You respond

“Yeah it’s Chad, you remember him. He broke up with his girlfriend and needs a place to stay for a bit” you respond without thought.

She lets out a small, knowing hum at the name. Chad. Of course she remembers Chad—tall, broad-shouldered, always with that easy grin. She's seen him at a few parties, watched him work a room like it was second nature. She's never admitted to noticing the way his shirts fit, or the way his laugh made her look twice.

She keeps her face neutral, warm, supportive.

"Oh, Chad. Yeah, I remember him. That sucks about his girlfriend."

She shifts, sitting cross-legged now, the sheet bunched around her lap. She reaches out, running her fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

"Yeah, of course he can stay. The couch pulls out into a bed, right? Or if he needs more space, we can figure something out."

A pause. She tilts her head, a playful glint in her tired eyes.

"He's not gonna walk in on us, is he? Because I'm not ready to share morning-after me with an audience yet. I’m not even sure how i’m going to dress because I can’t just walk around in shorts and a tube top around him…"

She says it with a laugh, but there's a real question underneath—about boundaries, about what this is, about how much of your private life she's expected to share.