@hamsteroftheheath.
Profile picture: Heath glaring suspiciously out from the fold of blue wool.
Bio: London rodent. Survivor of seagull attacks. Collector of hats.
I stare at it.
Then let out a short laugh under my breath because apparently this is where my life haslanded.
The first post goes up before I can reconsider.
Photo: Heath curled inside the beanie.
Caption: New residence. Same anxiety.
I toss the phone onto the counter.
Then, because Callum deserves to suffer for planting the idea in the first place, I pick it back up.
Find his profile.
And send Callum a follow request from @hamsteroftheheath.
I grin to myself.
Petty.
But satisfying.
The phone rings less than ten seconds later.
“That was quick.”
“What,” Callum says flatly, “the fuck is this?”
I look over at Heath’s cage.
“At a guess? Social media.”
“Do not be a smart arse. Why am I being followed by a hamster?”
“Because he’s broadening his horizons.”
There is a silence on the line.
The kind of silence that usually precedes either murder or financial litigation with Callum.
“Mark.”
“Yes.”
“Are you alright?”
I let out a breath that might almost be a laugh.
“That seems to be everyone’s first question.”
“You have never in your life sent me photos of rodents hiding in knitwear.”
