The graphs are beautiful. You’d weep at their accuracy.
SunshineGuy
The only thing making me weep is imagining you on a date, pulling out visual aids to explain why love at first sight is statistically impossible.
TruthGuardian
It’s bold of you to assume I date.
I immediately regret typing that. Fuck. That was more honest than I intended to be with someone I’ve never actually met.
The dots that are usually present next to his name don’t appear.
There’s nothing.
But after a minute, the dots begin again, and then his reply finally hits my screen.
SunshineGuy
Everyone deserves someone who appreciates their spreadsheets. Even the color-coded cynical ones.
Before I can figure out how to respond to that, there’s a knock on my door. It’s not a polite knock either. Which means I know exactly who it is.
My brother.
I glance at my laptop, then at the door, then back at my laptop. SunshineGuy is typing again. Those three dots mock me as I watch them pulse.
Brocker continues his hammering.
I shut my laptop, but grab my phone. Thankfully, the ShareYourGlow app means I can still communicate without worrying about Brocker’s beady eyes on my laptop.
“All right, all right, I’m coming,” I call out, but not before I see SunshineGuy’s message pop up.
SunshineGuy
And even cynics need cuddles.
Fuck. Now I have to think about SunshineGuy using the word “cuddles” while my brother is about to break down my door.
I yank it open to find Brocker standing there in full athletic gear, holding two racquetball rackets like weapons.
“You’re early,” I inform him.
“I know. The traffic gods actually smiled on me for once.” He comes in and flops down on my couch.
My phone buzzes with another message from SunshineGuy.
SunshineGuy
Oh god, did I make it weird? I made it weird. Ignore the cuddles comment. Unless you don’t want to ignore it? Now I’m making it even weirder. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to communicate with people. I have zero chill.
I can’t help it. I smile down at my phone like an idiot. I’m forced to acknowledge that I’m genuinely charmed by SunshineGuy’s rambling attempt to give me love life advice. Which is an inconvenient development.
“Why are you smiling at your phone?” Brocker’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s straightening up on my couch, looking at me with the intensity of a detective who’s just found a crucial clue.
“I’m not smiling.”
“You’re absolutely smiling. You’re doing the face.”
