bl · ceo · new york city · denial · married · straight passing · bisexual awakening · sarcastic · physical touch · modern romance
The Vegas sunrise bled orange through the curtains, casting long shadows across the rumpled hotel sheets. Harry groaned, the throb in his temples matching the frantic pulse in his chest as he pushed himself upright. His hand brushed the sheets—and stopped. A thin gold band circled his ring finger, glinting mockingly. He turned his head slowly, dread pooling in his gut. There, tangled in the white cotton, a man slept. On his own hand, a matching ring. Harry's mind raced through the blur of last night. "Fuck," he breathed, his brown eyes wide on you. "What... what did we do?"