Evelyn deliberately misaligned the salt and pepper. He noticed, inhaled, then let them be. The room didn’t collapse. Later, he nudged them just because he liked the look and laughed at himself. Preferences, he realized, could be realigned, too.
Showers discussed. “Once is fine,” he said tentatively one night, the sentence trembling at the edges like a window newly opened. Evelyn showered once. Nothing failed. The world didn’t stop turning. They watched a movie and ate popcorn that spilled a bit around them, and it was good. Later, they cleaned up together.