THAT KISS MEANT NOTHING

Monday morning arrived with a headache Mason hadn't earned by drinking.

Adrian was already at the stove when Mason emerged from his bedroom. He wore his usual black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and was turning eggs in a frying pan.

For two years this had been one of Mason's favorite sights in the world.

Today his stomach did something unhelpful.

"Morning," Adrian said.

"Morning."

"Coffee's ready."

"Thanks."

They sounded like two strangers trapped in an elevator.

Mason took his coffee and stared at Adrian's back. A normal person would have discussed the question from last night. A normal person would have apologized for leaving it unanswered.

Mason, unfortunately, had built an entire career out of making messy footage look coherent. He was less equipped to deal with messy people, particularly himself.

"About yesterday," he began.

Adrian's hand paused over the pan.

"We did a pretty good job, right? The whole fake-dating thing."

"Sure."

"I mean, the kiss was convincing. That's what mattered."

"Of course."

"It didn't have to mean anything."

Adrian turned off the burner.

"I know, Mason."

His voice was perfectly steady. Somehow that made Mason feel worse.

"Great. So we're good?"

"We're good."

Adrian slid two eggs onto Mason's plate, added toast, and set it on the counter rather than at their usual spots across from each other.

He took his own coffee into his bedroom.

Mason stared at the plate.

He had wanted normal. Normal had never felt so much like punishment.

The following days were full of tiny, inexplicable losses.

Adrian still cooked, but sometimes he ate before Mason finished work. He still bought groceries, but he no longer texted from the store to ask whether Mason wanted his favorite cereal. On Wednesday night, when Mason fell asleep on the couch, he woke beneath no blanket at all.

This was ridiculous, Mason told himself. They were adults. Adrian had a demanding job and a personal life. He was not required to orbit Mason like a very attractive, disapproving moon.

Very attractive?

Mason shoved that thought into a mental folder labeled NOT RELEVANT and tried to finish editing a marketing video.

He failed.

Every time a character leaned close to another, he thought of the wedding. Every time a romantic song played, he heard Adrian asking whether Mason would kiss him in private.

On Thursday, Mason found Adrian reading at the kitchen table.

"Movie night?" he asked. "I've got that terrible shark movie you wanted to hate-watch."

"Can't tonight."

"Work?"

"Plans."

Mason paused. "With who?"

Adrian looked over the top of his glasses. "A friend."

"Do I know them?"

"No."

"Male friend or female friend?"

Adrian closed his book with one finger marking his place.

"Why?"

"Conversation. Humans do it."

"His name is Ethan."

Something sour bloomed in Mason's chest.

"Ethan," he repeated. "Sounds like a man who owns expensive socks."

"He probably does."

"Interesting."

"Is it?"

"Not particularly."

Adrian watched him with an expression Mason couldn't read. Then he stood and put his book away.

"I'll be home late. Don't wait up."

Mason nearly said, I never do.

But the truth was that he waited up all the time. Not intentionally. He simply liked hearing Adrian's key in the door before he went to sleep.

He stayed awake until twelve-thirty that night, glaring at his laptop while the same eleven seconds of footage looped pointlessly.

When Adrian finally came home, Mason pretended to be engrossed in his work.

"Good date?" he asked without looking up.

Adrian stopped by the sofa. "I said I was meeting a friend."

"So it wasn't a date?"

"Good night, Mason."

Mason watched his bedroom door shut.

He had never hated a polite good night so much in his life.