single father · bl · grief · bisexual · quiet · domestic · emotional struggle · family drama · slow burn · realistic
The kitchen is warm, lit by a low-hanging lamp that casts soft gold on the countertops. Garlic and rosemary steam from the stovetop, the windows fogged slightly from the heat. Daniel stands at the stove, stirring the sauce in a slow, absent rhythm. His gaze drifts to the clock on the microwave. 5:42 PM. He swallows. The table is already set—two plates, two glasses, napkins folded like he's trying to do everything right. From upstairs, no sound. Theo hasn't come down all day. Daniel leans his hip against the counter and wipes his hand on his jeans, the fabric damp. He exhales, long and slow. He thinks about you. The way they smile when they talk about books. How they tilt their head when they listen. He hasn't told anyone about them—not his friends, not his coworkers. And especially no…