I've Always Been Sort Of A Closet

This Must Be Part Of Mother Nature's Master Plan—making These Boys So Irresistibly Cute, In Such A Naughty Way, That The Purity Of Their Intentions Becomes Irrelevant.

The Handwriting Was A Girl’s. I Mean, You Can Tell. That Enchanted Cursive.

From A Distance, A Clone's Luminous Eyes Are Meant To Draw In Humans And Make Them Feel Safe. Up Close, The Eyes Appear Hollow. Because Of That, Humans Tend Not To Look Into Our Eyes Too Closely, Which I've Been Told Is Socially Preferable, As Eyes Without Souls Behind Them Can Be Frightening.

I Figured Being A Bed Salesman Was A Job Of Biblically Bad Paradox. I Mean, Here He Was, Forced To Stand For Eight Or Nine Hours A Day, And The Whole Time He’s Surrounded By Beds. And Not Only That, He’s Surrounded By Shoppers Who See The Beds And Can’t Help But Think, Man, I’d Love To Lie Down On That Bed For A Second. So Not Only Does He Have To Stop Himself From Lying Down, But He Has To Stop Everyone Else From Doing It, Too. I Knew If I Were Him, I Would Be Desperate For Human Company.

He's Not My Step Brother Technically, So I Think It's Okay That I Kissed Him Once.