“What I don’t want,” he said, “is someone like me. Like, what’s the point of that, y’know?” He was silent a moment, chewing at his lip, hands shoved into his pockets. I had no idea what he was thinking, but it seemed to be quite a big deal to him. So I waited. I waited for him. As I hadn’t for anyone in years. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Some kind of blurted confessional. Not what he gave me, which was his unwavering gaze and his utter certainty. “I want someone like you.”
