The TV is buzzing in the background while Edwin cleans up the remains of dinner. He never used to put the TV on during dinner, but it mutes the silence when he's alone. He doesn't really listen because he still eats his meals in the kitchen, but he enjoys the rise and fall of voices, fragments of music. It's not so much that he's lonely, but he's still not used to the emptiness of living on his own. On weekends, he will often sleep over at Vincent's or the other way around and he likes that. It's too fast to move in together, but he's enjoying the relationship, the fact that there's this other person who enjoys his company, who enjoys his silences as much as his words. On days when they don't see each other, they will often still call and Edwin enjoys those calls. In fact, Edwin is expecting Vincent to call any moment.

He washes his hands and picks up his sax case but reconsiders. If he practises now, he might miss the ring tone of his phone. He should wait until after Vincent's call, or play another day, when he's not waiting for a call. He turns down the volume of the TV even more and grabs his book. He reads through an entire chapter and then another one, but Vincent doesn't call. Edwin checks his phone, but there's no text either. Sometimes Vincent has plans and can't call, and sometimes he wants quiet and doesn't want to call, but he always texts Edwin.

Maybe he should call Vincent. Usually, Vincent calls him because Vincent's schedule is occasionally chaotic and he called Vincent one too many times while he was showering or at a meeting or at a bar. Edwin's workout routine and trainings and basketball games and rehearsals and meetings with friends are regular as clockwork.

Edwin reads another chapter, but it's nearing 8:30 pm and he doesn't want to wait much longer. He unlocks his phone and presses the call button. The phone goes over for so long that Edwin fully expects Vincent not to pick up, until he hears: "Edwin? Why are you calling?" Vincent's voice sounds impatient, as if Edwin's call is an annoyance he needs to deal with.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to call. It's late. Did you have plans?"

"You weren't sure if I was going to call," Vincent deadpans. "Because I'm, what, an hour later than usual? Do I owe you a daily call at half past seven, is that it? So you can keep track of me and my plans?"

"No, I just thought ... Did you have a long day? I thought we could go out maybe, but we can keep it short if you're tired."

"I'm fine. Do I need to have plans now just because I'm not spending time with you? You're way too obsessed with what I'm doing tonight. Trying to catch me cheating, darling?"

"No! I was really just calling. As usual." Edwin's head hurts trying to follow Vincent's logic. They always call — why would Edwin have hidden intentions now? Did an ex accuse Vincent of cheating? Sure, he's flirty and often busy and not all that serious about Edwin, but he wouldn't cheat. Edwin's chest feels tight and his thoughts are tumbling over one another.

"And I told you I'm fine. You worry too much. I can take care of myself."

"I know. I was just ... Is it so bad that I worry? You always call or text."

"So now you always need to know what I'm doing and why I'm not talking to you right this moment. I see how it is, girl. Maybe I'm just leading my own life, have you thought about that? We're not attached at the hip. I don't know what you did with Ellen, but I'm not going to turn into one of those straight couples who turn up together everywhere and don't have an identity of their own."

Frustration wells up in Edwin's chest. "You're not understanding anything I'm saying." So what if he and Ellen often went places together? So what if the divorce proved their friends were more Ellen's friends, and his sports friends were little more than homophobic acquaintances?

"So tell me how it is, darling. Because to me, it sounded like you're looking for something to be wrong, so you can help me and feel good about yourself. Why are you acting like a parent who needs to know where I am and who I'm with? Because I'm not into Daddy kink and neither are you. Or have you been keeping secrets from me?"

"No, I — Why are you being so defensive? I just asked if you had a long day."

"I'm defensive now. Of course. Pray tell, do you think I'm too emotional?"

Right now? Edwin thinks, but he won't say that. He breathes out slowly and resettles on the couch. He can be the one who doesn't take everything to heart, for once. "I take it you don't want to go out today and you want to be alone."

"Genius, darling."

Edwin sighs. "I don't know what's up with you today. Will you call me tomorrow?"

"I will. Wouldn't want you to think I've had a breakdown because someone was unkind to me."

"That's not what I thought," Edwin protests, but without real power. Vincent doesn't seem in a mood where he'll believe anything Edwin says is genuine. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks, darling. Take care."

Vincent ends the phone call before Edwin can reply, and he lowers his hand. What was that? Vincent was accusing him of things he hadn't said at all, as if he wanted a fight. He kept insisting he was fine, but if he was truly fine, they would just have talked. He sounded tense, too. Angry or sad but trying to push it down. Why didn't he just ask for space? Edwin would have given him space and quiet.

He should give Vincent space and quiet now, but he doesn't want him to keep stewing in his distress. What if it's something like the time the pipe in his bathroom broke? He could just go over to check and if Vincent truly doesn't want him there, he can go back home. But now he's actually worrying, so he doesn't want to do nothing. If there's anything Vincent said in that train wreck of a conversation — even if not with words — it's that he's not fine and it's bad enough that he didn't simply ... decline the call.

It's past 9 by the time Edwin arrives at Vincent's apartment. He had to take the car so he doesn't risk missing the last bus back, but cars in central Antwerp are often more a hindrance than a help, even if he chose the nearest public parking garage. He rings the doorbell and puts his hands in his pockets, taking them out again after only a few seconds. It's always possible that Vincent will see it's him and leave him out on the street. He did ask to be left alone, but he was so forceful about it that Edwin's not sure if it was a genuine desire or if he just didn't want Edwin to ask why.

"Who's there?" Vincent asks through the intercom. He sounds worn and tired now.

"It's me. Edwin."

"Edwin? Wait there."

Within a minute, the door clicks open and Vincent stands in the hallway on his socks. "What are you doing here?" There is a crease in his forehead and his mouth is drawn and tight.

"You didn't sound okay on the phone. I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I was worried. I'm not trying to control your life."

Vincent stares at him for a long time and then deflates. "You might as well come inside, darling. I'm cold."

Edwin debates if he should take off his coat because Vincent could send him off in a few minutes, but Vincent walks straight to the couch without looking behind him, so he doesn't seem to care. They don't speak until both of them sit on the couch. Vincent leans his head back and peers up at the ceiling.

"Are you tired?" Edwin asks. "I can go if you really don't want me here."

"I'm not good company. Point in case: our phone call."

"That doesn't matter." Edwin considers how he can say this. Ellen was always very upfront with her emotions, but it never came naturally to him. Somehow, Vincent is even worse than him, so it is up to Edwin here. "We're in a relationship," he says. "Even if you're having a bad day."

"I'm having a bad day," Vincent repeats back. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

Vincent turns towards him. "Okay? You came all the way over here and you don't want to know why I was a bitch on the phone?"

"I want to do what you need."

"You should go out. Leave me alone for a bit. But you can come back. I don't want you to need to take a bus back."

"I drove. I can go home whenever you want."

Vincent huffs. "You don't make it easy for me, do you, darling? I don't want you to go home. Go out, have fun. You can sleep here."

"Okay," Edwin says, relieved. He hesitates a little, but he leans over with his hand on Vincent's thigh to give him a short kiss. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Take the key." Vincent waves a vague hand at the kitchen and when Edwin passes him on his way out, his eyes are closed.

Edwin isn't sure where he can spend a few hours on a weeknight, but he decides to go to Bonaparte. It's the place he knows best, with the most chance that he'll see someone he knows. He's in luck, because it turns out Eliane and Rosalie are there, and after a few minutes, he spots Roos too. It's quiet, even if the music is still loud, and nobody's doing karaoke.

"Did you come alone?" Eliane asks.

"Yeah. I hadn't planned to come, to be honest." Edwin pauses for a second before he adds: "Vincent needed to be alone."

"Oh, did he have a bad day?" Rosalie inquires.

"I think so. He didn't tell me what happened. We called and he got angry at everything I said and he looked very tired just now."

"Better to give him some space if he's angry," Eliane agrees.

"I don't know if he's angry. It was weird."

"Vincent can be like that," Roos comments. "He likes to hold people at a distance." She sends Edwin a reassuring smile.

"I don't know what to do about it. I'm his partner. I should be able to help him."

Eliane tuts. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. But if you offer, maybe he'll realise that's what he needs."

They spend another hour talking about books and movies and Edwin feels lighter when he wanders back to Vincent's apartment. It's nice to have friends who can give him advice. When he enters, it's so quiet he thinks Vincent must have fallen asleep. There's still light in the living room, however, so he might need to wake Vincent up. He shouldn't sleep on the couch all night.

"Darling? Are you back?" Still awake, then.

"Yeah. Did you fall asleep?"

"Not really. Though I should have changed posture at some point." Vincent groans and stretches. A crease from the couch has left a line in his face, and his shirt is rumpled.

"Do you want a massage? We can just go to bed, too."

"That'd be very nice, honey. Massage in bed? I might fall asleep."

They get ready for bed in silence and Edwin borrows pyjamas from Vincent. Like everything Vincent wears, it's an elegant and feminine cut, but it's very soft and comfortable, a caress on Edwin's skin. Vincent lies down on his stomach with his arms around his pillow and Edwin considers how he should go about this. He's given Vincent a massage before, but that was in a more sexual context. This is just a casual, amateur massage to help Vincent relax, to do something nice for him after his bad day.

He ends up sitting down next to Vincent's hips and smoothing hands down his back, more caressing than anything else. He gradually adds some pressure and pushes with his thumbs between Vincent's shoulder blades. Vincent sighs and relaxes.

"My ex never could leave me alone." Edwin's hands freeze for a second, but then he moves on without a word. "He always wanted me to go out with him. Do stuff together. He always thought something was wrong if I was quiet or wanted to do something on my own, even if we would still be sitting in the same room. It drove me crazy."

Edwin hums in acknowledgement. "I think people expect you to always be the same, that you're always loud and active and flirty."

"Are you going to analyse me now, darling? Because I think I'll pass."

Edwin chuckles. "I won't."

He continues the massage in silence until Vincent speaks up again: "Sorry for what I said on the phone, pumpkin."

"It's okay."

"Don't say that. I haven't even told you anything."

"I don't want to push."

"Of course you don't. You always let me push you. Until you've talked to Ellen and then you ask for an apology." Edwin has no rebuttal for that. He focuses on the movements of his hands and slides one hand over the warm patch of skin under Vincent's loose pyjama top. "You can push sometimes. I know you'll stop when I ask."

"I want you to be comfortable."

"You're proving my point, darling." He takes a breath and abruptly declares: "Today was shit. Just everything." Edwin keeps his hands moving and waits if Vincent will say more. Vincent stays silent for several minutes. "You have work tomorrow. You should get some sleep, sweetheart."

Edwin bites down on his disappointment and agrees, crawling under the blanket. Vincent tucks up close against his back, an arm around Edwin's waist. His breath tickles the hairs in Edwin's neck. "It was just clients being difficult, mostly. Small things going wrong." Another abrupt inhale. "I got a call from my parents after work. Because I didn't call. They want me to visit. Asked questions, the usual judgement about what I do with my life. You know how it is, darling." Edwin squeezes Vincent's hand on his stomach. Vincent relaxes against his back and Edwin thinks this must be it. He's slipping off to sleep when Vincent mumbles, his voice raw and breaking: "Kim is ill. Could be just the flu, but they're immunocompromised. I don't want them to go in and out of the hospital again. Anna wouldn't —" He breaks off the sentence.

"Can you visit?" Edwin whispers.

"No. Anna's staying with her grandparents. Husband's working from home so he can take care of them."

"Can you call Kim?"

"They called me today to tell me."

"Oh. Is it bad?"

"It's probably nothing. I'm being stupid."

"It's okay," Edwin says, for lack of anything better. He wishes he was better at this part, at finding the right words. Vincent is silent again, but his breath still comes quick and his grip is tight. "I'll make you a nice breakfast tomorrow," Edwin says.

That gets a laugh out of Vincent. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're too kind to me. I never even thanked you for the optometrist appointment and you keep doing things for me."

"Did you get your glasses?"

"Yeah. They even help, if you can believe it, darling."

Edwin smiles. "That's good. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."