Chapter Forty-Eight
Butterfly: Where will you take me for our first date as an official couple?
Tomcat: Probably somewhere shitty.
Butterfly: Excuse me??
Tomcat: So you’ll want to go home and I can finally get my hands on you.
Butterfly: UGH fair.
Butterfly: This jacking off bullshit is so not it.
Tomcat: I know.
Butterfly: Is work okay, at least?
Tomcat: No complaints.
Butterfly: That asshole Sully better be nice to you or he’ll wake up with a horse’s head in his bed.
Tomcat: He’d probably get off on the animal cruelty.
Tomcat: How do you feel about children?
Butterfly: Love ’em. Especially those who carry my family name.
Butterfly: Why?
Tomcat: Just wanna know if we’re going to have children or not.
Butterfly: brUH, AT LEAST TWO.
Butterfly: That’s the bare fucking minimum, though. I want Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas Eve to be chaotic and loud and wonderfully dysfunctional. I want group chats that make people’s eyes water. Secret handshakes and inside jokes only we’re privy to.
Butterfly: I WANT A SAFE WORD FOR WHEN WE’RE ARGUING WITH OUR CHILDREN AND ONE SIDE THINKS THINGS ARE GOING TO IMPLODE.
Butterfly: And I want morning snuggles and to doze off with Bluey in the background, and UC trips because a bead got stuck in someone’s nostril and afternoons watching awful soccer games with spiked lemonade under the sun.
Butterfly: I’m going to own ALL THAT SHIT. I’ll be that dad, you know. The one you and I never had. Who always picks you up from the airport, and overplans for every trip, and knows everything about your friends.
Butterfly: Okay, your silence is alarming…
Butterfly: Do YOU want kids?
Tomcat: I was on the fence until five minutes ago. But with you? Definitely.
Butterfly: Hey, I DoorDashed you a salad to the office. Didn’t you get it?
Tomcat: Sorry, I’m in the field today.
Butterfly: NP. Everything good?
Tomcat: I miss you.
Butterfly: I miss you too.
Butterfly: But I’m doing SO good. Soon.
Tomcat: I know <3
Tomcat: You stopped posting thirst traps on IG.
Butterfly: I like to keep them waiting. Anticipating. It’s like foreplay.
Butterfly: Tom??
Tomcat: Sorry. You said the word foreplay. I had to go get some relief.
Butterfly: Dude, I’m jerking off like three times a day. I have calluses the size of tennis balls on my palm.
Tomcat: I know.
Tomcat: Not because I’m still stalking you, but because we’re in the same boat.
Butterfly: I think I’m done with the self-improving bs. Come over.
Tomcat: Take a cold shower, and let me know if that’s still true.
Butterfly: Okay. I took one. Ugh. Fuck.
Butterfly: Can we at least have some phone sex?
Tomcat: No.
Butterfly: WHY? You’re old. You like talking on the phone.
Tomcat: Love you. Bye.
Butterfly: FUCK. BYE.
Butterfly: Sorry for being a brat earlier.
Tomcat: It’s okay.
Butterfly: I love you.
Tomcat: I love you too.
Butterfly: Will you take my name if we ever get married?
Tomcat: Can I hyphenate?
Butterfly: Sure.
Tomcat: Then yes.
Butterfly: Can I hyphenate?
Tomcat: Baby, you can do whatever the fuck you want.
Butterfly: Literally crying horny tears over here.