Edgar was making dinner. Dinner, that for the first time since he moved into his apartment, was to be dinner for more than one person. Edgar was, to say the least, a little apprehensive about cooking for company. It had been a long time since anyone had eaten the things Edgar could make outside of Edgar himself. Still, he realized his fears were irrational when compared to his recent tribulations. Not many suffered the wrath of Johnny the homicidal maniac and survived.

He could only think of three.

But that didn’t stop him from being a little excited about seeing Johnny again. It wasn’t that he found Johnny attractive, he told himself, it was his immense curiosity in the way he lived. As a Christian, Edgar believed it his responsibility to try to love and help everyone. Hate the things people do, not people. After his experience with Johnny, Edgar found it very tempting to join the clergy, to become a prison minister. Perhaps he could help people like Johnny find forgiveness? These thoughts made Edgar pause to reflect for a moment. "What we’re dealing with here," he told himself, "Is a homicidal maniac. Not a charity case."

He opened the oven to check on the muffins. Taking in the aroma exerted by the sweet, tempting banana and brown sugar delights, he relished it with the joy of creation before slowly shutting it again.

The muffins were just part of the menu Edgar had prepared for this meeting. No one had tasted Edgar’s cuisine in quite a while, and he found it imperative that what he created for the night’s meal be very tempting indeed.

He had decided, having heard that Johnny was a big fan of Cherry flavored frozen beverages, to make something down those lines. His ingredients were all lined up on the counter by the blender, staring him down as the clock ticked on. For the main course, he’d decided on grilled turkey sandwiches, because he was pressed for time. Johnny had only told him they were coming to dinner two hours ago, and he didn’t have many ingredients on hand for anything terribly complicated. Three place settings, classic American two course meal, two hours. How hard could it be?

An hour and forty five minutes go by. The muffins came out of the oven looking and smelling wonderful. Dinner was almost ready, and Edgar was on a roll. Time to make the drinks.

Edgar put the ingredients into his blender, as specified by the recipe, and turned it on. No response from his blender whatsoever. He took everything back out of the blender, and looked into it to try to see what the problem was. It seemed the blade was stuck.

Edgar was not unaccustomed to bad feelings, but the vibe he got from the blender blade was an immensely ominous one. It was most certainly stuck. For some inexplicable reason, Edgar felt compelled to just stick his hand into the blender and fix it. Easy as that. But there was also a general feeling of unrest.

The blender, in its temptation towards repair, and in its ability to harm him, somehow seemed to bring his thoughts back to Johnny.

He flipped the power switch to off, and began to fiddle with the blade.

"He’s a maniac. Yes. He’s homicidal, yes. But does that place me in any position to judge him? Sure he tried to kill me. But does that devalue him in any way?" He paused to reflect this, before going back to his efforts. "Should I be the one who tries to interfere? Should I be trying to show him…" A twist this way, a turn that way, "Well, balance?" The blade cut into his finger as he pushed it, making him bleed. He sucked it for a moment, before wrapping it in a towel to stop the bleeding.

He cleaned the blades gently, careful not to restore the blades to their original, all too bent shape, and then turned the blender on. This time, the blades spun as expected. He’d fixed it. It’d been painful, he’d bled for it. But he’d fixed it.

Ten more minutes. The table was set, the food was prepared, and Edgar was waiting with anticipation.

Knock, knock, knock.

He opened the door. On the other side stood Johnny, with the friend he had told Edgar about.

************************************************************************

"James."

"Jimmy."

He preferred to be called Mmy, but how should Edgar know that? He’d never met the man. He’d only even ever heard about him from Johnny, and goodness knows, Johnny was the ultimate reliable source.

Mmy chuckled at the thought, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, correspondent Deep Throat. How absurd! Now all Jimmy needed was for Edgar to turn into Richard Nixon. This made Mmy’s chuckle roll back into something of a growl. He didn’t like Edgar, there was something about the way Johnny had asked Mmy to come here that made him feel jealous somehow, although what of he wasn’t really sure. He had long since admitted to himself that Johnny was everything to him. Everything he wanted to be. Really, everything he wanted, period. And no one out there could stand between him and the one he loved. No matter how hard Edgar tried, he’d never allow him to become an issue with Johnny. How? He had his ways.

Just like he had his ways to keep Johnny from killing him. Yeah, it’d been a close call, but just when it looked like he wouldn’t be able to come out of the basement alive, he’d managed to talk Johnny out of killing him. Of course, he couldn’t remember what he’d said. It felt like he’d made some kind of deal with him, but he couldn’t really understand what it was he’d traded for his life.

It really didn’t matter. What did matter was that he’d managed to talk his way into Johnny’s life. He lived in Johnny’s house, he went places with Johnny, he slept on Johnny’s sofa while Johnny watched TV. For the first time in his life, Jimmy felt like life was worthwhile, and there was no way Edgar could take that from him, especially not by just making luncheon for three.

Jimmy glared at his humble oppressor as he crossed the threshold side by side with his idol.

Obliviously, Johnny moved into the living area and sat in front of the TV, flipping channels until he came to a particularly riveting deodorant commercial. Edgar watched his progress with fascination, before turning to Jimmy.

"So, Jimmy… Have you lived with Johnny for long?"

"A month, ten days."

"Oh. Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. I’d planned that we’d eat at the table, but it looks like there’s something good on TV."

Edgar turned to see Johnny’s viewing pleasure of the moment. "Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, BANANA PHONE!"

"I made muffins." Edgar said, lamely, as he went over to the table to collect supper and deliver it to Johnny.

"Banana muffins?" Johnny asked, curiously.

"BANANA PHONE! When packing lunches, I’ve got my hunches-"

"Yes. And turkey sandwiches. And this cherry, well, this cherry thing."

Johnny took a sip. "Wow, Edgar… I had no idea you could cook."

"I just put a few things in the blender," Edgar replied, pleased by the feedback.

"It’s really good," Johnny said, unaccustomed to giving compliments.

"I can make omelets," Mmy reminded Johnny, feeling inferior. ‘This is so stupid! I’m trying to prove, what? That I’m a better homemaker? This is so ridiculous. I should just kill him. I could put this dinner knife through Edgar’s chest, and… Johnny’d kill me. He’d be so angry. What if he likes this guy? Well, he probably doesn’t, but what if he likes him more than me?’ Jimmy tried to calm down. ‘What am I afraid of, that I’ll be replaced?’

"-BANANA PHONE!"

Jimmy watched Edgar talk to Nny, uncomfortably explaining exactly what the beverage had in it. ‘Him? He couldn’t replace me. What’s he got that I don’t got? A blender? Please.’

"So, Edgar. You say you just threw all this *stuff* in a blender, and it came out like this? How nice," Mmy gave Edgar a feral smile, which made Edgar even more nervous than he’d been before.