THE OTHER KIND OF EX

Mason Carter knew three things about his roommate.

Adrian Bennett made excellent pasta, owned approximately seventeen identical black shirts, and considered Mason's ability to survive on coffee and frozen burritos a personal insult.

What Mason apparently did not know was that Adrian dated men.

He learned this on a Saturday night, with a half-finished video project open on his laptop and a slice of apple lodged between his teeth.

"My ex-boyfriend is getting married tomorrow," Adrian said from the kitchen. "Come with me."

Mason stopped chewing.

He rewound the sentence in his head. It sounded exactly the same the second time.

"Your ex-what?"

Adrian emerged carrying a plate of neatly arranged apple slices. His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, his thin-framed glasses sitting low on his nose. He looked irritatingly composed for a man who had just detonated a bomb in their living room.

"Boyfriend," he repeated. "Is your audio equipment broken?"

"You're gay?"

"Congratulations. Your detective skills are improving."

"We've lived together for two years."

"I know. I was here."

"You never told me."

Adrian considered him. "I assumed you knew. You met Daniel once."

Mason remembered a handsome man in a gray coat who had stopped by to return a book eighteen months ago. Mason had been wearing a novelty dinosaur hoodie and had asked Daniel whether he wanted leftover pizza. Daniel had looked at Adrian with an expression Mason hadn't understood.

"I thought he was your old college friend."

"He was. And then he was my boyfriend. And then he wasn't. There, you're all caught up."

Mason sank back into the couch. His pulse had taken an absurd little jump. Adrian sat beside him, close enough that Mason caught the familiar clean smell of his soap.

He had shared a bathroom with this man, borrowed his sweaters, fallen asleep against his shoulder during movies, and once asked him to check a suspicious mole on the back of his neck. Suddenly those memories lined up in his head like evidence in a trial nobody had told him was happening.

He shifted several inches away.

Adrian saw it. Mason knew he saw it because the plate in his hand stopped moving.

"Relax," Adrian said, too lightly. "Being gay isn't contagious."

"That's not what I—"

"Apple?"

"I'm good."

Adrian put the plate down. His expression stayed pleasant, but his mouth tightened around the corners.

Mason felt immediately awful.

"Wait. No. I want an apple." He took two slices and ate them so quickly he nearly choked. "Look. Huge fan of apples. Always have been."

"A stirring endorsement."

"Adrian."

Adrian turned his gaze toward him.

Mason rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm surprised, okay? Not disgusted. I just realized I'm apparently less observant than a houseplant."

The tightness in Adrian's mouth eased a fraction.

"That's something we've both known for years."

"And I don't care who you date. I mean, obviously I care if the guy's terrible. I'll throw hands. Emotionally. From a safe distance."

Adrian laughed once, involuntarily.

Mason seized his chance. "Seriously. You're still you. The man who thinks fruit is a food group and who alphabetizes spices like a serial killer."

"Spices should be organized."

"See? Terrifying. Completely unchanged."

Adrian looked down at the apple plate. For a second, Mason thought he might say something honest. Instead, he nudged the plate closer.

"Then come to the wedding with me."

"To support you? Sure."

"As my boyfriend."

Mason swallowed an apple slice whole.

"Your fake boyfriend," Adrian added, patting his back with the mild concern of a man tending a choking goldfish.

"Why?"

"Because Daniel invited me and I don't want to show up alone. Because everyone there remembers us together. Because his fiance is nice, and I refuse to make their wedding about my miserable love life."

That sounded reasonable. Too reasonable, in fact, for the way Adrian was studying the floor.

"Did he break your heart?" Mason asked.

Adrian looked up sharply. "It was a long time ago."

"That wasn't an answer."

"No," Adrian said. "It wasn't."

Mason glanced at the plates on their coffee table, at the laundry Adrian had folded into separate stacks, at the television remote Adrian always put on Mason's side because Mason lost it otherwise. Their apartment was a quiet little machine Adrian kept running even when Mason forgot to notice.

"Okay," Mason said. "I'll be your boyfriend for a day."

Adrian's eyes flickered. "You don't have to."

"I'm aware. I'm volunteering. Very heroic of me. You can thank me with garlic bread."

"You'll need a suit."

"I own a suit."

"You own a jacket that looks like it lost a custody battle with a laundry basket."

"Cruel. Accurate, but cruel."

Adrian smiled. This time it reached his eyes.

"Be ready at nine," he said. "And wash your face before bed."

"You sound like my wife."

Adrian stood, gathering the empty plates.

"Then where's my wedding ring?"

Mason threw a couch cushion at him. Adrian caught it without looking.

At two in the morning, when Mason finally shut down his computer, he found a folded blanket draped over his chair and a glass of water beside his keyboard.

He stared at them longer than he needed to.