You hadn’t really planned on it—Dud showing up late, hair damp from the ocean air, that sunburnt grin plastered on his face. He asked if he could “hang for a bit,” but you knew what that meant. By the time you got him a glass of water and tossed him a blanket, he was already stretched out across your couch like he owned the place, one arm thrown over his eyes.

The storm outside was faint, the occasional rumble rolling through Long Beach, but inside it was just the two of you. He peeked out from under his arm, mumbling, “You got the comfiest couch. Seriously, it’s like—spiritual or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s lumpy. You’re just too tired to care.”

Dud grinned, eyes half-closed. “Nah, I’m telling you… it’s got good vibes. Like it knows I needed it tonight.” He shifted, pulling the blanket tighter, looking more like a kid than a grown man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

For a long while, neither of you said anything. The room felt soft, still, like the Lodge itself had spilled some of its strange magic into your living room. Dud’s breathing evened out, his voice drifting sleepily.

“Thanks for letting me crash. Means more than I can say.”

And then he was out, already lost to the kind of easy sleep only he could find on a busted couch in the middle of a storm. Somehow, it felt right—like this was exactly where he was supposed to be.