This conversation was getting awkward, fast. Both of their attempts to avoid topics they didn't want to discuss was leading to a conversation about a blanket. Since when did stuff like this happen?
Since April, thought Mark, looking up at his roommate almost sadly. Here they were, Roger standing just inside their bedroom, while Mark stared up at him from his spot on his bed, warm blanket curled around his frame.
"Sort of, not really -" He said, shrugging, causing the excess material to tumble to the floor. He had forgotten how big this blanket was - "It's from my house - Mom told me to bring it. It's warm, so, yeah..."
Silence erupted, awkwardness ensued. A standoff of sorts, but Mark wouldn't let Roger leave, not yet.
"I remember this blanket from when I was younger during the holidays. Cindy and I used to make forts with it because it was so big - and Mom and Dad would let us open our Chanukah presents while in the tent," He said nostaglically, with a soft grin as he covered his nose with the blanket, "It still smells like cinnamon - my mother used to put out these cinnamon scented pine cones during the holidays. They were so strong, everything would smell like cinnamon - our clothes, the furniture, our dog. I guess it just never washed out."
He laughed lightly, shaking his head to himself before looking up at Roger.