I said too much. I know I did. Two drinks in, and the words just fell out before I could stop them. Someone asked why I looked happier lately — why I smiled like I knew a secret.

And I told them the truth. That I did have a secret. That someone was waiting for me. That she was the reason everything felt lighter. That when I came home, I wasn’t coming back to an empty space anymore.

And then I said your name — not out loud, but enough for people to start wondering. Enough for the clip to explode online.

Two days later, I was standing outside your apartment, heart racing like I was about to start a race, not walk through your door.

You opened it barefoot, in one of my hoodies. Your hair was tied up messily, skin still damp from a shower, the kind of real and unfiltered beauty no camera could ever catch. The smell of coffee and toast filled the air.

“You really said all that?” you asked, your voice soft but trembling slightly.

I nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

You looked down, playing with the sleeve of your hoodie. “You know what happens next, right? They’ll all be looking for me.”

I stepped closer, my fingers brushing your cheek. “I know. And I hate that it’ll be hard for you. But I also can’t keep pretending you don’t exist.”

You lifted your eyes to mine, and there was a quiet ache there — fear and something deeper. “I just wanted to be ready, Lando. I wanted to enjoy what we have before the world starts taking pieces of it.”

“I know,” I said, voice low. “And I’ve loved every second of keeping you to myself. But when I said what I said… it wasn’t to ruin that. It’s just—” I paused, searching for the words. “I want to live with you, not just in secret. I want to take you out. Hold your hand on the street. Go for coffee without watching who’s taking pictures.”

You let out a quiet breath, eyes flickering toward the window. The light from outside painted gold on your skin. “That sounds nice,” you whispered.

“It’s more than nice,” I said, smiling faintly. “I want to walk on the beach with you and not care who sees. Go to the store at night, argue about which cereal to buy. Sit in a restaurant without you turning your face away when someone looks.”

You smiled, small and fragile. “You’ve really thought about that, haven’t you?”

“Every damn day,” I said, laughing under my breath. “I’ve had everything anyone could want — cars, fame, fans — and all I’ve been thinking about is what it would feel like to do normal things with you.”

You moved closer, your fingertips resting on my chest. I could feel your heartbeat against mine.

“You sure you can handle all that attention?” you asked quietly.

“I don’t care about attention,” I said, my thumb tracing slow circles on your jaw. “I care about you. I care about being able to reach for your hand when I want to, without wondering who’s watching.”

You looked up at me for a long time before whispering, “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” I said, my voice almost a whisper now. “You and me — that’s simple. Everything else is just noise.”

You leaned into me then, your forehead pressing against my chest, your breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. I wrapped my arms around you, closing my eyes, feeling that quiet rhythm of your heart syncing with mine.

And in that small, sunlit kitchen, with the world spinning madly outside, I whispered, “Next time, I’m taking you out. Anywhere. Everywhere. I don’t want to hide loving you anymore.”