Elliot's first reaction to Adrian's announcement was to stop breathing for approximately two seconds.

"Our honeymoon?" he asked.

Adrian was still holding him. The pillows lay scattered around them, evidence of a midnight border dispute that had apparently ended in surrender.

"There was rain," Adrian said. "A hotel. You told me I'd promised never to let you go."

Elliot's expression changed. He sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders.

"We went to the Oregon coast," he said. "It rained for four days. You complained about the weather, then insisted we stay an extra night."

"That sounds unreasonable."

"You said the ocean was more romantic in the rain."

Adrian stared. "I said that?"

"You also bought matching rain boots."

"Take it back."

Elliot laughed, but his eyes shone. Adrian recognized that particular mixture now: amusement with grief hidden underneath.

"I'm sorry," Adrian said.

"For the boots?"

"For remembering something and not remembering enough."

Elliot leaned over and touched his cheek. "You don't owe me a complete memory by breakfast."

Downstairs, Adrian found Noah eating cereal from a mug. His friend had let himself in using an emergency key and looked far too comfortable about it.

"Why are you here?" Adrian demanded.

"Elliot invited me to check whether you survived sharing a bed."

"I survived brilliantly."

"The pillow wall didn't," Elliot said, entering behind him.

Noah raised his mug. "A moment of silence for the fallen border."

Adrian stole a piece of toast and changed the subject. "Did we go to Oregon on our honeymoon?"

Noah's grin faded into something gentler. "Yeah. You came back acting like you'd invented marriage."

"I need evidence."

"Of the invention?"

"Of the trip."

Elliot offered to show him photographs after breakfast. Adrian tried not to look eager and failed spectacularly.

They sat together on the living room rug with Elliot's laptop. There were pictures of misty cliffs, terrible restaurant pancakes, and Adrian holding an umbrella over Elliot while getting soaked himself.

In one photo, Elliot was laughing so hard that his eyes had closed. Adrian stood beside him with a ridiculous yellow raincoat tied around his waist.

"Why am I wearing that?" Adrian asked.

"You lost a bet."

"What bet?"

"You claimed you could make me laugh during a very serious art-gallery tour."

"Did I?"

"You made a duck noise in front of a landscape painting."

Adrian closed the laptop halfway. "I don't want any more evidence."

"There's video," Elliot said sweetly.

"Of the duck?"

"Of our honeymoon."

Adrian opened the laptop again.

The folder contained short clips, most of them ordinary. Elliot filming a rainy street. Adrian announcing that he was going to make coffee and returning with hot chocolate. A blurred shot of their feet dancing in a hotel hallway.

Then Adrian clicked a video labeled PRIVATE — OREGON.

Elliot sat on the edge of a hotel bed wearing a white robe. His hair was damp, and he was laughing at whoever held the camera.

"Stop filming me," the Elliot on screen said.

"Why?" Adrian's recorded voice asked.

"Because you promised we'd order dinner."

"I promised many things."

"You promised fries."

The camera moved. Adrian appeared briefly in the mirror, then crossed to Elliot and kissed him. Elliot smiled against his cheek. The camera tilted toward the blanket and the recording ended.

Adrian sat very still.

He had expected embarrassment. Instead, he felt a sharp, irrational pang of jealousy toward a man with his own face.

That man had known how to make Elliot laugh without thinking. He had known the sound of Elliot's sleepy voice and the exact moment to put the camera down.

Adrian knew none of it.

"You okay?" Elliot asked.

"I hate that guy."

Elliot blinked. "What guy?"

"The one in the video."

"Adrian."

"He's smug. He knows everything about you."

"He's you."

"He has an unfair advantage."

Elliot tried not to smile. "An unfair advantage over himself?"

"Exactly. Finally, someone understands."

Elliot shut the laptop and set it aside. "You don't have to compete with him."

"Easy for you to say. You apparently liked him."

"I did."

"A lot?"

"Enough to marry him."

Adrian groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Elliot waited, allowing the silence to settle before nudging his shoulder.

"You used to be very affectionate," Elliot said.

Adrian looked up. "More than I am now?"

"Much more."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It's a historical observation."

"History can be revised."

Elliot laughed. Adrian found himself smiling too, though the ache remained. He wanted memories, certainly, but more than that he wanted the ease he'd seen on Elliot's face.

"Can I ask you something serious?" Adrian said.

"Always."

"When you look at me, do you only see the man I was?"

Elliot considered the question carefully. "Sometimes I miss him. But I see you, too. The man who brought me breakfast yesterday and tried to hide the burnt toast."

"It was artisan charcoal."

"The man who asked permission before holding my hand. The man who thinks I'm worth courting even though we're already married."

Adrian exhaled. "That's an extremely low bar for romance."

"You'd be surprised."

They stayed on the rug until afternoon light stretched across the floor. Elliot showed him photographs from their first apartment, a crooked Christmas tree, and a birthday cake Adrian had dropped.

Every picture gave Adrian a new fact. None gave him the missing feeling of having lived it. Yet he found himself less frightened by that difference.

He could build new afternoons. He could learn Elliot's laugh again. He could even make new embarrassing videos, preferably without duck noises.

Elliot reached for the laptop. Adrian caught his hand gently.

"One more question," he said.

"You have unlimited questions."

"Was I a good husband?"

Elliot's smile faltered almost imperceptibly. "You loved me very much."

It wasn't quite an answer. Adrian noticed, but he didn't press. The sadness in Elliot's eyes deserved patience, not interrogation.

Instead, he moved closer until Elliot could easily pull away if he wished. Elliot remained where he was, looking up at him with open curiosity.

That evening, Adrian asked Elliot whether he could keep a copy of the photograph with the yellow raincoat. Elliot sent it to his phone, and Adrian made it his background.

"You could choose a more flattering picture," Elliot said.

"I like the way you're laughing."

"You're barely visible."

"Exactly. Excellent composition."

He also asked about the tiny handwritten note tucked inside the honeymoon album. Elliot unfolded it carefully. The note contained a list of promises: make breakfast on Sundays, never criticize the other's terrible singing, and visit the ocean once a year.

"Did we keep them?" Adrian asked.

"Some. We kept the singing rule. You still complain about my breakfast timing."

"And the ocean?"

"We talked about going back. Work always got in the way."

Adrian considered the list. "Maybe we should write new promises. Not to replace these. Just to give ourselves something we can actually keep."

Elliot found a pen. They wrote two modest promises on a fresh page: ask before assuming, and eat one meal together without checking phones.

Adrian proposed a third: no embarrassing footage shown to Noah without written permission. Elliot rejected it immediately.

"That's censorship," he said.

"That's marital protection."

They taped the page inside a kitchen cabinet. Adrian wondered whether the man in the old video would have laughed at such ordinary promises. He suspected Elliot valued them more than either of them once understood.

Before bed, Adrian watched the raincoat photograph one last time. His former self looked ridiculous, but Elliot looked safe and happy. Adrian wanted that expression to become familiar again, not as a souvenir but as something he helped create.

Adrian's voice softened. "Then maybe it's time I caught up."