“So when I think about my type, I think about someone that I can be myself around. Completely.” He swallows thickly. There’s an uncomfortable tension in his gaze now, as if he’s plagued by his own vulnerability. “Someone who doesn’t expect me to think or act or behave a certain way . . . because they’re content with the person that I already am.” “You want to feel the way you do when you’re alone but with somebody else?” “Exactly.” He gives me a grateful smile, relaxing into the comfort of my understanding.
