Be mine.

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Us.

Someone has been taking up a lot of my time lately. And that someone is Dave.

We met in December. He was covered in tinsel, and we were both a little bit intoxicated. I remember standing outside his building with my flatmate Andy, and I was taunting Andy about something, and swearing at him in a rather filthy way. This must have impressed him somehow. Looking back, I think he was definitely intrigued. He had long hair and a fondness for obscure indie band t-shirts. He liked that I called him a cheeky bastard.

We headed out together that night with him and a few other workmates of Andy’s. A lot of joking and dancing and general joshing about happened in the alleyway behind Boogie Wonderland and I do recall going into a slight strop that no one would come to Burger King with me to settle my stomach. Dave ended up coming alone with me to Kitty O’Shea’s, where we danced like complete morons and discussed 90s music. I fell asleep on his shoulder at Jet, and Andy threatened his manhood if he hurt me. We held hands in the street. At the end of the evening a meaningful look was had, but no moves made. I was interested, however, in chasing this mad Scotsman somewhat. Andy and I walked home in the sunrise, and I was thoroughly teased for having the interest.

And then nothing happened. I flew away with big hopes for America, and a desperate need for a break from home.

Come January, I came back with a lot of strange feelings about my trip to the USA. My second day back, I was invited to go along to a comedy gig with Andy and some of the other guys. I wasn’t expecting Dave to be there, but he was, and we joked and semi-flirted through the evening.

A week later, Andy said to join him for drinks after work, despite it being a Wednesday, as it had been a rough one. I strolled down after my shift, and he was there, and we proceeded to give each other trouble for the rest of the evening. It ended up just being the three of us, and after hours of flirting, and Andy had given up on the evening as he wasn’t “having fun or getting laid”, I leaned into Dave and kissed him, unexpectedly. I can still see his smile in response.

We talked for a while. I was confused about America, and still felt a little damaged from many things. He respected my need to take things slow, to communicate fully. I bared it all on the table. He said, “okay.”

The next few months went by in a blink. Talking, watching movies, walking, drinking, kissing, learning. What started as something that was fun and considered short-term by the both of us turned into something special and deep and completely and utterly crazy. We fell. And I told him, on St Patrick’s Day, on a balcony, under a heavy influence, and many nights were had where we talked and tried to decide what to do once he left New Zealand. How do you decide what to do? How do you walk away?

I’d given a piece of my heart, and despite the practical decision being a break, we knew we could stay together. Dave respects me. Dave accepts me exactly for who I am, with all my geek, with all my quirks, with my past. Dave puts me first. He remembers the little things. He wants to learn everything there is to learn.

Dave loves me.

But Dave is leaving soon. In 10 days.

And so the countdown begins. On that day we’ll have 144 left until we’re together again. And while it wasn’t in the plan, I can’t give him up now.

I was always hopeful that 2008 was going to be my year where I found someone again. Where I maybe fell in love.

I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.

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