He sits back down so I do, too, my legs folded up underneath me, the metal bars of the futon poking my shins through the thin cushion. “So what’s happening here?” I ask, gesturing toward the TV.

Without taking his eyes off the knife that’s currently chopping a potato, Mikey says, “This is, like, the sharpest knife in the world. It’s hypnotizing.”

And you know what? He’s right. I get sucked into this infomercial, too, so much so that I jump when Mikey Danger softly strokes my milkmaid braids. “I like these,” he says in a low voice, and I’ll admit, something kinda flips in my stomach, that half-nausea-half-pleasure feeling of attraction.

“You look cute tonight,” he says, running his fingers over the hem of my sleeve. I’m wearing a white billowy blouse embroidered with orange and red flowers and a pair of ripped jeans. It’s not my dress-to-impress look, but I’ll take the compliment.

“Thanks,” I say, leaning into him and kissing the side of his face. “You wanna go back to my place?”

He points to the TV. “Yeah. I kinda wanna see how this ends first, though. Okay?”

I nod, deciding against telling him that it’s an infomercial and there isn’t really an end. But I get sucked back into this knife demonstration, and after a few minutes, as the audience applauds for the last time and an infomercial for copper cookware comes on, I look at Mikey Danger.

His head lolls back on the futon, his mouth open and his breathing slow and steady.

He’s asleep.

I grab my tote bag before walking toward the kitchen. I’m about to reach for the door handle when it opens and Fred steps in.

“Oh! Hey, Chloe,” he says, taking out his AirPods. “What’s up?”

I jerk my head toward the living room. “Mikey Danger fell asleep on the futon and my lust remains unfulfilled.”

“Still weird that you’re into his whole . . . thing, but whatever,” Fred says.

“Where were you?” I ask. “Working?”

“The gym,” Fred says. “It’s kinda my second job.”

“Right. Because of . . . you know.” I gesture vaguely toward his body.

He nods. “Yep.”

“So . . .” I don’t know Fred that well, and I feel like I probably should know my brother’s boyfriend, especially since Milo seems convinced that they’re soul mates. Maybe now, while Mikey Danger slumbers, is a good time for a heart-to-heart. “What are you guys doing this weekend?”

Fred narrows his eyes at me. “Why? Do you want us to be out of the house so you and Mikey can turn it into your own personal love den?”

I snort-laugh. “I can only imagine that a Mikey Danger love den would be constructed entirely out of pizza boxes,” I say, gesturing toward the stack of broken-down boxes.

Fred does a double take as he looks at them. “Whoa. Who organized those? I was leaving them all over the kitchen on principle, like, I didn’t put these here in the first place, it shouldn’t be my responsibility to clean them up.”