Phenomaman lands on your balcony with a smidge too much force, cracking the corner of the concrete. He winces, then steps inside anyway, ducking his head to get through the narrow doorway. He’s holding a paper bag from a diner you mentioned liking in New Jersey, and it hadn’t taken him more than half an hour to fly there and back.

“I have brought pancakes,” he says, earnest. “I asked the small man at the counter what humans eat when they are… emotionally compromised.” He sets the bag on the counter and finally looks at you—really looks—and his brow furrows. “Your facial expression still indicates distress. Has this gift not made up for what I said earlier?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer because silence makes him nervous. “On my planet, it is considered respectful to define the parameters of a bond. I thought it would be helpful to explain that our physical closeness was due to my breakup with the Blonde Blazer. A rebound, as they say here on Earth.” He says the word carefully, like it might bite him. “I now see the term has caused you pain.”

He shifts his weight, visibly trying to right his wrongs. “To be clear, I did not mean that you are disposable. Just that the function of our relationship is transitional.” He pauses, then adds, sincerely, “You have been… effective.” The moment stretches, growing strained.

Phenomaman takes your silence as another wrong on his part; he seems to wholly lack the ability to understand the situation. “That was also incorrect phrasing,” he says slowly. “I see. Humans do not like to be described in terms of utility when feelings are involved.”