14. BRUNO

In the morning after our encounter in the kitchen, I lay in bed, thinking of the sensation of waking up next to another person, what it was like to awake with another person about whom you care, sleeping next to you.

I thought of the tactile differences of that experience compared to being alone – the subtle shifts in the mattress, their weight next to yours on the springs, the warmth another body exudes, the tide of their breathing, the gentle tug of the sheets pulled taut by another's form and movement, the touch of their skin as you come together and separate in sleep, their toes touching your calves or your ankles, their arm moving across your body, pulling you absentmindedly but intuitively into a lover's embrace.

Kelly hadn't been a wonderful person to sleep next to, complaining and nudging you in the night, but on the occasions we had spent the night together, Marlon had been holding me, caressing me, whispering to me in the night and again in the morning. What would Danny be like to wake next to every morning? Thinking that, I opened my eyes.

The night before, I had jerked him off. He had let me touch him, make him ejaculate, as we kissed and I caressed his body. There was a power for someone like me to take a masculine man's cock in my hand and bring him to orgasm. It made me feel powerful…and wanted.

Yes, I wanted him to want me. I wanted more than that. I wanted him to fuck me, to cum inside me, to hold my body, to let me feel the power he had, too: the power of a man who fucks you. But he had to be ready. I think I knew he was not yet. Maybe he would never be, but I could wait. Some things were worth waiting for.

There was a sharp knock on the door, interrupting my train of thought.

"What is it?"

Evan's voice came through the door.

"Daddy, I'm gonna be late for school."

I glanced at the clock on the wall but hardly registered what it said.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Seven-thirty."

"Shit!" I cried. We had to be uptown at the school gates by just after eight.

"Daddy, don't say bad words."

"Okay, I'll be up in a minute and do your breakfast."

"I've already had my breakfast."

That, I didn't understand. How could a five-year-old have made his own breakfast? Had he gone into the kitchen cupboards and found my stash of candies and treats or gorged himself on Oreos?

I jumped out of bed and went out into the living room, just in my pajama bottoms, barefoot, and was greeted by the sound of Spider-Man cartoons blaring from the TV.

In the kitchen, I saw Danny already dressed in his suit, his dark hair still damp from the shower, munching on a piece of toast. His warm grin greeted me.

As I glanced around, I saw Evan in his pajamas, but a plate with toast crumbs on it and a drunk glass of milk. His eyes were glued to the animated adventures on the television screen.

"I gave Evan some cereal and a slice of toast," he said. "But I wasn't sure how to go about dressing him or if I should do. You know, I didn't think…"

I ran my hand through my hair.

"No, it's amazing you've done this."

He looked at my hand on the top of my head, and then his eyes fell on my body.

"I literally just put some bread in a toaster, Bru. I didn't make cheese soufflés!" He laughed, his dark eyes glittering. "I can feed your kid relatively competently." He laughed again.

I couldn't help but wonder if Danny was contemplating our encounter in the kitchen the previous night, too, and the potential for more intimate moments between us.

But he kept up the appearance of manly, buddy nonchalance. He had asked Evan if cereal was all right for breakfast, and Evan shouted, "Yeah!" I said he usually had fruit, though sometimes he needed a little encouragement to eat it. Danny chuckled.

"Yeah, I remember those days," he said. "My mom sometimes tried to get me to eat my veggies, but you know, she wasn't the best mom in the world."

I felt such compassion for him then that such a great guy had become who he was despite his childhood, not because of it.

Danny glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Well, it looks like we're all running a bit behind schedule today. Let's see if we can pick up the pace."

I nodded.

"Good idea. I'm just gonna pull on some sweatpants and my sneakers and a jacket and hope no one at the school gates sniffs me too hard and realize I haven't showered."

Danny's eyes glowed. Jeez, in that moment, I wanted him.

Just then, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the air.

"Did you make coffee?"

Danny nodded.

"Just enough for both of us to throw a cup down."

Evan came over to us.

"Daddy, are you dressing me for school or not?"

Panic fluttered in my chest.

"Oh, God," I muttered, realizing quite how much I was losing track of time. "Come on, bud, let's go. We'll both have to get dressed real quick. Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Yes, I told you! I know how!"

"Good boy. You're a regular genius," I said, and Danny laughed softly, kindly, at a joke Evan was too young to get. I bundled my son off to the bedroom and madly searched for his shoes and his schoolbag as he told me that it was a good job Danny was there to make him breakfast. Why did five-year-olds always sound like they were about to report you to the authorities?

Upon returning to the kitchen, I found a cup of coffee and a plate of toast waiting on the counter, but Danny was nowhere in sight. He had retreated to the small bedroom, perhaps giving Evan and me some space for our morning routine. A moment later, he appeared again, with his tie knotted and some gel brushed through his hair. God, he looked handsome.

He mimed, pointing to a watch on his wrist.

"Come on, boys! Tick-tock!"

"Right-right! I'm just off," I said. He smiled and nodded. "So I'll see you tonight. Maybe we can get some takeout and watch a movie."

There was a hopeful lilt to my voice, a silent invitation hanging in the air between us. I watched as Danny's expression shifted.

"I'm going home tonight, straight after work," he replied. "Going straight to JFK from the office."

The realization hit me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I had forgotten the arrangement. Danny's time here each week suddenly seemed so fleeting, whereas before, it had seemed like a big deal that he would be here at all. Two nights, that was all we had before he would vanish home again. What, then, of our sexual journey together, of our intimate next steps?

A pang of disappointment washed over me, and I immediately felt stupid. I knew I was being silly. With a deep breath, I pushed aside any sadness. As we stood facing each other, a charged silence hung in the air.

"Maybe we can think about the other thing," he said finally, in a code.

"The other thing?"

"That we talked about last night, Bru."

I smiled.

"Yeah."

"We can decide."

I nodded. I felt nervous about what to say next.

"I've already decided," I said.

"Yeah?"

"I want to do it, Danny. But I'll leave it up to you, no pressure."

"Cool," he said. Danny took a step forward, and time seemed to stand still. His gaze, soulful and intense, pierced through the layers of my defenses and seemed to go straight into my soul. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, as if he might kiss me there and then, some kind of promise between us. That he might lean in, that our lips might touch again, sent a fire sweeping through my body.

"Thanks for doing all this," Danny said, his voice a soft echo in the quiet intimacy of the moment. This nickname he used for me, "Bru," I was starting to like it. Then I remembered: Marlon had used it too.

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Just letting me be me," he said.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Sure, no worries," I replied.

For a heartbeat, we lingered, looking at each other.

"Daddy!" Evan cried, and the moment shattered.

"Anyhow," I interjected, "I should take Evan to school." I turned to my son. "Or else Miss Taylor will put me in the back of the class for being naughty."

Evan honked with laughter.

"She wouldn't do that! You're too old! She wouldn't put old people at the back of the class!"

I glanced back at Danny and arched an eyebrow.

"Nice!" he said.

I smiled at him.

"See you next week, oldster."

He winked at me, and it was a wonderful thing.

"See you next week, Bru."

I wondered if next time, we might go further, if he might be ready for what was ahead between us. I hoped so – I hoped so hard he might.

I ushered Evan out the door, and the strange weight of that morning settled upon me. Time really had ticked by too quickly. Evan chattered excitedly about his day ahead, his small hand clasped in mine as we made our way to the subway station.

As Evan and I boarded the uptown subway train, the familiar rhythm of the city enveloped us, the clatter of the trains mingling with the murmur of voices and the hum of urban life. Someone offered us a seat, and I tried to refuse, but they insisted.

We settled into the seat, Evan sitting on my lap, swinging his legs amidst the sea of commuters, each lost in their own thoughts and destinations, apart from the few who smiled at a father and his young son going off on their day.

Evan's chatter filled the air, lively with his innocence. He regaled me with tales of Danny's brilliance – how he knew about buildings and cartoons – which he did – and how he dressed like Batman in his everyday life – which I was pretty sure he didn't.

"Danny's so cool, Daddy," Evan exclaimed. "Do you think he's your best friend?"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head.

"Not my best friend, buddy," I replied. "Daddy doesn't have a best friend like that."

Evan frowned.

"But that's sad, Daddy," he said. "At school, I have, like, seven or eight best friends. Maybe Daddy should borrow one of my best friends."

"Do you think so?"

"Well," Evan said, with that authoritative certainty of a kid his age, "I think I could spare you one, if you don't want Danny to be your best friend."

"I didn't say that, Evan."

He shifted on my knees and swung his legs until they lightly kicked my shins.

"Then you should tell Danny that you want to be his best friend. You should tell him that you like him better than all the others."

I laughed.

"Who are all the others?"

"Other boys."

He didn't mean it romantically. He just meant as best friends.

"What other boys?"

"Well," Evan said. "Like Marlon. You like him better than Marlon now."

Suddenly, a sadness settled on me, and I wanted to change the subject. I was amazed he even remembered him, although he had met Marlon when we were still trying out being friends before we became lovers and I hurt him.

"I like them for different reasons, buddy. Grown-ups like other boys for different reasons. One isn't better than the other."

He pondered this, of course, not understanding a word.

When I got home, it was strange to find the apartment empty. I walked around it, drinking in its stillness. All that moved was the dust in the air, shifted by my own movements. I realized that some of that dust must be Danny's skin. It felt good to know that part of him was still here.

I made coffee and sat at my desk. A surge of inspiration flooded over me during the hours that followed, and I worked a lot on my novel. I focused on a pivotal scene where the protagonist grappled with the complexities of his relationship, mirroring my own history with Marlon, which I knew inspired the emotional arc of the book.

I wrote the scene and the dialogue. The tension between them crackled in the air. I knew it was good even as I was writing it, the tragic story of a love that doomed itself to fail, a relationship that was running out of road.

But then I had an idea: a second storyline. What if the hero, armed with hard-earned lessons about love, about what he wanted and needed, found solace in the embrace of a new love? What if the book ended not with tragedy but with hope?

That was it: I worked like an absolute maniac the whole day. Scenes unfolded before me, burst out of me, page after page after page. Lost in my thoughts, I was amazed by the speed and completeness of the evolving narrative and its twists and turns that naturally appeared. With each word, I ventured deeper into the heart of the story, guided by the guiding light of this possibility of a hopeful outcome – for the characters, for the reader, even for me.

As I toiled away, the hours melted together, and I felt swept by the fire of creation. And then, in the midst of such intensity, a familiar chime broke the silence – a text message. Sometimes when I was this inspired as a writer, I ignored these interruptions, but instinctively, I knew I had to read it. I was right because I saw the name:

DANNY

I tapped my thumb once to unlock and then tapped the screen again.

THANKS FOR BEING SO COOL

That was all the message read, but then a second appeared.

I HOPE IT'S NOT WEIRD

With trembling fingers, I crafted a response. "You're welcome," I typed, the echo of my heartbeat pulsing with my thumbs on my phone. "Not weird at all. I am happy with whatever."

I waited for a moment.

Danny was typing…

But it wasn't words that appeared. It was just a heart emoji.

He sent me a bright red heart.