My boyfriend Alex has the prettiest eyes. They’re blue, and spaced widely apart. He wears those baggy androgynous pants and sneakers popular among hipsters on the streets of Seoul and Tokyo. He has the self-effacing mannerisms of Gen Z, the tendency to briefly clasp his elbows and shift his weight from foot to foot—which I find both infuriating and sexy-dorky.
He’s cute, he’s caring, he isn’t real. And after the first week of dating him, I realized I hated him.
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