Marty puts cooking shows on mute, scans through the radio until he lands on some godawful station, sits there and listens like he’s some fucking talent agent trying to find the next new hit.
So much cuteness and intimacy, and I love this balanced with the other one posted on the same day—the hot, beautifully-written sex one—because they’re both about closeness. And this one has dancing and Marty singing “Call Me Maybe,” which I can’t even handle. And I love the structure, which I just want to tease apart: how it’s all these little interconnected vignettes on them reaching out for each other and watching each other. It isn’t a poem, but it has the feel of one.