Chapter Text
“Ok, so, this is embarrassing. Sorry, it’s been so long, I know, but… Hey, my time, my rules, right? And in the interest of time, let’s get right to it: it’s happening again.
“Not the same guy. I apologize to the fans, but that ship has sailed a long time ago, life moves on. Things are different now, I’m different now. Mainly wider on the shoulders and less hair. Twink death is real, get over it. But the same stupid heart still beats, I guess. And now it beats for this one guy I met less than two weeks ago, apparently. It might not seem so, but it does embarrass me to say things like that. My heart beats for a guy? That isn’t me? It sounds ridiculous, but in my experience feeling ridiculous usually goes well in line with having feelings for someone. It’s like this alarm goes on in my head, blaring the same message on repeat: dumbass, dumbass, dumbass. I’m trying to get over it and let myself feel the feelings and be at peace with it, but I don’t know how, so here I am.
“The story is one for the ages (18 and up, to be completely honest): we met on a dating app. Not the cute kind where the users have pictures of trips and pets, and their bios say things like I like coffee and long walks on the beach, no, it was the kind with shirtless torsos and bios full of complex emoji languages that would have people accused of witchcraft in the 1600s. So it wasn’t supposed to be romantic, it was supposed to be quick and easy. It kinda was, but not in any way I had expected it would be. We chatted for less than 20 minutes, realized neither of us was going to be alone at home that night, and decided to meet at the mall for a walk and dinner. We only found out each other’s names when we had already decided to go see each other and we needed to exchange contacts. It sounds crazy in many ways, but not in the ways you’d expect.
“Over the years I’ve found it’s quite easy to meet someone through one of these apps, chat for only long enough to learn that they are compatible in the shallowest of ways, then go to their house or invite them over just to have sex. But not this time. I should say that usually I wouldn’t leave the house to meet someone like that without the promise of sex at the end of the night, it’s really not worth the trouble if what you are looking for is something physical. But that night I wasn’t looking for sex. I was looking for human connection.
“Why did you make that face? Did I not convince you? Oversold it? Shouldn’t have choked up. Right. Noted. Yeah, fuck connection. I wanted a distraction. You see, through a series of unforeseen events that fall well beyond my puny control and that have absolutely nothing to do with me or my choices, I need to write a thesis. It’s for my masters degree, you know how it goes, you had to study a lot to look at me with that frown. So that day I had to write, of course, and instead I was looking for a hookup. Found him, and then I had to make the impossible choice of going to meet him or stay at home and write. So I took a shower, grabbed the car keys, and the rest is history.
“Turns out the date was great. We walked around the mall chatting, actually learning who the stranger by our side was, and as it turns out he is also finishing his master’s and he was also procrastinating writing his thesis. Match made in heaven. Well, actually on Grindr, but I digress. It was pretty tame, though. Until I had to go to the bathroom. You see, men and public bathrooms. Stuff happens. But not with me, I should say, I don’t like the idea of doing that in a public space. Call me oldfashioned. But I was a little nervous that he would want that and things could get awkward, I don’t know. My bladder made the call, though, so I announced that I had to go and he came with. Did not enter the stall with me. Good sign. I peed, washed my hands, and saw him waiting outside, leaning on a column. The bright, surgical lights of a Calvin Klein window display made his right side shine, and the left was cast in stark shadow. I knew he was hot when I clicked his profile, but now I was also noticing he was beautiful. So I walked over and kissed him. Softly. His hand touched my neck, so I raised mine to touch his chin. I grabbed his waist. He grabbed mine. And when we were done, I said did you think our first kiss would be in front of a mall bathroom? He laughed. I laughed.
“What the actual fuck? Like. Do you see what I mean? Why, I mean, why did I care where our first kiss was? Who cares about that? In these circumstances? Insane people who watch too many romcoms. Not me! I don’t watch romcoms. But I said it. And I cared. Or so it seems. It didn’t dawn on me right then, it’s just something I’m realizing now that fits with everything else. After the kiss, well, things got better—weirder. We walked around holding hands, like a couple. I don’t even know how or when it happened, just that it did, and when I noticed I was already enjoying it. So we did a couple laps around the mall, it didn’t matter that the stores were the same, we were not paying attention to them anyway. We just chatted. Then we had dinner. Korean. He had never had, but was open to trying it, so we sat down, ordered, and chatted more. We discussed what our days were gonna be like tomorrow. It was a Wednesday, mind you.
“At some point he asked me what my favorite movie was. And not to give him my usual obnoxious answer (that picking favorite things is for children) I told him it was Ponyo. You know, Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea? The animated movie for children ? I’m going to spell the irony out because I think I have to, for my own sake: I, who usually don’t pick favorite things because I think that’s something children do, said, in a heartbeat, that my favorite movie is Ponyo. And it’s true. It is my favorite. It’s not the best movie I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure, but it is the first movie I watched, as an adult, that made me emotional. And that’s why the quality of the movie – which is impeccable, by the way, Hayao Miyazaki has never made a mistake in his life – doesn’t really matter, which is why it goes above rankings, which is why it was so easy to decide that it is, in fact, my favorite. I know this, because he asked. He was curious to know why that one, so I had to think, and told him what I’m telling you. But you know, in a nicer way, of course, since I wasn’t paying him to listen. He seemed very pleased by my answer, which, I confess, pleased me. I wanted him to like me at that point. And I guess he did.
“Before dinner was over, we agreed to see each other next Friday. That was two days ahead. Pretty soon for a second date, right? We went to a karaoke bar. He came to pick me up and we spent the night together sitting side by side, not across from each other, like people usually do. We kissed, we sang, I embarrassed myself butchering The Wizard And I, we kissed more, then at some point we danced and… I lifted him up? Don’t ask. I’d been drinking. And then I said his name. Outloud. To him.
“I just looked him in the eyes and said it. It’s weird, but when we meet people online we know their names before we hear them, and that’s so strange to me. I feel like an important part of meeting someone is hearing them say their names to you, and then you give yours in return. Of course, that’s what happened online, but written. Is this weird? I’m not sure. What I’m sure of is that I wanted to say it, so I did. Now that I’m thinking about it, it usually takes a while for us to say someone’s name to that person, is that right? I’m thinking about my friends of many years, I only say their names to them if something happens. Anyway. Maybe I wanted something to happen? Or… maybe… yeah… Then, well, then… he said mine back, and I felt a shiver course through me. The night was chilly, I guess. And it was about to end by then, the bar was closing.
“But it didn’t end. He asked if we could go anywhere else, so we found another bar and stayed there until that one also closed. We were stretching our time together, and it was so strange that every time I wanted more, he also wanted more. This never happens. Which is why… When the night was actually over and he drove me home, I asked if he wanted to come over to my apartment the next day for dinner. He said yes. I cooked Japanese curry and rice, we watched a movie, and slept together. Not gonna get into the details there. Except… damn, he’s so hot.
“What I wanna get into, though, comes after this. Those three dates in one week, that was a little over a week ago. We’ve seen each other two more times since then. We ate burgers and walked around the park; then on a different day we had Korean barbecue and I drove him to his friend’s party. We are kind of adorable. I hate it. The point is… the point is, when I say good morning to him in the morning… every minute that he doesn’t reply I wonder if he has lost interest, and that happens in between every reply. Each silence is painful. It hasn’t been two weeks. What is this? Love life speedrun? But it is true. The feelings are here and they are scary. It’s scary to think that over this short amount of time I’ve managed to be in this state… wondering if he likes me the way I like him, even though I don’t even know in what way I like him and even though every time I wonder if he likes me, the answer seems to be yes, he does. I just wanna spend time with him, kiss him, grab his huge biceps, is that too much to ask? It usually isn’t. As I said, he replies to my mornings, and every time I invite him on a date, he says yes, just like every time he invites me I also say yes.
“It looks like it’s going well, and to expect it to go better than this is insanity. I don’t wanna rush anything. Things are going pretty quickly as they are – not complaining, by the way. But still… I don’t know how to deal with the feeling of… well, it’s fear, isn’t it? I’m afraid it’s gonna end as quickly as it began. And that I’ll be left here, wondering what I did wrong, and that will consume me because we don’t have anything but five dates and a week and a half worth of online chats with each other. I can’t ask him what I did wrong, I can’t know. I also can’t tell him all of this. Five dates. Over just a week and a half. He owes me nothing. I owe him nothing. See how far ahead I’ve spiraled? It’s like I’m craving a long history with him, and every minute that I am not building it sounds like a waste of time. And this time that I’m wasting feels heavy on my chest, like, like… it’s… is… is this why people call it a crush?”
The psychoanalyst nodded as he gave a shrug.