Did you tell anyone?
The countless times I came with no return, the fact that I can count on one hand how many times I’ve touched Mike’s dick, the anger I felt when he didn’t care that people were talking about us.
Not letting him come home with me for Christmas.
Oh my god.
I’m Jason.
I push Mike out of my arms to stand up. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I never meant to— I wouldn’t have—” I didn’t even realize I was doing it, and that’s the worst part.
Mike follows me, appearing directly in front of me, and the expression on his face stops me in my tracks. “No.” He says, his eyes drying and his voice firm. “That is not true.”
“Yes, it is. I kept you a secret. I took everything you gave me, and I never once asked—”
“Alex.” He cuts me off. “Stop. What he did to you and what we had are not even in the same universe. Don’t compare us to him.”
I look down at my shoes, unable to stop.
“No. Look at me,” he says, and I have no choice but to listen. “Do you remember the first night we fucked in your bed?”
I nod. Of course, I remember.
“I cried,” he admits. “After you went to sleep. I figured after you were gonna roll over and ignore me.” His eyes don’t leavemine. “But you went and got a towel, Alex. You held me. Do you know how many people have taken care ofmeafter sex?”
My throat tightens, but I shake my head.
“One person.You. You are so good,” he says, his hand coming back up to my cheek, wiping a stray tear. “You’re so loving and so careful with me. You didn’t want to hurtme,so you went to your brother and asked him for advice. You made a playlist.” He laughs, and I do too, both of us still crying.
“Mike,” I start, even though I have no idea what I’m gonna say.
He beats me to it.
“You are nothing like him.” He slides his fingers into my hair and grips it tight to punctuate his point. “Don’t ever say that again.”
And fuck.
I love him.
I nod, a fresh wave of tears spilling over as he pulls me into him. I drop my forehead onto his shoulder, and he holds me, letting me fall apart in his arms all over again.
“Come here,” Mike says, pulling away. I let him go reluctantly.
He crosses the room to where his black acoustic guitar leans against the wall, and picks it up, sitting back down on the couch and settling it across his lap.
“I wrote you something,” he says, patting the spot beside him, waiting for me to join him on the couch. “That day, we got into an argument. Before I rode you and— Anyway. That was the day that I realized something.”
He looks down at the strings, and then he starts to play.
Pretty eyes, broken smile.
I think I might stay for a while.
Never thought I’d feel this way.
But here I am, not afraid to say I love you.
I don’t think I breathe until the song is over. I listen, and I watch his hands on the strings as he tells me, in the way he knows best, everything he never said out loud. That I always knew was there, even if I was too scared to bring it up.
