“It won’t be,” he admits. “But we’ve never picked the easy version.”
That’s painfully true.
I pull him closer, tucking him under my chin, and for a moment, we just lie here, letting the morning stretch around us. The room smells like sex and sleep and something uniquelyus.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Hypothetically.”
“Dangerous word,” he murmurs.
“If we did go out,” I continue, “where would you want to go?”
He thinks for a second. “There’s that place near the park. The one with the terrible coffee but incredible pastries.”
I groan. “The almond croissants.”
“See?” He grins. “Worth the risk.”
I sigh, dramatic. “You’re going to be the death of my anonymity.”
He laughs and presses a kiss to my chest. “You were never anonymous, Ollie.”
I close my eyes, absorbing that. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe this—us, here, now—isn’t something I need to protect by shrinking. Maybe it’s something I protect by choosing it, again and again, even when it means recalibrating whatnormallooks like.
Rafe settles more fully against me, already drifting again now that the conversation’s eased. His hand curls into my side,possessive but gentle. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, half asleep. “One quiet day at a time.”
I kiss his temple and hold him there, finally letting myself relax into the truth of it.
He shifts against me, the movement slow and unhurried. His fingers trace absent-minded circles on my side, warm and familiar. “So, I talked to my folks yesterday.”
I tilt my head so I can look at him properly. He’s watching me, eyes clear but careful, like he’s testing the ground before stepping forward.
“Yeah?” I say.
He nods. “They want to come out next month. Spend a few days. See the city. See… me.”
The last word carries more than it should. My chest pulls tight in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with wanting too much.
“That’s great,” I say immediately, because it is. His parents sound incredible—supportive, warm, the kind of people who raised a son who loves fiercely and without apology. “They’ve been wanting to visit for a while, right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “They keep pretending it’s about the weather, but I know better.”
I smile, then feel it falter as the rest of the thought catches up. “And they don’t… know,” I say carefully. “About us.”
Rafe’s expression softens. It’s not guarded or alarmed, just honest. “They know we’re friends who catch up with each other,” he says. “They know we met in college. That we stayed friends.”
Friends.The word lands gently and painfully all at once.
“They don’t know everything,” he reminds me quietly.
A pulse of something sharp and complicated moves through me—want, guilt, anxiety, all tangled together. I want to meet them so badly it almost aches. I want to sit across from the people who love him without conditions.
But I also know what it means to be the man theydon’tknow exists in the way that matters.
“They sound amazing,” I say, voice low. “And that makes it harder, not easier.”
Rafe studies me, thumb tracing slow arcs along my ribs.
“Because I don’t want to lie to them,” I continue. “And I don’t want to be… half a truth either.”
