Because it is ridiculous and because it is painfully, unmistakably right.
Second post.
Heath sitting in a food bowl.
Caption: I was informed this was enrichment. I disagree.
Third post.
A video.
Heath climbing over Mark’s tattooed forearm while Mark says in the background, “You are literally climbing onto me and still look offended.”
My breath catches.
That voice.
Low, dry, amused.
I have not heard it in a month.
And hearing it now feels disarmingly immediate, like someone has opened a door I had put furniture against.
I keep scrolling.
Heath in another hat.
Heath glaring from inside a cardboard tube.
Heath asleep under a folded flannel.
There are far more posts than I expected.
And far more followers.
Thousands.
I stare at the number.
My hamster has developed a stronger fan base in four weeks than I have managed in nearly forty years.
That feels unnecessary.
I am still trying to process that when I reach the newest post.
And stop breathing.
It is a photo of Mark on the sofa.
Shirtless.
Flat on his back, one arm bent behind his head, Heath sprawled across the centre of his chest as if this is his assigned throne.
Mark’s skin still slightly flushed. Tattoos stark against bare skin. He is looking down at Heath with a small, helplessly fond expression.
Caption: Post-run recovery with my emotional support housemate. He contributed nothing except judgement.
I stare.
