Elliot avoided Roman for the rest of the day.

The crew filmed their close-ups separately, giving him little reason to speak to Roman between takes.

Whenever the scene required Roman to touch him, Elliot counted the seconds. He stepped away as soon as Elena called cut.

The crew shot the kiss from six angles: a wide shot, two close-ups, a side profile, a tight shot of their mouths and the moment they separated.

Roman confirmed every change with Elliot before the cameras rolled.

"Can I hold your waist?"

"Yes."

"Pull you closer?"

Elliot nodded.

For the final angle, Roman's thumb rested near Elliot's jaw. "Here?"

"That's fine."

Elliot no longer trusted his voice.

Roman returned to his mark between takes. He checked his phone, drank water and discussed camera positions with Elena.

He gave Elliot the distance he had demanded.

By midnight, Elliot's lips were sore and his jaw ached from clenching.

He collected his bag and walked outside.

Rain fell across the nearly empty parking lot. Elliot opened a rideshare app, but no drivers were available nearby.

A black sedan stopped beside the curb.

The passenger window lowered.

Roman leaned across the console. "Get in."

"I'll wait."

"The weather alert says the rain will get worse."

"I can call a cab."

Roman glanced at Elliot's phone. "Did that work?"

Elliot looked at the dark parking lot and pulled open the door.

The car smelled faintly of coffee. Elliot sat close to the passenger door while Roman drove through downtown Vancouver.

Most of the shops had closed. Neon signs reflected across the wet streets.

"You haven't eaten," Roman said.

"I'm not hungry."

Elliot's stomach growled.

Roman turned at the next intersection without commenting.

He stopped outside a small restaurant between a laundromat and a closed bookstore. A red sign in the window announced that it remained open twenty-four hours.

"This place looks questionable," Elliot said.

"The food is good."

"You've been here?"

Roman switched off the engine. "Several times."

Inside, red vinyl booths lined the wall. An old menu hung above the counter.

Roman ordered two bowls of pho with extra noodles.

"No cilantro," he added.

Elliot waited until they sat down. "How do you know I hate cilantro?"

Roman poured tea into both cups. "You used to remove it from everything."

"That was eight years ago."

The waiter delivered their food.

Roman moved the sliced onions from Elliot's bowl onto the side plate.

"You still don't like those."

Elliot stared at the plate.

Roman picked up his chopsticks.

"Why are you doing this?" Elliot asked.

"Eating?"

"Remembering things."

Roman looked down at his bowl. "I remember most things."

"That isn't true. Nobody remembers what their college roommate removed from his food."

Roman took a sip of tea.

The silence irritated Elliot more than an evasive answer.

"You weren't this considerate in college."

Roman set down the cup. "You rarely spoke to me long enough to find out."

Elliot's fingers tightened around his spoon.

"You acted like you couldn't stand being in the same room with me," he said.

"I thought that was what you wanted."

"You never asked."

Roman looked at him. "Neither did you."

The waiter passed their table and refilled a water glass nearby.

Roman returned to his food.

Elliot wanted to argue, but memories had already begun rearranging themselves. Roman leaving coffee outside his room during exams. Roman saving him a seat without mentioning it. Roman appearing at performances Elliot had never invited him to attend.

At the time, Elliot had interpreted each gesture as pity or interference.

"You used to eat alone in the dining hall," Roman said. "Near the west window."

Elliot looked up.

"You always kept your back to the wall and read during lunch."

"Were you watching me?"

Roman's chopsticks stopped above the bowl.

Elliot waited.

A trace of regret passed across Roman's face before he lowered his eyes.

"You're right," Roman said. "We weren't friends."

He did not explain further.

They finished eating in silence.

Roman paid before Elliot could reach for the bill. They returned to the car as the rain began to ease.

Elliot gave him directions until Roman turned onto his street.

The sedan stopped outside a gray apartment building with a broken gate. Elliot unfastened his seat belt.

"Thanks for dinner."

Roman nodded.

Elliot reached for the door.

"Fourth floor?" Roman asked.

Elliot looked back. "Why?"

"Your apartment."

"I never told you which floor."

Roman's gaze moved toward the building. "You still choose the fourth floor whenever you can."

"That doesn't explain how you know my unit."

"Four-twelve."

Elliot's hand remained on the door handle.

"How do you know that?"

Roman looked at him.

For once, Elliot saw uncertainty disturb his calm expression.

"You talked about it in college," Roman said. "You wanted an apartment with a view of the city. Fourth floor, unit twelve."

"That was a drunk conversation after a party."

"I remember."

"Why?"

Roman turned his attention toward the windshield.

Elliot waited until the silence became an answer of its own.

He opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

"Good night, Elliot."

Elliot closed the door without responding.

He entered the building and climbed to the fourth floor. Roman's car remained outside until Elliot reached apartment 412.

Only then did it pull away.

Elliot locked the door and rested his forehead against it.

Roman remembered his food preferences, his favorite seat in the dining hall and a drunken conversation Elliot had forgotten for years.

Those memories had never mattered to Elliot.

They had mattered to Roman.