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Pests of different kinds bothered people all the time. Ants, rats, wasps, raccoons. Henry, though. Henry had Pez. He was worse than any ant or feral raccoon you could find. What’s worse, he knew the password for Henry’s phone.
It was on him, really, that Henry found himself surprised when he found a new app waiting patiently for him on his homescreen.
“Ew,” he mumbled and locked the phone, panicking. Unlocked it again. Eyed the app carefully.
His thumb hovered above the screen for a second while Henry was scrambling for courage to open the cursed thing. Unfortunately, his worst predictions came true. Without his knowledge or consent, ‘Tinder’ inhabited his phone. More than that, his account was already set up: a few candid pictures, short non-doxxing description and a short summary of his character.
“No,” Henry scoffed, locking the phone again.
He has to change his password, for fucks sake. This time, it’ll be Mum’s birthday instead of Bea’s.
On Thursday, Henry gets a notification. There, in between NYT’s ‘your Thursday puzzles are ready to play’ and a calendar reminder to return the books to the library, sits a push from Tinder.
Oh no! Did they hack him? Figure out his address, his ID number, his card pincodes? Henry knew what awaited pretty boys on the Internet if they weren’t careful.
‘Hey pretty! Knew we’d match ;)’ , awaited him in the inbox. George, 25. Henry zoomed on his picture and gagged. This guy looked creepily like Henry. The similarity was startling, honestly. First, he’d never swipe on someone like George. Second, he knew for a fact he didn’t open the app.
So, Pez is smarter than he thought. Good to know.
On Saturday, Henry was trying not to sleep during an 8am lecture. Before you say something, please know he already regretted this choice, and has been since the start of the semester.
The girl next to him was playing a silly train game for forty minutes straight. The guy on the left was cutting the rope so a little frog could eat a candy. Henry didn’t know if it was a healthy diet choice for a frog, but definitely knew he had to busy his mind with something similarly trashy. That, or he’ll be kicked out from the lecture for snoring.
Henry almost downloads a random game from AppStore before he notices Tinder. Like a dead fish in the aquarium that you ignore because you’re too lazy to go fetch a plastic bag and throw it out.
Embarrassment wasn’t quite as unbearable as boredom.
Tinder was, quite honestly, a hell of a place. Henry never knew how to present himself, how to make people interested in him with just a short conversation. He liked to believe there was always space for courtship, long phone calls when you focus on the person on the other side so hard you can hear them breathing and biting their smile.
On Tinder, romance was dead. Henry, it seemed, was playing the role of Frankenstein. Still, it was better than an extremely bland presentation that was happening on the podium.
After two weeks of not deleting the app, Henry was properly pissed with himself. He felt like the office clerks buying lottery tickets religiously, or people who still caught every episode of ‘The Voice’. His new addiction was trashing every guy he saw on Tinder.
Cassie, his therapist, called him out on that and threw words like ‘sabotaging’ and ‘maybe look at the opportunities’ around. Henry liked to think he was proving her wrong. How was it ‘sabotaging’ if this guy was named David, like his dog, and that one had a red background on his main profile picture? Red was the ugliest colour ever.
Henry found himself opening the app at any second he had to spare. In a queue, on a bus, or before bed, waiting for his face mask to do its magic. It was like passing by a dead pigeon. You knew what was there and you didn’t want to look, and looked anyway.
Exactly three weeks later after the dark day when Tinder occupied his phone, Henry was relaxing in a coffee shop on campus. Usually, he would listen to a podcast while enjoying his brownie, but today the host’s voice sounded off to his ears. Or was it just a reason to spend some more time on Tinder? Thankfully, Cassie wasn’t there to air his dirty laundry for all the plushies in her office to see.
Right now, the brownie had to wait. For the first time, Henry faced a bump on the road of his game. The profile of Alex Claremont-Díaz was open on his phone for the whole minute, and Henry still didn’t come up with a sloppy reason to swipe ‘no’. Alex was, objectively, the God of Tinder. Zeus. Except, he probably didn’t eat his children. And, hopefully, wasn’t a horrible pervert. And—
“Swipe, he’s cute,” said someone behind his back. Henry hummed absentmindedly.
“He is,” he admitted.
“Something tells me it’ll be a match, sweetheart,” a male voice with a southern accent continued. Henry huffed a laugh. “What?” the voice asked, sounding offended.
“That’s a catfish, I’m sure,” Henry scrolled through the pictures. Would someone so exceptionally handsome need a Tinder profile?
“Well, law school is no joke, darlin’.”
“What?”
“You asked why would someone, and I quote, so exceptionally handsome…”
Great. Now Henry was speaking aloud without meaning to do it. Pez will have to pay for a psych ward, since it will be his fucking fault his best friend has gone mad.
“So he’s a lawyer…” Henry scoffed and looked through Alex’s profile information.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the voice asked incredulously.
“Well, what about quality time?” Henry mused. “He won’t have time for the dates, we won’t go anywhere. Am I to sit around and wait for him to fit me in his busy schedule?” Henry actually felt pretty great about himself. He finally managed to find a solid reason to swipe ‘no’ on Alex without having a breakdown in Cassie’s office later.
“You’re joking, right, sweetheart?” the man behind him laughed in disbelief. “This guy will be running to you every fuckin’ day. Have you seen yourself? If he’s in law school, he’s smart enough not to fuck this chance up.”
Henry hummed, lost in thought. He never had anyone to argue with, when he was going through Tinder. Turns out, it’s harder to reject people when someone’s destroying your paper thin reasons.
“He’s too beautiful,” Henry found his ground again and took a sip of his lukewarm tea. “He’ll cheat.”
“Didn’t I just say there’s no time for that shit when you’re in law school?” the stranger sighed. “He won’t.”
“He’ll have lots of offers,” Henry shrugged.
“He’ll only have eyes on you.”
That sounded pretty great, actually. Henry was never involved in an exclusive relationship. Must be nice to have someone only to yourself.
“It says here that he’s in a lacrosse team,” Henry wilted. “I believe it can mean only one thing. He’s a jock.”
“Doesn’t it say right there he’s also in his sister’s book club?” the voice asked, and Henry felt like he was reprimanded for not paying enough attention.
“Oh, right, it does…”
“And that he was in a high school debate club? Darling, you’ll have so much quality time together, you’ll be crying and asking to let you go home.” Henry’s neighbour poured something into his cup, and the scent of cinnamon hugged Henry like a wool blanket.
“So he must be straight,” Henry decided.
“Sweetheart. Maybe you’re the one who can’t read? Find this bi flag with your pretty blue eyes before I’ll have to point it out to you,” the voice mocked him, though it sounded so warm and full of carefully concealed amusement that Henry didn’t even think of snapping at the guy.
“Well, now I’m one hundred percent sure it’s too good to be true,” he sighed and locked his phone. The brownie, unlike Alex Claremont-Díaz, was very much real.
“Oh? Tell me more. Do you have a list of requirements? An interview?” This time, the man didn’t even try to hide the mirth in his tone.
“What if I do?” Henry asked brattily.
“You do?” The voice sounded a bit breathy. “Love lists. Let me hear it, then.”
“Well.” Cassie used to stare at him wordlessly until he cut the bullshit when Henry was in this mood. Unfortunately for a cinnamon stranger, he wasn’t familiar with Henry’s escapades. “He has to give me flowers, write long romantic letters, know how I drink my tea, compliment me, be accepted by my Mum and sister. He’s supposed to take me out at least once a week and explore nice, civil places with me, and I don’t mean frat parties and sport bars, or whatever these lax bros are into,” the stranger behind him clicked his tongue, “... he must be deeply in love with me, carry my bags and lose his words every time he sees me. And I want it to be fate, destiny. Written in the stars, do you understand? Not with the help of a stupid app.”
Proud with himself, Henry settled in his seat comfortably and took another sip of the cold tea.
“Wait, I thought he had to compliment you. But also be at a loss of words?”
Henry furrowed his eyebrows. Who does this guy think he is, Cassie? With a scoff, Henry turned around and yelped.
Across from him, Alex Claremont-Díaz was typing on his phone. When he heard the yelp, Alex looked up and showed him the opened Notes app with a list.
“Sorry, I’m just writing everything down for future reference. Could you be more clear?” he asked with a sweet smile.
“You—” Henry searched for the right word.
“I do have a busy schedule, sweetheart,” Alex switched to the calendar app, “but does Wednesday afternoon work for you? I hear there is a dope event in a local library.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” Henry asked, embarrassed.
“I needed the insider info,” Alex shot him a grin. “I swiped on you, like, ages ago. So what about Wednesday? I’ll craft a letter beforehand and bring the flowers. By the way, what’s your Mom’s email? And does the sis use Snapchat?”
“I was joking,” Henry tried to reason with this mad, devastatingly beautiful man. Christ, if he was gorgeous in the pictures, it was nothing compared to Alex in person.
“Oh, baby, I’m dead serious,” Alex looked him in the eye, making Henry’s palms sweat. “Can you send the tea deets my way? I’ll also appreciate your schedule in PDF for bag carrying purposes.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Henry shook his head.
“You’re so pretty. Can I touch your hair real quick? It looks so damn soft.”
“What?”
“Wednesday afternoon, baby. Yay or nay?”
Alex had a stubborn look in his eye, and the way his jaws clenched made Henry think that this time, his escapades weren’t going to slide.
“I need to call Cassie,” he said instead.
“Okay,” Alex nodded and leaned back in his chair, ready to wait. He’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even know who Cassie is.
Henry hesitated.
“When I’m back, I’m going to say yes,” he added shyly.
Alex’s face lit up.
“Great! I’m booking tickets, then. Can you send me your birth info, while we’re at it? I have a star chart to make. For, like, our capability. The destiny thing is settled already, do you think? Like, I was literally just sitting here, how more ‘written in the stars’ could it be? Are you Pisces? You look like a Pisces.”
Henry was going to regret the extensive list he came up with on the spot so hard. He didn’t remember a word he said, already. Alex, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to go to war with nothing but the note up open on his phone.
The plushies in Cassie’s office will have a massive laugh, it seemed. For once, Henry didn’t feel annoyed by it.