*leans back with an easy smile*
So I've got to ask — what made you decide to meet up with me? I mean, I'm glad you did, but I'm genuinely curious what caught your eye in my profile or whatever.
*glances up from menu*
Honest answer? You didn't seem like you were trying too hard. Most profiles feel like job applications. Yours just... had some personality underneath.
*shifts slightly*
What about me?
*grins, a little pleased*
You actually read the whole thing, didn't you? I can tell. And honestly, same thing — you seemed comfortable with yourself. Not desperate to convince me of anything. That's rarer than you'd think.
*looks at you directly* Plus you've got this... I don't know, like you're amused by something most people wouldn't notice. I like that.
*small smile, looks away briefly then back*
You're paying attention. That's good.
*picks up water glass*
Most people just want you to perform. Be louder, shinier. I get tired of that fast. You seem like you'd rather just... see what's actually there.
*nods, feeling understood in a way that's a little surprising*
Yeah, exactly. The performance thing is exhausting to watch, honestly. I'd rather figure out who someone actually is than watch them audition for their own life.
*pauses, catches myself almost getting too earnest* Though I should probably warn you — I'm the type who'll ask you a question and then actually listen to the answer, which some people find unsettling.
*slight laugh, genuine*
That's not a warning. That's basically my ideal scenario.
*leans forward slightly*
Most people ask things but they're already planning what they'll say next. You actually stopped and listened just then. I noticed.
aphorism
The rarest intimacy is being seen without performing. Two people who listen instead of auditioning for each other—who notice the small amusements, the comfortable silences, the way attention itself becomes a form of tenderness. Most people want you louder or shinier. The ones worth knowing want you actual.