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As soon as I unload the cart, return it, and get back in my car, I let my nerves catch up with me, because Evan is coming here. To my apartment. He’s going to see my real life, not a neutral hotel room we booked for exactly one purpose.

What if two nights in my bare apartment is exactly enough time for him to really look at my life and realize there’s nothing here worth flying across the country for?

I’ve spent three years getting him in small, controlled doses. This is different. This is enough time for him to see who I actually am, and I don’t know what will happen if he doesn’t like the real version of me.

But I remind myself that he initiated this trip. He wants to be here, and I’m only reminded of that when I see a new text from him.

Evan:

I’m packing right now. I can’t wait! Three more days.

I smile at his words, let them settle something in me, and finally pull out of the parking lot, attempting to shove down the fear of disappointing him.

December 22 arrives faster than I expect. I thought the last three days would crawl by, but now I’m standing in the arrivals area at O’Hare. My hands are shoved in my hoodie pockets, watching the stream of travelers walking through the doors. I’ve never waited inside the airport for anyone before, not that I’ve had a reason to, but I couldn’t wait another minute to see Evan.

He reached in and somehow wrapped his hand around my heart.

Christ. Listen to me.

He’s making me mushy and cheesy, and I hate it. Especially because we live states apart, and I still don’t know what to do about that. I’ve been asking myself impossible questions I don’t have the answers to, like: Would I fit into his life there? Would he want me to? Or is this something he enjoys only during the holidays?

I’m still worried about what he’ll think of my apartment, where I live. This is the first time I’m really letting him in and it feels more vulnerable than I’d expected. My place isn’t fancy. It doesn’t even really feel like me. It feels more like a staged apartment that I pay rent for, but I’ve gotten so used to it that I never gave it a second thought. Until recently.

Today, I took off work and stress cleaned every inch to try to make it as comfortable as possible for him. I want him to like it, even though I know it’ll never be his home because I’d never ask him to give up a life he loves so much out West.

At one point, I caught myself shoving my prescription bottles into a drawer and stacking the records I actually listen to behind the ones that look good. Then Dr. Patel's voice came back to me: How he can truly be with you if you don’t open up and show him who you are.

I put everything back where it was.

Evan comes through the doors with a roller bag, scanning the crowd with a blank expression on his face until his vibrant blue eyes land on me. His face breaks into a grin that knocks the air out of me. He almost trips over someone’s suitcase because he’s too busy looking at me instead of where he’s walking, and I have to bite down on how much that does to me.

“Marcus! Hey!” The words come out in a rush, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough.

“Hey,” I echo.

For a second, we just stand there looking at each other, and the urge to pull him in and kiss him right here in the middle of the airport is loud. But I don’t.

Instead, I reach an arm out to take his bag, but he takes the gesture as an invitation, wrapping himself in my arms. The second his body collides with mine, it feels like everything is right in my world again. He fits against me perfectly, his face buried in the crook of my neck, and I can feel the shaky exhale that wasn’t a sob but wasn’t not a sob either, a release of every mile he traveled to get here to my arms.

My arm, which had been reaching for his bag, is now clamped around his back, holding on so tight I’m probably bruising him, but I can’t make myself let go. Besides, he likes my bruises.

Thank god he misread my simple, clumsy gesture and saw what I actually wanted underneath it. Because I didn’t have the courage to bridge that gap myself. Wanting someone—especially a man—that plainly, that visibly, has never felt safe. It’s one thing to want him in private, where nobody’s watching. It’s another thing to reach for him first, in the open, and risk him not reaching back. I was just going to take his bag and play it cool, but Evan didn’t want cool, he wanted me.

Fuck. I’m really going to let him in.

I can give him two nights of not holding back and not assuming what he can and can’t carry. Dr. Patel can have her victory lap later. I want to open up this weekend, show him who I am. Even the ugly parts.

“Thanks for coming,” I whisper in his ear as the world moves at lightning speed around us full of travelers trying to get to their people. He nods in my arms and I inhale his scent—something that smells like coconut. He must’ve gotten new shampoo.

“There was no way I’d miss the chance to spend two nights with you,” he mumbles back in the embrace.

“Come on, then. I don’t want to spend the whole night in this airport.” I pull back from him and hold a hand out for his bag. “I can take that.”

He just smiles at me, and it’s so pure, so happy. “I like this service. What’s our plan for tonight?”

We begin the walk to the parking garage and I think about the dinner reservation I’d made for us. “I was thinking we could go to dinner at one of my favorite places by my apartment, then we could go back for the night. Unless you have anything else you’d like to do?”

“Do they deliver?” he asks, grinning at me, and I really like his thinking.