Not because it’s absurd, though it is.
Because it’s him.
Because somehow this—this entire situation—feels exactly as ridiculous as it should, and still not enough to stop.
“This is—” he starts, still laughing, then shakes his head. “This is completely insane.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t even like people knowing I have a hamster,” he adds. “It raises too many questions.”
“Seems like a missed opportunity.”
“For what.”
“Filtering out the hamster haters.”
He snorts at that, the laugh still sitting under his breath.
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t even hesitate.”
I shrug slightly. “He comes with you.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to work out what sits under that but doesn’t quite push it.
Instead, he exhales, shaking his head again.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters. “I’m about to introduce you to my hamster.”
“I’ll behave.”
“Promise?”
“Probably not.”
That gets another laugh out of him.
Quieter this time.
I hold his gaze for a beat.
“Honestly,” I say, a small smile pulling at my mouth, “I’d rather rescue an anxiety-riddled hamster than deal with the alternative.”
He frowns slightly. “Which is?”
I don’t look away.
“Having to say goodbye to you tonight.”
He stills for half a second, like he didn’t expect me to be so honest.
Then he exhales, something softer breaking through.
“Right,” he says quietly.
