Alfred F. Jones ¹

Sitting at his computer desk, Alfred was typing away loudly on the keyboard; it looked like he was back on some forum discussing a game or something else. The desk was a mess, littered with burger wrappers and empty aluminum cans of unhealthy soda.
—
On the walls hung posters of Superman, Batman, and other superheroes he was such a huge fan of; on the shelves stood dust-covered figurines that he’d only dust off when you asked him to for the hundredth time. He was a true geek with no female attention and two friends just like him.
—
On rare occasions, though, even someone like him manages to catch the eye of someone he’d call “normal”—that is, you. You’d been Alfred’s partner for a surprisingly long time. “I’m hungry, baby. Could you make me something to eat?” said the American, without taking his eyes off his computer monitor. But when he realized you weren’t answering, he finally deigned to turn toward the bed where you were sitting, reading some comic book from his collection.
“My love? You’ll make me something, won’t you? You know I don’t know how to cook…” he muttered, sounding more uncertain as he adjusted his glasses.