After a week, London still hadn’t broken, and worse, he seemed to have conspired to make my life a living hell. I came home to clothing on the bathroom floor, dirty cups scattered over the tiny kitchen counter, and his dirty feet perched on top of the coffee table as if he owned it. Nine times out of ten, he would look my way before doing something that he knew would annoy me. To make matters worse, I’d gotten sick. I told myself it was just a cold, but the longer I dealt with it, the less it seemed like a cold and more like something very serious. The coughing, headaches, and general drowsiness could all be dismissed as my normal migraines combined with a head and chest cold of epic proportions. But waking in the middle of the night with chills couldn’t be so easily dismissed.

I’d only dealt with my sickness for a couple days, and I’d dealt gamely with London’s constant nuisances. But when I came home today, just two weeks into our life as roommates, I noticed that he was watching porn. Right smack in the open in the living room. Direct view from the door. And in nothing but his boxers. The dim lighting, provided only by the TV and the dusk light filtering through the doorway, highlighted his perfect abdominal muscles. My throat went dry at the sight of them.

The son of a gun thought he could just walk around the apartment, practically nude and watching porn. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t just any porn. Oh, no. I opened my door to a man in a white, powdered wig groping another—completely naked—man’s ass. I wanted to strangle London, but I was filled with such an indecipherable stream of emotions. I didn't want to say awe. Perhaps morbid fascination would be a better term. For a split second, I thought my not-cold had worsened significantly and was causing me to hallucinate. Worse still, I couldn't stand to look away from the screen. “Please, tell me you aren’t watching porn of George Washington,” I said.

“I’m not.”

I looked away, but even that didn't save me.

“How could you take my father-in-law’s place in the Senate, Burr? That was most discourteous of you.”

“Oh, yes! Punish me, Alexander!”

“Is that supposed to be Alexander Hamilton?” I asked. “Why are you watching porn of—of Hamilton and Burr?”

“It's what I do,” London said.

“What you do is watch porn? About one of the Founding Fathers?” I asked. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“No, you don't get it. It's not something I jerk off to,” London replied. “It's what I do for my YouTube channel. I do reviews of bad films. Sometimes, it’s really cheesy films. Sometimes, it’s porn. Didn't I tell you that?”

“You told me you reviewed films,” I replied. “But you didn't tell me they were pornographic films with…”

My eyes drifted back to the screen, just as Aaron Burr took Alexander Hamilton’s cock into his mouth. Burr began running his tongue over it with horrific slurping noises. I was going to die. I was literally just going to descend into hell for looking at this. The actor playing Hamilton groaned loudly as Burr, bouncing up and down, moved his mouth over Hamilton’s cock.

“For the love of God, mute that!” I exclaimed.

Just to spite me, London turned up the porn, filling the room with obscenely loud moans and grunts. “I hate you so much,” I replied. “I hope you go straight to hell.”

“Oh, come on,” London said. “It's so bad that you can't help but laugh at it. I mean, look at how absurd Burr is at blowing off Hamilton. What’s wrong with him?”

Hesitantly, I watched Aaron Burr, trying to figure out just what was so absurd about how Burr was doing it. Maybe it was the loud sloshing noises. Or was it Burr’s bouncing?

“But it’s Alexander Hamilton. Why would you even make such a thing?” I asked.

“Beats me,” London replied. “I guess it's kind of fun in a makes-you-want-to-shoot-yourself-with-a-dueling pistol way.”

“Oh, joy,” I said.

I noticed Marshmallow curled up on the couch beside him, and I kind of wanted the cat, especially now that I was sick, so I sat down beside him. I shot London a glare, just to reassure him that I wasn’t taking any pleasure from the action. I glared at his abs, too, for good measure.

“Is there even a market for this sort of thing?” I asked.

“I assume so,” London replied. “And I don’t imagine that the primary target demographic is people making bad reviews of it.”

London clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tilted his head. “I’m trying to think of bad jokes to make about it,” London said.

God bless Marshmallow, that wonderful, fluffy being. With a sigh, I stroked her back. I might actually be dying, but damn if that cat didn’t make things just the least bit better. “The porn itself. That’s the joke,” I said.

London smirked. “Be that as it may, my viewers won’t be happy unless they get to hear every sordid detail, told in the snarkiest way possible.”

It was then that I noticed he held a notepad in one hand, likely for where he was writing down all those alleged jokes he was trying to make. “Okay,” I said, too tired to fight or to argue anything else.

Burr had stopped sucking Hamilton’s cock. Instead, the once-respected Senator turned around and wiggled his ass, which Hamilton promptly shoved a finger in. I leaned forward. I didn’t really want to watch porn, but I’d had anal sex before. This was an opportunity to see it from another perspective. I glanced at London, even as I shifted a bit further down the sofa. “Hamilton didn’t use lubricant,” I said awkwardly.

“He had Burr suck his fingers earlier.”

Huh. Hamilton shoved in another finger, as Burr groaned and arched his back. It seemed like Hamilton was moving his fingers very quickly. I wondered if London had moved his fingers that quickly and harshly into my ass. It had been weird, but pleasant in the end. This looked neither weird nor pleasant; it just made me want to throw up.

“Oh, my God. Are you taking notes?” London asked. “For God’s sake, don’t take your sex tips from porn!”

I flushed. I hated his mocking laughter, and I hated that he had the nerve to watch porn in my living room and lounge around in only his boxer shorts. What if we had company? Obviously, the fact that I had no friends meant we likely wouldn’t, but he didn’t know that. What if the UPS man came by, and he was just lounging around in his boxers? Or the Jehovah’s Witnesses? Actually, that might not be so bad. The Jehovah’s Witnesses probably wouldn’t return after that encounter, especially if they were greeted with a knock-off pornographic adaptation of Hamilton in addition to London in only his boxers.

“Do you want me to tell you everything they’re doing wrong?” London asked.

“No thanks,” I answered. “Don’t you think you’ve made me miserable enough already? I just want to sit here and pet the cat, while ignoring the trash you’re watching.”

He grinned wolfishly. I hated his guts. And his stupidly perfect teeth.

“As erotic as it is having people suck your fingers, saliva isn’t really enough as far as lubricant goes,” London said.

“I specifically said not to enlighten me.”

“I’m just trying to look after your ass,” London said, giving me a lascivious smirk.

“You’ve made my life hell since you walked into it. Clearly, you’re not too concerned with my ass.”

London frowned. “What are you writing your thesis on?” he asked.

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to figure out why someone like you would write your thesis on something that has so much to do with sex. You don’t even like to talk about sex.”

“You keep bringing up that we had sex.”

“Because we did. For God’s sake, you act like we murdered someone.”

“It was my advisor’s idea,” I muttered. “Dr. Benson thought I was playing things too safe, so she suggested I pick something out of my comfort zone in the name of self-improvement.”

“Ah. I see.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” I added. “I was playing it safe. I always play things safe, and she wants me to…enjoy being at the university. She wants me to grow as a person.”

“Look,” London said. “I still think you’re a huge jerk, but I don’t like people being mad at me. And I’m tired of you glaring at the back of my head. So maybe we let bygones be bygones and start over, all right? After all, you said you were a mature and responsible adult, so we should move on like mature and responsible adults. That, and I kind of feel bad for you. You look like you’re going to die at any second.”

I considered his proposal. Let bygones be bygones. I felt like he had me trapped when he said mature and responsible adults. The mature thing to do was move on, but London didn’t deserve compliance so easily. I decided to deflect rather than to offer him a straight answer.

On-screen, Hamilton had Burr bent over a desk and was plunging his cock inside Burr’s ass. It looked too fast to be pleasant, and Hamilton’s cock looked abnormally large. Burr rocked his hips with the motions, but he kept wiggling his butt, too. I thought of a cat on the verge of pouncing.

“Did I look that awkward?” I asked.

If I did, I’m amazed London didn’t die of laughter before he managed to fuck me.

“No, you were stiffer,” London said, snickering at his own joke. “But I don’t think that’s actually Burr’s ass. At least, not in the close-ups. I’m pretty sure it’s a prop of some sort. I’ve seen a lot of asses, and that looks too firm.”

“Where did you even find Hamilton–Burr porn?” I asked. “Is it really that common of a subject?”

“Actually,” London said, brightening as if he’d been waiting his entire life to talk about Hamilton–Burr porn, “there’s even an autobiography that was written in like the 19th century that talks about Aaron Burr’s alleged sexual exploits. It’s an anonymous work called The Amorous Intrigues and Adventures of Aaron Burr. Written in 1861. Cool, huh?”

That wouldn’t have been my adjective of choice.

“Do they still have the famous duel at the end?” I asked, nodding to the TV.

“Well, I haven’t watched this to the end yet, but I’m told it ends with Aaron Burr being miserable and lonely. Then, he apparently dies after masturbating to Hamilton one last time,” London said.

It was disturbing the amount of ease with which he said that.

He made a few notes on his notepad while I watched in bemusement. “Okay, so this is really your day job then,” I said. “You watch bad porn and make jokes about it.”

“Well, not just porn. But the porn gets the most views, so that's what I watch most often. You wouldn't believe some of the really weird stuff people have made. Sometimes, I’m not sure whether watching it inspires with what the human imagination is capable of or just makes me die a little inside each time.”

Never in my life had I met a man so interested in talking about porn. It was kind of strange, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't at least interested in what he was saying. Aside from Gender Studies in Media, I’d never heard pornography discussed as anything other than something to get off to. “So do you just watch porn, or are you like well-versed in it?”

Was there luxury porn? Lauded, artistic porn? “Is it something you’ve studied?” I asked.

I felt a little silly about that line of inquiry, but I was legitimately curious. It did sound like there was a story behind London and his pornography, and it wasn’t one that was wholly sexual.

“Well, I have studied some of the criticism around it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied. “Discourse and stuff, you know. It’s not something I’ve really looked that much into, but I feel it’s good to know the history of the thing I’m critiquing. I do find it fascinating how enamored the human race is with sexual contact, though,” London said. “Despite all attempts to stifle it, people are still fascinated with having sex with one another, and I think that's really interesting. Obviously, some people will tell you there's a biological reason for it, but I think it's more than that.”

“Are you about to give me your entire treatise on sex with Alexander Hamilton grunting and grinding against Aaron Burr in the background?” I asked.

My question seemed to shame London into silence for a few seconds, which made the sex noises seem disproportionately louder. I wondered if I had been that loud. I hadn’t screamed London’s name like Aaron Burr was screaming for Alexander Hamilton, but there had been some grunting. “Well, probably not the best time,” London replied with a laugh. “But you have to admit it's kind of fitting, right?”

“I think you’ve ruined my favorite Broadway play with this,” I said.

“What? Hamilton? It doesn’t surprise me that you like that,” London said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You seem a bit like Hamilton. Work, work, work,” London replied. “You’re only in your twenties. Why do you want to rush through everything?”

“I want…” I trailed off. “I guess security. Money. That sort of thing.”

London nodded, looking thoughtful. “I forget sometimes that not everyone has the same advantages I do. My grandfather left me pretty much all of his money, and he was involved in some…rather unsavory business.”

“Yeah?”

“A lawyer,” London replied. “For the mafia.”

I whistled between my teeth. “Wow.”

“Mm-hm. I come from a long line of very wealthy people, but my family didn’t quite like that he gave all his money to me. We never got along much anyway. I’m too different from everyone else.”

“I knew you had money,” I said, “because of the hotel room you had. But if you have so much, why did you want to come here? This is a crappy apartment.”

“The lease is only until August unless you renew it. That’s enough time to figure out where I want to go and what I want to do,” London replied. “I didn’t want to commit to something. Sure, I could break lease early, but I don’t like letting people down.”

“I don’t want to renew it. I’m hoping to get in the doctoral program at Southern Miss.”

London nodded. “I see. Well, I also have never worked a job—aside from making YouTube videos—so I don’t have pay stubs. I don’t really have references. That happens when you have a falling out with all your family and friends.”

“Friends?”

“It’s a small town,” London replied, “and my family is very popular there. Pretty much everyone agreed I was a spoiled brat for not sharing the wealth.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“They’re just really awful people, and I don’t mean that in the stereotypical, I-hate-my-parents way. I mean, there’s no love lost between my family and me. They’re the sort of old-money-type family that you’d read about in a Southern gothic novel or something.”

“Dysfunctional, then.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

On-screen, Alexander Hamilton orgasmed with a terrifying amount of fluid. I thought I might actually throw up.

“I will never be able to unsee this,” I said.

“Do you want me to restart the video from the beginning for you?” London asked. “I will. You’ve missed nearly a third of the movie, after all. I’m sure you’ll be lost if I don’t begin again, and besides, you missed the scene where they did it in the carriage! Hamilton tied Burr up with the horse’s reins and spanked him with a riding crop.”

That sounded like it had the potential to be hot, actually. It sounded moderately creative as far as porn about Hamilton and Burr could go. However, some of the appeal would doubtlessly be lost if Aaron Burr kept screaming like Hamilton was killing him rather than banging him. Dear God, had I sounded like that? “No,” I said. “I really think I'm good.”

Marshmallow began climbing up my shirt. I’d discovered that she was a shoulder-loving cat, so I bent over to help her perch on my shoulder. She purred and rubbed against my neck. I wondered if she knew I was sick with some sort of enhanced cat awareness. “Oh, so now you're using my cat to help you cope with this, huh?” London asked. “That's not fair. If anyone gets to use Marshmallow, it's going to be me.”

“I'm sick,” I said. “So I get Marshmallow. She chose me, anyway.”

“Okay,” London replied. “But don't think you can use being sick as an excuse to get away with everything. It isn't going to work.” No, but it did get me a fluffy cat on my lap.

“Not to be a mother hen,” London said, “but you really should go to the doctor about all this. What if you have the flu or something?”

“It's not the flu,” I answered. “I'm sure it's just a cold.”

I didn't have the money to go to the doctor even if I wanted to, but I wasn't going to tell London that. Even if I was too tired to argue and watching porn, I still had some dignity left. “I’ll be fine,” I repeated, as if I could make the statement truer.

Besides, this had only been going on for a couple of days. I kept telling myself that if it continued for five days, six days, a week, then I would suck it up, scratch the money together, and go. I, of course, had no intention of doing that. If any of those deadlines approached, I’d simply move them. I came from a long line of people who didn’t go to the doctor unless they were knocking on death’s door. And as far as I was aware, I was nowhere near death.

“Okay,” London said. “But what if it is the flu? What if it's something more than a cold? You know, people have died from the flu. Even healthy people have died.”

“I know,” I answered. “Look. It's not the flu. I'm telling you. If you’re that concerned about it, get a flu shot.”

“I’ve already gotten a flu shot. I’m more concerned about the fact that you might be trying to tough it out and end up getting yourself in even worse shape because you won’t go to the doctor.”

I really wanted to lay down on the sofa with Marshmallow, the only living being who understood me, but London was in the way. Fuck this. “I’m going to take a nap,” I said, “and I’m taking Marshmallow with me.”

For once, London didn’t do anything to sabotage me. “Okay,” he said instead, “but if you’re still this bad tomorrow night, you really should see a doctor.”

“Whatever.”

I carried fluffy Marshmallow to my room, where it was dark and quiet. “Please, don’t just dart off,” I whispered, scratching under her chin. “I need a fluffy cat right now.”

I climbed under the covers, still holding Marshmallow with one arm. Once I was under the comforter, I increased my petting, hoping to appease the cat in return for any inconvenience I might have caused her. The moment I tentatively released her, she darted away and back into the living room. “Traitor,” I muttered.