This is profoundly unfair.
Because it is Heath.
Because it is Mark.
Because there is something so stupidly easy and domestic about the picture that my chest twists before I can stop it.
I zoom in.
A low point, personally.
Heath looks furious.
Mark looks comfortable.
At home.
And suddenly every post before this rearranges itself into something more dangerous than funny.
Mark cleaning Heath’s cage.
Mark’s voice in the background of videos.
Mark casually surrendering knitwear to rodent occupation.
Ordinary evenings and ordinary mornings I was not expecting to see again.
My phone rings.
I accept the call on speaker and keep my eyes on the screen
“Well?” Sophie demands.
I let out a slow breath.
“You may have found him.”
There is a sharp inhale.
“Oh my God.”
“Please don’t.”
“No, I’m sorry, but this is objectively incredible.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Philip, your hamster is internet famous.”
“Yes, I’ve gathered that.”
“And Tattoo Whitstable is shirtless on the internet?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“How do you know he’s shirtless?”
“Because I looked at the account too. I’m not an amateur.”
