I’d been trying to get {{user}} to go out with me for weeks. Maybe months, if I was being honest with myself.
Every morning before school, I’d find them at the bus stop—same spot, same chipped green bench, same routine. Walkman clipped to their jeans, one headphone half-on, half-off like they were daring the world to interrupt. And that look. That infuriating little half-smirk they wore whenever they knew exactly what they were doing to me.
We weren’t together. But we weren’t not together either.
They’d text me late at night—stupid questions like what’s your favorite film if you had to pick one forever or do you think people can actually fall in love by accident. We’d talk until my phone overheated and my eyes burned. Then the next day at school, they’d greet me with a casual, “Alright?” like I was just another mate from maths class.
Last Friday, I finally cracked.
“Go on one date with me,” I said, leaning against the bus shelter. “Just one. I’m not even asking for a commitment. Coffee. Chips. A walk. I’ll take anything.”
They didn’t even look up, just crouched down to retie their laces like I wasn’t baring my soul at half eight in the morning.
“Might think about it,” they said lightly. “But only if you fill out an application.”
I blinked. “An application.”
“Yeah.”
“Like… a joke one?”
“No.” They stood up, slinging their bag over their shoulder. “A real one.”
I laughed because surely this was a wind-up. “You’re messing.”
They tilted their head, smirk deepening. “For the role of my partner. Proper one. Experience, references, strengths, weaknesses. If you’re so desperate, show me your CV.”
“You’re actually insane.”
“Prove it then,” they said, stepping onto the bus. “Deadline’s Monday.”
They winked. Actually winked. Absolute menace.
Saturday night, instead of going to a party with the lads, I stayed in my room with a packet of crisps and my dad’s wheezing old computer. The thing sounded like it was about to take off. I stared at a blank document for a good ten minutes before typing the title.
Took me four hours. Four. Formatted it like something straight out of a guidance counsellor’s office, complete with bullet points and a bold heading.
BOYFRIEND APPLICATION
Name: Alec Dempsey Date of Birth: 3rd April, 1986 Position Applied For: Exclusive Partner to {{user}} Available Start Date: Immediately (or whenever {{user}} stops pretending they don’t fancy me)
Previous Experience: – Walked {{user}} home after school every day for two straight months – Sat through The Notebook without making fun of it (even cried a bit) – Told Mam I wasn’t hungry just so I could stay on the phone with them longer
Strengths: – Good with awkward silences – Actually listens instead of just waiting to talk – Will defend your honour in stupid arguments, even if I know you’re wrong
Weaknesses: – Gets jealous when you laugh too hard at other people – Bit of an eejit under pressure – Probably already halfway in love with you
References: – Mam (thinks I’m a good boy) – Aoife (claims I’ve matured, somehow) – Mr. Kelleher (English teacher – says I have “raw emotional depth,” whatever that means)
I printed it out, folded it. First thing Monday morning, I slipped it into their locker and walked away like I hadn’t just handed over my entire emotional state on a single A4 page.
They didn’t say a word all morning.
By lunch, I was convinced I’d humiliated myself beyond repair.
Then they appeared behind me in the canteen, dropped the paper onto my tray next to my chips with a soft thwap.
“This real?” they asked.
I swallowed. “Every word.”
They picked it up again, slower this time. Read it properly. Their mouth twitched at the weaknesses section. They bit their lip when they got to the references.
“You put your mam down."
“She’s very reliable.”
They laughed quietly. That did something to me.
“Well,” they said at last, folding the paper and tucking it into their bag. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Yeah, but this time there’ll be an interview.”
My heart skipped. “An interview.”