"Hey," he murmurs.
"Hey," I say.
"You okay? You look weird."
"I'm good. Just thinking."
His fingers find the hem of my shirt, playing with it. We lie there for a while, quiet. The lights get automatically turned off. The others are drifting off. Jack's comic slides onto his chest as his breathing deepens.
"Tell me something I don't know about you," Liam whispers.
"Like what?"
"Anything. Something you like. Something stupid. I want to hear your voice."
Nobody asks me that. People ask about my record, my plans, my grades. Not what I like.
"I like chess," I say.
"Chess?" He lifts his head. "Like, the board game chess?"
"Yeah. I played a lot as a kid. My neighbor taught me. This old guy named Robert who lived across the hall. He was ranked, competed in tournaments. He'd play with me every afternoon after school. I got decent."
"Decent meaning you were probably really fucking good."
"I was alright. I liked the strategy. Thinking five moves ahead."
"Of course you'd like chess. That's the most you thing I've ever heard." He pokes my chest. "Control freak."
"Funny,” I say, chuckling. “It’s just about reading patterns before they happen.”
"That's literally what you do to me every day."
"Yes. But you're not hard to read."
"Rude." But he's grinning. "What else?"
"I like running. Not really the gym. That I do because I have no other choice. Run long distance. We can’t really do it here, nowhere to run."
"We’re going to run plenty when we leave, and not even from the police,” he jokes. I chuckle. “Keep going."
"I like architecture. Buildings. How things are designed, the angles, the structure, why a room feels a certain way. I've spent three years studying every corner of this facility. I know where every camera is, every blind spot, every door that sticks. Not because I was planning an escape. I just notice how spaces work."
"I just thought you were paranoid."
Now I laugh. "Your turn, baby."
"I love dogs," he says, immediately. "Before everything went to shit, I used to go to this shelter near my apartment, just because I had nowhere else to go. Every Saturday. I'd just sit in the kennels and let them climb all over me. I was really good with them."
"That makes complete sense."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. You’re a good boy. And you just have dog energy."
"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment," he laughs, cheek on my chest. "I also love horror movies. The really bad ones. The effects so cheap you can see the zipper on the monster costume. I used to watch them with my dad when he was sober enough. We'd eat popcorn and throw stuff at the screen."
"Your dad watched movies with you?"
