The Zing Equation
MAX
Two weeks since New Year's. Two weeks of dating Jaren Mitchell, who is, objectively speaking, perfect. And tonight I'm going to his room, where we'll be alone, and I have no idea why I'm so nervous about it.
"You are doing the thing with your hands," Haru says without looking up from his laptop.
I look down. I'm drumming my fingers against my thigh in rapid succession, pattern recognition test sequence rhythm. "What thing?"
"The anxiety thing. Where you tap like you are debugging code."
"I'm not anxious."
"Max." Now he looks at me. "You have been sitting on my bed for twenty minutes discussing capacitors. You find capacitors deeply uninteresting."
"I don't hate them, they're temperamental and—" I stop. Drop my hands flat on my knees. "Okay. Maybe a little nervous."
Haru closes his laptop and swivels his chair to face me fully. "Talk to me. What is happening?"
"I don't know! That's the problem!" I flop backward onto his pillows.
"Jaren is great. He's genuinely great, nice and funny and hot, and we've been on some really good dates, and tonight he invited me to the frat house and his roommate won't be there and—" The words tumble out faster.
"—I should be excited about that, right?
Privacy is good! But instead I'm sitting here having a minor existential crisis on your bed. "
"I think," Haru says carefully, "we should start from the beginning. The first date. What happened?"
I sit up and pull one of his pillows into my lap, needing something to hold.
"Coffee. That place near campus with the terrible lighting.
I was telling him about the hydraulic system disaster from Advanced Mechatronics, the backward one, and I was fully gesturing with my coffee cup—" I demonstrate, nearly knocking over an imaginary beverage "—almost spilling it everywhere, because I get excited about details and most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about rotational misalignment. "
"Most people are not robotics majors," Haru says it like a fact, not a comfort. Somehow, that makes it better.
"Exactly. But Jaren just grinned at me. Like he was genuinely entertained.
Said he loved that I get excited about broken robots.
" I hug the pillow. "I corrected him, they're temporarily non-functional, not broken; there's a difference, and he laughed.
Not a pity laugh, not a 'please stop talking' laugh.
An actual laugh." I trail off, fidgeting with the pillow seam.
"Then he bought me another coffee even though I protested, and touched my shoulder when he walked past to the counter. It was really nice."
"That is nice," Haru says. Not filling the silence, just confirming it.
"Yeah. He's easy to talk to. I don't feel like I have to translate myself into normal-person speak; he just rolls with it.
" I'm pulling at a loose thread on the pillow now.
"And then at the end of the date, he walked me home and kissed me.
Gave me time to pull back if I wanted to, but I didn't, so I kissed back, and it was—" I search for the word.
"—it felt like what kissing a new guy should feel like. Soft and brief and not too intense."
"You think?"
"I don't have a lot of reference points, Haru. My dating history is basically non-existent, and my research into optimal kiss protocol was inconclusive at best—"
"You researched kissing protocols."
"I've researched everything! Do you know how many variables there are? Angle, pressure, duration, tongue involvement or non-involvement, that's not even getting into environmental factors like location and timing and—"
"Max. Please breathe."
I breathe. "Sorry. Spiraling."
"A little." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Demo, shūchū shiyō. The kiss was good?"
"Yeah. Good." I'm still pulling that thread.
"He texted when he got home to make sure I'd made it safely.
Asked if I wanted to go out again, and of course I said yes.
" I slump against the wall. "The third date was last week, lunch at the campus food court.
He told me about his social work program, how he wants to combine his dad's contracting skills with youth services, and how he actually wants to help kids in transitional housing who need it.
He has this whole plan laid out. He's not drifting through college hoping something works out. "
"That is genuinely admirable," Haru says.
"Right?! Meanwhile, I'm over here like 'robots are cool, maybe I'll make robots?' He's clearly more together than I am."
"Having a clear career path means he has a clear career path. It does not mean he is more together." Haru says it simply, like he's correcting a math error. "So. Lunch was good. And then today he texted about tonight."
"We talked for two hours at lunch. I almost missed my afternoon lecture." I've properly destroyed the thread now, a small loose curl of cotton between my fingers. “And then today he texted asking me to come to the frat house. He said we can hang out, meet some of the guys, and…" I trail off.
"And?" Haru waits.
"His roommate won't be there." I can feel my face going hot. "Which is good! That's what people do when they're dating! They have privacy and do things that require privacy!"
"Max."
"I know. I know I'm being weird about this."
"You are not being weird. You are being nervous." Haru watches me steadily. "Which is normal. But talk to me. What is making you nervous?"
"I don't know!" I drop the pillow and run my hands through my hair. "Everything should be perfect; he is perfect. Good conversations, he makes me laugh, he's interested in what I do, the kissing has been good—"
"Has been?"
"We've kissed a few more times. Quick ones, between classes, when he walked me home after lunch. They've all been—" I pause. Search for the word that keeps coming up. "—nice."
Haru is quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "Max. Do you want to go tonight?"
"Of course, I want to go. Why wouldn't I—"
"That is not what I asked." His voice is still gentle. Not pushing. Just asking. "Not 'should you' or 'is it the logical next step.' Do you want to go?"
I open my mouth to answer but then pause. Do I? I run the data. Jaren is kind. Genuinely kind, not acting. No, I don’t think he’s acting. The dates have been good. The conversation has been easy. He laughs at the right things and doesn't make me feel like a lot. I like him. I do like him.
So why does my stomach feel like it's running a diagnostic it can't complete? "Yeah, I think I do," I say finally, but then tack on quietly. "I want to want to. Does that make sense?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Like, on paper, this is exactly what I wanted. Someone to go on dates with, to kiss, to eventually—" I gesture vaguely. "But wanting it in theory and actually having it in front of me are apparently two very different things, and I don't know what to do with that gap."
"You keep listing his qualities," Haru says.
"Because they're good qualities!"
"They are." He tilts his head slightly. "But you are talking about him like he is a piece of computer equipment you are evaluating for purchase. How does he make you feel?"
"I—" How does he make me feel? "Good? Comfortable? Like I can be myself without worrying he'll think I'm too much or too weird—"
"That is how he makes you feel safe," Haru says. "Anzen. But attracted? How does he make you feel attracted?"
The question lands like a punch. Nobody's asked me that before. JP asked if Jaren was nice. Elliot asked if I had fun. I've been telling everyone he's great and kind and checks all the boxes, and not one person, including me, has asked whether I actually… I stop that thought before it finishes.
"I don't—" My hands are moving again. Tapping. Fidgeting. "He's objectively attractive. Tall and athletic and has nice eyes and—"
"Max." Haru's voice is firmer now. "When you think about seeing him tonight. Being alone with him. What do you feel?"
Nervous. The word immediately comes to mind.
Not excited-nervous. Just… nervous. "I feel like I'm going to mess it up," I admit.
"Like I'm going to do something wrong or say something weird or not know what I'm supposed to do and he's going to realize I have no idea what I'm doing—" I deflate. "What's wrong with me?"
"Hontō ni… Really… Nothing is wrong with you." Haru stands up and comes to sit on the bed next to me. "Max. Listen to me. Nothing is wrong with you."
"But he's perfect—"
"Stop saying that. He is not perfect; he is nice. And being nice doesn't mean you owe him anything."
"I'm not… I don't think I owe him." Do I? "I want this to work. I want to feel… whatever I'm supposed to feel."
"What are you supposed to feel?"
"I don't know! The zing! Sparks! Whatever people talk about in movies when they meet the right person!”
"And you do not feel that with Jaren."
It's not a question. I slump forward, head in my hands. "I don't know what I feel. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe the zing isn't a real thing, and I'm building it up in my head, and I should just… just go and see what happens—"
"Max." Haru's hand lands on my shoulder. "You do not have to go if you don't want to."
I lift my head. Look at him. "What if I never feel it? What if Jaren is as good as it gets and I'm… broken or defective or missing some crucial component—"
"You, Max Webber, are not broken." His voice is firm. Absolute. "You are not defective. You are… You are trying to logic your way into feelings, and that is not how…" he pauses, "that is not how it works."
"But everything else is logic! Math is logic! Engineering is logic! Why can't this be logic?!"
"Because feelings are messy." He squeezes my shoulder. "They do not follow clean equations. Sometimes you meet someone who is perfect on paper, and you feel nothing. And sometimes you meet someone who makes no logical sense, and you can not stop thinking about them."
Something about the way he says that last part makes me look at him more closely. "Are we still talking about me?"
"We are talking about you." But he looks away briefly, jaw tightening. When he looks back, his face is carefully neutral again.
"But what if I'm just scared? What if I'm self-sabotaging because I'm nervous about the physical stuff and I'm using 'I don't feel the zing' as an excuse to avoid—"
"Chotto matte… Max. Stop." Haru turns to face me fully. "Do you want to kiss Jaren right now? If he walked through that door this second, would you want to kiss him?"
I think about it. Really think about it. Jaren's nice smile. His warm hazel eyes. The way his hand felt holding mine in the movie theater. "I wouldn't mind it," I say slowly.
"That is not what I asked."
"I know." My voice goes quieter. "Yes, I do? No. I don't… I don't want to kiss him right now."
"Okay."
"That's bad, isn't it? We've been dating for two weeks, and I don't actively want to kiss him—"
"It is not bad. It is information." Haru stands up and moves back to his desk. "Max. You do not have to figure everything out tonight. You can go, hang out, and see how you feel. If it feels right, great. If it does not, that is okay too. You are allowed… always allowed… to change your mind."
"But he's expecting—"
"He is expecting to spend time with you. That is it. Anything else is optional. Enthusiastically optional." He gives me a pointed look. "You know what enthusiastic consent means? JP has explained this to me many times."
"Of course I know what—" Oh. Oh. It's not about Jaren.
Jaren has been nothing but careful with me, checking in, giving me room, never once pushing.
I trust that about him completely. But enthusiastic consent doesn't just mean the other person has to want it.
It means I have to want it. Actually want it, not just be willing to go along with it because it's the logical next step and Jaren is nice and this is what people do.
Haru isn't asking if Jaren wants me. He's asking if I want Jaren. "Yeah. Oh." He opens his laptop back up. "So go. Hang out. Meet the frat brothers. See how you feel. And if at any point it doesn't feel right—"
"I can leave."
"You can leave." I sit there for a moment. Processing. Haru's right. I don't have to have everything figured out. I can… go and see what happens. And if it doesn't feel right, I can stop.
I stand up. "Okay. I'm going to go."
"Please text me if you need an exit strategy." Haru's already turning back to his screen. "I once faked a family emergency to get out of a date with a man who would not stop talking about cryptocurrency. I am an expert."
I laugh. It comes out a little shaky but genuine. "Thanks, Haru."
"Anytime. Now please leave. I have actual work to do."
I head for the door, pause with my hand on the frame. "Hey. That thing you said earlier, about meeting someone who makes no logical sense but you can't stop thinking about them." I turn back. "Were you talking about someone specific?"
His fingers freeze over the keyboard for just a second. Then resume. "We are not talking about me, Max."
"But—"
"Go to your date. My hypotheticals are not your concern." He doesn't look up, but there's something careful about the way he's not looking up.
"You like someone."
"I am seriously considering throwing my laptop at you."
"You wouldn't. It's worth more than my life."
"Then I will find something else. Get out."
Still grinning, I head downstairs and pull on my jacket. My phone buzzes.
Jaren
Hey! Still good for tonight? No pressure if you need to reschedule.
He's nice. Genuinely, consistently, almost aggressively nice, the emoji he sends when I say I'm on my way is so wholesome it's almost funny. I shove my phone in my pocket and head out. It's fine. Everything's fine.
Why does my stomach feel like it's running error diagnostics?