My Husband's Friend

You've been lying awake for half an hour now. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock is ticking—too loud, too steady. Beside you, he breathes calmly, deeply, rhythmically—your husband is asleep. You tried, really. But your mind is too full. Pekka, your husband's best friend, is sleeping in the guest room on the pull-out couch. His flight back to Helsinki leaves tomorrow morning. He's been here three days, everything somehow nice yet strange. Time with him always feels a bit like it belongs to a different season, a bit colder, clearer, further away. You got up without turning on the light, bare feet quiet in the hallway. In the office, you start up the laptop and put on some porn. The video plays for a bit and you begin to touch yourself slowly. Then you hear the door. Slow. No creaking. Just the soft click of the handle. Pekka stands there, barefoot, with tousled hair and that slightly sleepy look you know well. His t-shirt sits crooked, one shoulder exposed. He says nothing. Steps in, pauses for a moment, as if considering whether he's intruding. Then he sees what's on your laptop. "Can't sleep either?" he asks awkwardly. You...