The restaurant was too bright. Harsh white lights reflected off the polished wooden table, giving the silverware an uncomfortable metallic sheen.

Jude blinked every now and then, his eyes tired from the screen of his phone and Cass’s constant smile, which said something about the new sociology professor and how he looked like he’d stepped out of a GQ editorial.

Jude chuckled politely. The fourth dinner date. Cass was kind. Handsome, in the dad-approved, well-groomed kind. He wore leather bracelets, read contemporary authors, and asked about Jude’s day with genuine interest. He was, for all logical reasons, the ideal boyfriend.

Jude took a sip of his sparkling water, looking away toward the restaurant window, where the streetlights cast long shadows on the asphalt street. For a second, the sound of Cass’s voice was drowned out by the warm hum of the city—and Jude wondered what time it was.

“You’re quieter tonight,” Cass said, leaning slightly across the table.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”

Cass smiled knowingly, reaching out to take his hand. His skin was smooth. Uncluttered. Like everything about him.

Jude didn’t pull his hand away. But he didn’t squeeze it back either.

10:37 p.m.

Jude’s car slid down the streets like he was trying to escape himself.

He didn’t even know when he’d started doing this—seeing Pierce after meeting Cass. It was almost automatic now. Like a bad habit that brought relief. Like biting the side of his mouth until it bled, just to feel like he was alive.

The playlist Cass had put on in the car was still playing—something soothing, from someone with a lowercase name and a melancholy voice. Jude switched to a random radio station, anything to drown out his own thoughts.

The steering wheel slipped a little between his sweat-dampened fingers.

He turned left, the road so familiar that the headlights seemed to turn on just to know he was coming. Pierce lived in an apartment further away, it was much more modest, and it took about 40 minutes to get there during rush hour.

Jude always said he hated the building—but for some reason, it was the only place where he felt like he could breathe properly.

Maybe because Pierce was older—much older than he was—and mature. He never demanded explanations. Never asked where he was, or who he was with. Never charged more than what Jude offered. And Jude hated how much that made him want to come back every time.

He parked across the street. He stood in the car, his fingers still on the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the lit second-story window: Pierce’s window.

Cass was security. But Pierce, Pierce was home. And Jude hated the thought.

His phone vibrated on the console. A text from Cass. “Get home safely. Let me know when you get there, okay?” He ignored it.

He cut the engine, the quiet hum of it fading into the air. With a quick glance around, Jude swung open the car door and stepped out, crossing the street as he tried to mask his vulnerability. He raised his fist and knocked gently on the door, heart racing as he waited.

When the door creaked open, relief washed over him at the sight of Pierce—just seeing the older man made the weight on his chest lighten. He leaned in, hoping his casual tone would disguise the ache he felt inside.

His gaze carried an unspoken plea, the yearning just beneath the surface, begging Pierce to invite him closer.