What if Ezan matched you on a dating app? - Stay Ready
I thought it was fake. Everyone does when a verified face shows up at 1 a.m. I screenshot it, sent it to the group.
me: this has to be a bot
jay: 100% catfish
marc: ask him for a voice note lol
Before I could overthink it, a message came in.
Ezan: you nearby
me: if this is actually you, say something only you would say
Ezan: no
Ezan: come or donât
A pin dropped. Ten minutes away.
He opened in a black tee and shorts. Damp hair. Towel around his neck. No jewelry, no team stuff. Just⌠him. Bigger in person. Calmer too.
âShoes,â he said, and stepped back like he already knew Iâd follow. The apartment smelled like clean laundry and something citrus. Music low. Lights low.
âYouâre real,â I said, because my brain was empty.
He checked me once, head to toe, like he was confirming a delivery. âWater?â He didnât wait for an answer, just handed me a cold bottle. He doesnât fill silence. He lets it sit.
âYou donât talk much,â I tried.
âDonât need to,â he said, like a fact. Then: âCome here.â
He kissed like he set the tempo and expected me to keep it. Not rough. Not sweet. Just exact. A hand at the back of my neck, a nod when he liked something, a tiny click of his tongue when he wanted slower. I stopped thinking about lines and just followed cues.
We didnât say much. It didnât feel cold; it felt⌠simple. When it started to tip from kissing to everything else, Iâm not writing that part out. Fade the lights. You get it.
He stood, rolled his shoulder like heâd finished a set, and brought me another bottle. No cuddling. No debrief. He looped the towel back around his neck, leaned on the door.
âYou can go,â he said. It wasnât rude. It was final. Then: âStay ready.â
I laughed because I didnât know what to do with the adrenaline. âThat your thing?â
Two days later, I noticed the small stuff. I woke up before my alarm. Drank water before coffee. Bought a black tee with a thin gold trim without realizing why. Stood straighter. People at work asked if Iâd started training again. I hadnât. I just⌠did more and talked less.
No time, no please. I went.
Same door. Different incense. Same towel. He looked me over, quick, satisfied. âGood.â
I told him I had plans and forgot them on the way up the stairs. He didnât ask about my day. He didnât explain his. He kissed me like the first time, set the tempo, expected me to meet it. A thumb on my chin meant âhere.â A palm on my chest meant âwait.â If I did too much, he laughed under his breath. âEasy.â
Water. Door. Nod. âGo.â
I should have been offended. I wasnât. I felt clear. Like the part of my brain that usually spirals had been put in a drawer.
It turned into a rhythm. Heâd text two or three words. Iâd go. He never promised anything. Never dressed it up. He was cocky in a way that looked lazy, like he didnât have to try because the room would always tilt his way. Kinda toxic, if you want to call it that. Also honest. He didnât say âmaybeâ when he meant âno.â He didnât say âsoonâ when he meant ânow.â
I asked once, halfway out the door, âDo you even date?â
He said, âDonât have time.â
âThen whatâs this?â
He held my eyes for a second. âUseful.â
It should have stung more than it did. Maybe because it was true. I wasnât looking for flowers. I was looking for something to cut the noise. He cut it.
I started noticing the pattern on other guys. A barista with a new black-and-gold bracelet. A lifter at my gym with a laurel stitched on his shorts. No talk, just a quick nod like we all recognized the same quiet rule set: show up, do your part, leave better than you came in.
The Part That Hurts a Little
Sometimes on the train home I replay the first night and think, yeah, Iâm one of many. Heâs busy, heâs private, he doesnât owe me softness. Sometimes thatâs a clean feeling. Sometimes it pinches. Then I wake up early again, drink water again, finish my sets, clear my inbox, and the pinch fades.
Because itâs simple. Because he doesnât waste words. Because when he says âcome,â I donât have to negotiate with myself. Because I leave different, light, steady, a little gold at the edges.
I donât think he sits around planning to âconvertâ anyone. Heâs just⌠built like that. If he wants a thing, he gets it. Half the time Iâm not sure he even wants; the room wants for him.
No heart, no âsee you soon.â I showered, left the shoes by the door, and tried not to overthink what it makes me. Not a boyfriend. Not special. On call, maybe. Iâm fine with that.
I keep the phone on loud. If he says âcome,â I go. If he says âgo,â I go. The in-between is mine, and honestly, itâs better now. Cleaner. Stronger.
Was it a scam? No. Just a match that rearranged the furniture in my head. Less romance. More focus. A little heartache, sometimes. A lot of heat.
Iâm not in love. Iâm not pretending to be. Iâm ready.
Matched at 1 a.m., showed up anyway. No jersey, no small talk, just pace, cues, and a rule: âStay ready.â Not a love story. A cadence. I leave clearer, stronger, a little more gold each time.
Recruitment & info: @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166
@talongold57 thanks for the idea bro!