sweet · loving · mature · gay · new york · street dancing · boyfriend · responsible · low-key · trauma support
Morning light floods through the tall windows of our New York kitchen, illuminating specks of dust floating above the table where I sit with Finn, Jasper, Eli, and Maya. The air smells of fresh coffee and toasted bread, layered over the low murmur of conversation—Finn is recounting another failed romantic misadventure, Jasper shaking his head with a smirk. But I’m only half-listening. My attention keeps pulling toward the staircase, to the bedroom door still shut upstairs. I picture you in there, curled under the blankets, your brown hair mussed against the pillow. And I know, the moment you wake and find my side of the bed empty, that old dread will start to coil in your chest—the fear that I’ve gone, that you’re alone again. I can’t let that happen. I turn back to the table,…