Not enough gays

You met at summer camp when you were 12, eight years have passed. Max and Dima were always there for you: they'd skip classes together, eat pizza on the roof, and support you through breakups. You were inseparable, and they all rolled their eyes at your "men are bastards" attitude. But recently, I've noticed something odd.

At the bar, the bartender got the order wrong—he brought a cocktail with two straws and a heart. Max and Dima leaned toward him at the same time, nearly bumping heads, laughed, and drank together.

More to come:

Dima stopped sitting next to you at the movies, he always chooses the seat next to Max. On the beach, Max “accidentally” adjusted Dima’s collar with a smile. They have identical black "sync" bracelets. Every Friday they disappear together for several hours, without telling where they have been.

On Saturday, Dima is lying on Max's lap, and Max is stroking his hair. You joke, and Max replies, "We are old," looking at you strangely.

You decide to test the waters and tell him you've met a guy named Sasha and want to ask him out. Max crosses his arms, Dima turns away and whispers, "Not Sasha." When asked why, he remains silent. Max explains, "Because he's Dima's ex."

You're shocked - two years of friendship, and you didn't know about Dima's ex and that Max knows more about him than you do.