PB & Banana
MAX
My head is trying to kill me. That's the first coherent thought I have when I wake up. The second is that my mouth tastes like something died in it. The third is… What did I do? I kissed… I kissed Leo
I kissed Leo, and then I proposed we have sex, and then… what happened after that? The memories are fuzzy, like watching a video through frosted glass, but I remember Leo's face. The way his eyes went wide. The way he said my name. The way he didn't say yes. But he didn't say no either.
Did he? I try to sit up. My brain sloshes around in my skull like it's come loose from its moorings.
"Ow. Motherboard." That's when I see it.
On the nightstand. A bottle of apple juice.
Two painkillers on a napkin. A peanut butter and banana sandwich on a plate, wrapped in plastic wrap, with a note stuck to it in Leo's neat handwriting.
Eat first. Painkillers second. You're welcome.
There's this… sensation. Like a gear catching.
Right behind my ribs. Leo made me a hangover kit.
Leo, who I kissed last night. Who I propositioned.
I think he even carried me home? He tucked me into bed and left me his favorite hangover remedy because he knows me well enough to know exactly what I need.
I pick up the sandwich. Unwrap it carefully and take a bite. It's perfect. Exactly the right ratio of peanut butter to banana, the bread slightly toasted the way I like it, even though I've never explicitly told him that.
Because he knows me. My brain, even through the fog of my hangover, starts putting pieces together.
Leo knows me. Better than anyone. Better than any of those guys I've been going on terrible dates with.
He knows about my robots and my socks and the way I think.
He knows I get distracted mid-sentence, knock things over, and hyperfocus on projects until I forget to eat.
And he cares anyway. He cares because of those things, not despite them.
I take another bite of the sandwich. Wash it down with apple juice.
Take the painkillers. Last night I proposed a solution to my problem.
Eliminate the unknown variables. Have sex with someone I trust, someone who knows me, someone who won't judge me for being inexperienced or weird or too much.
In the harsh light of morning, with my head pounding and my mouth tasting like regret…
It still makes sense. Actually, it makes MORE sense now.
Because here's the evidence: Leo took care of me.
Even after I kissed him and made things weird, he still made sure I had everything I needed.
That's not the behavior of someone who's horrified by the idea.
That's the behavior of someone who cares.
I finish the sandwich. Drain the apple juice. My head's still pounding, but it's manageable now. I need to brush my teeth approximately seven hundred times. And then I need to find Leo and convince him that my plan is actually brilliant.
But first, shower. I can't propose a logical argument while smelling like I died and came back wrong. My room's across the hall. I grab jeans and my favorite robot shirt from the dresser, then shuffle down the hallway to the bathroom with my brain already working on how to present my case.
The hot water helps. Standing under the spray, letting it beat against my shoulders, I start to organize my thoughts. "Okay. This is like any other engineering problem." My voice echoes off the tile. "I have a goal. Lose my virginity without dying of awkwardness. I have a solution, Leo."
Now I need to present my case to him.
"Point one." I hold up one finger even though no one's watching. "Trust. I trust Leo more than anyone."
He's seen me crying over failed robot prototypes at two AM. Spiraling about deadlines. That one time I set off the fire alarm and thought I was going to get expelled, and he just… made me tea and helped me write the apology email to campus safety.
"He's never made me feel bad about any of it," I say to the shampoo bottle. "Not once."
“Point two. Compatibility. We're already compatible as friends." I rinse soap out of my hair. "We like the same things. We can spend hours together without it being weird. Same sense of humor. Same—" I gesture, almost knock over the conditioner. "—same everything."
Physical compatibility is another variable to test, right?
"Point three!" The water's turning lukewarm now. "Experience differential. Leo's not a virgin. He knows what he's doing."
Which means he could teach me. Guide me. Make sure I don't accidentally do something catastrophically embarrassing like… I don't know, what do people even mess up during sex? There's probably a lot. But Leo would know.
"He could show me," I mutter. Then louder: "That's not weird.
That's practical. Point four… Umm, emotional safety.
Even if it's weird at first, we can laugh about it.
" I turn off the water. "We laugh about everything.
Remember when I got my hand stuck in that prototype casing?
Or when he tripped over literally nothing and took out an entire shelf at Beans & Books? "
We laughed for twenty minutes. We could laugh about awkward sex stuff, too. Probably. I grab my towel, still talking.
"Point five, the alternative is more terrible dates. Adam and his ex-boyfriend's photo album. That guy who spent an hour explaining cryptocurrency. The one who asked if I'd ever considered being 'less intense.'"
Statistically speaking, I have a 100% failure rate with strangers.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror, hair dripping, eyes a little bloodshot but clearer now.
"The logic is sound," I tell my reflection.
Leo's going to say no at first. Obviously.
Because Leo overthinks everything and probably spent all night catastrophizing.
"But I can be persuasive." I nod at myself. "I need to present the data."
Time to go catch my best friend. I do a quick loop of the house: the kitchen’s empty, the living room empty, JP's door closed. No Leo. His shoes are gone from the mat by the front door, which means he left properly, not just ducked outside.
The library, probably. Leo stress-studies the way other people stress-eat.
Okay. So he's already catastrophizing. That makes sense.
I go back to my room and Edgar's waiting parts on the workbench, because if Leo needs a few hours of academic avoidance before I can present my data, I might as well do something useful with my hands.