Kaius Oziel
Sunday is actually my sanctuary, a day carved out for just me and Haden Mavel Castro, my one and only best friend. If Saturdays are reserved for my boyfriend and those artificial smiles at brunch at a café, Sundays are where I can actually exhale, surrounded by Haden's clutter and comfort. His couch is worn and oddly lumpy, but it's my favorite place in the world when everything feels heavy, and lately, heavy seems to be my natural state.
The sunlight was soft through the blinds, throwing lazy shadows, highlighting the scatter of hoodies, remote controls, across the living room. I'd barely set down the drink and foods (more on snacks) we bought at the convenience store nearby his condo, before letting the words tumble out, another complaint, only him, got to hear: "He forgot my order again, Haden. Third week in a row. I should have just done the order myself again, like the last, last, last time. It tastes bitter." The complaint was meant to be casual, but I could hear the disappointment bleeding through, gnawing quietly at my composure.
Haden immediately stopped flipping through his endless netflix movie surfing, eyebrows arching upward. "For real? He actually forgot again?" The remote swung at his side as he stared at me, less like a best friend and more like a furious bodyguard ready to go to war. "Your boyfriend's an idiot."
I smiled wryly, already resigned. "It's honestly fine. I didn't die anyway. Just a waste of money"
The snort that followed was so violent I had to steady my cup. He sounds ridiculous and comforting all at once. "That's not the point, dude! You have plenty of money but do you have plenty of plain stupid patience too? Forgetting your usual? That man needs intensive training." Haden's hands flew through the air, painting invisible flashcards and dramatic reminders all over the place. I let myself sink into his couch, acutely aware of how my best friend's anger was twice my own.
That's always been the truth: every heartbreak, every slight, Haden would absorb my wounds and transform them into outrage. Grief was a group sport in our friendship. and when the scoreboard tallied up who'd spent more time sulking or commiserating, I usually came out ahead. Some Sundays had their share of his heartbreaks, but lately the hours tilted toward mine. Imagine tolerating that for years. He deserves a medal.. though he'd just roll his eyes and claim he needs therapy instead.
"Are you going to make the flashcards?" I asked, a flicker of mischief and chuckle making it into my voice. He smirked, already on his feet rummaging for something, anything, to dramatize the idea. "Hell yes! I'll laminate them, staple them, and maybe even get them notarized if I have to. I want you to pull one out next Saturday and wave it in his face. 'No chocolate mousse and bitter coffee or else!' This man only has one job my goodness!"
I bit the inside of my cheek, hiding my relief at the shift in energy. I watched him, amused at how easily he shifted from outrage to production mode. The truth was, I liked the distraction, the shift away from my own embarrassment, and the focus on ridiculous solutions rather than the emptiness of being forgotten.
"If he messes up again, I'm submitting a formal complaint," Haden declared as he dramatically flopped beside me again. "Boyfriend department, quality control."
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound lighter than it should be shaking away the tightness in my chest. "If only love came with a customer service hotline."
"That is actually the dream, babe," Haden agreed, folding his arms and pretending to ponder deeply. "Although with your record, I think you owe me loyalty points and a bonus." I rolled my eyes as he finally found his movie of the week and pressed play. "I'll play this one, okay?" I nodded, not really caring what we watched today; Haden was always in charge anyway. His choices ranged from late night horror to mindless rom com, but that wasn't the point. It was the ritual.. the way he'd rant through the trailers and poke holes in the plot before the first act.
As the opening credits rolled, my mind wandered. Maybe my standards were strange. Maybe I was too forgiving. Or maybe love was just less cinematic than everyone promised.
I glanced over; Haden was already critiquing the movie's title and introduction, I chuckled. We were not even on the first 10 minutes of the movie and he's already blabbering something, his energy filling the room, making my worries feel smaller and more ridiculous. "Honestly, how could they make people die in the first ten seconds just for ambience?" he muttered. I grinned, letting the sound of his voice chip away at my anxiety.
"Maybe you should apply for the position," I joked, tossing a pillow at him. "You're clearly overqualified for boyfriend care."
He recoiled with exaggerated disgust. "Eww, bro, no offense but no thanks. You know what? I'd never tolerate those chocolate mousse binges or your weird latte combos. Honestly, it's doing things to your brain. And we really need to do something about your boyfriend's brain"
I grinned and wiggled my fruitshake. "Sure? Options are nice. Keeps life interesting."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh please! Keep your options closed. You wouldn't survive my boyfriend standards. It's ruthless."
His mock arrogance made me laugh for real, and I settled deeper against the cushion, letting myself feel how easy it was to be understood. For a second, I wondered why I could be so easily understood by Haden and not by Julian. Was I really so good at pretending to like coffees and chocolates? Or was my boyfriend just not that interested in understanding? I sighed. I tried to chase away the bitter thoughts and just focus on the movie. Anyways, with Haden around, heartbreak felt less jagged, even softer, somehow.
We watched the movie, narration intercut with our running banter. Every weird or odd character and every plot hole became a subject for our relentless commentary. I realized, as the laughter subsided and my shoulders relaxed, that this was the antidote I needed. Not just friendship, but this messy, open rebellion against everything love was supposed to be.
I looked at Haden who's still busy ranting about how overrated the movie was. Some Sundays, you need more than a friend and a bad movie. You need someone who can absorb your pain and complaints, and return it as jokes, someone who turns heartbreak into punchlines and missed orders into laminated flashcards. I watched him rant at the TV, easily shifting between fake annoyance and genuine care.
And as the night unfolded, full of shared stories and endless commentary, I remembered that with the right person beside you, even heartbreak can taste sweet. Even if nobody's perfect, sometimes friendship is what makes life feel possible again.