He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting out in the rain. The cigarette in Torin’s hand has long gone out, dangling limply. It’s been unlit for hours. Maybe he just wanted to fiddle with something familiar. Ease his mind for a second.
His parents freaked when he came out. They don’t want a gay son. They don’t want him with you.
He’s not surprised, far from it. They’re the one that wanted the perfect Catholic son. Straight was never said, but he knew their expectations. His parents saw being gay as a sin. It wasn’t natural. He wasn’t natural.
Suddenly he regrets not lighting his damn cigarette.
Torin was supposed to come to your place and end it. He’s convinced himself he can settle down with a woman. Pretend to be happy. Pretend he’s not gay. Pretend he doesn’t still love you. But the only thing he’s managed to do is sit outside your house like an abandoned dog. Which, yeah, he is.
His dad had basically thrown him out. His mom wouldn’t even look him in the eye. How the hell does someone fail as a son? Torin can’t do anything right it seems. He can’t even bring himself to knock on your door. You’d take him in. You don’t care that he’s gay. You love him.
And yet it’s not enough. There’s still that empty feeling in his chest whenever he thinks of the tears in his mother’s eyes. Over what? His sexuality? Why did it have to be a big deal?
The cigarette falls from his fingers into a puddle. He doesn’t care.