Yup, wrote Charlotte.

Weeeeeeeeelllllllllllllllll. It was the closest Germaine would ever come to pronouncing it the truth.

So what do I do?! How do I fix it!?

I don’t think it’s something to fix, bb, it’s kinda just your personality.

Oh, it’s 100% fixable, Charlotte disagreed. You just have to realize that “romance” is a cultural concept, constructed from outdated and fictionalized notions of subjugating one’s autonomy to the notion of partnership. Then, every time you find yourself having these yearnings for shit and you don’t know why, ask yourself, “do I want this because movies and pop culture have trained me to believe I’m only loved if someone else gives this thing to me?” and soon you’ll see that you can tease apart your actual, individual desires from the mess of capital-R romance that society spoon-feeds us.

There was silence then.

Finally, Germaine wrote, OR you can just be honest about what you want, to yourself and to the next person you date. It’s ok to want things!!!

They added, (also, C, are you using talk-to-text cuz hot damn).

Circling back to the issue at hand, Charlotte wrote, what does flower boy look like???

Truman laughed. He felt his cheeks heat for no reason. He sent them the picture he’d taken of Ash the day before, drinking in the soft blue and pink of his sweater and lips, the bright yellow of the ranunculus. The stormy blue-gray of his eyes.

I’M SORRY WHAT came Germaine’s instant reply.

Charlotte wrote, Oh, Truman.

So he’s handsome! It’s not like I’m in love with every handsome person in the world! He’s not just his looks. He’s also really sweet and kind and generous and he takes care of his mom and he makes beautiful bouquets!

Take that, Truman thought.

Oh, Truman. This time it was Germaine who wrote that.

GRUMBLE GRUMBLE GRUMBLE, Truman wrote once more.

He thought about how he’d gone to the Queen Bee that morning to avoid seeming overeager to get to Thorn. How the press of Ash’s thigh against his as they sat on the flat-topped rock at the beach had made him want to lean into Ash. How he’d looked at the pictures he’d taken of him a dozen times last night. He’d told himself he was picking the best one for the website, but…

Oh no. Oh no no no. Oh fuck, Truman wrote.

Oh, shit, it’s bad. T swore.

Truman, I would like to remind you that you’re there for A MONTH, Charlotte wrote.

How can I have a crush on someone—I got my heart stomped on literally fourteen seconds ago???

I don’t think there’s a timeline on it, boo.