“Fuck,” I breathed against his mouth. “I hated that.”
“Me too.”
“We were right there. I was sitting next to you, touching you, talking to you—and I still couldn’t have you. Not really.” I kissed him again. “Did you see them? Mikael and Alyssa? Jensen and Kaitlin? They made it look so easy. Being together. Being open.”
“That’s because they don’t have to hide what it means.”
The unfairness of it sat between us, heavy and undeniable.
I forced myself to let him go, to put the SUV back in drive. The rest of the drive home was quiet.
Inside the house, the tension that had been building all day finally broke.
“We can’t keep doing this.” I dropped my keys on the counter harder than necessary.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like nothing is going on. Sitting next to you all day, touching you, being close to you—and having to pretend it’s just friendship when it’s so much more.” The frustration poured out of me.
“So, what’s the alternative?” His voice was sharp. “We stop being friends in public? Stop sitting together? That would be more suspicious than anything.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know how to keep hiding like this.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Today was torture. Watching couples be openly together while we had to monitor every look, every touch, making sure nothing revealed what we really are—” My voice cracked. “It’s too much.”
His expression shifted. “Étienne?—”
“I know you’re scared. I know all the reasons we have to hide.” I crossed to him, needing him to understand. “But it’s like suffocating. And I don’t know what to do about that.”
Pain flickered across his face. “You think I don’t understand suffocating?” His voice was quiet. “Étienne, I’ve been suffocating for seventeen years. Every single day, pretending to be something I’m not. Hiding who I am from everyone.”
The rawness in his voice hit me like a physical blow.
“But I don’t know what to do about it either.” He looked at me, and the helplessness in his eyes was devastating. “I don’t have the answer. I wish I did.”
We stood there in the kitchen, the weight of the impossible situation pressing down on us.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “This isn’t your fault. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just—today was hard.”
“It was hard for me too.” He reached for me, and I went willingly. “I’m sorry I can’t be stronger.”
“You’re plenty strong. It takes more strength than I can imagine to do that as long as you have.”
We held each other in the quiet kitchen, both of us exhausted from the performance, from the hiding, from the constant calibration of how close was too close.
Eventually, we made our way upstairs. I barely got the bedroom door closed before Marco was on me—hands fisting in my hair, mouth claiming mine with a hunger that had been building all day.
Hours of distance shattered in an instant.
We collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and damp sheets, breathing hard. Marco’s head on my chest, his arm across my waist, our legs intertwined. I ran my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair while our heartbeats gradually slowed.
But lying there with him in my arms, skin still humming with the aftermath, I couldn’t stop thinking about the day.
“Did you see Kinnunen and Alyssa with Lilja?” I asked quietly, my head cradled on his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
