“What are you . . . I mean, why are you up so early?” I ask. True, I don’t know Mikey’s schedule, but back in high school, he routinely missed his first two morning classes because an alarm clock powerful enough to wake him didn’t exist.

He shakes his head, giving me a smile. You know how most people have, like, five different smiles, minimum? Like how Nick will give me his making fun of me smile, his reluctant to admit I’m funny smile, his Why are you so strange smile? Well, Mikey only has the one smile—it manages to communicate the entire range of his emotions in one expression, and you know what? It’s nice to be around someone so uncomplicated, so open and easy.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head like I tried to tell him that two plus two equals five. “I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

My mouth drops open. “But . . . but you left my place well before midnight. What have you been doing?”

He shrugs. “Little bit of this, little bit of that. You know.”

I do not know, but I nod slowly. “Do you . . . want something to eat?”

His face lights up for the first time since he came in. “Yeah. Do you have, like, cereal?”

“Um.” I look at Gary, and even he’s giving me a What’s this guy’s deal? expression. “This isn’t a breakfast buffet, Mikey. We have raspberry almond bars. And some rose pistachio cookies from yesterday that are pretty bomb, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” he says with a fist pump. “Cookies are my favorite food.”

I can’t help but smile for real. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a cookie.” I grab one out of the case and hand it to him. He shoves the entire thing in his mouth and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Shit, Chlo. This is, like, the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in my life.”

As we were leaving his place last night, Fred pulled me aside and expressed concern that Mikey’s internal organs were going to disintegrate, given that he seems to subsist on a diet of Crunchwrap Supremes from Taco Bell, so I don’t know if this is a huge compliment. But it feels like one, so I accept it.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, and then, as if this is a thing we do on a regular basis, Mikey leans across the register and kisses me. It’s quick and casual and not designed to cause shock, but given that two short days ago I was kissing Nick in this location, it’s jarring.

But not terrible. Mikey isn’t a bad kisser and he tastes like a cookie right now, so things could be worse.

“Uh, thanks!” I say, and offer him a bright smile and another cookie.

“See you, babe,” he says, then toasts me with his cookie. “Thanks.”

I watch him shuffle out the door, a man who doesn’t have anywhere to be until his evening delivery shift at Pizza Hut.