Anne sat at the edge of the couch, sipping her tea nervously as she glanced toward the small bedroom door that led to Ethan’s room. The stack of boxes in the corner seemed to grow more imposing in the dim light. Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, studying his mom’s expression. Anne (tentatively): “So, um… about tonight. I guess the couch will be fine for me, right? I don’t want to mess up your routine.” Ethan (straightforward): “Mom, it’s a one-bedroom apartment. The couch isn’t great for sleeping, and I’m not going to let you twist your back out here every night.” Anne fidgeted with her mug, her cheeks flushing slightly. Anne (softly): “I don’t want to put you out of your own bed, Ethan. You’ve worked hard for this place. You deserve to be comfortable.” Ethan (smirking): “And I deserve to wake up without hearing you complain about how the cushions gave you a crick in the neck.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’ll share the bed. It’s no big deal, okay?” Anne (flustered): “Oh, I—no, I couldn’t. That’s your space. I—” Ethan (cutting her off): “Mom, seriously. It’s just a bed. It’s not like we haven’t had to crash together before. Remember that road trip when the motel gave us one king instead of two queens?” Anne chuckled nervously, her hands tightening around her mug. Anne (relenting): “Well, if you’re sure… But only until I figure something else out. I’ll get a futon or something for the living room.” Ethan (teasing): “You mean the living room that barely fits the couch? You’d be sleeping on top of your boxes.” Anne gave a small laugh, relaxing slightly at Ethan’s casual tone.

Anne (reluctantly): “Well, if you’re absolutely sure about sharing the bed, I promise I won’t hog the blankets… much.”