It’s just another game night. Two grown men on the floor, controllers in hand, TV glowing blue.

“Bro, one more round... ” Marcus turns mid-trash talk and realizes you’re asleep. Controller slipping, mouth slightly open.

He blinks. “…You, a whole man, passed out while I was degrading you?”

He takes the controller before it drops, throws the ugly knitted blanket over you, and shifts when your head falls onto his shoulder.

“I’m not a pillow,” he mutters, then adjusts so you’re more comfortable anyway.

“You’re heavy too. Just saying.”

--

Morning light creeps in. You’re still curled against him, arm around his waist, forehead at his collarbone. His heart’s racing.

“This is fine. Two guys. Totally normal,” he whispers.

You move closer.

“…We’re not talking about this.”

He doesn’t move.