Rhys gets on the bed. The mattress registers his presence significantly. He ends up along the far edge, which still puts him in the middle of the room relative to everyone else's sense of scale.
I'm in the middle. Obviously.
Alex takes the other side, which puts him next to me. Alex who has been so careful and so controlled and so deliberateabout distance for so long is now choosing proximity. I think I like it.
Finn surveys the situation.
"I'll take the floor," he says.
"Finn, there's room—" I start.
"There is not room," he says pleasantly. He's already arranging his blanket pile at the foot of the bed with the systematic focus he brings to everything. "I'm fine on the floor. I like the floor. The floor is underrated. And it’s just until we get a big enough bed for everyone."
"You said that last time too," I say.
"I meant it last time. I mean it now." He flops down onto his blanket nest. Adjusts. Adjusts again. "Perfect. This is perfect. Goodnight everyone."
The light goes off.
Then Malcolm says, in the dark: "Is that Finn's shirt in your nest?"
A pause.
"Malcolm," Alex says.
"I'm just asking. I see four shirts in there and one of them is definitely—"
"Malcolm," Alex says again.
"I'm being observant. It's a good quality."
From the floor Finn makes a sound.
"Finn," Malcolm says, with great satisfaction, "your shirt is in Vee's nest."
"I know that," Finn says. His voice has gone slightly higher than usual.
"That means something."
"I'm aware of what it means."
"Your cheeks are red. I can tell even in the dark."
"You cannot tell in the dark."
"I can absolutely tell in the dark. I know your embarrassed voice."
"I don't have an embarrassed voice."
"You have a very specific embarrassed voice. It goes up approximately—"
"Malcolm," I say.
"Yes?"
"Go to sleep."
There's a silent. Then, with enormous contentment: "Goodnight, Vee."
