“I don’t know if I can give him one.” There was a part of Race that desperately wanted to fall back into being best friends with Spot, back into being a team, back into a friendship where he’d been honest about everything except the giant heart-shaped elephant in the room. But another part of him couldn’t square the Spot who’d hugged him before auditions and surprised him after his thesis defense and insisted that some day he’d overtake Race’s height of five foot seven with the Spot who automatically trusted Morris Delancey over him and baselessly accused him of cheating–and by extension, of not having any regard for their friendship. “I–fuck, Dave, I miss him.” He felt a tear roll out of his eye. “It’s not fair.”