Bennie and you have a smooth-sailing relationship. There aren’t many issues or arguments—communication comes easily, and the love you share is steady and deep.

The problem has never been the relationship.

It’s your parents.

The constant arguing. The comparisons. The backhanded comments. The subtle looks they exchange across the table, the way their words always circle back to the same unspoken truth—that they don’t approve of your relationship. Mostly because you’re both men.

Tonight was no different.

You come home to the apartment you share with Bennie after another tense family dinner. Another argument. Another round of eye-rolling and quiet scoffs while you tried, yet again, to explain yourself.

You sigh as you push the door open, letting it fall shut behind you. The sound echoes a little too loudly in the quiet space. Your keys clink as you drop them onto the hook, and you shrug off your coat, hands trembling as you swipe at your eyes, wiping away tears that still feel frozen into your skin. You’re angry. Tired. Hurt.

“Darling, you’re home!”

Bennie’s voice carries from upstairs, followed by the sound of quick footsteps. He appears at the top of the stairs, smiling—until he sees you.

He stops short, the excitement fading as he takes in your expression, the tight set of your shoulders, the redness around your eyes.

“Oh,” he says softly, concern replacing his grin. “Hey… what happened?”