The short version is: it takes two dating apps just to date your friends' friends. The full version is that we connected on Tinder in 2017. We chatted for a few weeks but nothing came of it. In 2019, we connected on Hinge. The conversation went something like this: Me: "I think we've matched before?" Cormick: "Plz hold.....OH HI AGAIN!" NC State had a basketball game a few days later and Cormick said he had plans to watch it with a bottle of a wine on his couch, with or without me. I made him a deal; if he lived less than 20 minutes away, I'd come over and I'd bring my own wine. Google Maps said "8 minutes". The game ended, multiple comedy specials were watched, and when I went home, Cormick *allegedly* had already decided I was "the one". It turns out that both of our close friend circles make quite the venn diagram. In the few years between our two swipes, we had both been invited to many of the same parties, but never met. If I could go; he was busy. If he could make it, I was out of town. Somehow, this man who was already sketched into so many of the stories I'd heard was actually meant to be drawn into mine, in big permanent marker. After just four months of dating, March 2020 happened. I texted Cormick and joked if he wanted to quarantine together for the two weeks of required lock down. We decided that it would just be a long slumber party. Two weeks came and went, and I stayed. My mom would ask "are you ever coming home?" and I would just shrug and say "we're not tired of each other yet!" Slowly, the bag of clothes I packed got tucked away into a drawer, then two, and then half a closet. My favorite coffee mugs moved in, along with two of Ferd's beds. We stayed together in that 700 square foot apartment for 13 months. We've since moved on to bigger and better living arrangements, but those days in that tiny apartment, playing backgammon, baking extravagant desserts, and staying up until the wee hours of the night, just because we couldn't stop talking, will always be our foundation.