"I don't brood."
"You exclusively brood. It's like your primary personality trait. You sit in corners looking dangerous and wait for people to come to you." He releases me, heading for the door. "Tomorrow. Eight PM. Wear something that isn't tactical gear."
"I have regular clothes."
"Prove it."
---
After he leaves, I stand in my empty house and try to imagine what dating would look like.
Movies with the pack. Dinners that aren't just foreplay to getting someone into bed. Talking about bikes without planning to fuck against them. Learning someone's favorite foods and what makes them laugh and why they cry at things.
It sounds... complicated. Like a mission with no clear objective, no defined parameters, no extraction plan.
But then I remember Jason's face when he asked if I wanted more. The want in his eyes before I shut him down. The way his whole body had been open to me, trusting, and then the way he'd closed off when I couldn't give him an answer.
I remember the way he looked walking out of my garage—shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold himself together. The sound of his bike starting. The way he didn't look back.
I did that. I hurt him because I was too fucked up to give him a straight answer.
Maybe complicated isn't the problem. Maybe it's just another mission to figure out. I've figured out harder things than this. I've learned languages in weeks, infiltrated organizations in days, survived situations that should have killed me. I can learn how to be a boyfriend.
Probably.
I text Robin:What kind of movies does he like?
Action and cooking shows
Cooking shows aren't movies
He once made me watch a 4-hour documentary about the history of bread. He said it was life-changing.
Was it good?
I have no idea, I was drunk by hour two. But he cried at the sourdough segment
Jason cries at bread documentaries.
I'm so fucked.
What do I wear?
Clothes
Robin.
Nice jeans. That henley that makes your arms look good. Don't wear combat boots
All my boots are combat boots
Then buy new ones. Jesus, Ash, you're not invading a country, you're trying to date a soft lion boy who cries at documentaries about bread
Date. I'm trying to date someone.
The word feels foreign in my mouth. I've never dated anyone. Not really. I've fucked people, left people, occasionally hung around people long enough to fuck them multiple times. But dating—the thing where you spend time with someone on purpose, not just because you want to get them naked—I've never done that.
First time for everything, I guess.
