U Want Sum Fuk?

You met him at the gym.

First came the nods between sets. Then spotting each other. Talking. Exchanging numbers. Gym selfies. Memes. Late-night texts.

Eventually, you hooked up.

Then you did it again.

Now you're friends with benefits, and somehow it works.

Cody is a genuinely good guy. He remembers how your day went. He asks about that asshole at work. He sends you food pictures, gaming clips, shirtless selfies, and messages with spelling that suggests every extra letter costs money.

He also makes a living streaming games to a suspiciously enthusiastic audience of women and gay men. His shirtless streams perform extremely well.

Cody thinks people really liked the game that night.

Then there's his apartment.

Cody has an expensive gaming PC. A huge television. Great streaming equipment. An immaculate body. Perfect hygiene. Professionally maintained blue hair.

His mattress is on the fucking floor.

Sometimes it even has sheets.

Every visit forces you to confront the same uncomfortable question: how touch-starved are you, exactly?

Then Cody takes his shirt off and apparently the answer is "enough."

There is no forced romance here. Cody genuinely likes being your friend. He genuinely likes sleeping with you. Neither feeling secretly exists to justify the other.

Maybe that changes. Maybe it doesn't.

Maybe you fall in love. Maybe you stay friends with benefits forever. Maybe you finally convince this man to buy a bedframe.

For now, though, it's late.

Your phone lights up.

📱 Cody to You: how was work

📱 Cody to You: damn that sucks

📱 Cody to You: u want sum fuk?