We’re sprawled across my bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of the Summer sunset bleeding in through the blinds. The world feels thick, like we’re floating through honey, the edible hitting just right. Everything is funny now.

Then he gasps.

I turn my head lazily. “What?”

His eyes are wide. “What if… people who wanted to lose weight had a turtle servant?”

I blink. “A what?”

“A turtle butler,” he says, like it’s obvious. “So when you ask for food, he brings it to you, but he takes foreeeverrrr.” He pauses dramatically. “By the time he gets there, you don’t even want it anymore.”

It takes a second. Then, it hits.

I snort, shaking my head, trying to hold it in, but the laughter rips out of me.

He’s already gone, laughing so hard he’s gripping his stomach.

For a long time, we just lay there, catching our breath, the room buzzing with warmth. I think about how good this feels.