“Flowers for Algernon,” I said to the lady who was now scowling at me. She didn’t understand the enormity of this revelation, but I knew who would. I pulled out my phone, hit Merry’s number, and didn’t even give her time to say hello, though I did try and keep my voice down. “It’s not music he listens to in his headphones. It’s audiobooks. He reads books, and not just any books, Merry, but classics. Well, modern-day classics and holy fucking shit could he be any more perfect?”

“New phone, who dis?”

“I’m not even kidding right now,” I replied. I ignored the daggers Mother Teresa was giving me because of my colourful language. “His grandfather didn’t die, and he wasn’t heartbroken by some incomparable Adonis that I’d have to track down and kick in the shins. He was crying because of the book. Guess which audiobook he was listening to that puts him in the stratosphere of cool? Guess!”

“The Social War by Simon Mohler Landis.”

I stopped like I’d teleported to an alternative universe, blinked, then sputtered. “What the actual fuck, Merry. Who hurt you?”

She laughed. “I don’t know which book he was listening to, but I can only assume you spoke to him?”

“I made him smile. In a good way. And you haven’t guessed the book. You’ll never guess but, oh my God, Merry. He just became a twelve on the scale of one to ten on perfection.”

“This will be over a whole lot quicker if you just tell me.”

I grinned, even just thinking about it. “Flowers for Algernon.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Oh.”

“I know, right?”

“That explains the tears.”

I sighed happily. “It does. It tells me so much about him. Plus, I spoke to him. Like actual words, in somewhat semi-coherent sentences. Unlike The Social War by Mohler Landis. Jesus Christ, Merry. We need to talk about the credibility of your bibliophilism.”

She laughed again. “So can we stop calling him Headphones Guy now he has a name?”

“I think so. His name is kind of perfect, don’t you think?”

“Okay look, Jordan, I’m just going to say this at the risk of you having a freak out on the bus, in public, but I don’t want you getting way ahead of yourself so here it is. Yes, he’s gay. He’s even asexual. We know this. He said he was. What we don’t know is if he’s seeing someone, dating, or married even. Or what he does for a living.”

“What difference does his job make?”

“What if he’s an undertaker? Or a hitman?”

“Undertakers and hitmen need love too, Merry. Probably more than other people.”

She snorted. “We’re talking about this tomorrow, okay?”