Immediately afterward, there came the sound of things being smashed outside, along with Dylan's muttered curses.

"What kind of person is he? He was the one trying to take advantage of me, and he left me alone outside the supermarket.

"How is he the one getting mad?"

Kelsey comforted him. "Honey, calm down. Do not stoop to his level.

"We are living under someone else's roof. Just endure it."

Dylan's voice rose.

"Do not make it sound like he has never lived under someone else's roof. Right after college, he stayed at my place for a month.

"I never once gave him attitude."

That was true. He never gave me attitude. But on the very first night I moved in, I gave him three thousand dollars.

It was an old, run-down apartment complex, and the unit was less than three hundred square feet. Three thousand was more than enough.

Besides, I did all the chores and bought all the household supplies.

Once I found a job, I immediately moved closer to my company.

As for him, he had stayed at my place for three months without paying a cent, without sharing a single chore, without buying even one household item.

Even the condoms he and Kelsey used every few days were bought by me.

At seven the next morning, I got up to wash. Beside the toilet was a disgusting mess of red and yellow filth. One look told me it was a mixture of Kelsey's period blood and Dylan's feces.

I had told them countless times to flush after using the bathroom. Countless times.

But they kept forgetting.

Especially today. There was so much of it, it looked deliberate.

A moment later, Dylan walked in with bed hair. He grabbed his toothbrush and started brushing as if nothing was wrong.

As for that ring of filth, he acted blind.

"Flush the toilet clean," I said. "I do not want to come home from work and see it like this."

Dylan rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Then, right in front of me, he pulled down his pants and urinated into the toilet.

"I can use it. Why can you not?

"If you love cleanliness so much, then flush it yourself. Scrub it yourself.

"What gives you the right to order me around?"

His voice was cold, stabbing into me like an awl.

"Because this is my place."

Dylan froze for a moment. Then his arrogance surged right back.

"So what if it is your place? Aren't good friends supposed to help each other?

"I am only staying here for a few days because I am down on my luck. It is not like I am living here forever."

He pulled his pants up, stepped forward, and jabbed a finger into my chest again and again.

"Max Cairncross, do not forget. In ninth grade, when you had a severe fever and passed out on the track, I carried you to the nurse.

"Sophomore year, when two punks stopped you after school, I stepped in and saved you. Three of my fingers were almost broken that day.

"Junior year of college, when that homewrecker confronted you in person, I fought her for you. I was written up by the school because of it.

"And now?"

Dylan gritted his teeth and stared straight into my eyes.

"Just because I have stayed at your place for a few days, you are losing your temper at me like this.

"Max Cairncross, after everything I have done for you, can you honestly say you are not ashamed?"

Dylan was right. He had done a lot for me. Otherwise, we would never have become best friends for nearly twenty years.

But friendship was mutual.

I pushed his hand away and met his gaze, word by word.

"You are right. You were good to me. But I was not bad to you either.

"When debt collectors beat you up, I shielded you and took every punch and every blow from their clubs.

"I spent half a month in the hospital that time."

I stepped forward, closing in on Dylan.

"And when you were in a car accident, I quit my job and stayed awake day and night caring for you for a month.

"When you lost your job and had no money to go home for Christmas, I gave you five thousand dollars without a second thought.

"After you got married, I lent you money 220 times."

I tapped Dylan's chest with my hand. My voice was hoarse.

"Your sacrifices count, but mine do not?"

Dylan swallowed and pressed his lips together.

After a long while, he said lightly, "Why count so carefully between best friends?"

I had nothing to say.

He was the one who started counting. But when he realized I had given more than he had, and he could no longer use our old friendship to guilt me, he did not like it anymore.

When I walked into the living room, it was a disaster.

Pots, bowls, plates, and utensils had all been smashed. Even the TV had not been spared. A long crack ran across the screen.

I truly did not have the energy to speak to Dylan anymore, so I sent him a text.

"Please clean the living room before I get home from work.

"Either compensate me for the damaged items at full price, or buy the exact same replacements and put them back."

Dylan did not reply, but something slammed against his bedroom door.

The sound was loud enough to make my heart ache.

I knew he was expressing his dissatisfaction.

That evening, when I came home from work, the living room and bathroom had been cleaned. The broken cookware and dishes had been replaced.

But the crack in the TV was still there.

Kelsey's father, Ray Palmer, had somehow arrived. He was sitting cross-legged at the head of the dining table, scrolling through videos with the volume turned up so loud it nearly pierced my eardrums.

Kelsey was in her usual spot on the sofa, playing games.

"Go, go, go! Girl, go in!

"Dammit, I died again."

Dylan was alone in the kitchen, busy at the stove with two burners going at once, bringing dish after dish to the table.

During this, he glanced at me. His eyes were full of blame.

It was as if he were asking, "Why are you not helping?"

When all the food was finally served, I was about to sit down, but Ray rapped the table and lectured me.

"Isn't it guests follow the host? Who said you could sit down and eat?

"The person who cooks eats first. Do you not understand even that?

"Clearly, you were not raised properly."

He ladled a bowl of potato soup and shoved it into my hands. His movement was so rough that hot soup splashed onto my wrist, instantly raising a blister.

"Go eat somewhere else. Do not sit by the table and irritate me."

Throughout all of it, Dylan did not say a single word for me.

Instead, he stood behind Ray like a humble servant.

"Dad, this shrimp is good. I will peel it for you.

"Dad, the soup is hot. I will blow on it for you.

"Dad, this fish has bones. I will pick them out before you eat."

Ray looked at Kelsey and gave her a thumbs-up.

"You trained this husband well. Much better than your sister's."

Kelsey turned to Dylan and smiled. "Honey, you are amazing."

Dylan jumped happily like a little rabbit.

"Thank you for praising me, babe."

I wondered when my relationship with Dylan had begun to rot.

Probably after he got together with Kelsey.

Kelsey was the shortest, poorest, and plainest of all Dylan's girlfriends, but she was the best at giving emotional validation.

When Dylan was laid off and fell so low he had to work at a coffee shop, Kelsey comforted him.

"Dyl, you are amazing. You can be a customer service manager and pull espresso too.

"No wonder you went to college. Your learning ability is so much better than mine. I only finished middle school."

When Dylan's family squeezed him and demanded he pay for his younger sister's wedding, Kelsey grabbed the phone and shouted at them.

"You are both your parents' children. Why does Dylan have to earn money for his sister? Is he not allowed to spend money on himself?"

Just like that, Dylan became trapped by Kelsey's cheap love.

At the same time, he picked up Kelsey's penny-pinching, lazy, shameless habits.

After dinner, Dylan pulled me into the kitchen.

He lowered his voice and said, "Max, my father-in-law is not feeling well. Kelsey wants to take him for a full physical. He needs to stay here for a while.

"There are only two bedrooms. I want him to sleep in yours. You have money. Can you stay at a hotel?"

"No." I refused without hesitation.

Then Dylan came up with a new request.

"Then I will have my father-in-law stay at a hotel. But can you lend me fifty thousand dollars?

"The exam will definitely be expensive. His hotel costs money too. Kelsey also wants to buy him some clothes."

He grabbed my hand and whined, "Max, help me one more time."

I knew this was called the concession technique in psychology.

In the past, I fell for Dylan's act.

Now, I did not.

"I will not lend it." I pulled my hand free and walked out.

Dylan rushed forward and blocked me.

"Max Cairncross, I will ask you one last time. Are you lending me the money or not?"

I said each word clearly.

"No. I am not."

Dylan completely broke down. He yanked a necklace out from under his collar. It held a transparent bottle pendant, smaller than his pinky.

Inside the bottle was a rolled-up strip of paper that said: "Max Cairncross is my only best friend."

I had one around my neck too. Mine said: "Dylan Price is my only best friend."

We gave each other those bottles after graduating high school. They symbolized lifelong friendship.

"Max Cairncross, if you say no again, do not blame me for smashing this bottle. From now on, we will never be best friends again."

"I am not lending it," I said firmly.

Dylan was so angry his jaw clenched. He smashed the bottle hard.

And I, without the slightest hesitation, ripped the bottle from my own neck and threw it into the trash.

Then I opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

"Since we are no longer best friends, pack your things and get out of my house."