Talking, talking, talking, late into the night, and drinking, strangers at a party, feeling each other out: for chemistry, for shared interests, for openness. Funny stories of previous hookups, ex-lovers, bad sex, good sex, the other people at the party who are hooking up or stumbling drunk and glowing out of the laundry room, sticky fingers tangled together in the hallway. Who’s done porn, who’s thought about it, who brags about it, who just talks about it endlessly.

They fuck. It’s fun!

They hang out a few times after that, make out a few times, never actually hook up again. Different schedules, different cities, one’s poly and booked solid, the other’s just out of a long term relationship and not looking for anything substantial, but it’s a good time when they see each other. They crash each other’s birthday parties, make weird conversations with strangers in the halls of the Museum of Science and Industry.

They lose touch.

In five years, ten, they’re both married to other people, nothing more to each other than some fading, pleasant memories and some scandalous emails. That’s enough; that’s all it has to be.