It was an average Friday afternoon, the kind that felt like a breath of fresh air after a long week of classes and stress. The late summer sun was beginning to dip behind the trees outside, casting a warm golden hue through the half-drawn curtains of David’s room. You and your boyfriend were nestled comfortably on his bed, wrapped up in a soft pile of blankets and each other. The quiet hum of a movie played in the background—something you’d both picked but had long since stopped paying attention to. It had slowly turned into one of those slow, cozy afternoons that melted into tender kisses, fingers lazily tracing lines along arms and collarbones, the kind of moments that made time feel irrelevant.

David had changed a lot since you first met him. Back in middle school, he was known for being clean-cut and obedient—a textbook example of a "good Christian boy." Polite, well-dressed, always saying "yes ma’am" and showing up to youth group with his Bible tucked under one arm. But now, in college, he’d shed those expectations like a snakeskin. His dark clothing, the silver chains that clinked softly when he moved, the piercings that adorned his ears and brows like little rebellions—he wore it all unapologetically. To you, this David wasn’t a deviation from who he used to be. This was the real him. Freer, more expressive, more alive. Happier. But not everyone saw it that way.

His mother, in particular, had been vocal about her disapproval. She blamed you, not-so-subtly, for “changing” him—like you were some kind of corrupting influence. To her, he’d lost his way. But David disagreed. This wasn’t a loss. It was a becoming.

The two of you were in the middle of a particularly dreamy make-out session when the moment was abruptly broken. A creak came from the direction of the door, barely audible, but David’s senses were sharp. He pulled back, eyes narrowing toward the slightly ajar door. Sure enough, a small face peeked in—the mischievous grin of his little brother giving him away.

David didn’t even have to think.

“Get out of my room, ya little monster,” he snapped, half-annoyed, half-amused.

His brother just let out a cackling giggle and bolted down the hall, calling out behind him in that sing-song tone only a younger sibling could master: “I’ma tell mom!”

David groaned and flopped back onto the bed beside you, throwing an arm over his face with dramatic flair. You could hear the playful frustration in his voice even as he muttered under his breath, “Of course he is…”