Chris was the one driving. 

 Besides knowing the way, he also claimed he hadn’t drunk anything at the party. When they arrived, there had only been wine, and Chris didn’t particularly like wine. All he had wanted was a beer and somehow even that had been ruined for him.

 Hence the suggestion to go somewhere, sit down, and actually drink some.

 Carlos sat in the passenger seat and immediately launched into a heated discussion with Bruno, who was sitting behind the beige passenger seat of the Toyota Camry, about a couple of guys from the company who worked in Line Maintenance.

 José looked out the window instead, watching the city lights slip past them at speed.

 He wondered how the years had gone by so quickly. How lucky he had been at times and how unlucky at others. He thought about how fortunate he was to have a good woman beside him, and how difficult that seemed to be these days, in times like these.

 And he thought about how a life could change in a single moment.

 Chris lowered the music and put on Sweater Weather by James Harris, in a strange, slower version.

 White lights rushed past the window. José rested the edge of his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

 Everything was moving fast forward. Always forward.

 Unfortunately, there was no going back.

 But things could move slower.

 Like this song reaching his ears. It was happening now—but stretched out, softened.

 José opened his eyes and sighed. He wondered when they would arrive. A faint wave of nausea crept up on him.

 About half an hour later, because it was midnight, otherwise it would have taken another thirty minutes, according to Chris, they parked on a dim, sloping road.

 Two white streetlamps lit the incline where they had stopped. Farther down, near an intersection, stood a small night shop. Beyond it, houses appeared here and there, all dark and silent. Most people were either asleep or simply not home.

 José breathed in deeply. Fresh air moved across the hill.

 They had parked beside a low stone wall. Below it were several trees, and between their branches you could glimpse a patch of earth—maybe sand, José couldn’t quite tell—and the water beyond.

 “It’s a river,” Chris said, opening his beer can and taking a long gulp. “Ah. I really needed that. But it will be only one for today.”

 “I want the four beers José owes me. And you are drinking 0% alcohol beer. Don't act like you needed one” Bruno said, pulling a black beanie over his head.

 José shook his head with a faint smile before taking a sip from his own can.

 “What the hell is this? They didn’t even have bottles,” Carlos complained, shaking his empty can.

 “It’s a tiny shop in the middle of nowhere. What did you expect?” Chris replied.

 For a few minutes, no one spoke.

 They simply looked out and drifted into their own thoughts.

 The faint sounds of wind and water and the view below calmed them. At least it calmed José. Leaves rustled softly in the dark, and scattered lights reflected far away on the surface of the water.

 If someone happened to drive up that hill and take that road somewhere, they would see four grown men sitting in a row like little soldiers, one beside the other, their legs hanging dangerously over the other side of the wall.

 Any reasonable person would probably tell them to turn around and face the road. That they might fall.

 But that wasn’t what mattered.

 The silence. The beer. A few scattered words. The warmth of another body beside you while you stared out at the view.

 That was all the mind could hold right now.

 “Damn it. I think I’m going to get depressed if nobody says anything and we just stare into the void like this,” Bruno finally said.

 “After all that noise back there, I personally needed this,” José replied, taking the last sip of his beer. When had he finished it?

 Chris suddenly swung his legs back toward the road and jumped down. “I’m going to get more beers.”

 “There weren’t many options. And they didn’t even have bottles. Or a bag,” Carlos complained.

 Then he turned, placed his can on the ground, stood up, and crushed it under his foot.

 The sound was deafening in the quiet.

 Not a single car had passed since they arrived.

 “I’ll come with you,” Bruno said, standing up as well. “You don’t have that many hands. Let’s grab more, and something decent.”

 “Go screw yourself,” Carlos said.

 Bruno grinned and walked off with Chris, who was already several meters ahead.

 José sighed.

 He looked at the empty can in his hand, turning it idly between his fingers.

 “Don’t take it personally.”

 Carlos turned and looked at the dark-haired man sitting two places away. In the dim light from the streetlamps, José’s hair, eyebrows, and eyes all looked black.

 “What do you mean?”

 “I mean,” José said, shifting slightly and groaning under his breath. His legs were longer than the others’, so hanging them over the wall took more effort, “don’t take what Bruno said earlier personally. He’s been drinking.”

 Carlos frowned. “I didn’t take it personally.”

 “You did.”

 “I didn’t.”

 José raised his eyebrows, wrinkles forming on his forehead. “You did,” he insisted, still looking down at the empty can.

 Carlos turned more toward him.

 “I didn’t.”

 “In general,” José said calmly, “you shouldn’t take so many things personally.”

 “Who told you I take everything personally?”

 José shook his head lightly.

 He didn’t want to argue. Fighting with people had never been his thing. He preferred distance. Calm. It was simply how he saw things. But when someone insisted, José always reacted the same way: he treated them like a small child. With babies, with old people—and with the mad and the drunk—you simply say yes.

 “Why are you shaking your head?” Carlos asked.

 “Nothing. Really. You’re right.”

 “Are you mocking me?”

 José smiled faintly and finally looked at him.

 “Why would I mock you, Carlos?”

 Carlos’s eyes widened for a moment before returning to normal. José wondered if he had said something wrong again.

 Carlos was like a white flag. Not green, not red, like the labels people liked to use these days, but white, wavering somewhere between the two.

 You never knew whether he would suddenly say sorry, I’m a dickhead or accuse you of treating him badly because you didn’t like him.

 A soft laugh reached José’s ears.

 Carlos laughed lightly.

 “Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed, slapping his palms against the wall beside him. Then he looked up at the sky.

 Tonight—one of the rare nights in Belgium—the sky wasn’t buried under clouds. It was clear.

 His gaze wandered among the stars above, but his eyes were unfocused, drifting. His pupils had widened.

 “I feel a little horny.”

 José raised his eyebrows.

 “Excuse me?”

 Carlos took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling.

 José shook his head and ignored him, turning to look toward the small shop down the road. What was taking the others so long to bring a few beers?

 Chrts… chrts.

 José suddenly felt something warm press against his leg, and then his arm.

 He turned.

 Carlos had moved from two seats away and was now pressed against him.

 José clicked his tongue softly and shifted farther to the right.

 Carlos followed and pressed against him again.

 José leaned away and looked down at the shorter man beside him.

 “Can you stop acting like a child? You’re drunk. Fine. I forgive you.”

 Carlos grinned.

 “Careful what you say,” he replied. “I might take it personally.”

 José sighed and turned his head forward again.

 Why did he have to deal not only with drunk people but children too?

 “José…”

 He turned when he heard his name. It sounded strange coming from Carlos’s mouth. Like most people, Carlos usually called him Fidalgo, not José.

 When José turned, their noses were almost touching.

 He caught the smell of beer—and a man’s cologne.

 A scent he recognized.

 It hit him suddenly, like a memory striking him in the forehead. He had smelled it before in the changing room at work.

 José felt Carlos’s breath brush against his lips.

 His eyes widened.

 He jumped three seats to the right.

 “What exactly are you doing?!” he said, his voice rising slightly.

 Carlos’s eyes widened first.

 Then his expression hardened. His mouth closed. His brows lifted. A hundred emotions crossed his face in seconds.

 He looked shocked.

 And somehow disappointed.

 Then suddenly he smiled again.

 “Nothing!” he said, jumping to his feet and stretching. “I just felt a little horny. I think I should go see my girlfriend.”

 “Hey! Look what we brought you!”

 Carlos looked behind José and almost ran toward the others.

 José turned and saw Chris and Bruno returning with beers and bags of chips piled in their arms. Carlos rushed over to help them before everything fell.

 José still couldn’t get over the shock.

 His heart pounded in his ears.

 His mouth had gone dry. His throat burned.

 What the hell had just happened?