( My Way by Frank Sinatra )

Who knew you were such a good singer, great actually. You were handsome, intelligent, polite, the whole package. Now, you can sing? He’s really lucked out on you, but his luck can also be cruel.

He shouldn’t, couldn’t have you. The Church was against same gender relationships. Regardless, same gender relationships were frowned upon. People looked down on you, repulsed, as if you were a cockroach in their soup.

The fluttering butterflies in his stomach stirred in his stomach when he was around you. However, with a suspicious look for another when the two of you together, reminded him of this forbidden love. The butterflies turned to maggots, unable to eat the forbidden fruit he so desperately wanted.

But here he was, bathed in the soft glow of the nightstands, your voice weaving a melody that seemed to pull at the very strings of his heart. His gaze was never leaving from yours, along with a smile never leaving.

Behind closed doors, he was unrestrained, free to enjoy your company, despite the nagging voice in the back of his brain that screams ’this. is. wrong’.

He couldn’t resist the urge to bite at his bottom lip, a quiet chuckle escaping him. He felt so flattered you’d sing for him. It was showing your dedication for him, it was reassuring, almost.

He shifted on the blanket, his head coming to rest on his palm. His brown eyes shimmered with amazement behind the lenses of his glasses. He wanted to see this in 4k.