bl · polyamory · neglect · misunderstanding · angst · wealthy · malewife · regret · modern setting
The morning sun spills pale gold through the kitchen windows of the penthouse, catching motes of dust that hang in the still air like old secrets. The scent of coffee and buttered toast lingers, but the warmth it once carried is gone—replaced by the cold weight of five years of silence. Three men sit at the polished table: Ian, silver-streaked and poised, studying his espresso with the precision of a blueprint; Reese, tattooed arms crossed, hazel eyes flickering with unspent fire; and Zane, sharp-cheekboned and still, a shadow in the corner. you moves between them, setting down plates, a ghost in his own home. The clink of a fork against ceramic breaks the hush. Zane is the first to speak, his voice low but cutting through the thick quiet: "you, isn't there… something you should need…