I had been staring at the ceiling in the dark for at least an hour, before I heard the unmistakable pattering of feet on the hardwood floors. I reached to my nightstand and switched the lamp on. "Did I stutter?"
     He stood at my bedroom door with the blanket around him like a cape. He was visibly less agitated. My heart sunk a little at my caustic, reflexive comment. "Sorry, that really wasn't necessary."  I sat up and fluffed the pillows, "Come here."
    He padded over and flopped face down. He turned his head, "Your pillows smell so nice. Mine at home are sort of... dusty smelling."
     "I can imagine. Angela hasn't made frequent use of her guest room in some time. And I can understand why you might prefer to sleep there. It really is such a big adjustment..." I had no idea where I was going.
     He hugged the pillow tightly. His pupils were still dilated, but by no means as dilated as before. Everything was slowly returning to normal.
     "If you really have no intentions of going back," I swallowed hard, "then I do have a guest room. Its the door right across the hall."
     "Why can't I just sleep here, with you?" his eyes immediately gave away the shimmer of a spark he had left. 
     "You wouldn't even sleep in the same bed as Angela, I could never think that you would do the same here."
     "What if I want to?"
     I was ready to insist that he take himself to the guest room immediately. Maybe encourage him one more time to go back home. But he was already making himself cozy, face down, hugging the pillow. 
     "Alright then, listen. If you're sleeping in here there are rules: no funny business of any kind, and you're keeping your clothes on."
     "Deal," he mumbled, half asleep.
     I flipped the lamp switch, laying there in the dark. Shortly, there was the soft hum of a snore emanating from his pillow. I nudged him roughly with my foot, "And rule number three, no snoring!"
     "Oh, shut up," he mumbled, pulling me into his arms and holding me. He was asleep again in an instant, his steady, warm breaths making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
     I couldn't sleep, staring into the dark. My stomach felt red hot beneath his hands, I could feel the flush on my face. The steady rise and fall of his chest would touch my back, and then retreat. It was too much. I gently loosened his hands, threw back the sheets, and slid out of bed. My slippered feet tapped down the hall to my office. I swiped my laptop from my desk and went outside to my porch swing. I lifted the screen and browsed through my e-mails. Promotions, newsletters. That skirt I wanted was on sale. There was nothing other than minor editing work sent from my boss. Proofreading two project proposals and social media posts translated from Korean to English. 'They want to make sure the posts sound natural in English, not like they were done with Yoogle translate.'
     I saved the files, putting a hand to my sweating forehead. The night was cool, the crickets were chirruping away, and the lightning bugs blinked as far as the eye could see. The street was dark except for porch lights. I peered as far as I could manage, to see that Angela's was off. She had no idea that Henry wasn't in the house.
     A text from Em confirmed that Angela was fine. She hadn't needed to enter the house or call her, she could see all the lights out. Angela had gone to bed, assuming Henry had done the same. She'd never be the wiser, Em said, because Henry's room was in the basement.
     I was torn from my computer by the creak of the door. Henry emerged, hair mussed on the left side from the pillow. He rubbed his eyes as he pulled the door to. I closed my laptop and tried not to look at him. My face had already begun to blush again.
     "This is where you went," he stood in front of me, drawing in a long yawn.
     "I was trying not to wake you up."
     "You did a very poor job of it. I was awake the moment you threw off the blankets," he chuckled.
     "I'm sorry, Henry, I..."
     "I have got to think of something other than Henry," he sat so close to me on the swing our legs were touching. "I feel bad that she lost her husband, but the fact that she's trying to replace him with me gives me the creeps. I shudder every time I remember that I go by a dead man's name."
     "How about Jackson? Or Kyle? Maybe, Harrison?"
     He shook his head, "I knew someone who went by Kyle at the lab."
     "Landon? Yoosung? Oh, I've got it: Mark," I looked him in the face and his eyes were laser focused at mine. I immediately looked away.
     "Mark. Yes, I like that."
     I mindlessly rocked the swing back and forth with my foot, staring at the white planks of my porch.
     "Why won't you look at me?" 
     "I don't know how to deal with... tonight. I know, they drugged you with something. But... I..." His eyes were burning a hole in the side of my face, but I didn't lift my gaze from my feet. "Please don't apologize for it. It wasn't your fault. And I'm ashamed to admit it, but I liked it. Because, I like you."
     At last I looked at his sparkling eyes. I compulsively fixed his bed head. We leaned back on the swing and just looked at each other.
     "Why did it feel so wrong, though?" he grabbed my hand.
     "Because it's all behind Angela's back," I looked down at our hands, "It's not like we're teenagers sneaking out of our parents' houses to meet each other.  She'd think of it as you seeing another woman, even though you don't like her the same way she likes you."
     "It does almost feel like sneaking out of my mom's house, even though I've never had a mom."
     "Well, then it's clear how you feel about her. And, inevitably, you have to tell her."
     "I know. I just have no idea how I am going to go about it."
     "You were forced into your situation, it's hard to know what to say to someone who has a preconceived notion of who you are, and what you want."
     "What about your situation? Why do you live alone? You were lucky enough to have parents. Although I've not seen any family pictures in your house, like I have in Angela's. "
     I was silent for a moment. I was incredibly fortunate to have lovely parents, who made every sacrifice for me to go to college. We weren't well off by any means. They started saving early, and worked long shifts to make sure school could always come first for me. A warm, wet tear dropped onto my shoulder. I wiped its trail off my face.
     "I'm sorry you didn't have parents."
     "Why are you crying?"
     "It hurts to remember mine."
     "Why?" he looked genuinely confused.
     I took a deep breath and stifled a small sob, "My parents are both dead. My dad died my first year in university from pancreatic cancer. A year later, my mom was so depressed, she killed herself. I had come home  from university to such a scene: the neighbors, the fire department... they had to break open the garage, and her car, to get her out. But it was too late. She'd suffocated herself; run the car near to empty." I was wiping tears off my face with both hands.
     "It wasn't until everything was settled that I realized how many signs of it there were. How haggard she looked, how little she slept, ate, or showered. I never noticed because day after day, there I was at school. When we talked about the house, the bank said she'd paid it off quickly from her private account the month before. She didn't leave a note; she didn't have to. Even when she wanted to die, she still did so much to make sure I wouldn't have to worry!"
     Henry threw his arms around me and held me tight. I felt my forehead against his neck, tears sliding down my cheeks and dampening his t-shirt. He gently stroked my hair. "They loved you so much."
     "I know," I sobbed. "They always worked so hard, so I could go on school trips, go to college. Have everything I ever wanted. We never had a whole lot, and I will never know how much they gave up for me."
     I began to breathe regularly again after a few minutes, wiping the last of the wetness from my eyes.
     "I'm sorry I pried. I didn't want to make you relive something so painful."
     "I'm alright. It's supposed to be good to talk about painful things. This is the first time I've told more than the basics. Not even Em knows the whole story yet."