Author's note: This is the beginning of a story I suggested to another writer upon a suggestion they had made themselves. It's up to that other writer to continue this story or decline. I don't know where it might go from here.

Approximate words this chapter: 2,300.

The morning sun was streaming a shaft of sunlight into the window of Dave's bedroom, illuminating the opposite wall and part of his bedsheets. Though the room had been bathed in light for the better part of an hour, Dave startled awake, appropriate to nothing. He shook the sleep out of his eyes and his foggy head and considered the clock on the bedside table: eight-fifty-two. He'd slept later than usual, but it was a Sunday morning and he didn't have anywhere to go, nor any definite plans at the moment. His room was bright: white walls, white vertical blinds, light hardwood floor; markedly different from his dark, woody bedroom at his parents' house out in Lima, Ohio.

He sat upright, threw off his covers, and swung himself around to the edge of the bed, feet landing on the floor. As his newly-awakened mind began to work, he considered the events of the previous evening. They weren't huge events; but they were markedly pleasant, and their recollection brought a smile to his face. He sat for a moment, still smiling, dwelling on the warm memory of the previous evening, before standing upright and approaching his bedroom door.

Beyond the door was the short hallway and the remainder of the two-bedroom apartment which he shared with his best friend and roommate of nearly three years, Thaddeus Scupetti (of course, everybody called him Scoop). Upon Dave's move to Portland two years and nine-and-a-half months before, college freshmen Dave and Scoop were assigned an on-campus dorm room. Unlike a great number of dorm-room arrangements, however, Dave and Scoop became friends almost immediately. Scoop was originally from Eugene, a two-hour drive from his new home; he'd lived in the Pacific Northwest his whole life and was a bottomless and indispensable fund of local knowledge for newcomer Dave. For Dave's part, he was perhaps quieter than Scoop, but he was more grounded and rational. Whereas Scoop might be prone to harmless irresponsibility, it was always Dave that pulled him from the edge of the abyss before it became harmful for him: dragging him back to the dorm when he'd had too much to drink, shutting him up before he made a fool of himself, and making him scarce before Scoop dragged himself (and sometimes Dave as well) into a fight. Scoop was always grateful to Dave the next day, though he might have been cursing him the night prior. On other levels, they were both a natural fit for each other: both young men were athletic and enjoyed informal sports with some of the other guys in their group of friends, both indulged a fierce videogame rivalry which sometimes, during especially intense sessions, degenerated into an actual wrestling match between the two of them (Dave always won: the leaner Scoop was never a match for Dave's more physically-imposing frame), they were regulars at the university's football games, and, if they weren't exactly inseparable, one could always find the other if one was present at campus bars, parties, and rock clubs (Scoop was a scrappy guitar-player and had several friends in local bands, and Dave was developing an affection for the bar-music scene).

After their first semester of dorm-living, Dave and Scoop decided to move into a two-bedroom off-campus apartment. Both had various part-time jobs, sometimes related to the university and sometimes unrelated. Now, solidly in their third year of studies, Dave was actively seeking a summer internship while Scoop was using techniques from his business classes to begin a management company with the frontman of one of the local bands. Despite their more workmanlike focus during the week, the two young men were still likely to cut loose for the weekends.

The previous night had been a little different from the others. Scoop had scoped-out a pretty little Russian girl named Nathalie who wrote poetry, sung for a local band, and had an affection for pop-culture. Her regular hangout was a Doctor-Who-themed bar. Neither Dave nor Scoop had ever been there, but Scoop had designs on the girl and Dave was Scoop's ever-dutiful wingman as he's been many times before. Most of the other times were a mixed-bag of uneventful fun or eventful fun, but the previous Saturday night was pleasant to Dave in a way the others hadn't been. Well, not for a while at least.

Dave, still dressed in the T-shirt and running shorts he'd slept in, was careful to open his bedroom door as quietly as he could. Scoop was rarely up this early on a weekend day, and, though they'd left the bar and returned home at the same time, Scoop was in front of the TV and surfing channels when Dave had retired to his bedroom the previous night. Upon leaving his bedroom this morning, however, to Dave's surprise as he sighted down the hall into the living room, he saw Scoop sitting on the couch in front of the TV wearing the same clothes which he was wearing when they'd returned home the night before. Dave approached less-quietly as he needn't have concerned himself with waking his already-awake roommate.

"Up early today, Scoop?"

Scoop shrugged. "Ah, never made it to my bedroom."

Dave's brow creased. "You feeling okay? You didn't drink that much last night, or at least I thought you didn't."

"Naw, I had a few, but nothing serious."

"You're not bummed-out about that girl are you?"

Scoop chuckled at the suggestion. "Me? Geeze, Dave, I'm well-acquainted with getting shot down by the chicks I'm into. That's nothing new. You should know that by now."

"Just asking." Dave's face displayed a relieved smile as he raised his palms in a joking gesture of defense. "You get any sleep last night?"

"Eh, I nodded a little here and there."

Dave's face puzzled.

After a pause, Scoop raised his eyes to meet Dave's face and said, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

"I wanted to talk last night. That's kinda why I stayed up."

"Well," Dave paused long, "why didn't you say something last night?"

"Because I couldn't last night. Wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Or how I wanted to say it."

"So you stayed out here all night to talk to me right now?"

Scoop dropped his gaze from Dave's eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Dave approached the center of the room and seated himself an overstuffed chair which faced perpendicular to the couch. He waited a moment before speaking. "Are you okay, Scoop?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Scoop paused as well. "You're okay too. I want you to know that's how I feel."

Dave shook his head. "You're losing me, man. I really don't know what you're talking about or where this is going."

Scoop raised his eyes and addressed Dave. "You're my best friend. For almost three years now. Nothing's gonna change that. If you murdered someone, I'd help you get rid of the body."

Dave's eyes bulged as he rolled them and looked away. "Okay, now you're weirding me out."

"Calm down, man," Scoop spoke in a quiet tone. "You're my best friend, and I want you to know that part of that is that anything and everything you do and anything and everything you are: it's all okay by me."

Dave sat quiet for a moment, dropping his gaze from Scoop's face to the space above the coffee table at the center before him. "I don't know where this is going," Dave lied quietly.

"Dave, we've roomed together for just about three years now. I already said that you're my best friend. I know I'm kind-of a crazy guy, and you're always the rational one that keeps me grounded. The rest of our crowd are all varying degrees of those things. I'm maybe not as crazy as Jack and Buke are, but you're definitely the sanest one of the bunch. People have come and gone from our crowd, but you and I have been pretty inseparable for the past couple of years. You've put up with me dragging you to every crazy-ass bar when I get head-over-heels for some chick, and you did it again last night. I just want you to know that I'm totally appreciative about that."

Dave's face lightened to a small, relieved smile. "You don't hafta thank me. Like you said, we're best friends. Friends do that kinda stuff for each other."

Scoop smiled and shook his head. "That's not what I'm getting at. I guess what I'm getting at is, when does it start for you? I mean, I've seen you talk with girls. All kinds of girls. Cute ones, nice ones, drop-dead fucking hot-chicks. Never seems to go beyond friendly conversations and stuff."

Dave's expression became serious, heavy, a weight that pulled his gaze toward the floor.

"I'm not confronting or accusing you of anything because nothing here is wrong." Scoop's tone of voice was firm but not harsh, purposeful but quiet, approachable, comfortable. "I said before, what you do and what you are, all that is okay by me."

Dave's eyes rolled from side-to-side as he blinked a few times quickly but remained silent.

"That guy you were hanging with a couple of months ago," Scoop recalled, "the one who hung out with us a few times?"

"You mean Mark?" Dave spoke, gravelly and quiet, just louder than a whisper.

"Yeah, Mark. You were dating him, right?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Didn't work out." His voice was low, almost defeated-sounding.

"Dave, man, unless you're really busted-up about this Mark guy or something, you don't need to sound so, um, down on yourself," Scoop said, nearly pleading. "You're still my best friend, man. Me knowing that changes nothing. It's not like I busted you for doing something wrong. There's no shame in who you are, Dave."

Dave exhaled, nearly a laugh as his mouth almost smiled. He reached upward to his face, brushing his fingers against the corner of his right eye. The room was silent until Dave spoke again, quiet but jarring against the silence. "Thanks."

"Aw, man," Scoop spoke loudly, almost a whine as he stood and approached Dave who remained seated. "Stand up, Dave?"

Dave slowly stood, a stuttering movement. Scoop reached his arms around Dave, pulling him in. Dave's arms responded in the like as he rested his forehead on Scoop's shoulder.

"How do you think the other guys are gonna take this when they find out?" Dave voiced, thick and breathy.

"I think they're gonna be just fine with it, man," Scoop spoke more loudly this time as he patted Dave more roughly on his shoulders. "And if they do have a problem with it, they can fuck off for all I care."

Dave laughed in response to Scoop's suggestion as the two young men unlocked and seated themselves again, Dave in the chair and Scoop in the edge of the couch, this time physically closer to Dave.

Dave sniffed audibly as he smiled, almost giddily to himself. "So, like, how long have you known?"

Scoop shook his head. "I really don't know, but it all kinda clicked last night. There we were at that crazy bar. It was cool, but it wasn't really my kinda place or your kinda place. Nathalie had blown me off: no shocker there. I was trying for damage-control, talking shop with some of those other music-scene guys at the bar, looking for another gal to talk to when I saw that you'd struck up a conversation with that guy who was sitting next to you, the one with the glasses and the red beard. Seemed like you were having a good time talking to the guy, so I just kept on what I was doing. Next time I looked around, I noticed that you were no longer sitting at the bar, but you and redbeard had migrated to a booth at the far corner of the room, still smiling and kinda laughing. I'd never seen that particular kinda smile on your face before. I guess it was then I just kinda figured it out."

Dave chuckled and smiled again, facing forward toward the coffee table.

"That! That's the smile right there!" Scoop spoke, pointing, playfully accusing.

Dave faced him, a full-on laugh this time accompanied by a blush. Scoop reached out and patted Dave's shoulder.

"I got an important question now," Scoop addressed Dave directly, an almost arrogant expression.

"Oh yeah?" Dave's expression was nearly cocky as well. "What's that?"

"Are you gonna see redbeard again?"

Dave faced downward for a moment, chuckling, before craning his head upward again to face Scoop straight-on.

"His name is John, he's got my number, and we're meeting for coffee this afternoon."

Scoop's face widened into an uncontrollable, toothy grin. "Go, Dave."