Chapter Text
What’s it been? Five years? Seven, since he’d even joined a dating app. And thus five-seven years of failed dating. Jayce looked at the screen of his phone, with the dating app his friend Mel set up for him. In fact, he had a profile before Mel was even near his phone, but she did some sprucing up. She gave him a few good pictures to showcase, that to his own opinion weren’t much more different than just being updated than anything else.
He was tired and even frustrated. Swiping left and right on potential partners on this Thursday night, as if he didn’t have a paper to write. Then he put his phone down to focus on the paper, but before five minutes had passed he was on his phone again. He decided to set a timer, ten minutes of him swiping left and right, and then he’d go back to his paper.
It was frustrating, so deeply and unbearably frustrating, that he still had to be on this app. It was already clear that there was no obvious interest from any of his classmates, study buddies, or even science nerds. They were all nice, and with a few he had even had a drink with, but nothing ever came of it. He’d even been together with a young woman from his class, but the morning after their escapades she’d grown distant in a manner of hours, and she decided to ignore him for most of the classes afterwards.
But somehow, being on the app sometimes made it feel safer. Or at least, it gave a chance to break the ice, if the other had a written bio instead of just their star sign and their height, which Jayce never quite understood, why was so prominent. On the app he could be courageous and flirt, because it was expected, whereas in real life there was often this shieldedness from others. Body language that told him not to bother or disturb. But that didn’t mean he didn’t try when others seemed to welcome it. But it all seemed for naught. At least on the app, people were obvious about seeking a romantic partnership or just a flirty bootycall. It was easier to sort than real life.
What had he done wrong for her to even react that way? He still didn’t know.
A few matching dings sounds from the phone, but nothing really happens. No one is hitting up a conversation.
Aren’t you on the app as well? He kept thinking. So he hit most matches up with a polite ‘hi how are you?’ but no answers. His throat grows warm and tight, the timer alarms him, and he goes back to his paper.
The next morning, there’s a message waiting for him. Heart racing and excitement floods him as he sees someone actually wrote back.
Dying over this paper I’m handing in 48 hours. If you know anything on molecular theory on plants, hit me up.
He greets a good morning, because that’s what you do in polite conversation, right? Since every date he’s been on has mostly been lukewarm coffee dates or a walk in the nearest park, it still hasn’t grown much more than that first date. With anyone.
Of course, since the clock tells him the sun has barely risen yet, and it’s time for his morning run, he doesn’t assume his match is awake. The received text even says its send time was 2:34 in the morning. He might be sleeping in. And then the new chatting begins.
After plenty of failed dates and relationships, Jayce considered Mel’s warning and did not pour his heart out from the get-go.
“But I don’t want them to know me as someone I’m not. I’m passionate, I want to know more and hype when things go well.”
“I know, but tone it down.” He still didn’t understand why. Why are there all these rules? Isn’t he supposed to show his good side? His good qualities? Not just his skills at being polite and completely put a lid on his personality. Why? That wasn’t authentic. And loads of people told in their bios they preferred deep conversations with authentic people. “That’s just a way to use buzzwords.”
“So they just do that to sort people?”
“In a way.”
After his run, he can still feel his body spin with excitement, but tries to tone it down since it is still only 6:12 am. There’s no way the guy had answered back. And he hadn’t. In fact, he didn’t write back until 5 pm. Jayce tried his best icebreaker, but as soon as it was sent, the conversation stopped. He just didn’t know it until two days later.
Back to square one.
“Do people text more people at the same time?” He asked Mel over lunch the week after.
“Well, some do.”
“How can they keep track?” She shrugged, head shaking, as she continued to eat her salad. “Why is it so difficult?” he asked, poking to his own blend of salad and protein. “Sometimes, it’s like people just match me, and then nothing happens. Isn’t it a kinda deal that the last one matches texts first?”
“Oh Jayce. I don’t think you can apply that rule to everyone. Some abide by it, some don’t.”
“Oh.” He said shortly, defeated.
“Haven’t you got any matches since I set up your profile?”
“Yes, plenty. But no one is really texting back. Some do, but then there’s this shift. I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I can almost sense they’re losing interest. What am I doing wrong?”
“I overheard someone say it was a great ego-booster, having matched with so many people.”
“Wow, that really ups my confidence.” He says dryly.
“I don’t know, Jayce. But it’s their loss. You’re amazing and wonderful, and you care deeply, but you mustn’t let this beat you down.”
He knew she meant well, but the defeat was too prominent to ignore, and instead he scoffed at her, “easy for you to say with your psychology student keeping you occupied most of the nights.” When he saw her face, he knew he crossed a line, “sorry. I’m happy for you, really, but I just can’t avoid feeling so envious. When I see how they look at you, and love you, it just creates this—this hole in me that drains and fills up with a craving for someone to look at me like they do at you.”
“I know.”
That evening, there’s a new ping. A new match. His conversation with Mel still replays in his mind, and ultimately he ignores the ping. It’s not his responsibility to hit up his matcher, but the other way around. And bother, there was no chance of that happening. Just another, mindless swiper, who’s not going to do anything about it. Another one seeking an ego-boost in the evening.
But lo and behold, another ping. Jayce could barely believe it. He checked his phone, and there it was. The little message emoji on the overview. Maybe he should try to be a little reserved, just like Mel had suggested. Instead of that over eager and hype person that he is. He let his phone wait until he finished another page on his paper. Soon, that assignment couldn’t be used as an excuse to postpone his reaction to messages. But then, when he finally finished the page, he opened the message. Heart in his throat. Maybe this was it. Someone serious.
He could’ve jumped straight out of the window on the third floor, and the fall breaking and bruising his body would have still been milder than the pain going through his body when the message is nothing more than “hey handsome, want some action? Bet that dick is big.”
Annoyed, he quickly unmatched the blond dude, and continued writing his paper.
“Do I give the impression of a one time bone show?” he asked Mel the day after.
“In a way.”
“Ugh, perfect. Great, how fucking delightful.”
“What?”
“Just a dude. What even happened to ‘hello’ or ‘hi, you wouldn’t fancy a coffee, would you?’ Is there no courtesy anymore? Is everyone just thinking with their lower body?”
“And you couldn’t just fuck the guy and then find out?”
“You wound me, Mel.”
“It would be a different approach.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to just be someone’s fuck buddy. I want something real.”
“I know, honey, and you deserve that too.”
The blond guy kept Jayce off the app for a few days. Even the matches pinged in, but nothing else happened. Obviously. Maybe he should just delete the app. It would have been the third time he’d deleted it this year, compared to the endless times he’d deleted it in the prior years of unfruitful dates and bad impressions.
On the night he had handed in his paper, there was nothing to distract him. Just an academic break from the many hand-ins and assignments left him with probably the most detrimental weapon in his possession: his mind. With a night with no matches, no new or ongoing conversations, Jayce replayed dates in his mind, he tried to understand. He was attentive, curious, kept the conversation going, was polite, and even proper. But every answer repeated in his mind.
“I just don’t feel a spark.”
“I just didn’t feel that spark from you.”
“You’re very sweet, but I don’t think this is a match.” Over and over again, the answers replayed in his mind, unexplained. It turned sour. How would they know there wasn’t a spark? They had only met, they barely knew him, so they were just ready to throw in the towel and just not examine anything more? And what’s worse, the thoughts kept luring in the back of his mind. You’re not meant to find anyone. You’re too much. It’s easier to lie to you than tell you the truth.
Why was this so hard? He talked so easily to people on a regular basis, why was this so different? What rules wasn’t he following? And why did it seem like everybody else knew them? Why couldn’t he learn? And then there were the ghosts, who just stopped out of nowhere. No courtesy, no text, no nothing but the dread in his gut and sting in his throat. Has clear communication just been abandoned completely?
“How does one just feel that spark?”
“Well, it’s very individual, but at a point you just know ‘that person, yes’ and you know by the way they say your name, or enter the room.”
“Alright, and when do you discover that spark?”
“Well, after a few dates, some feel it later.”
“Great. Wonderful, absolutely fucking positive.” He continued just as dryly, when Mel again guessed his reason for asking. “Now can you explain to me why the hell people use it as a way of telling me no, instead of just being honest?” His words were fast and impatient.
“Well, they’re trying to be polite.” Mel argued.
“Well, they’re not when everyone uses that excuse. It becomes meaningless and honestly fucking rude. Why are people not just being honest and polite? Why am I just left with the sensation of racking my mind into the middle of the night trying to understand what the hell’s wrong with me? And that’s not even taking those who just unmatch or ghost me.”
“Jayce, they’re just trying not to hurt your feelings.”
“Mel, it’s been my whole dating life, of people trying to mind my feelings rather than being honest. I spent years trying to attack this from new angles, and nothing seems to work. What is it that just doesn’t work for others? I don’t want my feelings spared, I want to understand so badly.”
And nothing helped, because nothing cleared his understanding, nothing gave the impression to be closer to clarity, in fact everything seemed a lot more muddled than ever. Maybe he just wasn’t supposed to find love. Maybe he was supposed to just study his field, be content with that and envy every single couple that crossed his path and then grow friendless by declining every single wedding invitation and grow into a withered old man who yells at birds because they’re tweeting in the spring. It was felt all the way from his fingertips to his neck and then down his body. A constant spinning of hot frustration that seemed to only disappear when he slept, but then returned refreshed in the morning.
That night he dreams, he and a person are past dating life’s early stages. They laugh and smile, and cuddle. He feels full of love and ease for maybe the first time in years. He’s calm. He’s happy. Until he wakes up, heartbroken. And heavier than ever.
He couldn’t be bothered to hear music, since everything was a love song. It was easier to listen to audiobooks, as long as it didn’t carry any hint of love in it. Even when he’s caught in the grocery store, he ignores couples finding out what kind of bread they want, and especially the older couples who bickered over jam. What he wouldn’t give to reach that age to have someone to bicker with but nooooo.
After days being annoyed and frustrated he was just about to delete the damned app when there was a new message. Still full of hot anger, he swallowed a breath of air, and opened it. It starts politely and with a joke about the weather, and to be fair Jayce hadn’t noticed the state of the weather until he noticed he was damp from the rain outside.
And they hit it off. The other guy seemed polite, and slowly ticked every box that Jayce was looking for. The curiosity and the openness to a lot of things. The future plans, the difficulty of finding good dating potential, and even the odd flirtation. His anger slowly seeped out of him and warmed up to this guy. He keeps Jayce’s interest piqued, and then they have a date planned. Just something simple. A coffee at the café downtown. But just as Jayce was about to text him the day before he sees a new text.
D: Hey, sorry, my nan has been taken to the hospital. She means quite a lot, is it alright we push our date?
That is how they all start. The low-key suspicion. But of course, Jayce doesn’t know anything about the nan’s health, maybe it is serious. Then he tried to tell himself it might be real. But what if it’s not?
Jayce: It’s alright. Let me know how you feel afterwards, alright?
And then the second step kicked in. But Jayce ignored it. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. There’s no text from the guy. Then there was a new message, but nothing indicating when he had the time for the coffee date. Jayce nudged politely for a date. It wasn’t the first time someone had used their nan as an excuse. Then the third sign he shouldn’t ignore. The fewer and fewer texts. The disinterest hit. But Jayce ignored it, as he always did, because maybe he had a good reason. But he was not supposed to find out. It has been two and a half weeks since their first text, and now Jayce sits at the café, with an already ordered coffee, scouting for his date. He pulls out his phone to enter their conversation. Only to find it gone. Missing. Unmatched and deleted. In a way, he wasn’t surprised. After all, the signs had been there. He had just been hopelessly hoping for a sign that the guy might have been the one.
That night he called Mel.
“This better be important.”
Jayce felt his voice twitch and stumble. A sharp inhale.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Jayce?”
“He stood me up.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. How are you feeling? How did you know?” He explained his time at the café with a shaky voice while clutching a pillow to his chest.
“Am I an idiot?”
“No. No you’re not. You’re just a hopeless romantic, Jayce. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Then why is this so difficult?”
“Because people want something fast. And they can sense that you’re not it. You want it slow and proper, and secure, and they want something else you can’t offer, and you shouldn’t if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sure you will find someone, they’re out there for you. Even if they’re on the other side of the planet.”
Jayce scoffed, but tried to sound polite, “I know that’s meant to be encouraging, but it’s not.”
“Sorry.”
“Should I just delete the app? I don’t know what I should do about it.”
“If I know you right, you’ll just download it again in a month or two.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Maybe edit your bio, let them know you’re slow and like to get to know people first.” Mel offered at the other end of the line. Then do some swipes and then take a look tomorrow.”
Even though he loves Mel, her advice does not help. In fact, the matches seem to rain in throughout the week, but to his great, great presumption, nothing more happens. It aches. And it hurts. There’s a singular dude, streamlined and a clear jawline, who sends a singular emoji. Not a “hello” or “hi” or anything that relies on letters, to initiate a conversation. Jayce finds a gram of decency and responds back, but with a gif of kind waving. Then the first minute passes. Then the tenth. Then the hour is gone, and Jayce thinks no more of it. By the end of the week, Jayce has not touched the app. Still not deleted, it’s used less and less.
“Are you really not going to use it?” Mel asks one afternoon.
“What’s the point. Who knows, if I’ll just end up single and alone forever. I will be old and wrinkled, and unloved.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
“Am I?” Jayce snaps sarcastically. But then he adds softer, “I just can’t take it any longer Mel, I want a break from the constant disappointment, over and over and over and over. Like my patience can only take so much. I can’t be bothered.”
“Fine. That means you have time for me and Lest?”
He knows she means well, but in fact he doesn’t know how to tell her he can’t manage to be in the vicinity of two people showing the slightest bit of affection in front of him. He knows it’s not a mocking of him personally, but he can’t avoid how it now has been that sensation the past years. “I think I need to be alone. Do something productive instead of just wallowing in my own self-pity.”
“Fine.” Mel nods. Furthermore, next week there’s a new paper to hand in, or rather work on. It’s a lab report, which means Jayce needs to spend more time in the campus library as well as the campus science lab to look at his work slowly unfold and then document the process of whatever Heimerdinger wants them to study now.
He’s got three weeks for the report, and it’s fine. It keeps him occupied, and he wants to be thorough and he gotta use his energy somehow. This might well be it.
However.
When he goes to the library, the books he wants to check out are already lent out. At least two out of four books aren’t even in and there’s no chance to see who’s got them, and beg them to return the books faster. He huffs, but then decides to use the library as a study base. Maybe he’s lucky enough to get started with the other two books for his paper and gather an idea of what he’s supposed to look at.
By the third day, and still no book being returned, Jayce sits in the library into the late evening when he’s snapped awake by the sound of a voice. Gentle, and wobbly words, another student asks if he’s alright. He’s chestnut brown hair and a face with papercut-sharp cheekbones. Jayce blinks awake with a deep sigh. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“What? I must’ve fallen asleep.” He wobbles over his own words, and the other doesn’t seem to hear or even understand what the hell he just said.
“Are you working on Heimerdinger’s lab report for semester 3?”
“What?” Jayce yawns. The other looks down on Jayce’s notes and books of shrugs. “How did you know?”
“Because I’m working on the same report. It’s a bit trivial.”
“Trivial? You must be a genius if that’s your opinion. I’m still stuck in the formation-process. And I need this book to understand it better.”
The other student rummages through his satchel and hands Jayce a thick textbook, written by Heimerdinger himself.
“You’re the student who borrowed it?!” He exclaims, but then lowers his voice, “sorry. I’ve been waiting for you to return it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll return it tomorrow. Unless. . .” He looks at Jayce and asks him about the report and his opinion. Jayce shrugs and explains his own understanding of the topic, which essentially makes the other smile. “If you want, we can work on it together. Then I don’t have to return it, and we can spar to get the most satisfaction out of the study process.”
“You’d want to do that? I mean of course. That would be super helpful. I don’t even know your name.”
The other student reaches his hand out and stabilises himself with his cane, “It’s Viktor.”