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Vic had promised himself he wasn’t going to redownload the app again. He’d deleted it twice already in the past month, swearing off the endless cycle of shallow swipes and bullshit conversations. But the loneliness had a way of creeping in late at night, especially on Thursday nights when his apartment felt too quiet, his guitar stayed untouched in the corner, and even his dog seemed bored of him. So there he was, thumbing through profiles again, half-distracted and half-dreading what would pop up next. Being a trans guy meant every match came with an invisible question mark. Sometimes people got it, sometimes they didn’t. Most of the time, they either ghosted or treated him like a fetish. He got the “best of both worlds” comment a lot. It was exhausting. Still, part of him wanted connection badly enough to keep trying.
That’s when he saw the notification: You have a new message.
Vic tapped it open.
KQuinn: Hey, your profile made me laugh. You really hate pineapple on pizza that much?
Vic smirked. That stupid line. He’d left it in his bio because he thought it was funny, not because he expected it to actually work.
VicF: I will not apologize. Pineapple is an abomination.
The reply came quickly.
Bold words from a guy who listed “karaoke enthusiast” as a hobby.
Vic chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
You’re just jealous you don’t have my range.
Range, huh? You’re a singer or something?
Vic hesitated. Sometimes he told people. Sometimes he didn’t.
Something like that. What about you?
I’m in a band. Nothing serious.
Cute. Can you at least play Wonderwall?
I know how to NOT play Wonderwall, which automatically makes me cooler than 70% of guys in bands.
Vic laughed so hard his dog lifted its head from the couch cushion to glare at him. This guy had timing. They kept going. Music, embarrassing stories, dumb hypotheticals. Kellin admitted he once broke his wrist trying to skateboard in front of a crush. Vic countered with how he’d almost set his sleeve on fire lighting a stage candle once.
Then Kellin shifted gears.
Okay, real question. Not profile fluff. Tell me something real.
Vic’s thumb hovered. He could brush it off. Or he could take the risk.
I’m trans. That’s usually the part where people ghost me or get weird. Just putting it out there.
The typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Came back.
Thank you for telling me. For the record, I’m bi. And I’m not going anywhere.
Vic let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Really? That’s it?
That’s it. I just like talking to you. Also, you’re hot. That’s my big follow-up.
Smooth.
You like it. Don’t deny it.
Vic stared at the screen, smiling like an idiot.
The conversation spilled on for hours. They argued over Mario Kart characters, Vic swore by Yoshi, Kellin was aggressively loyal to Toad. They compared playlists, debated the best dive bars in town, and admitted the weirdest things they’d ever done for attention in high school. By the time Vic checked the clock, it was nearly one in the morning. That’s when Kellin sent the line that started everything.
So, we’ve established you have terrible pizza opinions and questionable karaoke skills. I think we need to test both of those in person.
Vic blinked. Are you asking me out?
Damn right I am.
bold of you to assume I’ll say yes
Bold of you to assume I’ll stop asking until you do, or block me.
Vic bit his lip. His brain ran in circles- it was too fast, too soon, what if it’s awkward? What if he ghosts afterward anyway? But his chest felt warm, lighter than it had in months.
…Fine. One date. But if you order pineapple pizza, I’m leaving.
Noted. No pineapple. But I AM holding you to karaoke.
You’re going to regret that.
Doubt it. ;)
Okay, when?
Tomorrow night? There’s this bar on 9th. Karaoke with decent drinks. 8?
Sounds perfect.
It’s a date.
Vic dropped his phone onto the couch cushion and covered his face with his hands. He was smiling so hard it almost hurt.
The next night, Vic was ten minutes early. He stood outside the dive bar Kellin had suggested, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, trying not to look like he was waiting for a blind date. The neon sign buzzed above him, half the letters burnt out. Through the open door he could hear the muffled sound of someone screaming their way through an ‘80s power ballad, and then Kellin was there. He strolled down the block with that loose-limbed confidence Vic wished he could have. He was wearing skinny jeans, scuffed boots, and a faded band tee. His hair looked like it had been styled by the wind, and somehow it worked. When he spotted Vic, he broke into a grin that hit Vic right in the chest and took his breath away.
“You showed,” Kellin said, dimples on full display.
Vic arched an eyebrow. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you’ve got serial ghoster energy.”
Vic laughed despite himself. “Wow. Harsh. Already roasting me?”
“Gotta keep you on your toes.”
Inside, the bar was exactly the kind of dive Vic had expected, dim lighting, sticky floors, and cracked vinyl booths. A group of strangers clustered by the stage, all cheering on a woman belting Bon Jovi like her life depended on it.
Kellin slid into a booth and gestured for Vic to follow. “What’s your poison?”
“Whiskey ginger,” Vic said after a beat.
Kellin flagged down the bartender. “Classy choice. I’m a beer guy. Simple.”
Vic smirked. “Basic, you mean.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. You can trust a guy who sticks to the classics.”
The drinks arrived, and conversation came easily. They traded stories, Vic admitted he once fell off stage mid-song and just kept singing from the floor, and Kellin confessed he’d dyed his hair neon blue in high school because he thought it would make a girl fall in love with him. At one point, Kellin leaned back, studying him with a look Vic couldn’t quite name. “You’re different in person.”
Vic stiffened. “Different how?”
“Like… warmer. I thought you’d be all edgy, but you’re not. You’re kind of soft.”
Vic shifted in his seat, unsure how to take that because compliments always made him uneasy. “Soft isn’t really what I’m going for.”
“Trust me,” Kellin said, smirking, “it works on you.”
Heat crept up Vic’s neck, and he busied himself with his drink.
By the time Kellin dragged him toward the karaoke stage, Vic was tipsy enough not to fight it. The opening chords of Mr. Brightside kicked in, and Vic groaned into the mic.
“This is your fault,” he muttered.
Kellin grinned. “Sing, rockstar.”
Vic rolled his eyes but gave in. His voice wasn’t polished like it used to be, but when he hit the chorus, the bar cheered. Kellin jumped in halfway through, both of them laughing so hard they barely made it through the bridge. The performance was chaotic, imperfect, and exhilarating. When they stumbled offstage, still breathless, Kellin’s hand brushed Vic’s, lingering just long enough to make his pulse race.
“See?” Kellin said. “You’re a natural.”
“I hate you,” Vic shot back, grinning despite himself.
They left the bar near midnight, stepping into the quiet street. The night air was cool, the distant hum of traffic the only background noise. Kellin shoved his hands into his pockets, walking close enough that their shoulders touched now and then.
“So,” he said casually, “did I earn a second date? Or are you gonna ghost me after all?”
Vic glanced at him, searching for the catch, but Kellin wasn’t smirking this time. He looked almost shy, hopeful in a way that tugged at Vic’s chest. “You earned it,” Vic said softly.
Kellin’s smile widened. “Good. Because I was already planning it.”
For a beat they stood under the glow of the streetlamp, the air charged, then Kellin leaned in, slow enough that Vic could pull back if he wanted.
Vic didn’t, he actually leaned in. The kiss was tentative at first, and extremely sweet. Like Kellin was testing how comfortable Vic was. When they broke apart, Kellin rested his forehead against Vic’s.
“Still think I’m gonna regret this?” he whispered.
Vic laughed quietly. “Not anymore.”
And for the first time in a long time, he meant it.