1 Chapter 1

Quincy Dean read the reply on his screen and chuckled. William—‘everyone calls me Will’—had sent him a sleepy sticker. Standing, he peeked through his window, across the U-shaped yard between their apartment buildings, and saw the lights go off, one after another, in Will’s apartment.

Will had moved in back in February. Quincy had put on a thick winter jacket and made himself a cup of coffee to have on his tiny balcony while he watched him carry stuff. He would’ve walked over there to offer a helping hand had it not been for him waiting for a call from his boss.

There had been no friends helping Will, most of the stuff he’d carried up the three flights of stairs himself, and he’d had a sofa and a bed delivered from IKEA. Quincy had watched that too.

IKEA didn’t strike him as a place where Will would shop, too cheap, so Quincy had decided it must’ve been a bad breakup that made Will move here. No one moved to these worn apartments on the outskirts of Whiteport unless they had to get hold of something in a hurry, and if you didn’t have a bed, IKEA was a quick solution.

Quincy had lived here for four years, and to say he thrived might be wrong, but it was doable. The rent was low, and Mrs. Hernandez, who lived next to him, was quiet and never complained. Since there only were three stories, he didn’t have anyone living above him.

But a guy like William Johnson wouldn’t want to live here forever. Dandelion Road in Whiteport was a quick stop. The shiny black BMW, the immaculate suits, the styled hair, the way Will walked as if he owned the world…Quincy was aware of spending a little too much time watching his hot neighbor, but he wanted to go with Will when he left.

A life with a man like William Johnson would make Quincy happy, he was sure of it. He could see them both sitting in fancy restaurants, wearing dashing suits—Quincy would have to cut his wild hair, and for Will, he would.

Restaurants weren’t an option now, but, at some point, the pandemic would be conquered, and life would go back to normal again.

The first weeks after Will had moved in, Quincy hadn’t seen much of him, but then the pandemic hit, and Quincy’s life went from good to great! Now, Will was home every day, and Quincy watched him through the windows every dayand had been doing so for over three months.

As the last light went out in Will’s apartment, Quincy typed, wishing him a good night, and shut off the laptop before going to brush his teeth. As his phone vibrated in his pocket, he frowned at his reflection and spat out the minty foam in the sink.

Ty’s name flashed on the screen, and Quincy hit reply with a sigh.

“Hi, Ty.”

“Quinny!”

Quincy winced. “Are you drunk?” There was music in the background, though not too loud.

“Nah, had a couple of beers. I’m so fucking bored, I could die.”

Quincy rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Do you think it would be so bad to break the six-feet-apart rule just once?”

Quincy took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it depends, but if everyone breaks the six-feet-apart rule just once, there will be a lot of breaks. And people are idiots, if they break it once, they’ll break it again.”

“Yes, but I’m horny. Aren’t you horny?”

Quincy looked across the yard to Will’s now dark apartment. “Yeah, I’m horny.”

“So you want to hook up?”

Quincy spluttered. “What? No!” Ty and he had never hooked up, would never hook up. Quincy loved him like you loved an annoying little brother—meaning he most often wanted to strangle him.

“Oh, come on, would it be so bad? We’d get off, and we know each other so it’s not like we’re endangering strangers.”

“Ty.”

“I know…I’m bored…And horny.” The sigh was deep, and Quincy suspected he’d had more than a couple of beers.

“You should do what I do and find someone online to talk to.” Quincy looked across the yard. The kitchen light had come back on. He hurried over to the laptop and opened it again.

Will wasn’t online.

Maybe he needed a glass of water.

“You’re still talking to the stranger?” Ty yawned.

“He’s not a stranger! He’s my neighbor and future boyfriend.”

Ty groaned. “Dude, you don’t know if it’s him you’re talking to.”

Quincy huffed. “Of course, it is. Everything he says fits, and—”

“Have you seen a picture?”

“No, he doesn’t have any pictures of himself on his profile, but it’s him. I went over there to read the name on his apartment door, and it’s him.”

“Quinny—”

“Stop calling me that! It’s not my fault I got a weird name, don’t make it worse by turning it into a girl name.”

“Nothing wrong with girls.”

“What in that sentence gave you the impression I think there is something wrong with girls?”

“Hey, now, calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“Sweetheart—” Quincy removed the phone from his ear, glared at it for several seconds before holding it to his ear again. “—doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“It ishim. He just wrote he was tired and was going to bed, and seconds later, the lights went off in the apartment. And when I went to read the name on his apartment door—”

“Please don’t tell me you went there.”

“We’re allowed to go outside! I wasn’t licking anyone, I was going for a walk.”

“Up the stairs in the apartment building across from yours?”

Quincy growled. “He spells his name exactly the same, he moved to Whiteport in February, he doesn’t know anyone here, and he’s home all day because the job he was supposed to start didn’t pan out with the pandemic and all—it all fits!”

“How many ways can you spell William Johnson?”

Quincy snorted in reply.