Ignore me, it’s late.
I’m far from perfect, Eric.
And I don’t say things I don’t mean.
Especially not to you.
My chest aches in a good, sweet way, and I have to blink hard a few times to keep my vision clear. This conversation feels like we’re peeling back layers we’ve kept between us for years, and I’ve never felt so exposed.
I read his last message again.Especially not to you.
Four words that land like a promise. I’ve spent so long convincing myself compliments were things that people said to be nice or because they felt obligated, not because they meant them.
But Dmitri doesn’t do polite noise. He never has. When he says something, it’s deliberate and measured. It’strue.
It’s stupid how much that stuck with me.
Dmitri (1:58 A.M.)
Not stupid. You’re allowed to hear it.
And you’re allowed to believe it.
I’m trying. It’s just… loud in my head right now.
I know.
You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Or tomorrow. Or even Saturday, or next week, or next fucking year.
I’m here either way.
Promise?
Promise.
Can you send another one? Just… need to see you right now.
Needy tonight, huh?
Yeah.Guilty.
A few seconds pass, then another photo pops up. It’s the same setup, but now he’s tilted his head slightly. His eyes are softer and his smile a little wider. One hand is resting on the pillow next to him, palm up and fingers loosely curled like he’s idly waiting for something—or someone—to fill the space.
Dmitri (2:00 A.M.)
Better?
Yeah. A lot better.
That pillow looks lonely.
It’s been complaining all night. Keeps saying it’s cold.
Poor thing.
Maybe it needs company.
Maybe it does. I’ll tell it to be patient.
