I practice taking off the heaviness when I get to your door, my heavy coat of worry. I imagine peeling it off my skin, and with it, January’s cold residue, the traffic that held me back, I even leave my cold morning coffee behind me. You greet me with your hand out, ready to take my heaviness and carry it to another room entirely. 

“Did you see what he did today?” There’s no need to say hello in 2025.  

“I think so. I’ve been taking a lot of breaks.” I’m unlacing my left shoe when you bend down and begin untying my right. It’s our third date and I’m enamored in a way that feels ridiculous and dangerous. You smile up at me and it’s childish that my throat is this dry suddenly.

“I sent you a Tiktok.” It takes me too long to reply and I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me as time goes on. I stare at you long enough that you’ve finished the right shoe and taken over the unlacing of my left. I want to tell you that my tarot reading aunt told me blue eyed men have stronger intuitions. But you’re an atheist and when I ask you about your sign, you tell me you’ve never looked it up.

“Did you watch it?” You’re waiting on me to be human. 

“I deleted Tiktok.”

“Reeaally?” You squint at me in a way that reads defiant. On the other side of this admiration, I feel displaced. I didn’t ask to be treated this kindly, for someone to pull my Chuck Taylors off my feet on the third date. You’re a decade younger than me and I’m certain you’d consider Paramore punk. In my smugness, I forgive all of this and instead, I do what I think Kathleen Hanna would do, the scary thing. You adjust to stand again, but before you can, I jump up to kiss you for only our fourth time.

***

Later, in the neon blue light of your dim room, I can’t sleep at the thought of it all. Instead, I trace your top surgery scars lightly and listen to your weighted breathing. Your face is porcelain scruff. Your mouth, still the smallest smile. All the wrinkles have left your forehead alone for the night. I have no business feeling like this about you this soon. I know better than to try to be happy.

What if he dies? It’s such a selfish thought that I squeeze my eyes shut and try to fall asleep just to get away from myself. Last week they withheld federal aid for 48 hours and we held our breath. All of us, forced to just sit with it. You with your fancy research grant management job, me still here with my silly dreams of writing; between us, not a passport in sight. 

Turns out you’re a Cancer, the most loving sign in astrology. While I, the double Virgo, am wired to protect my own heart. In the dark, I pray that you’re not right about nature’s aimlessness. I pray to a God you don’t believe in that you’re not the hero of this story. In the dark I see you clearly. You have no choice but to refuse to be afraid. It’s a type of courage I’m only now meeting. I kiss the bruise on your neck. Both of us, swimming in fragility, knowing heroes never have the privilege of fear.