SHARING A ROOM

"You take the bathroom first," he said, gesturing toward the door.

I hesitated for a moment but decided not to argue.

"Thanks," I replied, gathering my things before stepping inside.

The bathroom was a haven of quiet, the soft hum of the exhaust fan masking the tension that had settled over us. As I went through my routine, I let myself relax for a moment, savouring the rare privacy. The weight of the day still lingered, and though I'd managed to play my part at dinner, the prospect of sharing a room with Mark was a challenge I hadn't quite figured out how to navigate.

When I finally emerged, feeling slightly more human, I stopped short. Mark had been busy. The ornate couch on the side of the room—small, rigid, and utterly unsuitable for a man of his height—was now layered with blankets and pillows in a makeshift attempt at comfort. He was folding the last blanket when he noticed me.

"That's your plan?" I asked, gesturing to the couch.