Adrian was halfway through making coffee when he saw the envelope on the counter.

It was addressed to Elliot Parker. The return address belonged to a commercial property agency, and a sheet of paper had slipped partly free.

STUDIO LEASE AGREEMENT, the heading read.

Adrian froze. He knew he shouldn't look. He also knew Elliot had been unhappy before the accident and had once considered finding more space for himself.

He pushed the envelope back exactly where he'd found it and proceeded to put salt in his coffee.

Elliot took one sip and stared at him. "Did you poison this?"

"No."

"Then why does it taste like the ocean?"

"Experimental recipe."

Elliot set the mug down. "You are no longer allowed to experiment before nine."

Adrian smiled weakly. Elliot kissed his cheek and hurried upstairs to take a call, leaving Adrian alone with the envelope and a growing panic.

He called Noah.

"If a person receives a lease agreement," Adrian asked, "does that necessarily mean they're leaving their husband?"

"Good morning to you too," Noah said. "Did you finally become a normal person and learn to ask a direct question?"

"Noah."

"Is this about Elliot's studio?"

Adrian gripped the phone. "You knew?"

"He mentioned wanting a proper workspace years ago. You remember his current studio is the spare bedroom, right?"

"I thought he liked it."

"He does. He also needs room for clients, large prints, and all those boxes you keep calling mysterious art equipment."

Adrian leaned against the counter. "He never told me."

"Maybe he did. Maybe you were in a meeting."

The words landed harder than Noah intended. Adrian remembered Elliot describing the anniversary dinner, the empty chair, and the feeling of asking for too much.

"I don't want him to think he has to leave to have a career," Adrian said.

"Then ask what the lease is for. Don't buy the building."

"I wasn't going to buy the building."

"You were considering it. I could hear the money moving in your brain."

Adrian hung up before Noah could continue. He waited until Elliot finished his call, then asked whether they could talk.

Elliot looked alarmed. "Is something wrong?"

"I saw an envelope. I didn't read the contract. But I saw the heading."

"The studio lease?"

"Yes."

Elliot's shoulders tightened. "I was going to tell you tonight."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I want to."

They sat at the kitchen table. Elliot spread out a brochure showing a small ground-floor workspace with high windows and enough room for an exhibition wall.

"It's ten minutes away," he said. "I could meet clients there and still work at home when I want."

Adrian stared at the photographs. He'd been picturing suitcases, separate apartments, and the quiet after Elliot left. Instead he saw bright walls covered with Elliot's drawings.

"It's beautiful," he said.

Elliot blinked. "You think so?"

"I think it needs a better coffee machine."

"That's your first observation?"

"My second is that you should sign it if you want it."

Elliot turned the brochure over. "I thought you might be upset."

"I was upset. But not because you want a studio. Because I thought you wanted to get away from me."

"Adrian—"

"That's mine to deal with. It isn't your responsibility to make your world smaller so I feel secure."

Elliot looked down, his eyes suddenly bright. "You wouldn't have said that a year ago."

"I wish I had."

They visited the space together that afternoon. The agent showed them a storage room, a small kitchenette, and a wall Elliot could use for framed illustrations.

Adrian asked practical questions about the lease, insurance, and lighting. He didn't attempt to negotiate on Elliot's behalf until Elliot asked for help.

On the way out, they passed a bakery. Adrian bought two pastries and they sat on a bench outside, sharing crumbs with an extremely bold sparrow.

"I used to think having my own studio would mean I was failing at marriage," Elliot confessed.

"Why?"

"Because I already had everything people said I should want. A beautiful home. A successful husband. I felt selfish asking for something that belonged only to me."

Adrian took his hand. "You were never supposed to disappear into my life."

Elliot squeezed back. "You say that so easily now."

"It's not easy. I keep having the urge to fix everything for you."

"You can help me hang shelves."

"I can hire someone to hang shelves."

"Adrian."

"Fine. I'll hang the shelves. We should warn the hospital."

Elliot laughed. They returned home with paint samples and a measuring tape. Adrian insisted he was perfectly capable of assembling furniture; Elliot reminded him of the bookshelf he'd once installed backward.

They spent the evening sketching possible layouts. Elliot made decisions about the space. Adrian offered suggestions only when asked, although his expression suggested that restraint required considerable effort.

Adrian also learned that Elliot had been quietly saving for the studio from illustration commissions. He'd built the fund over two years, putting aside small amounts even when projects were scarce.

"You did all that without telling me?" Adrian asked.

"I wanted to know I could do it myself."

Adrian felt a flash of hurt, then recognized that Elliot's independence wasn't a rejection of him.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

Elliot looked relieved. "That's what I wanted to hear."

At bedtime Elliot found Adrian comparing hardware-store instructions on his phone.

"You don't have to do all this," Elliot said.

"I want to be useful."

"You already are."

Adrian looked up. "By making terrible coffee?"

"By listening."

The studio opening required more decisions than Elliot expected. He needed a sign, a booking system, shelves that wouldn't collapse, and a way to keep track of invoices without losing his mind.

Adrian offered to build a spreadsheet. Elliot accepted, provided Adrian didn't turn it into a corporate acquisition model.

"No projections for international expansion," Elliot warned.

"Not even a small European division?"

"Adrian."

"Fine. One spreadsheet. Domestic operations only."

They sat together at the dining table. Elliot chose the categories, and Adrian translated them into formulas. For the first time, his business expertise felt like something offered rather than imposed.

When the spreadsheet was finished, Elliot printed a sample invoice and held it up with theatrical pride.

"My first official invoice."

"Frame it," Adrian said.

"I might."

The following day Adrian accompanied Elliot to a hardware store. He bought the wrong screws twice and had to return them. Elliot resisted the temptation to make a joke until Adrian admitted, "I deserve whatever you're thinking."

"You do," Elliot said. "But I appreciate the effort."

They installed one shelf crookedly and another perfectly. Elliot left the crooked one as a reminder that building a shared life didn't require flawless craftsmanship.

The next morning Elliot signed the lease. Adrian congratulated him with a bouquet of pencils tied in ribbon, which made Elliot laugh so hard he nearly dropped the paperwork.

They stood in the empty studio afterward, sunlight spilling across the bare floor. Elliot imagined canvases and clients, laughter and long afternoons.

Adrian stood near the doorway, giving him room to imagine.

Elliot crossed the space and took his hands. "Aren't you afraid I'll leave?"

Adrian smiled, though the answer cost him something.

"Of course I am. But I want you to stay because you're happy."