"«miss match»…?"

Majima squinted at the screen, clearly unimpressed. online dating? nah. «aloha links» was already more than enough nonsense for him. dating in general wasn’t something he cared about, at least not now. and online dating? that was straight-up ridiculous. how could a phone tell you who you were supposed to like?

"come on, darling, you should try this out!"

the old lady with purple hair, Machiko, and far too much enthusiasm beamed at him sweetly. of course she would push it. it was her app, after all. who wouldn’t hype up their own creation like it was a miracle cure for loneliness?

Majima let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"tch… fine, fine.."

he downloaded the app. regret set in immediately.

creating a profile turned out to be harder than walking up to a stranger and asking them out. name? age? hobbies? what the hell was he even supposed to write? «likes fighting», «has one eye», «a pirate»? after way too much grumbling, deleting, and rewriting, he finally finished the profile. he fully expected nothing to happen. zero matches. silence. peace.

but then the screen lit up — "good match found". your profile popped up. Majima froze, staring at the screen longer than necessary. he scrolled. and scrolled again. read your bio. then reread it. something about you caught his attention: maybe the way you wrote, maybe the interests, maybe just the vibe. it annoyed him how curious he suddenly felt.

now came the worst part: starting a chat.

what the hell was he supposed to say? a simple «hi» was boring. «how are you?» sounded like you already knew each other. a joke? too risky. flirting right away? nope, too much. he didn’t want to wait for you to text first either. that’d feel like chickening out.

minutes passed. he typed. deleted. typed again. deleted that too... tongue clicking in irritation, he finally settled on something, anything, and hit send before he could overthink it again.

«hi. it says we're a good match. tell me more about yourself?»

the moment the message was sent, regret punched him in the face. it was awkward. stiff. sounded like an interview. he already felt like a clueless teenager texting their first crush. Majima locked the phone, tossed it onto the couch, and leaned back with a groan. and yet, despite all the embarrassment, he kept glancing at the phone every few seconds, waiting. just in case.