19. DANNY

The next two days were a blur of pure happiness, filled with laughter, joy, and a deep sense of connection. We spent much of our time together as a trio, and that was as much part of it. Don't get me wrong: I liked Bruno a lot. But I was just enjoying all of it, a family life, a safe space.

Actually, wait, no: I didn't "like Bruno a lot." I was falling in love with him. I had told him I loved him when we were fucking, and it was true. I did. And he told me back. It was that that really, truly made me happy. All of it was great, but it was that that was the most special part.

One afternoon, we found ourselves at the playground, Evan's laughter echoing through the air as he swung from the monkey bars. Bruno and I couldn't help but join in, the three of us acting like complete kids, our hearts so light with abandon.

Another time, we ventured out for ice cream, and we stood in front of a gelato place, each of us choosing what we wanted, Evan unable to decide: pistachio, no, honey cream, no, strawberry ripple, no, no, no, it went on like that. Eventually, we all chose, and Evan's face lit up with delight as we licked our cones and offered each other a try of whichever ice cream we had chosen.

Now and then, Bruno needed to take a call with his agent as his book was ready to go out into the publishing world on submission, so I took Evan out for a walk down to the East River. We watched the boats glide by, and I told him things about cranes, how they worked, what each crane could lift, the things you pick up as an architect.

But in the evening, it became our time again. With Evan tucked in bed, we shared happy times on the couch, watching old TV shows, maybe a movie, or just chatting. It turned out he was really good at chess, pulled out an old board, with chipped pieces he had had since he was a kid. He beat me every time, I think even when was trying to let me win!

But in the intimacy of my bedroom, our connection only deepened, the passion between us grew only richer. We explored each other's bodies, we imprinted ourselves on each other's skins.

Everything about him was like a wonderland to me, and I loved being inside him, I loved how his body arched and convulsed as I was fucking him, how his toes curled and his legs began to shake if we fucked for a long time.

As we lay entwined afterward in that tiny bed, we lost ourselves in idle lovers' talk, hours slipping away unnoticed. Sometimes we talked about real things – about us, even very gently about the future – but sometimes it was just dumb goofing around, the way that lovers do, especially as they learn to open up, reveal themselves, to trust. In those late-night talks, I discovered so much about him.

But perhaps the sweetest moments were the ones that came in the quiet hours before dawn. I would wake to find Bruno beside me, knowing he would have to get up soon and go back to his room so that when Evan awoke from his deep, all-night slumber, he would be there; nothing would be revealed quite yet. We woke up entangled, our limbs crisscrossed because of lack of space, our mouths so close we could feel each other's breath on our faces.

"Can I fuck you again?" I would ask. "Is there time?"

"No, I have to go back."

I would groan.

"I need to be inside you, baby."

And he would giggle and kiss me.

"Just for five minutes," he would whisper, and I would embrace him, kiss him, rim him, and then fuck him. He would giggle, "We have to be quick. Just nut inside me quick," and him saying that, with his blue eyes, and his pretty smile, and his slim body, me inside it, I would do it, with a loud, hard thrust. And he would put his hand over my mouth, laughing, "Shh! Be quiet!" "Couples with young kids have sex quietly!" he said to me once, and I loved it, how he talked about what we were becoming.

But as I basked in the glow of what we were becoming, I couldn't shake the nagging doubt about what I already was. I was straight, or at least I had always thought I was. In my life back home, no one would have guessed that this was possible, that I would be falling for this cute blond guy in New York, who I kind-of sort-of knew years before. This wasn't the life I had envisioned for myself, yet here I was, in it.

I loved being at the apartment with Bruno and Evan, reveling in the warmth and comfort of their presence. It was a family environment unlike any I had experienced before that whispered gently, healing, to the wounds left by my dysfunctional upbringing. But amidst the laughter and joy, there lingered a shadow of uncertainty.

Was I truly gay, or was I simply gay for Bruno? Was I in love with him, or was I merely infatuated with the idea of this life we could build together? Just thinking that scared me. I didn't want to mess anyone around. I didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all these two.

That fear of hurting Bruno and Evan, of subjecting them to the same pain and neglect that had scarred my own childhood, paralyzed me with dread. They deserved better than that, and they didn't deserve some loser guy who came into their lives and walked out when it was a bit difficult. My dad had done that to me; I knew what that was firsthand. Could I give them something meaningful, something real, or was I destined to repeat the harms of the past?

But as I watched Bruno move about the apartment, his boyish smile lighting up the room, I knew that I didn't want to let him go. There was something about him, magnetic, irresistible. Just looking at him, just being with him, I knew this was something real. Lying in bed with him in the morning, even though we had fucked all night, my cock was raging hard, just because of the touch of his skin. Just the flicker of his blond hair against my lips as he nestled against my body felt so compelling to me.

In the quiet moments before dawn, as Bruno said, "Just for five minutes," I found the truth I was seeking in his arms, a sense of belonging that I had longed for all.

Was I gay or just gay for Bruno?

My doubts stayed with me, but so did my desire for him.