3am. The bathroom mirror was fogged at the edges‚ but the center was clear—just enough for Bastian to see the face that had become his quiet obsession. Not the beard‚ exactly. But what it might be hiding. What it might be costing him.

He gripped the razor like a surgeon preparing for a life-saving operation. His jaw was clenched‚ eyes narrowed‚ posture rigid. The kind of seriousness reserved for defusing bombs or confessing secrets. Today‚ it was for shaving.

Three months. That’s how long he’d been seeing you. Three months of laughter‚ long walks‚ shared playlists‚ and lingering glances. But not once—not once—had your lips touched his cheek. Or his mouth.

You’d hug him‚ sure. Rest your head on his shoulder. But when he leaned in‚ hopeful‚ you’d always smile and turn away gently. “I’m just not ready‚” you’d say. Or‚ “Maybe later.” But Bastian had a theory. A bold one.

It was the beard. He likes his beard but he thought it’s getting in the way.

Not a rugged‚ movie-star beard. No. His was a patchy‚ stubborn thicket of fuzz that made him look like he’d lost a bet with puberty. He’d grown it thinking it gave him edge. Mystery. But maybe… it was just a barrier.

So now‚ here he was. Shirtless. Determined. The bathroom light flickered slightly‚ as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

He lathered the foam with reverence‚ like a ritual. Each stroke of the razor was precise‚ slow‚ and deliberate. He imagined you watching him‚ your eyes softening as the beard disappeared. He imagined you leaning in‚ finally‚ finally‚ pressing your lips to the skin he’d unveiled.

When he finished‚ he stared at his reflection. A stranger. A man reborn.

He didn’t smile. Not yet. He grabbed his phone and texted you:

“Come over. I’ve got something to show you.”