Chapter Text
Lately, Damen hasn’t been lucky in love.
In all fairness, not every failed date is his own fault. For the most part, he’s been a charming companion on nights out—ask anyone! He’s paid for Ubers home, for dinner and dessert and drinks, kept the small talk sweet and not about boring shit like his job, or whatever misery’s currently going on in the news. He’d say he’s been a solid, if not extraordinary, casual romantic companion.
It’s the app, he thinks, staring down at the phone in his hand. The app’s holding me back. I should try to meet someone in person the old-fashioned way. Let nature and hormones and physical attraction do what the algorithm cannot.
He sighs as he scrolls, heading straight for the goddamn dating app regardless, clicking the big red X on profiles he’s had previous contact with. He gets no responses from those he hits YES PLEASE on, but that’s okay, it’s still early—as the night grows late, clickers and clickees increase in willingness. (Or maybe it’s desperation, but he’s not going to dwell.)
After six months of committed clicking and swiping and sexting, Damen honestly couldn’t bring himself to recommend KissFindr to other human beings. It’s not like it’s helped him find any kisses of quality, and isn’t that the point, if it’s the app’s fucking name? There've been a few decent drunken bar kisses, true, and an alleyway kiss with a model that wasn’t completely horrible—but no take-me-home-and-get-to-know-me kisses. No let’s-definitely-do-this-again-tomorrow kisses. No tell-me-your-middle-name-and-hopes-for-the-future kisses. Nothing that lasted past the night, and that’s what he wants.
Damianos has come to realise, after his most recent string of unmemorable anonymous fucks, that he doesn’t want it to be only casual. Not forever. Damen wants to find somebody he truly connects with, could possibly even have a relationship with. Crazy, right? That’s what his friends would say. (Probably.) You’re not cut out for anything that lasts longer than a month, so don’t try to kid yourself. Remember when you tried to commit to a Secret Lives of Kyroi Wives watch party? You backed out after episode two.
Damen can be flaky. In the past, he’s opted for quick and easy and instant satisfaction, it’s true.
But lately he’d like to know if there’s something else out there. A stranger wanting to be found, and not immediately forgotten.
“I’m not that bad,” he says out loud to himself, like a crazy person. “Last week Nik said I was a catch.”
He looks around his apartment, filled with expensive things. There’s a bottle of red wine on the counter that cost nearly as much as his sofa. A car waiting downstairs with doors that swing up, instead of out. A wardrobe filled with fine clothes, tasteful racks of shoes, soap scented with bergamot.
I am a catch. I’ve got a lot to offer.
He sighs. Again.
If anyone wants it.
He didn’t have luck with any of the other apps he tried before this one. Grindr, Bumble, ClockYourFace—Damen has downloaded and deleted his way around most of the app store in his phone, like the digital slut he is.
In KissFindr’s defence, connections have certainly been made. Physical ones, in the plural. He’s had more sex in the past half year than in the three years prior, in the aftermath of his shit storm of a marriage. And it’s not like KissFindr is out there promising True Love™ to its user base. Casual hookups is kind of its thing, so Damen can’t really complain.
But as time ticks on, he finds himself tiring of it. The game, the chase, the disappointment. Flirting over text, maybe getting off to a scantily clad photo exchange, then meeting a match in person if they want to once the afterglow fades. Taking off his clothes, sleeping with them (the person, not the clothes), feeling good for a brief moment, then feeling nothing immediately after.
It’s not that he wants to spend the rest of his life with somebody he meets online—marry them, move in with them. He’s still too jaded and post-divorce for that.
But he’d like something. Something of substance, something to savour. Someone to wake up to who didn’t immediately call a taxi and flee his bed. Maybe someone who’d like to stay for coffee and pancakes, and that rare thing called conversation. It could still be casual, very KissFindry and fancy free and fun… but also, more than a fuck and a thank you and a never see you again, lose my profile, bye.
Damen believes there’s something in between. He does. He yearns for it. He just doesn’t know if KissFindr is the way to find it.
Maybe take one more look, he thinks, after clicking out of the app and back in again. Then delete the fucking thing. Be done with it. Pick up a newspaper and see if they still print lonely hearts.
He sighs, socked feet up on his coffee table, the quiet of his apartment beginning to feel oppressive. It’s Monday night and even though KissFindr is making him feel like a lonely, uninteresting loser, he’d still rather be ignored by a beautiful stranger than stuck in his own head all night. Maybe if he calls one of his friends (Nikandros, or… well, that’s about it) they’ll keep him company. Remind him he’s not completely devoid of personality. Come over and play a card game, crack open a beer, watch sports, bullshit the night away… ultimately fight to keep Damen away from his own thoughts.
He considers it. Closes KissFindr, opens his contacts. Hovers over Nik’s number.
He’s in Ios, remember? And he told you just last week not to bother him until May at the earliest. End of financial year crap.
Another sigh. KissFindr it is, then. Damen gives in and goes for one last hopeless scroll, unchecking the box in his profile that says Open To ONS, because he’s not really in the mood for a one-night stand this time.
99% sure it’s a quest for oblivion, he hits LET’S GO!, then waits for a new batch of results to load.
This search is different, he tells himself. I'm not going to immediately sleep with the results I'm going to start a conversation. Seek a connection.
I'm going to meet someone new, and be someone new.
/ / / / /
K I S S F I N D R . . .
. . . looking for best matches . . .
. . . we won’t keep you waiting long! . . .
. . . loading results 1%12%26%59%62%84%99%100% . . .
LOOK WHO’S IN YOUR AREA RIGHT NOW! HOT and SINGLE and ONLINE!
RESULTS FOR MAN SEEKING ANYONE SEEKING KISSES:
A, 26, from VERE located in VERE.
Looking for AN OLDER MAN. EXQUISITE WEALTH. LONG TALKS & LONGER NIGHTS.*
Hal, noneofyourbusiness, from VASK located in VERE.
Looking for GOOD TALKS BY THE FIRE. A GOOD **** AFTER.*
Mr. Berenger, 47, from VERE located in VERE.
Looking for A YOUNGER MAN TO SPOIL. APPLY WITHIN.*
L, 20s, from VERE located in VERE.
Looking for SOMEBODY WHO LIKES DOGS.*
Stavos, 29, from AKIELOS located in VERE.
Looking for A VERETIAN GUY WHO LIKES A GOOD TIME.
ALL MATCHES HAVE BEEN ONLINE TODAY!
LOCK IN YOUR NEXT KISS RIGHT NOW!!!
UPGRADE TO AD-FREE FOR JUST $14.99 per month
and get our BEST MATCHES emailed to you NIGHTLY!!!!\ \ \ \ \
There isn’t much in the way of a tasting menu. Damen scrolls through the short list, then back up, hesitating over L’s profile for two reasons:
One, because the lone capital letter makes him think about Death Note, which he hasn’t thought about in years. If nothing else, he can re-watch the anime tonight.
And two, because the profile picture isn’t of a coquettish waif wrapped in barely there silks, like the first person he scrolled past. (Mr. A, wishing you well on your quest for exquisite wealth.) Nor is L’s picture a moody black and white head shot, clearly taken professionally, baring the subject’s soul, like the last one. Stavos is good looking, but in a predictable way. Damen doesn't click.
No, L’s profile picture is charming. It’s different, and that's what he wants. Instead of a person there’s a small dog, black and tan and decidedly angsty, sitting on a fluffy pillow balanced on the back of a reclining chair. Oh, and it’s wearing oversized sunglasses. Damen’s fascinated.
He squints. He’s no expert, but it looks like a dachshund. Small but long. Flappy ears. Long-haired and soft.
Damen loves dogs. He doesn’t have one, but he thinks about it sometimes. How nice it’d be to have someone around the apartment who agrees, when he says out loud in a strained voice, that he's a catch. If he didn’t work obscene hours at the office, he’d probably go down to the shelter and see who was who, but he doesn’t know if he could give a dog the life it deserved right now. Probably whichever one got stuck with him deserves more than eight hours left alone everyday, waiting for him to remember to come home from work.
Damen smiles at the dachshund. It’s a great profile picture. Who wouldn’t click to find out more? Is the dog named L, or is that the owner? He had a dog as a kid, a great big slobbery hound that used to chase his father’s sheep through the hills surrounding Ios. Carna, that was his name. Protective, hard-working. If he concentrates, as he does now, he can still conjure the feel of Carna’s breath, hot against his cheek.
He blinks away the memory. He hasn’t had a dog as an adult. For a time he’d wanted to adopt a shitty little poodle mix, one he’d seen in a post online who repeatedly got returned to the overcrowded Ios shelter, and whom they were desperate to offload. But Jokaste wouldn’t have it. It’ll get hair everywhere, she said, even though he explained that poodles or doodles or what the fuck-oodles were hypoallergenic and low-shedding. He’d done the research; her wardrobe would be safe.
No, Damianos. No dogs. We don’t have time for a puppy.
She’s not a puppy, he’d said, trying to show her his laptop. She’s a senior. Real pain in the ass. Isn’t she cute?
No animals. Just drop it. I don’t have time for this.
She’d been right, but still. He thinks it’d be cool to have a dog. Rewarding. You can’t buy that sort of everlasting friendship from a person.
Damen looks at the dog picture again, hovering in indecision, then thinks why not. If it’s sending him down memory lane, it must be worth a click. He opens L’s profile, because he entered this goddamn app with the intention of looking for something different, something other than casual. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, the dog on a cushion pic is a much better lead-in than any of the other search results.
After a moment’s lag, the rest of L’s profile opens up. He scrolls, though there isn’t much to see except empty boxes.
/ / / / /
// L, 20s //
Location: Arles, Vere
Man interested in Men
Looking for Somebody who likes dogs.
More about L!
Languages Spoken: Veretian, Akielon [+2 more]
Occupation: -
Interests: My dogs' interests.
What I’m up for tonight: -
What I’m NOT up for tonight: -
\ \ \ \ \
The profile’s almost completely blank, except for another dog mention, but that doesn’t put Damen off. (He hasn’t filled in most of his, either.) L’s multilingual, which could be handy, as Damen’s Veretian flirting game is not as strong as his Akielon. Even though he’s lived in Arles for the best part of a decade now, he’s still occasionally upsetting the locals by saying almost the wrong thing in the wrong tense. He does know what words Veretians like to hear moaned during sex, but still isn’t sure what all of them mean.
Twenties. He gets stuck on that for a long moment. Where in his twenties? L might be a decade younger than Damen, which isn’t necessarily a date-killer, but it’s something to consider. Damen had one of the best dates of his life with a much older Veretian woman last summer, and even though it didn’t lead anywhere, he appreciated the experience. Variety’s good, and he wouldn’t rule anyone out based on their age alone. But L might rule him out at first glance, or first scroll. Damen wouldn’t blame him. What one person might shrug about can be a sticking point for another. He respects that.
After a moment’s hesitation, Damen clicks L’s profile picture to see what else might have been uploaded. It looks like L has got five photos in total, including the sunglasses dog, compared to Damen’s eight—and there are no other dachshund photos, according to the thumbnails. Instead, taking his time, Damen clicks into four photos of an attractive blond man, slim and tall and serious-looking. Angular features, blue eyes, a nose that points up slightly at the tip. In the first he’s looking out from a mirror, phone clutched in both hands across his middle. In some sort of clothing store most likely, feet crossed at the ankle, hair parted down the middle.
Well. Look at you.
He looks at the photo for quite a while. Most KissFindr users wear a lot less, and Damen wouldn’t mind seeing L in a similar state.
No, he reminds himself, shaking his head. You wanted different. Enjoy that this is different. Do not mentally undress.
He presses the arrow to take him to the next picture. He can see a different dog in the background of this one—a big, black, fluffy monstrosity with drooping eyes, sprawled in an armchair. Damen tries to zoom in, but the background’s too pixelated. He can see books and a selection of what he assumes are dog toys, scattered around a rug. L’s off to the side, leaning against a table, cup in his hands. He’s looking at something or someone behind the camera. Maybe the person taking the picture? No smile, but it’s a nice moment. Steam rises from the cup.
Look.
At.
You.
The next photo shows L in clearer light, leaning against a wooden counter or possibly a bar, cup in hand again. He’s got shorter hair in this one, tucked behind an ear, his face tipped to one side. Damen can see he has a freckle or mole by his mouth, a blush staining fine features. Definitely pretty. He likes L’s skinny jeans, something he could never pull off himself. All the guys in Vere seem to live in them.
He wonders who took this photo. It looks candid. He doesn’t recognise the bar or café, but there are tons of such places in Arles. Sometimes he thinks the wider Veretian economy only exists to sustain their coffee and wine culture.
The last photo on L’s profile shows the subject with longer hair this time, sitting at a table. Outdoors, probably another café. There’s pavement behind him, pockmarked with dry chewing gum spots. Here he’s looking up at the camera, blue eyes squinting, one hand coming up to shield them from the sun. He’s caught mid-word, and it’s a pose that wouldn’t always look flattering, but on this occasion it absolutely works, and Damen feels a sudden flutter somewhere in his stomach.
Pretty. Imagine being lucky enough to have stood there and taken this.
“Hi gorgeous,” he murmurs, taking a moment to scroll again, all the way back to the fashionable little dog on his cushion. Hitting the back button to return to L’s main profile page, his thumb hovers over the X, but only for a split second. Looking at the dog in sunglasses, he smiles and hits YES PLEASE, instead.
There. He’s done what he came to do. He found something different—or at least, a different kind of profile to his usual—and acknowledged it. Thanks, universe. The ball’s in L’s court, or the virtual equivalent. Now that he’s hit one of the two buttons, he can’t initiate any other sort of contact until L has either replied or denied.
Feeling slightly less useless and/or hopeless, he goes back to the search results and hits refresh. (First, he re-checks the ONS box, like the weak fool he is.) He gets a few other results, and then a few more when he widens his options to within a 50-mile radius, but there are no other fancy dogs. No pretty, listless blonds holding coffee cups, staring into space.
L mustn’t be online, or if he is, he isn’t one to respond right away. Damen doesn’t get a reaction to his YES PLEASE, and after twenty minutes of wishful thinking and a stirring in his jeans he’s clicking on [ A, 26, from VERE located in VERE ], just to pass the next few interminable minutes of his existence.
Not going to flirt. Not going to ask to meet. Not going to…
…two hours later, despite all he’s promised himself, Damen is pulling on his jacket and reaching for his wallet. He's forgotten about the whole Trying Something Different declaration, or so he tells himself, and he’s just about forgotten about the little dog altogether. L's strange profile slides from his mind as he commits himself to another meaningless night of pleasure, and hey fuck it, he'll feel lonely but at least he won’t be alone.
In the depths of his back pocket, as he heads down in the elevator, he misses the moment his phone lights up with a KissFindr notification.
< < Damen, good news: L said YES PLEASE! Send the first message? > >