I wanted to silence the voices in my head that said this was wrong, that I was choosing sin over salvation, that I’d regret this.
But those voices had been with me for half my life. They didn’t disappear just because I wanted them to.
“I’m going to need time,” I said. “To work through all of that. The guilt. The conditioning. All of it.”
“I know. We have time.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “However long you need.”
We lay there in silence for a while, and gradually the guilt receded. Didn’t disappear but became manageable. Background noise instead of a klaxon.
“We should probably get up,” Étienne said eventually. “I need to make us breakfast.”
“Practical.”
“One of us has to be.” He grinned and carefully extricated himself from the couch. “Come on. I’ll help you upstairs and into the shower.”
Our first shower had been fraught with tension and unspoken desire, both of us trying desperately to be clinical about something that felt anything but. But as Étienne helped me navigate the stairs and steadied me in the bathroom, there was an ease between us that hadn’t existed before. He helped me with the waterproof boot cover without either of us overthinking the vulnerability of it. Helped me undress without the avoidance of eye contact. When I sported a half-chub at the brush of his hands on my hips and thighs, there was no awkwardness, just practical necessity and the luxury of not having to hide anymore. He helped me into the shower and this time he didn’t flee, just stayed, talking to me while I washed under the warm spray. Afterward, he helped me into fresh gym shorts and a T-shirt, then supported me back down the stairs to the kitchen.
Watching him move through the house—my house—it struck me how different he seemed. More relaxed. More open. The tension that had been in his shoulders for days was gone. He hummed while making coffee, smiled at nothing, moved with an easy grace that spoke of contentment.
This was Étienne without the weight of confusion and hiding. This was him being himself.
And he was beautiful.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing. Just… you seem happy.”
“I am happy.” He crossed back to me, leaned down to kiss me. “For the first time since I met you, everything makessense. I know who I am. What I want. And that’s worth being happy about.”
“Even though we have to hide?”
“Even though.” His expression grew more serious. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. We have to be circumspect. But yes. Even with all the complications, I’m happy.”
The confidence in his voice steadied something in me. If he could be certain, maybe I could learn to be too.
After breakfast and the routine of managing my recovery, we ended up back on the couch. Étienne had grabbed his tablet to review some game tape, and I had my laptop, catching up on team emails.
Typical. Domestic. Comfortable.
Except every few minutes, his hand would find mine. Or he’d lean over to show me something on his screen. Or I’d catch him looking at me with an expression that made my heart race.
This was what it could be like. What it was like. Being together.
“Étienne.” I set my laptop aside.
“Yeah?”
“What are we?”
He looked up from his laptop. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I gestured vaguely. “We’ve admitted we’re attracted to each other. We’ve kissed. We’re sleeping together—literally, I mean. Tonight, we’ll share a bed. But we haven’t actually talked about what this is. What we are.”
He shut off his tablet, giving me his full attention. “What do you want us to be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never—” I struggled with the words. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. Not a real one. So I don’t know what the rules are. What we’re supposed to call this.”
“There aren’t rules, Marco. We make our own.”
