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“Hey, Sky.” Brant leans over to get his face in the camera.

“Hey.” Sky waves back. We discussed whether I should call him Lark, and he said no because that’s too weird, which means my friends call him Sky as well. Sometimes his birth name surprises him, but I’ve confirmed and reconfirmed he doesn’t mind being called Sky.

“You gonna stay out of trouble while this one flies to Boston and LA?” Brant points his thumb in my direction and stabs me in the head.

“I guess that depends on your definition of staying out of trouble. There’s a work party that’s also an orgy, so there’s that.” Sky hides his smile, and Brant’s jaw falls open.

“He’s joking, you dumbass.” I push Brant off-camera and into his seat.

“Listen, I’m not here to shame. Perhaps he calls you and you watch the orgy. Everyone has a right to their brand of kink.” Brant shoves me against the window.

Sky giggles and can’t stop, covering his bright-red face. “Sorry.”

“For that, I’m starting a rumor that you two go to a sex dungeon and perform for the masses.” Brant folds his arms across his chest.

“You been to a sex dungeon?” I ask.

“I’m not even twenty-one for another two months.” He pouts.

“Aww, poor widdle baby,” Sky coos, and straightens his spine. “I’ve got several lectures for you. ‘Back in my day,’ or ‘by the time I was twenty-one, I…’ but that year difference isn’t worth making Brant cry.” Sky holds up heart hands, and I show Brant.

“Forgiveness needs to be earned.” Brant doubles down and turns away, but there’s a smile on his face.

“We got rid of him,” I stage-whisper to Sky.

“Nope, not today,” Brant hollers, and pushes his head next to mine.

“Call me after your game?” Sky asks. “I should be done with my live before your game ends.”

“Ooh, what’s a live?” Brant asks, and I’m not sure if I should punch him or kiss him.

“A live video appointment with a client.” Sky waves his hand absently.

“Video sex!” Brant booms, similar to answering a trivia question in a crowded bar.

Sky hits his forehead with his palm. “No.” His weary eyes flick to mine as a way of saying “see what I mean?” I elbow Brant in the face.

“People assume since I have a paywall, I also sell my body for sex. I’m paid to show off naked bits, and my subscribers view it for”—he waves his hand—“whatever: viewing, pleasure, self-gratification.”

My thoughts unspool with his explanation. It’s his job. Period. End of story. What other people get from his performances isn’t a reflection of him as a person. On camera he’s angeldancer4 for them, but in life he’s Sky. I get the true Sky, not the performance.

“Shit, I didn’t mean that!” Brant pales. “I just… That’s not… I wasn’t thinking of you… I’m a dick. Sorry.”

“Forgiveness is earned.” Sky throws his words at him.

“Ouch, I deserve that.” Brant falls into his seat.

Brant is what my mom calls an old soul. It’s easy to forget how young he is, and he’s not normally flustered. He knows shit about everything. He turned down Harvard for hockey. Harvard!

“We’re pulling up to the airport. I’ll call you tonight.” We say goodbye, and I face Brant, riding the high of Sky asking me to call him.

“On a scale of no-big-deal to run-my-face-over-with-a-skate, how mad would you be if I asked Sky to go to the charity gala with me?”

Brant’s face collapses, and he tries to hide it with a grimace. We planned to have a non-couple-y boys’ night out for the gala.

“He seems the type who loves to dress up and dance. Go for it.” Brant escapes from his seat and disappears into the airport.

“Great game!” Sky says, as the call connects.