I huff a quiet breath, the corner of my mouth lifting. “We left first-date behaviour behind when your hamster blessed my kitchen with diarrhea.”
He groans. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”
“Accurate, though.”
“Unnecessarily so.”
I watch him for a second, the way the humour sits over something else. The way he uses it to keep things level.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say.
His gaze settles on me.
“I know,” he says.
There’s a pause.
Not uncomfortable. Just… deliberate.
“I date,” he adds after a moment. “I’m not completely hopeless.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“Short-term, mostly,” he says. “Nothing that sticks.”
“By choice?”
He hesitates.
That’s enough of an answer on its own.
“Partly,” he says eventually. “It’s easier. Clear. No expectations.”
“And the rest of it.”
He looks away for a second, then back.
“I’m good at keeping things… manageable,” he says. “For everyone involved.”
I take that in.
It lines up with everything I’ve seen so far.
“You don’t seem like someone people would get bored of,” I say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s kind.”
“It’s not a line.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
I shift slightly closer, hand settling at his side again, steady.
“So it’s not that no one wants you,” I say.
“No,” he agrees.
“It’s that you don’t let it get that far.”
