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The first thing you notice about the building at 47 Meridian Lane is that the front door opens inward and the mail slot is on the ceiling. The second thing you notice is that no one walks on the floor. They walk on the ceiling. All of them. Even the cat.
Charles Leclerc had been standing in the lobby for seven minutes now, his suitcase floating two inches above the ground because he refused to let go of the handle. He was not floating. He was standing. On the floor. Like a normal person. Except every time he tried to take a step forward, his feet lifted off the ground and he drifted sideways like an untethered balloon.
"This is fine," he said to no one. "This is completely fine."
A man walked past him. On the ceiling. The man wore a blue sweater and carried a coffee cup that was somehow not spilling its contents onto the floor below. The man's hair hung downward toward Charles, which meant it was actually standing up from the man's perspective. Physics was broken. Everything was broken.
"You are new," the man said, stopping mid-step. His voice came from above, which meant Charles had to tilt his head all the way back to see him. The man's face was friendly but confused. "You are supposed to be on the ceiling."
"I am aware," Charles said. "I just moved in. Apartment 4B. I did not know about the ceiling situation."
The man laughed. It was a nice laugh. Warm. "The ceiling situation. That is one way to put it. I am Carlos. Carlos Sainz. I live in 4C. Your neighbor."
"Charles."
"I can tell you are struggling, Charles." Carlos took a step closer, which meant he was now directly above Charles, looking down at him with an expression that was either amusement or concern. Possibly both. "Would you like some help?"
"What kind of help could you possibly offer?"
Carlos reached down. His hand extended toward Charles, palm open. "Grab my hand. I will pull you up."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is less dangerous than staying on the floor. Trust me. At some point the gravity will shift and you will fall through the ceiling into the apartment below. Mrs. Patterson in 3B does not appreciate unexpected visitors."
Charles looked at the offered hand. He looked at his own feet, which were now fully off the ground. He was floating. He was a balloon. A very dignified balloon in a green jacket.
He grabbed Carlos's hand.
The moment their fingers touched, Charles felt himself being pulled upward. Not violently. Gently. Like Carlos was reeling in a kite. His body rotated slowly until his feet found purchase on what had been the ceiling but was now, apparently, the floor. He stood there, upside down from his previous orientation, staring at Carlos who was now at eye level.
"There," Carlos said, still holding Charles's hand. "That is better."
"You can let go now."
"I could. But you might float away again. You do not have your ceiling legs yet."
"My ceiling legs."
"It takes practice. A few days. Maybe a week. Until then, you need someone to keep you grounded. Or ceiling-grounded. However that works."
Charles looked at their joined hands. Carlos's grip was firm but not tight. Comfortable. Like they had done this a hundred times before.
"How long have you lived here?" Charles asked.
"Three years. I moved in right after the magic started. Before that, the building was normal. Then one day, gravity decided to take a vacation. Everyone adapted. Most people left. Those of us who stayed figured it out."
"And you just walk around on the ceiling all day?"
"From your perspective, yes. From mine, I am walking on the floor. Perspective matters, Charles. That is the first lesson of living in the upside-down apartment building."
Charles wanted to argue. He wanted to point out that perspective did not change the fact that furniture was bolted to the ceiling and light fixtures were embedded in the floor. But Carlos was still holding his hand, and the warmth of that contact made arguing seem unnecessary.
"Thank you," Charles said instead.
"You are welcome. Now let me show you how to get to your apartment without falling through the ceiling."
They walked together, Carlos leading the way, their hands still connected. Charles noticed that Carlos did not seem eager to let go. He also noticed that he himself did not mind.
------
The second day was worse.
Charles woke up on his ceiling-bed, which was actually his bed frame bolted to the ceiling with the mattress attached underneath. He had slept well enough, but the moment he opened his eyes, he forgot where he was. He sat up. He fell. He landed on the floor, which was actually the ceiling, and bounced.
"Ow."
He lay there, staring at the furniture above him. His couch was up there. His kitchen table. His television. All of it hanging upside down, waiting for him to figure out how to exist in this world.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Are you awake? This is Carlos. I can hear you falling.
Charles typed back: How can you hear me falling?
Thin walls. Also, you are very loud when you hit the floor. Do you need help getting ready for work?
I do not need help. I am fine.
Another thud as Charles tried to stand and immediately lost his balance.
That sounded like you are not fine, Carlos texted. I am coming over.
Before Charles could protest, there was a knock at his door. Except the door was on the ceiling, so the knock came from above. Charles had to climb onto his overturned couch to reach the handle. When he opened the door, Carlos was standing there, perfectly balanced, holding two coffee cups.
"You brought coffee," Charles said.
"I brought coffee. And myself. I am your personal gravity assistant for today."
"I do not need a personal gravity assistant."
"You definitely do. Drink your coffee. Then we will practice walking."
Charles took the coffee cup. The liquid inside stayed flat, parallel to the ceiling-floor. He drank. It tasted normal. At least coffee was not affected by the magic.
"Okay," Carlos said. "First lesson. You need to stop thinking about up and down. There is no up. There is no down. There is only where you are and where you want to be. Your body knows how to balance. You just have to trust it."
"That is easy for you to say. You have been doing this for three years."
"True. But I also remember my first week. I broke my arm. Twice."
"That is not encouraging."
"It is not meant to be encouraging. It is meant to be honest. Now stand up."
Charles stood. He wobbled. His feet slid across the surface that used to be the ceiling. He grabbed Carlos's arm for support.
"Good," Carlos said. "Now take a step."
"I cannot."
"You can. Just one step. Toward me."
Charles looked at Carlos. Carlos was smiling. Patient. Steady. Like he had all the time in the world to teach a grown man how to walk on a ceiling.
Charles took a step.
He did not fall.
"See?" Carlos said. "You are doing it."
"I am doing it."
"Take another step."
He took another step. Then another. By the time they reached the door, Charles was walking. Not gracefully. Not confidently. But walking.
"You are a natural," Carlos said.
"I am a disaster."
"A natural disaster. That counts."
Charles laughed. He could not help it. Carlos had a way of making everything feel less impossible.
"Thank you," Charles said. "For the coffee. For the help. For everything."
"You are welcome. Now let me walk you to work. You will need someone to grab if you start floating again."
They walked through the hallway, side by side. Carlos kept his hand close to Charles's elbow, ready to catch him if needed. Charles pretended not to notice. He also pretended not to notice that he did not want Carlos to move his hand away.
------
Lando Norris lived in apartment 5A, directly above Carlos's apartment, which meant directly below Carlos's apartment in terms of actual spatial orientation. Lando had been living in the building for two years, ever since he moved to the city for a job he did not particularly like at a company whose name he could never remember. What he remembered was the day he met Carlos.
It had been raining. Or rather, it had been raining upward. Water droplets were rising from the ground to the sky, which meant everyone had to carry umbrellas pointed downward to avoid getting wet. Lando had been standing in the lobby, umbrella inverted, watching the rain fall up, when Carlos walked in.
"You look confused," Carlos had said.
"I am confused. I have been living here for three months and I am still confused."
"It gets easier."
"When?"
Carlos had laughed. "Eventually. Come on. Let me buy you a coffee. The cafe down the street has figured out how to make espresso in reverse gravity. It tastes the same. The experience is different."
They had gone for coffee. Then dinner. Then more coffee. Somewhere along the way, Lando realized that he looked forward to seeing Carlos every day. He looked forward to the way Carlos would reach out and steady him when he lost his balance. He looked forward to the way Carlos said his name, soft and warm, like it mattered.
Now, two years later, Lando was sitting on Carlos's couch-ceiling, watching Carlos pace back and forth while talking about the new neighbor.
"He is very tall," Carlos was saying. "And he has this way of looking at you like he is trying to figure you out. I think he is interesting."
"You think everyone is interesting," Lando said.
"Not everyone. Just most people."
"Including me?"
Carlos stopped pacing. He looked at Lando with an expression that Lando could not quite read. "Especially you."
Lando felt something warm spread through his chest. He tried to ignore it. "So this new neighbor. What is his name?"
"Charles. Charles Leclerc. He moved into 4B."
"And you helped him walk to work?"
"I helped him walk to work. He would have floated away otherwise."
"You are too nice, Carlos."
"I am not nice. I am practical. If Charles floats away, someone has to report it to the building manager. That is paperwork I do not want to fill out."
Lando laughed. "Sure. Practicality. That is definitely the reason."
Carlos sat down next to Lando. Their shoulders touched. Neither of them moved away.
"So," Lando said. "Are you going to help him again tomorrow?"
"Yes. Probably. He needs practice."
"And the day after that?"
"Also yes."
"And the day after that?"
Carlos turned to look at Lando. "Why do you care so much about my schedule?"
"I do not care. I am just curious."
"You are jealous."
"I am not jealous."
"You are definitely jealous. Your face is doing that thing where you pretend not to care but you actually care very much."
"My face does not do things."
"Your face does many things. It is very expressive. Right now it is doing the 'I am jealous but I will never admit it' thing."
Lando shoved Carlos's shoulder. Carlos did not move. He was solid. Grounded. Always.
"I am not jealous," Lando repeated.
"Okay. You are not jealous."
"Stop agreeing with me when you do not believe me."
"Fine. I believe you. You are not jealous. You are simply concerned about my well-being and the amount of time I spend with our new neighbor."
"Exactly."
"Good. Then you will not mind if I invite Charles to have dinner with us tonight."
Lando paused. "Us?"
"You and me. And Charles. Dinner. My apartment. Seven o'clock. Ceiling-time."
"Why would I mind?"
"I do not know. Tell me why you would mind."
Lando crossed his arms. "I do not mind. I think it is a great idea. Charles should meet more people in the building. It will help him adjust."
"Wonderful. I will text him."
Carlos pulled out his phone. Lando watched him type, watched the small smile on Carlos's face as he sent the message. Lando told himself he was not jealous. He told himself he was happy for Carlos. He told himself a lot of things that were not entirely true.
------
Max Verstappen lived in apartment 2C, directly below Charles's apartment. Max had been in the building for five years, longer than anyone else. He had seen neighbors come and go, had watched people struggle with the upside-down reality, had helped more than a few of them learn to adapt. He did not usually get involved. He preferred solitude. He preferred silence. He preferred to keep to himself.
But Charles Leclerc was difficult to ignore.
It started with the noises. Thumps and bumps and muffled curses drifting down from above. Max would be reading on his couch, and suddenly there would be a crash, followed by a string of words in French that he did not understand but could definitely interpret.
On the third day, Max decided to investigate.
He climbed up to the fourth floor—or down, depending on perspective—and knocked on Charles's door. The door opened. Charles stood there, slightly disheveled, a small cut on his forehead.
"You are bleeding," Max said.
"I know."
"You should clean that."
"I know."
"Are you going to clean it?"
"I was planning to. Eventually."
Max sighed. He pushed past Charles into the apartment. The place was chaos. Furniture was scattered everywhere. A lamp was dangling from a hook that had clearly not been installed properly. Books were floating in the air because Charles had not learned to anchor them yet.
"This is a disaster," Max said.
"Thank you for your observation. Very helpful."
Max ignored the sarcasm. He walked to the bathroom, found a first aid kit, and returned to where Charles was standing. "Sit."
"I do not need—"
"Sit."
Charles sat. Max knelt in front of him, opened the kit, and began cleaning the cut on Charles's forehead. Charles winced but did not complain.
"You need to secure your furniture," Max said. "Everything needs to be bolted down. Otherwise it will float away when the gravity shifts."
"I know. I have been busy."
"Busy falling?"
"Busy adjusting. There is a difference."
Max finished cleaning the wound and applied a small bandage. He looked at Charles. Up close, Charles had intense eyes. Determined. Stubborn. The kind of person who would rather break than ask for help.
"You can ask for help," Max said, as if reading Charles's thoughts.
"I did not ask."
"I know. That is the problem."
Charles frowned. "Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?"
"Max. I live downstairs. I heard you falling."
"You heard me falling from two floors away?"
"The walls are thin. And you are very loud."
Charles looked embarrassed. "I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you."
"You did not disturb me. You annoyed me. There is a difference."
Charles blinked. Then he laughed. It was a surprised laugh, like he had not expected to find anything funny in this situation. "You are direct."
"I do not see the point of being indirect."
"I appreciate that. Most people are not direct with me."
"Most people are idiots."
Charles laughed again. Max felt something shift in his chest. He ignored it.
"Thank you," Charles said. "For the bandage. And for the advice."
"You are welcome. Try not to fall through the ceiling. I do not want to clean up the mess."
"I will try."
Max stood up. He walked to the door. He paused.
"If you need help securing your furniture, I can help. Tomorrow. After work."
Charles looked surprised. "You would do that?"
"I would. But only because I do not want to hear you crashing around anymore."
"Of course. Practical reasons."
"Always."
Max left. He walked back to his apartment, closed the door, and leaned against it. He told himself he had helped Charles out of annoyance. He told himself he did not care about the new neighbor. He told himself a lot of things that were not entirely true.
------
Dinner at Carlos's apartment was awkward.
Lando arrived first, carrying a bottle of wine that was sealed with a special cap designed to prevent the liquid from floating out. Carlos was in the kitchen, cooking pasta. The smell filled the apartment.
"Where is Charles?" Lando asked.
"He said he would be here at seven. It is seven now."
"He is late."
"By two minutes. That is not late. That is fashionably delayed."
"That is late."
Carlos stirred the pasta. "You are tense."
"I am not tense."
"You are gripping the counter like it offended you."
Lando released the counter. He had not realized he was gripping it. "I am fine."
"Okay."
"Do not say okay like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you do not believe me."
Carlos turned off the stove. He walked over to Lando and placed his hands on Lando's shoulders. "Lando. Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You are hyperventilating. There is a difference."
Lando took a deep breath. Then another. Carlos's hands were warm on his shoulders. Grounding. Centering.
"I do not know why I am nervous," Lando admitted.
"You do know."
"I do not."
"You like me. And you are worried that I might like Charles more than I like you."
Lando opened his mouth to deny it. Then he closed it. "Maybe."
"Lando. I have known you for two years. I have known Charles for three days. You have nothing to worry about."
"But you spent every day with him this week."
"Because he needed help. You did not need help when you moved in. You figured it out on your own."
"I figured it out because you helped me."
Carlos smiled. "I helped you because I wanted to. Not because I had to."
Lando felt the tension in his chest loosen. "Promise?"
"Promise."
There was a knock at the door. Carlos let go of Lando's shoulders and went to answer it. Charles stood there, holding a bottle of wine identical to the one Lando had brought.
"I brought wine," Charles said.
"We have wine," Carlos said.
"We can have two bottles of wine."
"Excellent logic. Come in."
Charles stepped inside. He saw Lando. He smiled. "You must be Lando. Carlos told me about you."
"He told me about you too," Lando said. "All good things."
"I hope so."
They shook hands. Lando's grip was firm. Charles's grip was equally firm. They held on a moment longer than necessary.
"Dinner smells good," Charles said.
"Pasta," Carlos said. "Simple but effective."
They sat down at the table, which was bolted to the ceiling. From their perspective, they were eating on the ceiling. From any other perspective, they were eating on the ceiling. Perspective mattered.
"So," Charles said. "How long have you two known each other?"
"Two years," Lando said.
"Three years," Carlos said at the same time.
They looked at each other.
"Two years," Carlos corrected. "Time moves differently in this building."
"It does," Charles agreed. "I have been here three days and it feels like a month."
"That is because you have been falling a lot," Max said.
Everyone turned. Max was standing in the doorway. No one had heard him arrive.
"Max," Charles said. "What are you doing here?"
"I was invited."
Carlos looked confused. "I did not invite you."
"Charles invited me."
Charles nodded. "I invited him. He helped me with my furniture earlier. I thought it would be nice to include him."
Lando looked at Charles. Then at Max. Then at Carlos. The dynamic in the room shifted. Suddenly, dinner felt more complicated.
"Well," Carlos said, recovering quickly. "The more the merrier. Please, sit."
Max sat down. He ended up next to Charles. Lando ended up next to Carlos. The seating arrangement felt intentional, even though no one had planned it.
Dinner proceeded. Conversation flowed. They talked about the building, about the magic, about the strange rules of living in a world where gravity was unreliable. Lando told stories about his first month in the building. Max shared tips for keeping food from floating away. Charles listened, asked questions, laughed at the right moments.
Under the table, Lando's foot touched Carlos's foot. Carlos did not move away. Neither did Lando.
Across the table, Max's hand rested on the table near Charles's hand. Charles did not move his hand away. Neither did Max.
Something was happening. Something none of them were ready to talk about.
------
The weeks passed.
Charles learned to walk on the ceiling. He learned to cook in reverse gravity. He learned to sleep without falling out of bed. He adapted, like everyone else, because adaptation was the only option.
But what he did not learn was how to stop thinking about Carlos and Max.
Every morning, Carlos would knock on his door and walk him to work. Every evening, Max would knock on his door and check on his progress. They were helping him, yes. But it felt like more than help. It felt like they wanted to be around him.
Lando noticed. Of course Lando noticed. Lando noticed everything.
"You are spending a lot of time with Charles," Lando said one night. He was lying on Carlos's couch, staring at the floor below them.
"I am helping him adjust."
"You helped me adjust too. But you did not walk me to work every day."
"Your workplace was in the opposite direction."
"That is not the point."
Carlos sat down on the floor beside the couch. From Lando's perspective, Carlos was sitting on the wall. Perspective mattered.
"What is the point, Lando?"
"The point is that you like him."
"I like you too."
"That is different."
"Is it?"
Lando sat up. He looked at Carlos. Really looked at him. "Yes. It is different. You like me as a friend. You like Charles as something more."
Carlos was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I do not know what I feel. I know that I enjoy spending time with him. I know that I enjoy spending time with you. I do not know if those feelings are the same or different."
"They are different."
"How do you know?"
Lando hesitated. Then he said, "Because I feel the same way about you. And it is different from how I feel about Charles."
Carlos stared at him. "You feel something for me?"
"I have felt something for you for two years. I thought you knew."
"I did not know."
"How could you not know? I am terrible at hiding things."
"You are good at hiding things. You hide behind jokes and sarcasm and pretending not to care."
Lando looked away. "Maybe I do that because I am scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Scared of losing you. Scared that if I tell you how I feel, things will change. Scared that you will not feel the same way."
Carlos reached out and took Lando's hand. "I do not know what I feel. But I know that I do not want to lose you either."
"That is not the same as loving me."
"No. But it is a start."
Lando squeezed Carlos's hand. It was not a resolution. It was not an ending. It was a beginning.
------
Meanwhile, in apartment 2C, Max was having his own realization.
He was sitting on his couch, reading a book, when he heard footsteps above him. Charles's footsteps. He knew them by now. The way Charles walked was distinctive. Slightly uneven. Like he was still learning to trust the ceiling beneath his feet.
Max put down his book. He stared at the ceiling. He thought about Charles's laugh. He thought about the way Charles looked at him when he thought Max was not paying attention. He thought about the way his chest felt tight whenever Charles was in the room.
He was in trouble.
He had been alone for five years. He liked being alone. He did not need people. People complicated things. People left. People disappointed you.
But Charles had not left. Charles had stayed. Charles had invited him to dinner. Charles had thanked him for help he did not ask for. Charles had looked at him like he mattered.
Max did not know what to do with that.
He stood up. He walked to the stairs. He climbed up to the fourth floor. He knocked on Charles's door.
Charles opened it. He was wearing a sweater that was slightly too big for him. His hair was messy. He looked tired but happy to see Max.
"Max. This is late. Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine. I wanted to talk to you."
Charles stepped aside. "Come in."
Max entered the apartment. It was organized now. Furniture secured. Books anchored. Charles had learned.
"I wanted to ask you something," Max said.
"Ask."
"Why did you invite me to dinner? You did not know me. I was rude to you when we first met."
Charles considered the question. "You were rude. But you also helped me. You cleaned my wound. You helped me secure my furniture. You did not have to do any of that."
"I did not do it to be nice."
"I know. You did it because you wanted to. That is why I invited you."
Max frowned. "That does not make sense."
"It makes perfect sense. You helped me because you wanted to, not because you expected something in return. That is rare. I wanted to thank you."
"You could have thanked me with a note."
"I could have. But I wanted to see you again."
Max felt his heart skip. He tried to ignore it. "Why?"
Charles stepped closer. "Because I like you, Max. I like the way you are direct. I like the way you do not pretend to be something you are not. I like the way you look at me."
"I do not look at you in any particular way."
"You do. You look at me like you are trying to figure me out. No one has ever looked at me like that before."
Max did not know what to say. He was not good with words. He was not good with feelings. He was good with solitude and silence and keeping to himself.
But Charles was looking at him with those intense eyes, and Max found that he did not want to look away.
"I do not know what I am doing," Max admitted.
"Neither do I."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"Yes. It means we can figure it out together."
Max reached out. He took Charles's hand. Charles's fingers intertwined with his.
"Together," Max repeated.
"Together."
------
The next morning, Charles woke up to a text from Carlos.
Breakfast? My place. Eight o'clock.
Coming, Charles replied.
He got dressed. He walked to Carlos's apartment. He knocked.
Carlos opened the door. He looked tired. Like he had not slept well.
"Are you okay?" Charles asked.
"I am fine. Come in."
Charles entered. Lando was already there, sitting at the table. He looked tired too.
"Is everyone okay?" Charles asked.
"We need to talk," Carlos said.
"That sounds serious."
"It is."
Charles sat down. Carlos sat across from him. Lando sat between them.
"I like you," Carlos said. "I have liked you since the day you moved in. But I also like Lando. I have liked Lando for two years. I do not know what to do."
Charles blinked. "Oh."
"Did you know?"
"I suspected. But I was not sure."
"What about you? Do you like me?"
Charles hesitated. "Yes. I like you. But I also like Max."
Carlos's expression flickered. "Max."
"Yes. We talked last night. I told him how I feel."
"And?"
"And he feels the same way."
The table was silent. Lando looked at Carlos. Carlos looked at Charles. Charles looked at the table.
"This is complicated," Lando said.
"Very complicated," Carlos agreed.
"I do not think it has to be," Charles said.
They both looked at him.
"What do you mean?" Lando asked.
"I mean that feelings are not limited. You can like more than one person. You can love more than one person. It does not have to be a choice."
Carlos considered this. "You are suggesting that we all... be together?"
"I am suggesting that we explore what we feel. Without labels. Without expectations. See where it goes."
Lando looked at Carlos. Carlos looked at Lando. Something passed between them. An understanding.
"I could try that," Lando said.
"I could try that too," Carlos said.
Charles smiled. "Good. Because I think we could be good together. All of us."
"All of us?" Lando asked.
"Me. You. Carlos. Max."
"You want to include Max?"
"He is part of this too. Whether we like it or not."
Carlos sighed. "This is going to be complicated."
"Life is complicated," Charles said. "Love is complicated. But maybe that is what makes it worth living."
------
The four of them met that evening. Charles's apartment. Neutral ground.
Max arrived first. Then Lando. Then Carlos.
They sat in a circle. No one spoke.
Finally, Max broke the silence. "Charles told me about your conversation this morning."
"Yes," Carlos said.
"What do you want to do?"
"I do not know. What do you want to do?"
Max considered the question. "I want to see where this goes. I have been alone for five years. I did not realize how lonely I was until Charles moved in."
Lando nodded. "I have been lonely too. I did not realize it because I had Carlos. But Carlos cannot fill every part of me. No single person can."
Carlos looked at Lando. "I did not know you felt that way."
"I did not know either. Not until recently."
Charles reached out and took Max's hand. With his other hand, he reached for Carlos. Carlos took it. Then Carlos reached for Lando. Lando took it.
They formed a circle. Connected.
"We do not have to decide anything tonight," Charles said. "We can take it slow. Learn each other. See what works."
"And if it does not work?" Max asked.
"Then we try something else. But we try. We owe ourselves that much."
They sat in silence. Holding hands. Breathing together.
It was not a solution. It was not an ending. It was a beginning.
------
The months passed.
They learned each other. Charles learned that Max was softer than he appeared, that he showed love through actions rather than words. Max learned that Charles was stubborn but caring, that he would fight for the people he loved. Carlos learned that Lando was more vulnerable than he let on, that his jokes were a shield for a sensitive heart. Lando learned that Carlos was patient and steady, that he would wait as long as needed.
They built a rhythm. Mornings with Carlos, walking to work. Evenings with Max, cooking dinner. Weekends with all four of them, exploring the city, learning to navigate the upside-down world together.
They fought sometimes. Of course they fought. Feelings were messy. Jealousy crept in. Misunderstandings happened. But they always found their way back to each other.
One night, they were all in Carlos's apartment. Lando was lying on the couch, his head in Carlos's lap. Charles was sitting on the floor, leaning against Max's legs. Max was reading a book. Carlos was running his fingers through Lando's hair.
"This is nice," Lando said.
"It is," Charles agreed.
"We should do this more often," Carlos said.
"We do this every night," Max pointed out.
"Then we should appreciate it more."
Lando looked up at Carlos. "I appreciate you."
Carlos smiled. "I appreciate you too."
"I appreciate all of you," Charles said.
Max put down his book. He looked at Charles. Then at Lando. Then at Carlos.
"I appreciate you too," he said quietly.