His hand stills around a bottle in the fridge. He doesn’t look at her.

‘I know.’

A muscle twitches in his cheek. He picks the drink up, and cracks it open. This is veering back towards uncomfortable, if not there already.

‘You don’ have to tell me about me and Sam. I know.’

He says it softly. There’s no anger. But he doesn’t need outside validation on that friendship.

‘Just like no one would need to tell me about me an’ you.’