Adrian decided there were two possibilities.

Either Elliot was the most dangerous flirt he'd ever met, or marriage had permanently damaged his ability to think.

The evidence favored both.

"You could have pretended not to hear," Adrian complained over breakfast.

Elliot spread jam on his toast. "You were rather loud."

"I was asleep."

"And apparently very persuasive."

Adrian stared into his coffee. "I'm never sleeping again."

"That would make your doctor unhappy."

"Your sense of humor is making me unhappy."

"You married it."

Adrian tried not to smile. Failed. Elliot noticed, of course.

They spent the morning sorting through a few familiar objects at the doctor's suggestion. A concert ticket reminded Adrian of a band he loved. A framed photograph showed them on a mountain trail.

He couldn't remember the trip, but he recognized his own ridiculous hiking boots.

"You bought those because the salesman said they were waterproof," Elliot said.

"Were they?"

"You stepped in a stream to test them."

"And?"

"Your socks were wet for six hours."

Adrian shook his head. "I'm beginning to question your taste in husbands."

"You were very charming when you weren't testing footwear."

Later, Elliot helped him dress for a follow-up appointment. Adrian could manage the buttons, but his bruised shoulder made the collar awkward.

"Hold still," Elliot said.

He stepped close and straightened the fabric near Adrian's throat. Adrian caught the faint scent of Elliot's soap.

His thoughts scattered. He became absurdly aware of how easily Elliot's hands moved, as though they'd performed this small task a thousand times.

"Do you always do that?" Adrian asked.

"Fix your collar? Yes. You never check a mirror."

"Anything else?"

Elliot looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Little things. Married things."

Elliot's expression softened. "You make my coffee when you wake up first. I steal your socks. You pretend you hate the movies I choose, then cry at the endings."

"I do not cry at movies."

"You cried at a documentary about a penguin."

"That penguin was inspirational."

Elliot laughed, and Adrian caught his hand before he stepped away.

"Did we always sleep in the same bed?"

"Every night," Elliot said.

Adrian swallowed. "Even when we argued?"

"Usually. Sometimes you slept on the couch for an hour before coming back to apologize."

"An hour?"

"You weren't very good at staying away."

At the clinic, the physician confirmed that Adrian's physical recovery was progressing, but warned him not to overexert himself. Normal gentle routines were fine as tolerated; strenuous activity would need to wait for further clearance.

The physician also reminded them that memory recovery was unpredictable. Dreams could reflect feelings, familiar surroundings, or fragments of memory, but should not be treated as proof of events.

Adrian listened closely. He didn't want to mistake wishful thinking for a recovered past.

On the drive home, Elliot asked if he was tired.

"A little," Adrian admitted. "But I'd rather be home than in another waiting room."

"We can take it easy tonight."

Adrian glanced at him. "About tonight…"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking maybe we should sleep in the same room."

Elliot kept his eyes on the road. "You don't have to do that for me."

"I'm not. It's for my memory. Familiar routines. Doctor's advice."

"The doctor said not to force anything."

"I'm not forcing. I'm suggesting."

Elliot smiled. "Then yes. We can share the bed."

Adrian spent the rest of the drive trying to look like a man who had not just won a championship.

That evening, they watched a comedy on the couch. Adrian missed half the jokes because Elliot kept laughing before the punch lines, and Adrian liked watching him more than the television.

After dinner, Elliot brought out an old photo album instead of another screen. The cover was worn at the corners, and several pages contained handwritten captions.

"You made this?" Adrian asked.

"For our first anniversary."

One photograph showed Adrian asleep on a train, his head tipped against Elliot's shoulder. Another captured Elliot holding an enormous stuffed bear at a carnival.

"I won that?" Adrian asked.

"After spending forty dollars on a game with a five-dollar prize."

"Excellent financial judgment."

"You said the bear looked lonely."

Adrian smiled at the photograph. "I don't remember the bear."

"It's in the attic."

"We kept it?"

"You refused to throw it away."

The pages made Adrian feel both included and excluded. He was in every picture, yet the man in those pictures had a lifetime of memories Adrian couldn't reach.

Elliot noticed his silence and closed the album.

"Enough for tonight."

"I'm sorry I can't remember."

"You don't need to apologize for being hurt."

"I want to know everything."

"Then we'll tell the stories slowly. We have time."

Adrian looked at him. "I hope so."

At bedtime, Elliot placed an extra pillow between them.

"A border?" Adrian asked.

"A diplomatic agreement."

"I object to international interference in my marriage."

"Then stop stealing blankets."

"I do that?"

"Every winter."

They turned off the lights. Adrian lay rigidly on his side of the bed, determined to behave like a civilized adult.

"You can breathe," Elliot whispered.

"I am breathing."

"Very professionally."

Adrian laughed into his pillow. A few minutes later, Elliot's breathing slowed, and the room settled into silence.

Adrian watched the pale shape of the curtains. He felt strangely content. For the first time since waking in the hospital, the space beside him did not feel like a mystery.

Sleep took him gently.

In his dream, rain streaked a hotel window overlooking the ocean. A suitcase lay open on the floor. Elliot stood by the glass, wearing a soft sweater, his hair tousled by the wind from the balcony.

"Come here," Elliot said.

Adrian approached. Elliot leaned into his arms with the ease of someone who had never doubted he would be caught.

"You promised you'd never let me go," Elliot whispered.

"I won't," Adrian answered.

They kissed while rain blurred the world outside. The moment felt older than the dream, filled with a tenderness Adrian couldn't place.

He wanted to ask where they were. Instead, he held Elliot a little closer and let the question drift away.

Morning came with soft sunlight and the smell of coffee from downstairs.

Adrian opened his eyes slowly. His arm was around Elliot's waist. Elliot's head rested against his shoulder, and the pillow barrier had somehow ended up on the floor.

He should have been startled. Instead, he felt a deep, uncomplicated peace.

He studied Elliot's sleeping face. There was a tiny crease beside his mouth that appeared when he smiled. Adrian wondered how many mornings he'd spent noticing it before the accident.

Adrian resisted the impulse to move his arm. He didn't want to wake Elliot abruptly, and he didn't want to lose the moment.

He could feel the ordinary weight of another person resting against him, and it was unexpectedly reassuring. Nothing dramatic had happened. They had simply slept.

Yet Adrian suspected this was the first time since the accident he'd stopped waiting for something to go wrong.

He glanced toward the fallen pillow and smiled. Their diplomatic agreement had failed spectacularly.

He would have to negotiate a new one tonight, preferably without a border.

Elliot shifted and blinked awake.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he murmured.

Adrian hesitated. The dream was already fading, but the rain, the hotel, and Elliot's voice remained vivid.

"Because I think I just dreamed about our honeymoon."