Yusef's bedroom is immaculate. It is full of books neatly organised. The walls are decorated with posters of bands, stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars, and a strip of photos taken in a photo booth. It is of them and Jason kissing with reckless abandon.
Yusef sits on their bed doing their homework. Their phone lies next to them on the open History textbook. They have their headphones in and are listening to music.
They had just started writing about trench warfare when there was a heavy knock at the door.
"Yeah?"
"It's me."
"Come on in."
Jason, red-faced and shattered, dressed in black skinny jeans and a sports bra, enters. A guitar case is slung over their shoulder.
"Hey, babe."
"Hey." They pant.
"How did it go?"
"Ugh... … …"
"That good?"
"It was great... just... really … really hot."
"So you won't be wanting a cuddle then?"
"... … … I'm happy to risk heat stroke."
Jason dumps the guitar case on the floor and flops beside them.
"Hah. You're so dramatic."
"I'm not!"
"Sure, babe. Sure."
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