I started to protest, but he held up one massive hand.
"I've watched you two dance around each other since Jake arrived. Hell, probably since the moment you saw each other. You look at him like he's a puzzle you can't solve, and he looks at you like you're the answer to a question he's been afraid to ask."
The ginger ale tasted flat on my tongue. "It's complicated."
"Nah, it's not. You like him. He likes you. Everything else is noise."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand plenty." Hog's expression turned more serious without losing its warmth. "I understand what it's like to think you don't deserve good things. I understand being scared that if you reach for something, it'll disappear."
His words slithered past my defenses.
"You're a good guy, Spreadsheet." Something in Hog's tone made me focus on his words. "Better than you think you are. And you deserve to be happy. Don't look at me like that—it's true."
"Hog—"
"Kid's not perfect. Hell, none of us are. But he's real, and he sees you. Actually sees you, not only the spreadsheets and the color-coded everything." He took a long pull from his beer, then pointed the bottle at me like he was making a crucial point. "Don't miss a good thing just 'cause it doesn't come with a label."
Around the bar, conversations continued—someone arguing about power play statistics and laughter from a group near the dartboard as the next singer made their way to the stage. Life continued around me while my carefully constructed worldview sustained significant structural damage.
I leaned in close to Hog. "What if I screw it up?"
He reached out to grip my bicep. "Then you screw it up. That's what people do. They mess up, they figure it out, and they try again." His smile was kind. "But you can't screw up something you never try."
Before I could respond, Jake appeared at my other side. There was a distinctive flush across his cheekbones.
"Hog, you corrupting my roommate?"
"Only sharing life wisdom. Speaking of which, I should probably head out before I do something that requires an apology tomorrow."
He clapped Jake on the shoulder with enough force to make him stagger slightly, then turned to me with a knowing look.
"Think about what I said, Spreadsheet. Some things are worth the risk."
And then he was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the exit with the careful dignity of someone who knew precisely how drunk he was and was managing it accordingly.
Jake watched him go and then turned to me with raised eyebrows. "What was that about?"
I stared at my ginger ale. "Nothing important."
"Right." Jake's voice was dry, but not unkind. "It bet it was Hog dispensing his famous relationship advice."
Jake said the word relationship without thinking. When he realized what had rolled out of his mouth, he started to say something else but couldn't form the words.
"We should probably head home," I said.
"Probably."
The apartment was dark when we got home. Jake flicked on the kitchen light.
I went straight to the refrigerator, needing the mundane ritual of getting a glass of water after everything that had happened at The Drop. The cold air hit my face as I opened the door, and I focused on the precise arrangement of containers and bottles, each one labeled and organized according to the system I'd perfected over months of living alone.
Behind me, I heard Jake open a beer. It hissed softly as the cap came off. When I turned around with my filtered water pitcher, his beer sat untouched on the counter while he watched me.
"You came tonight," he said quietly. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Coach likes it when the veterans show up." The response was automatic. It was a weak attempt at deflection, and Jake saw right through it.
