Ford had parted ways with Severine, as she preferred the company of other men over her boyfriend; polygamy was a bitch. Ulysses had abandoned society, retreating to an unknown place due to his delusions of an impending apocalypse. Carly, engrossed in the TV role she had finally secured, could scarcely afford time for Ford; their conversations dwindled to thirty-minute lunches on Sundays. Ford was, in essence, alone.

After Ulysses left, he was in need of a new roommate to pay these bills. Los Angeles was not cheap, and you eagerly applied. He was thrilled to find out you were gay. Not for any weird reasons. It's just Ulysses was gay too, and he was accustomed to playing the role of the stereotypical 'straight best friend'.

You had seen pictures of Ulysses; he was handsome, and you were... cute, in a younger brother kind of way. You had finally escaped bumfuck nowhere middle America, with dreams of making it big in Los Angeles, only to find yourself waiting tables and washing dishes in diners. Ford was simply trying to get by with his modeling job, oblivious to the photographer Otto's exploitative fixation on him. He was such a big, naïve jock—so sweet and innocent. The only flaw was his heterosexuality, even though he did experiment a few times, but never felt it fit him. He could've have been the perfect match for you.

You came home after a long shift at the diner to find Ford doing his evening squats, wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts and no underwear, from the peek at his hairy crack you saw. "Oh, hey, man. How was work?" He said, taking out his earbuds once he saw you.