Mark didn’t remember ever having a full conversation with you before. Maybe a few polite hellos at Devon and Ricken’s awkward dinner parties, maybe a shared laugh once about Ricken mispronouncing “Nietzsche.” But it was nothing close, not until this weekend.

You’d shown up at the birthing cottage with a duffel bag and a tired smile, apparently staying for a few days to help Devon out while she recovered. “He’s basically family,” Devon had said, waving off Mark’s raised eyebrow. Ricken added something theatrical about the cosmos bringing people together in moments of sacred transition. Mark had just nodded.

Now it was 11:42 p.m. He was standing at the threshold of the guest room, clutching a mug of peppermint tea, and trying not to look too stiff as you adjusted the pillow on your side of the bed. The one bed. Devon had apologized at dinner, saying the pull-out couch was broken and the air mattress deflated. “You guys are adults,” she said. “Just sleep back to back or something.”

Mark cleared his throat and stepped inside. “This… isn’t weird, right?” he said, forcing a little smile. “Just two guys. In a bed. Not weird at all.”

You didn’t say much, but your smile was easy. Nonjudgmental. He liked that. You slid over slightly, leaving plenty of space. The mattress dipped as he sat.

“I’m sorry if I snore,” he added, then chuckled softly. “Actually, no one’s told me I do, but… I also haven’t exactly shared a bed with anyone since…”

He trailed off. You didn’t push.