“What’s your favorite color, Jade?”

I looked back down at the trippy swirls we had accomplished, pulled out of my quest to find a pulsing muscle in a box of metal. “I don’t have favorites.”

“Favorite food? person? place? No favorite?” His jaw was about to hit the floor.

“No,” I said simply, a small laugh in my short reply.

We sank to the floor, close enough to touch but not actually touching.

“What about you?” I peered at him sideways, counting the ceiling tiles. “Favooorite color?”

“It depends,” he said, stroking his chin.

“For instance,” he went on, “right now, I feel very.. neon. Like neon green.”

I looked him over, bright eyes, green headband and shirt.

“No shit.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Favorite food.”

“Easy, pizza.” He didn’t hesitate. We weren’t asking anymore, we were telling. I was starting to realize ever since we met, there had never been any boundaries.

“What kind?” Food was a tricky, picky subject.

“Pepperoni.”

I scrunched my nose in distaste