West had adjusted his grip casually. "Yeah."
There was no strain on his face or tremors in his arms.
Mark chalked it up to adrenaline. Or youth. Or maybe the stress of the last few days doing strange things to perception.
But then it happened again.
And again.
A dining table box that clearly required two people—West took one end and still seemed to be doing most of the work. A refrigerator component that Mark struggled to even tilt—West carried it without complaint.
"You've… been working out?" Mark asked at one point, half joking, half confused.
West smiled. "A bit."
Mark laughed weakly and shook his head. "Kids these days."
They continued.
By the time they reached the stairwell again with their largest load yet, Mark's legs were burning. Sweat dripped from his temple as he adjusted his grip around a massive box filled with shelving parts.
Halfway up the flight, his foot slipped by just a fraction where the sole of his shoe failed to find traction.
