stages, make him seen. But lately, it felt like Ken didn’t need pulling anymore. He was growing into something else, someone else. Still familiar, still his best friend, but changing.
And Josh? He wasn’t sure he was changing with him. He hated how bitter that thought felt in his mouth.
Gently, he closed the laptop and set it aside. Crawled over to the couch, careful not to wake Ken. He sat on the floor again, this time next to him, his back against the frame, head tilted just enough to rest beside Ken’s arm.
“I’m not scared of you leaving,” he whispered, barely audible. “I just don’t know who I am when you’re not here.”
Ken shifted slightly, murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep.
Josh smiled. A little broken. A little tired. “You’ll probably never hear that. Which is probably for the best.”
He stayed there for a while, watching the moonlight spill across their cluttered apartment, listening to Ken breathe.
In this moment, they were still together. Still in sync, even in silence.
But Josh felt the future creeping in, soft and cold, like a draft through a cracked window.
—
The next morning, Josh woke up to sunlight slapping him across the face and Ken already on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, cereal bowl in hand, eyes locked on his phone.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Josh croaked as he sat up, hair flattened on one side, face still creased with pillow lines.
Ken grunted in response. Crunch. Crunch. Typical.
Josh dragged himself to the kitchen, muttering to himself about how mornings were a social construct and coffee was the only form of love he trusted. As the kettle boiled, he looked around at the still-slightly-clean apartment and smiled, proud of yesterday’s progress. Proud of them.
Maybe things were fine.
He poured the coffee, added a little too much creamer—Ken’s influence—and walked over to flop onto the couch beside him.
“What are you watching?” he asked, already leaning into Ken’s space.
“Nothing.”
Josh peeked. “That’s a rehearsal clip.”
Ken didn’t argue. Just adjusted the brightness like it would make the screen less suspicious.
Josh watched for a few seconds. The video wasn’t new, it was from one of their group’s last rehearsals before everything started slowing down. Ken looked… focused. Better than Josh remembered. His lines were sharper. His moves were confident, smooth. He looked like he belonged on a bigger stage.
Josh sat back. Tried to keep his voice casual. “You miss it?”
Ken shrugged. “A bit.”
Josh hated that shrug. It always meant more than it looked.
He took a sip of coffee. “We could do something again. Just us, maybe.”
Ken looked at him, one brow raised. “Like a cover?”
“Yeah. Or… I don’t know. Something big. Audition, maybe. Show people we’ve still got it.”
Ken didn’t answer right away.
And Josh, suddenly panicking at the silence, filled it fast. “Not like serious serious. I mean, just for fun. We can record it. Post it. Maybe livestream the practice, people love watching me suffer.”
Ken’s eyes softened just a little. “You always suffer because you don’t warm up.”
Josh gasped. “I warm up emotionally.”
Ken snorted. That sound—God, Josh lived for it.
He grinned, pushing his shoulder lightly against Ken’s. “So? We’re doing it?”
Ken finally nodded. “Sure.”
Relief hit Josh hard and fast. Like maybe, for now, things could stay the same.
So he spent the rest of that morning diving into playlists, dragging Ken into the black hole of YouTube suggestions. He played old choreo videos, some half-forgotten battle clips, even one where Josh’s pants nearly fell mid-spin, he screamed at the memory, Ken quietly wheezed.
They laughed. Ate leftovers. Argued about which K-pop group had the best footwork. Rehearsed a few steps in mismatched socks on their dusty living room floor.
Josh threw his whole body into it, not because he wanted to go viral again, but because he wanted this, Ken beside him, things simple, silly, familiar.
And if he danced a little too hard, cracked a few too many jokes, held onto the idea just a bit too tightly—
Well. He wasn’t ready to be the one left behind.
—
The cleaning vlog had been up for just two hours, and it was already his second most-viewed upload of the month. Josh sat curled up on the beanbag chair, hoodie draped halfway off one shoulder, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, not because he was watching anything, but because snacks were his emotional support while he refreshed the comments section every thirty seconds.
The thumbnail he chose? A freeze-frame of Ken holding a mop like a sword and Josh dramatically lying on the floor, tongue out, like he’d been slain in a mop duel. Captioned: “WE CLEANED OUR APARTMENT AND NEARLY DIED 💀 (domestic chaos alert)”.
He cackled every time he scrolled past it. He scrolled through the live chat replay, snorting as usernames poured in like a flood:
✨babyken_stan: “KEN CUTTING VEGGIES IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE 😭💘”
🌈joshtronaut: “Josh talking to the mop like it’s a mic had me screaming.”
🍜kanekensoba: “the way ken just sighs in silence every time josh starts singing 😭😭😭 true soulmate behavior”
🌻ghostphobic: “u can tell they’ve lived together too long. they’re like old married chaos.”
Josh beamed, teeth and all. “That’s right,” he muttered under his breath. “Old married chaos. Emphasis on chaos.”
He leaned back and rewound a few seconds of the video, Ken walking past the camera, flicking a rag at Josh’s head with the faintest eye-roll. The audience LOVED that part. Said it looked “scripted but too natural to be fake.” Said they should “start a mini-series or a podcast.” Said Ken should show his face more. Said Ken should—
Josh blinked. Paused. More and more of the comments were about Ken. How lowkey funny he was. How attractive. How "mysterious but soft.” Someone even timestamped a clip where Ken silently shook his head while Josh danced with the vacuum. It had over 500 likes.
Josh huffed. “Unbelievable. I’m the clown. He’s the cool one. Classic.”
“Because you are the clown,” came Ken’s voice from the hallway.
Josh jumped. “You’re supposed to walk with footsteps!”
Ken shrugged, a towel around his neck, hair damp from a quick shower. He glanced at Josh’s screen. “You’re watching your own video again?”
“I call it engagement analysis,” Josh replied, tossing popcorn at him. Ken caught it mid-air without looking. Of course.
Ken started heading to his room, but paused halfway. “Nice video,” he said casually. “You cut it together well.”
Josh looked up. “You watched it?”
Ken nodded once. “I liked the part where you said I was the ‘ghost of judgment.’ Accurate.”
Josh grinned, warmth blooming in his chest. “You are the ghost of judgment. I’ve been haunted for years.”
Ken disappeared into his room with a faint snort.
Josh sat in the quiet for a beat longer, letting the last moment settle. But as he turned back to the screen, his smile wavered just a little.
More comments.
🎧neutraltwilight: “Ken’s got main character energy and doesn’t even try???”
🎥solsticebaby: “He should solo vlog. I’d watch hours of Ken doing literally anything lol”
Josh closed the laptop a little harder than necessary. “Main character energy, huh?” he mumbled.
He stared at the screen for a second more, then looked toward Ken’s closed door. He told himself it was fine. They were a duo. A pair. A team.
He just had to remind people. Maybe even remind Ken.
Tomorrow, he’d bring up the audition idea again. Make it big this time. Real. Loud. Them. Because if he kept moving, if they kept moving together, maybe things wouldn’t change.
Not yet.
—
The living room had been transformed into a low-budget dance studio. The coffee table was shoved against the wall, the rug rolled into a corner, and their bluetooth speaker—duct-taped and barely hanging on—blasted the chorus of a song they hadn’t danced to in years.
“Okay, five, six, seven—OW—Josh!”
“I said bend your knees!” Josh yelled, laughing through the pain as Ken glared at him from the floor. He had accidentally collided with a chair leg after a miscalculated spin.
Ken groaned, rubbing his hip. “Your timing is trash.”
“My spirit is committed!”
Ken didn’t respond, just sighed and stood up, shaking out his arms like he was warming up for war. His focus snapped back in, jaw set, eyes narrowed. That shift always got to Josh, how Ken could go from sleepy sloth to deadly dancer in seconds.
They restarted the routine. Josh tried to keep up, matching Ken’s rhythm, his energy, the intensity in every beat drop. But by the fourth run-through, Josh was winded. Ken wasn’t.
“You good?” Ken asked, handing him a water bottle.
“Great,” Josh wheezed. “Just dramatically dying. It’s part of the process.”
Ken didn’t laugh. He looked at Josh a little too long, towel slung over his neck, sweat clinging to his temples.
Josh threw a towel at his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fragile.”
“You’re stubborn.”
Josh shrugged, flopping onto the floor. “Yeah, well. I want us to nail this. Like before.”
Ken looked down at him, unreadable.
“Back then,” Josh added, “we were on fire. We made people look.”
“You still do,” Ken murmured.
Josh blinked. “What?”
Ken turned away too quickly. “Nothing.”
Josh sat there for a moment longer, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with dancing.
Later that night, Josh didn’t mean to spy. He had just gotten up for water. But as he passed by the hallway, he caught the faint sound of music, muted, steady beats coming from Ken’s room. His door was cracked slightly open. Josh paused.
Inside, Ken was rehearsing. Alone. And he was flawless.
Josh stayed in the shadows, heart suddenly caught in his throat. Ken’s movements were smooth, sharp, mesmerizing. Not just someone practicing. Someone meant to be doing this. Someone made for the stage.
He didn’t laugh like they usually did when Josh was around. Didn’t play up for the camera. He was in his world—calm, serious, beautiful. Josh felt something twist in his chest.
This was what others saw in Ken. The main character energy. The grace. The control. The kind of star quality Josh always pretended he had, just louder, messier, funnier.
And then it hit him. It wasn’t just jealousy. Not just fear.
It was that Ken could leave and he might not come back. Because Ken was outgrowing this apartment, this version of their life. Of them.
And Josh didn’t know how to function without him. Not just because Ken was his partner. Not because they danced in sync. But because…
“I’m in love with you,” Josh whispered to no one. Not even to himself, really.
He stayed there, quiet, watching Ken finish the routine with a final sharp turn. It was beautiful.
Painfully so.
Josh stepped away from the doorway, heartbeat thudding in his ears.
If Ken was a storm moving forward, then Josh had to figure out whether he could keep up or finally admit he was standing still, hoping Ken wouldn’t notice how much he mattered.
—
It was almost midnight when Josh finally turned off the lights in the living room. The only glow came from the aquarium screensaver on their TV and the soft blinking of his charging phone. Ken had gone to bed nearly an hour ago after their brief cool-down stretch. Said he was tired. Said he had early plans with some of their old groupmates.
Josh had nodded, smiled even. Said, “Okay, cool. I’ll just edit the vlog.”
He hadn’t touched it since Ken closed his door.
Now, he sat on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest, hoodie sleeves halfway covering his hands. The room felt… too big. The silence, too loud.
He stared at the empty space where Ken had stood earlier. Right where he’d done that final spin in the hallway, eyes focused on nothing and everything.
Josh ran a hand through his hair, restless.
He used to think this apartment was too small for two grown men. They used to joke about bumping into each other in the kitchen like it was a sitcom, always clashing elbows, knocking over spice jars, tripping over laundry. It used to be loud. Always full.
But lately, it felt like Ken was taking up less space. Quietly pulling himself inward. Or maybe… Josh was just afraid to admit he noticed.
He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
Their college days flashed in his mind, cutting classes to rehearse, staying up until 3 a.m. watching dance covers, convincing Ken to dye his hair once (it turned out green), eating cup noodles by the window, dreaming about making it.
And then… failing. Dropping out. Getting scolded by both sets of parents like they were kids again.
Ken hadn’t yelled. He never did.
He had just looked at Josh, disappointed in the way that hurt more than any screaming could. Said, “We could’ve done this better. You dragged me into this.”
Josh had laughed it off at the time. Pretended it was fine. That they’d figure it out.
But sometimes, when Ken got quiet like this—when he spent more time on his own, when he smiled a little less, when he danced alone, Josh wondered if Ken had finally outgrown him.
And maybe that was fair.
Josh was loud. Clingy. Careless with time, reckless with chances. All he ever really had was energy and charm—and both were fading now that Ken was starting to shine.
A lump sat heavy in his throat. It wasn’t just about dancing. It wasn’t even just about being left behind.
It was that everything in his life, every memory, every stupid inside joke, every version of his future, had Ken in it.
And now, Josh didn’t know how to rewrite any of that. He pressed his knuckles into his eyes, hard.
He wanted to go to Ken’s room. Knock. Say something. Anything. But what would he even say?
"Hey. Can you slow down? Just until I figure out how to breathe without you."
No. He couldn’t say that.
So instead, he stayed on the couch, watching fake fish swim in slow, lazy circles across the TV screen. Wondering how long it would take for the apartment to feel empty.
Or worse, how long it had already been.