Rene asked me what I wanted for breakfast once, when her roommate was out doing something or another. She was seated on her twin bed, I was splayed out across the wooden floor. I liked the feeling of cool, flat surface against the hair on my back. I told her I wanted her, and she laughed. I didn’t smile. So she told me to wait and, when I’d been kept in the room long enough, she called me. I found her in the small kitchen, on the other side of the island, holding a plate of scrambled eggs and wearing nothing but a purple apron, hiding everything I wanted to see. I’d never really thought about it, beyond the arousal. She didn’t have to do anything. She could’ve just remained on her bed and cracked a joke, or some familiar sarcasm. We might’ve fucked in bed instead of in the living room. But she did something, something that brought me joy. And I never thought about it.