Sarah's breathing had slowed into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. She was curled against him, one arm draped across his chest, her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder with the boneless trust of someone who had stopped worrying about anything the moment she'd closed her eyes.
Stan lay still for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of her apartment, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of traffic, the soft tick of a clock in the hallway. Then, carefully, without disturbing her, he reached for his phone on the nightstand and opened TikTuk Live.
He had unfinished business.
The first thing he did was change his username.
A Streak of Green on the Head had served its purpose, but the novelty had worn off weeks ago and the name had started to feel like a joke that had overstayed its welcome. He trimmed it down to a single word.
[Sir Streak.]
