They get comfortable

The next morning, John came out of the bedroom to find Claire and Marcus already in the kitchen. She was barefoot, in one of John’s old shirts — loose, long, just enough to cover her thighs. No shorts. Definitely no bra.

Marcus noticed. That was obvious.

She poured coffee like nothing was unusual.

“You sleep okay?” she asked Marcus.

**“Not bad. Bed’s firm. Walls are thin.” He looked at John as he said it.

John raised an eyebrow. “Too thin?”

“Not complaining.”

Claire giggled. It didn’t feel like a joke.

“I’ll get dressed in a minute,” she said to no one in particular.

“Don’t,” Marcus said casually. **“You’re good.”

John glanced at him. Claire caught that glance.

“He’s kidding,” she said.

Marcus didn’t confirm or deny. Just drank his coffee.

⸻

The day passed quietly. John had classes, Claire worked a short shift at the bookstore. By the time they were home, Marcus was already there, shirtless, watching TV with a beer in hand.

Claire walked in, gave him a nod, then flopped down next to him without hesitation.

John watched from the kitchen. Watched how casually Marcus spread his legs. How much space he took up. How Claire leaned into the cushions, knees angled toward him.

The show was some crime doc — but nobody was paying attention.

John grabbed a drink and sat on the far side of the couch. Claire didn’t move.

After a minute, she kicked her feet up onto the coffee table, resting them close to Marcus’s thigh.

“Tired,” she said, more to herself.

**“Long shift?” Marcus asked.

“Ugh. Stupid customers. One guy asked if we had books ‘but not like, with too many words.’”

Marcus laughed. “You work with idiots.”

“They find me.”

John looked at her. Her shirt had slipped down just enough on one side to show the strap of her bra — or lack thereof. She wasn’t wearing one.

Marcus saw it too. Didn’t hide it.

John cleared his throat.

“We could put on something lighter,” he offered.

“Nah,” Marcus said. “I like this kind of dark stuff. Makes regular life feel safer.”

Claire nodded. “Or more boring.”

Marcus glanced at her. “Boring’s underrated. Depends who you’re bored with.”

She smiled, slow. That smile was for him, not John.

John stood up. “I’ve got a paper to finish.”

“Already?” Claire asked, turning.

**“Yeah. Due tomorrow.”

Marcus raised his beer. “Good luck, man.”

John nodded, went to the bedroom, shut the door — and didn’t start his paper. He sat on the edge of the bed and listened.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying. But he could hear her laugh. Again. And again.

Something curled in his stomach.

Not anger. Not exactly.

It was heat.

It was hunger.

It was fear.