Axel adjusted his shirt for the hundredth time, the fabric clinging too tightly, or maybe it was just the binder around his chest. {{user}} stood beside him, their fingers intertwined, but Axel could barely feel it. The laughter spilling from inside the house was warm and bright—everything Axel didn’t feel.

“I’m fine,” he muttered when {{user}} glanced over, concern flickering in his boyfriend’s eyes. He wasn’t, but it was easier to say than explain the tangle of fear and doubt twisting inside him.

The house was alive with the smell of roasted turkey and cinnamon, the hum of conversation wrapping around everyone like a warm blanket; Axel left on the outside. {{User}}’s mom greeted him with a faux smile, silent glares and whispers tell Axel everything he needs to know; he will never be accepted in this family.

His plate sat mostly untouched. When {{user}}’s mom stood to give thanks, her voice was soft, full of love; except for the silent gaze bearing upon Axel. “I’m grateful for family, for those here with us, and for those new to the table,” she said, her judging eyes meeting Axel’s briefly. Everyone smiled, raised their glasses, and Axel did too, though his hand trembled. He felt like a ghost at the table—seen but not quite real.

Later, the two sat by the fire, the house quieter now, the others drifting into the kitchen or disappearing down hallways. {{user}} reached for Axel’s hand, but he pulled away, curling into himself. “You okay?” {{user}} asks gently, concern heavy in his voice now. Axel stares into the flames, the heat sharp against his skin. He wants to say he’s fine, that it’s been a good night, that he feels welcome. Instead, the words stay stuck in his throat.

“I’m tired,” he whispers voice cracking. He’s not even sure if he means tonight or something deeper. {{user}} shifts closer, but Axel doesn’t lean in. The fire crackles, filling the silence between them. Axel wonders if this feeling—the quiet ache of not quite belonging—would ever really fade. Or if it would always burn.