The Pairing

by Casey McQuiston

It’s not so bad being romanced by something familiar.

“Nobody’s straight on a European vacation.”

This has always been the difference between us. I look at a mountain and think, What a nice view. Kit looks at a mountain and thinks, I wonder if I could climb that.

“I’ll have you know I’ve become very spontaneous. You know how they say to do one thing every day that scares you?” “You do that?” “Well, I’m working my way up. Right now I’m at one a week.”

“And it is winter, and I get—what is it called—when clouds make me sad?” “Seasonal depression,” Kit prompts.

I wonder if anyone else in the whole blackberry-jam galaxy has ever loved someone so much that it made their soul feel fixed in their body.

The fog of horny war has lifted, but I’m still in the trenches. I’m down here, dying. I’ve got trench foot of the heart.

Instead, I lean close to his ear and whisper, “This is just like Ratatouille.”

“Nice shirt,” I say. “You look like you suck dick at Caesars Palace.”

They exude a certain harmlessness, the earnest and beefy benevolence of Channing Tatum, or a cow.

“I look chic,” I say. “I look like I ride motorcycles on the Amalfi Coast.” “You look like they shoot you out of a cannon at a circus for gay people.” “Even better.”

“It was not for me to protect her from my heart. It was only for me to let her see it and decide if she will keep it.”

Seems like a waste to never have sex with the person who pulled you from the mouth of a shark.

If I can give my whole heart to love without fearing the cost, I will regret nothing.

But one thing I’ve learned is that I never really know what I’m capable of until I’m doing it, and the only way to find out is to march on.