I gave them both a look.
They left laughing.
The apartment was quiet.
“Noah?”
“Bedroom.”
His voice sounded alert.
I found him reclining against a stack of pillows with his tablet resting across his thighs. He wore a soft blue shirt and sleep pants.
Marlowe lay at the foot of the bed, radiating profound disinterest in human scholarship.
Noah lowered the tablet.
“You’re early.”
“By seven minutes.”
“I expected greater precision from your obsession.”
“What are you watching?”
“Nothing at present.”
I glanced at the screen.
A paused video showed two men kissing in a room lit with such deliberate softness that it looked like an advertisement for expensive bedding.
Color rose across Noah’s face.
“I began with articles.”
“And then?”
“They were insufficiently demonstrative.”
“A failure of modern education.”
He closed the tablet and set it aside.
“Come here.”
Confidence steadied the request.
I removed my work boots and sat beside him.
His fingers touched the front of my shirt.
“I learned several things.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“Most pornography fails to account for orthopedic injuries.”
“A serious omission.”
