Soren appears in the doorway, drawn by the noise like he always is. He pads in quietly, holding a mug of something that smells like chamomile, and takes in the scene: me half-dressed, Jude holding my phone hostage, Benji providing critical commentary. He sits cross-legged on the end of my bed, tucking his feet under him like he's settling in for a show.
My bedroom is not designed for four people. It's barely designed for one person and a laundry pile. But now Judeis sprawled across the middle of the room, reeking of the cedar-and-leather scent he's permanently marinated in since his bonding. Benji has claimed my desk chair, perched on it with his arms crossed like a judgmental cat. And Soren has made himself a little nest out of my rejected outfit pile, not seeming to notice he's sitting on three sweaters and a pair of jeans I tried on and immediately regretted.
"What's happening?" Soren asks, taking a sip of his tea.
"Milo is entering the dating pool and we're supervising," Benji says, not looking up from his cuticles.
"It's not the dating pool, it's KnotMe. It's the hookup pool," I correct, finally pulling my sweater back on because standing shirtless in front of three people was not the plan.
"Even better." Jude turns the phone to show Benji the photo. "Look at this. Look at the stomach. Look at the hip."
"I was going to delete that one—"
"If you delete this photo I will end our friendship." Jude says this with complete sincerity. "This is the one. This is givingI bake cookies and I want to get railed. It's perfect."
"That's...not what I was going for."
"That's exactly what you should be going for." He's already tapping around on the profile builder. "Benji, tell him."
Benji studies the photo for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugs one shoulder. "I'd swipe right. And I'm dead inside. So."
My chest goes warm. It's like when the first batch of cookies comes out right and the apartment smells good and everything feels, for a second, like enough.
"I think you look really lovely, Milo," Soren says from the bed, quiet and sure.
"Lovely doesn't get you knotted," Jude says.
"Lovely gotyouknotted," Benji mutters.
Jude throws my pillow at his head without looking up from the phone.
Soren catches my eye and does the thing he does—the quiet look that saysI see you and you're doing fine. I duck my head. If I hold that look too long I might get embarrassingly emotional over a hookup app profile photo.
"Okay, bio time." Jude settles cross-legged on my bed like it's his command center. "What have you got so far?"
"I wrote 'psychology major who likes baking and—'"
"Delete that. Delete all of that. You sound like a PTA volunteer." His thumbs are already moving. "How do you feel about the phrase 'sit on your knot'?"
"I feel strongly against it."
"Prude."
"I'm making a KnotMe profile, I'm clearly not a prude—"
"How about this." He turns the phone toward me. I read what he's typed, and my face goes instantly hot.
"Jude, I can't put that. My mother could see this."
"Your mother is not on KnotMe. Probably." He tilts his head. "We'll workshop it. Benji?"
Benji shifts in the desk chair, arms still folded over the back. "Lose the second line. Nobody needs to know about the baking upfront—save the domesticity for the third hookup when you're trying to lock them down."
"I'm not trying to lock anyone down—"
"First line is good. Dirty but honest. Add something about what you're actually looking for."
"Something that isn't 'casual fun,'" Soren offers. "That always sounds sad."