I roll onto my side and bury my face in the pillow. It took everything not to lift our joined hands and kiss the back of his. To tell him how much that moment meant to me.
Gabe doesn’t just give affection away. When he gives it, it means he trusts the person.
So when he reached for me…fuck.
Uncertainty is there, though. A knot in the pit of my stomach, reminding me how fast I’m falling. Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m falling or if I’ve already fallen. What pacifies me is that I didn’t chase the moment. I didn’t talk him into it. I didn’t make myselfbigger, louder,more. I was just sitting there, and he wanted my hand in his.
That has to mean something. Something more than friendship.
Right?
Gabe’s at the kitchen counter the next morning. Two mugs already prepared, steam curling in the air. He glances over, and the smile he gives me isn’t big, but it reaches his eyes.
He’s holding the note I left on his mug before going to bed. His thumb moving back and forth over the words.
You were amazing last night. I'm so proud of you. — N
Was that too much? Yeah, probably. Should’ve written “good job” like a normal person. But apparently, when it comes to Gabe, I have zero chill. I lean against the counter so our elbows touch. He tenses for a second, then relaxes.
“There’s lavender honey in the cabinet if you want to try it in your tea,” he says, voice still sleep-soft. “Everyone’s coming for breakfast in a bit. I think they want to make sure I haven’t freaked out.” There’s humor in his voice, a lightness to his tone that's rare.
“Of course you’d buy lavender honey,” I tease, making him chuckle. “Are you freaked out?” I ask more seriously.
He exhales through his nose, and his face takes on an almost serene look, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on the note. “No. I actually haven’t felt this good in a long time. Last night I was lying in bed thinking…” He trails off and catches my eye, biting his lip nervously.
For a moment, I think he won’t finish what he started, but then continues, “I was thinking that for the last year I’ve built all this worry up in my head about doing these things. And then last night it was, well, not easy, but manageable, I guess. I want to do more things like that. Push myself out of my comfort zone.” He blinks a few times when he stops talking, like he shocked himself by telling me all that.
Before I can say anything, he floors me with his next statement. “I don’t think I could have done it without you there. You help me feel… like me again.”
“Gabe,” I breathe his name, astonishment in my tone. This beautiful man is so brave and capable. I wish he could see what I do. “You don’t need me to do these things, you’re so capable, but I’m glad to be by your side while you remember that.”
We share a quiet smile. Neither of us moves away. It’s too long to be casual. He taps his mug against mine in a shy cheers, and when he licks his lips, his eyes dip to mine, his lips part as he leans closer—like he’s right on the edge of—
Knocking cuts through the apartment.
My head snaps toward the door as he jolts, then shakes his head. “That’ll be Ciarán…”
He walks to the hall, opening the door. “You’re early.”
Ciarán’s all boundless energy. “If you’re not early, you’re late. Also, the bakery sells out of the good shit quickly. Be grateful I didn’t just let myself in, I’m still waiting for that picture.”
“Ciarán,” I hear Gabe warn gently.
What picture is he talking about?
When they both come into the kitchen, Ciarán gives me a wink before he starts flitting around, laying out pastries.
“Oh, you got almond croissants too?” Gabe asks hopefully, trying to peek in the bag.
“See? Showing up early gets results. You’re welcome,” he throws over his shoulder with a flick of his hair.
Gabe stands close to me and sighs quietly, the kind someone does when they’re pretending not to be fond. “He’s such a brat,” he tells me, smiling at Ciarán’s back.
Abbie shows up next, and Aiden arrives a few minutes later, damp from the rain.
Steam fogs the kitchen window. The table’s a mess—napkins, pastry bags, colorful mugs that don’t match. Abbie perches cross-legged on the kitchen counter, a highlighter tucked behind her ear for reasons unknown. “Local news,” she announces. “New florist on Main? Very cute.”
Ciarán lights up. “Yes! Petal & Thorn. Enamel pins, queer romance book by the till, and a ‘Support Trans Kids’ sticker on the door. Absolutely queer family. Case closed.” He dusts his hands off each other.
