The bedroom door creaks open and CJ hears heavy feet in the hall, on the stairs. In the quiet darkness, he listens for the shower—and there it is, the rush of water in the pipes lulling him back to sleep. Then he’s outside the high school again, flipping the board despite the lingering ache in his knee. A half hour later and he’s out. Like a light,Richard would say. CJ doesn’t hear his lover come back upstairs to dress. He doesn’t smell the coffee in Richard’s mug, doesn’t hear the rustle of suits in the closet or the soft rumble of drawers as his lover gets ready for work. He doesn’t feel the bed shift when Richard sits down, or the hand that moves the blanket away from his face, or the lips that press to his forehead in a tender kiss. “Love you,” Richard whispers.