But just because I talk about AntD all the time doesn’t mean anything, right? I mean, it’s not possible to actually develop serious feelings for someone you’ve never met, is it?
Asking for a friend.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Do you think talking about someone means they have feelings for them? He might just have a really interesting roommate.
AntD
Trust me, it went beyond the ‘interesting roommate’ into full documentary mode obsession. It was actually sweet, and reading between the lines, it seemed like his roommate was into him too.
Does Anthony talk about me to anyone else in his life? The way I apparently can’t shut up about him? I mean, we currently spend hours messaging most days, sharing stupid memes that no one else would understand. We’ve got this whole private language of inside jokes that makes me smile at my phone in public, like a complete idiot.
And between all the moments when he pretends to be Anthony Devine—which, commitment to the bit, honestly—I’ve caught enough glimpses of the real person underneath. And I really, really like that person.
Does that add up to something real that exists outside my phone? Or am I just the pathetic guy catching feelings for someone I’ve never actually met?
The only problem is that every time I ask him for a selfie, he sends me stock images of Anthony Devine. Which is funny because it’s part of the running gag between us, but I actually want to know what he looks like.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Must be nice having someone you’re crushing on located conveniently in the same apartment.
I press send. And then immediately want to throw my phone into the sun. Shit. Is he going to read between the lines and realize I’m basically admitting I have a crush on him? Or is thattoo much of a leap? Should I send another message to cover my tracks?
Up until now, messaging AntD has been so easy. When did it become such a minefield? When did I start second-guessing every word?
Oh right. When I apparently started developing feelings like an idiot.
A shadow looms over me.
I snap my head up from my phone to see my friend Teddie standing in front of me.
Teddie’s wearing their signature outfit, a vintage band tee under a blazer that definitely came from someone’s dad’s closet, paired with platform boots that make them tower over me. They’ve got new streaks in their hair this week, electric blue replacing last month’s purple, and approximately twenty-two pins on their messenger bag declaring everything from their pronouns to their strong opinions on both capitalism and cheese.
“Earth to Nick.” They wave a hand in front of my face. “You’re staring at your phone with a constipated look.”
“I don’t have a constipated look.”
“You definitely do. It’s your ‘I’m overthinking a text message’ face.” They slide into the seat across from me. “Are you free tonight? A bunch of us are hitting up that dive bar on St. Marks. The one that doesn’t card and has the bartender who looks like young Anthony Devine if you squint.”
My stomach does something complicated at the mention of Anthony Devine. It’s too close to obsessing over a guy who pretends to be Anthony Devine to amuse me.
“Come on,” Teddie wheedles. “It’ll be fun. Remember fun? That thing we used to have before you became a hermit who only communicates through their phone?”
I glance down at my screen, where AntD hasn’t responded yet. Not that I’m checking. Constantly.
Maybe Teddie’s right. Maybe I need to stop waiting for messages and interact with real humans. Ones I can see and touch, and who I can actually talk aloud to.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll come.”
Unfortunately,I’m only ten minutes into my evening when I realize coming out tonight was a big mistake.
Mainly because I glance down the bar and see the last big mistake I made. The mistake to end all mistakes.
Chad.
He looks exactly the same—perfectly styled hair, designer jeans, and that smile that used to make me melt. Now it just makes me want to throw something, preferably at his face.
