A Friday Night, A Whisper, A Ruin
It was just another Friday night. The air was unusually smooth for autumn—no clouds, no wind, just a clear sky stretching into the deep universe. One of my best friends, Coby, and I were heading to keep company with my neighbor, who was babysitting his little cousin.
“The weather’s perfect for going out, Coby,” I said, hoping he’d change his mind and suggest we go somewhere else. Surely the neighbor would understand. But Coby just smiled and said, “I know, but we promised him.” So we kept walking.
It turned out fine. At the neighbor’s place, we sat on the balcony—his cousin already asleep. The night was crisp but gentle. We played Texas Hold’em, sipped wine, and let the silence between cards stretch like velvet.
At one point, the neighbor went to check on the kid. Coby spread his hand and revealed his cards.
“Fuck, Coby, you cheat—even when we’re not playing for money,” I laughed.
“Just a bit,” he grinned.
We kept playing, drinking, and smiling. As the air grew colder, I asked if we could move inside. They agreed. We gathered the cards and glasses and headed in—first the neighbor, then me, with Coby trailing behind.
“Wait,” Coby said. I stopped.
“You’re cold, huh?” he whispered, his wine-stained smile close to my ear. I felt him press against me, his groin nudging playfully.
“Oh yes,” I murmured, leaning into the moment.
Inside, we sat at the table and resumed the game. But now I was warm—partly from the wine, mostly from Coby’s gaze, which lingered on me like a flame.
Eventually, the neighbor left to fetch another bottle. Coby didn’t wait.
“I’m bored,” he said, sliding his foot between my thighs. I tilted my head back, feeling my blood rush toward his touch.
“You want some action tonight, or not?” he asked.
“I want,” I whispered.
“Then let’s finish this wine and go.”
The neighbor returned. We played a few more rounds. Coby drank fast, his leg brushing mine under the table. When offered another bottle, he declined.
“No, it’s getting late—and we’re already drunk.”
We said goodbye and stepped into the night.
“So where do you want to go?” Coby asked.
“Just promise me,” I said, “if we do something, it won’t change our friendship.”
“If we don’t,” he replied, “that’s what will ruin it.”
We laughed and wandered into an abandoned house nearby. It was nearly in ruins, but that didn’t stop us. For an hour, we explored every creaky, squelchy corner. First, he opened his universe to me. Then I opened mine to him.
Now, whenever I pass that part of the street—even though there’s a new house there—I still smell the wine, the old wood, and the memory of our bodies.
