The fire had burned low, leaving only a cradle of glowing embers. The air between us felt charged, but not rushed, as if the stillness before a song begins.
Justin leaned back on his hands, watching the flames, his expression thoughtful. “Phillip,” he said quietly, “I need to say something before this goes any further.”
I turned to him, heart still steadying from the kiss. “Okay.”
He exhaled slowly. “I meant what I said earlier. I feel something. It’s not just the wine or the warmth. It’s… you. But if I don’t say this, I’ll regret it.”
I nodded, waiting.
“I’m attracted to you,” he said, the words plain but heavy. “More than I’ve been to anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. And that’s exactly why we shouldn’t…” He stopped, glancing at me, searching for the right word. “Rush.”
I felt a faint smile tug at my mouth. “I was about to say the same thing.”
He looked almost relieved, almost amused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We just met, under circumstances that would make anyone’s head spin. You’re still finding your footing. And I…” I hesitated. “I’m still figuring out whether I want to trust again.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full of quiet agreement.
Justin nodded. “Then we hold off.”
“Just kissing,” I said.
He laughed softly. “Just kissing. Except that when you kiss, it’s more than a kiss.”
“That’s because,” I added, unable to help myself, “if we’re being honest…”
He turned toward me, eyes bright in the firelight. “Go on.”
“The attraction’s ridiculous,” I said. “Like gravity. You could light the room without that fireplace.”
Justin’s laugh turned into something softer, almost shy. “Then it’s mutual,” he said. “And that’s what makes this harder.”
We didn’t kiss again after that—at least not for a while. We just sat there, the distance between us gone but held in check, a promise neither of us wanted to break too soon. When the fire dwindled to a warm glow, he leaned his head against my shoulder. Eventually, without meaning to, we both drifted to sleep; the last thing I saw before my eyes closed was the faint shimmer of firelight flickering across his face.
One Week Later
The weather had broken. The sun had made a brief appearance that morning, and for the first time in days, the apartment didn’t smell like rain or wet wool.
Justin had made himself at home in small, careful ways, his shoes by the door, his folded blanket on the couch, his toothbrush sharing space on the bathroom sink. Nothing that crossed a line, but enough to feel like he belonged.
We’d kept our word. No further than kissing. Some nights, those good-nights stretched longer than they should have, full of quiet breathing and gentle laughter that tested the edges of restraint. But each time, one of us would pull away first, both of us smiling at how close we’d come.
That morning, I walked into the living room and found him at my desk. My laptop was open, and he was typing fast, concentration written across his face. He didn’t notice me at first.
“Job hunting?” I asked.
He jumped a little, then smiled. “Yeah. Thought I’d see if anything around here is hiring. I can’t just sit here freeloading.”
“You’re not freeloading,” I said. “You’re regrouping.”
He shook his head. “Still. I need to start earning something. Rent, groceries… I can’t let you carry it all.”
I leaned against the doorway, studying him. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”
He nodded, closing the laptop. “I guess I have.” Then, after a pause, “It’s not just about work. It’s school, too. My parents were paying for college, and from what my dad said, they cut me off, that was it. No savings. No plan B.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“Yeah.” He looked up, the hope in his eyes a little unguarded. “I was close. Just one semester left. And I preregistered last month. But it’s not cheap, and I’ve already called. They can do monthly payments, but I couldn’t swing it, even with a job. And the man on the phone said that even if we started the loan process now, it wouldn’t be available till March.” He held up his cell phone. “Thanks again for this.”
“You’re welcome. So, how much is the bill?”
He frowned slightly, thinking. “It’s just under fifteen thousand for the semester. Room and board and books and fees. I’d have to work for a year, maybe a little more, to save enough, but I can do it. Gotta get that job first.”
I was quiet for a moment, watching him. He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the admission.
“So you’d delay it a year,” I said finally.
He nodded. “Seems realistic.” He stood up and pulled me to him. You’ve given me the strength to know that I can do this.”
“No,” I said, kissing him quickly.
He blinked. “What?”
“No delays. You’re finishing school.”
“Phillip, that’s not—”
“I’ll get the money,” I said, cutting him off gently. “You’re too close to stop now.”
He stared at me, a mix of disbelief and emotion rising in his eyes. “You can’t just. Why would you do that?”
“Because,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected, “you’ve become important to me. Because whatever this is between us, it deserves to grow without being buried under what-ifs. You finish school, and then, well, then we’ll figure out the rest. Together, maybe. Or not. But you’ll have the choice. And I’ll know that I’ve done what I can. Whether we’re meant to be, and I think we are, I feel it, but even if we’re not, you need to get that degree so you can move forward with the life you’re meant to have.”
“The life I’m meant to have is with you. I’m sure of it. Maybe I can commute; it’s only forty-five minutes away. That’ll bring down the cost and…”
“And that’s an hour and a half of study time every day. That’s almost eight hours a week, and we’d need to buy another car.”
“I can get a used motorcycle.”
“Not safe enough. You’ll live on campus. Get the best grades. I’ll come on the weekends, and we can get a hotel room. Now, any other world problems for me to solve?” I smiled again and kissed him. He moved his head to my shoulder, and I held him.
For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then he pulled me to the couch, blinking hard, fighting to keep his composure. “You don’t even know how much that means.”
“I think I do,” I said quietly. “And if you ever doubt it, just remember that this was never about saving you. It’s about giving you back your future. And mine, too.”
He nodded slowly, still trying to find his voice. “You know, when we met, I thought you were just some guy who couldn’t say no to a stray.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he said, smiling faintly, “I think… I know that I met the one person who will make my life worth living.”
The tension between us lingered there again, familiar, dangerous, warm. The same pull that had started by the fire a week ago. The desire to take him to the bedroom and make love to him was growing stronger. I wondered how long it would be before I gave in. “And you’ve given my life purpose.”
The storm outside had passed, but the one inside, that uncertain, thrilling pull between us, was only just beginning to take shape.
The next Saturday was one of those gray Saturday mornings that promised rain but never delivered. Christmas was a week away, and I had been tidying the apartment since dawn, insisting on it even though Justin kept saying, “She’s your sister, not the Queen.”
“You haven’t met her; I’m pretty sure she’s in line for the throne.” I tried to laugh, but I wanted everything to be perfect. I was so tense that when the doorbell finally rang, I froze in place, halfway through setting the mugs on the table.
“That’ll be her,” Justin said, brushing his hands on a towel. “Just relax. She’s bound to hate me at first; everybody does.”
“I’m sure she’s just curious,” I replied.
Curious turned out to be an understatement.
Mara arrived with her usual whirlwind of perfume, scarves, and controlled energy. She hugged me first, then turned to Justin with a bright, assessing smile.
“So you’re Justin,” she said, drawing out the name as if she were already trying to fit it into some unspoken equation. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Justin smiled, polite but reserved. “I hope they’re all good things.”
I laughed nervously. “Every one of them.”
We sat down for coffee and croissants. The first few minutes went smoothly. Mara complimented the apartment, asked about Justin’s job search, and even laughed when I told a story about Justin burning the toast because it was set for frozen waffles.
But then her questions began to narrow.
“So, Justin,” she said lightly, stirring her coffee, “what exactly are your plans? Phillip says you’re thinking of going back to school.” I hadn’t told her of my plan to cover his last semester.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Just one semester left. I’ve got a part-time job down at the 7-Eleven that starts the day after Christmas that I haven’t told Phillip about yet. It’s not much, but…”
She tilted her head. “And you think you can do that while living here? Rent’s not cheap in this city.”
“Mara,” I said gently, “we’ve got that worked out.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I’m sure you do. I just worry about you, Phil. You’ve always had a big heart. Sometimes too big.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Only that not everyone deserves your generosity. Especially someone you barely know.”
The silence that followed was thin and sharp. Justin looked down at his plate.
“I didn’t ask him for anything,” Justin said quietly. “He offered to help with school. I wasn’t—”
“To help with school?” She turned to me. “You’re paying for his school?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “He didn’t ask me to. I insisted.”
“I’m sure he didn’t ask,” Mara interrupted smoothly. “That’s how these things work, isn’t it? A lost puppy, a little wounded, and someone kind swoops in. You in this case.”
“Mara,” I said sharply.
“And before long, you’re twenty grand lighter and wondering what happened to your big-hearted generosity.”
Justin stood up, as if his chair had burned him. His face had gone pale.
“I think I should step outside,” his teeth were clenched.
I reached for him, but Justin shook his head and slipped quietly onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.
The sound of the latch clicking was louder than it should have been.
I turned on my sister. “What the hell was that?”
She set her cup down, composed as ever. “Reality. Someone needed to say it. You don’t know him, Phillip. For all you know, he’s playing you.”
“Justin isn’t…”
“Isn’t what? Desperate? Clever? You’ve always tried to see the best in people, but that doesn’t mean it’s there.”
My jaw tightened. “You came here because you were curious about the new man in my life. Fine. But you don’t get to insult him under my roof. I care for this man.”
Mara rose, gathering her coat. “I came here because I care about you. You’re my brother. I’ve seen you give too much to people who gave nothing back.”
“This isn’t the same.”
She looked at me; her expression softened only for a moment. “You want to believe that. I hope you’re right. I really do.”
I was sure she would go without another word. That was her way. But she went to the balcony and opened the door. “Justin, I love my brother. I don’t want him hurt. The few that came before him hurt him badly, one of them so badly that I was afraid he would never recover. Men often make decisions with their sex organs; I’m much more objective. Phillip won’t like this, and you may not like it either, but I am going to do some research on you. I don’t go behind anyone’s back, so I want you to know that ahead of time.”
Justin just met her gaze and said nothing.
“For his sake, I hope your feelings for him are honest. I can tell that the ones he has for you are true down to his core.”
Then she was gone; her perfume lingering long after the sound of the door faded down the hall.
I remained motionless for a long moment before I opened the balcony door.
Justin was leaning on the railing, arms folded tightly against the cold. He didn’t turn to me when I stepped out.
“She doesn’t know me,” Justin said softly. “But she’s not wrong to ask. People do take advantage of kindness.”
“She’s wrong about you,” I said. “Completely.”
Justin finally turned, his eyes uncertain. “She’s just trying to protect you. How can you be so sure?”
I hesitated; the certainty in my gut was difficult to explain. “Because I was there. I saw who you were before you even said a word.”
The look they shared was raw, quiet, and uncertain, not the firelight warmth of that first night, but something deeper, tested by doubt.
Inside, the apartment felt colder without Mara’s voice filling it. The rain finally began to fall, soft against the balcony glass, the sound of something being washed clean.
The apartment had gone still after Veronica’s visit. It wasn’t a fight, just the lingering echo of something broken that neither of us wanted to touch.
Justin wasn’t quite himself in the days that followed. He smiled when I came home, laughed when I tried to joke, but there was a distance behind his eyes. Rationally, I knew he understood it was my sister’s protective instinct that made her question him. Still, reason had never been much comfort against wounds like that. What logic could soothe the feeling of being suspected just for needing help?
I noticed small shifts: he stopped humming when he cooked, stopped leaving his sketchpad out on the coffee table. My invitation to go shopping for a Christmas tree was gently turned down. I told him it would be fun, something normal, something ours. He just smiled and said he had paperwork to finish for his new job. I didn’t press.
At work, the hours blurred together. Outside, the sky turned a dull, pewter gray that pressed against the city. The weather reports promised snow by Christmas Eve, maybe even a freeze. Inside our apartment, everything was spotless, too spotless. Dinners waited in the oven when I came home; my laundry was folded neatly, my shirts ironed. I appreciated it, but part of me missed the easy chaos we’d shared before, the way he used to tease me about my “scientifically precise” way of seasoning food or how we’d both end up talking over each other about something we’d seen online.
It felt as if we were living around one another rather than with one another.
By the twenty-third, the office had wound down for the holidays. During lunch, I ducked into a store downtown and found matching Christmas sweaters, the kind people call “ugly” but secretly love. Red with snowmen and little blinking lights. I bought them both before I could second-guess myself. I also picked up a new pair of tennis shoes for Justin; I’d used the size from his old pair, the ones with the frayed laces and worn soles.
When I’d bought him underwear and jeans in those first few days, he’d blushed so hard I thought he might combust. He’d protested that I didn’t have to, that my old clothes were fine. But I told him I couldn’t let him walk around in things I’d kept for rags. That night, I’d also given him a wallet, something small, leather, simple, with a bit of emergency cash inside. He’d cried when I told him I just wanted him to have a safety net.
“Someday you’ll do this for someone else,” I’d said. “That’s how it works.”
He’d nodded, too emotional to speak.
Now, as I wrapped my gift and set it beneath the small potted pine I’d bought by myself, I wondered how he’d react. I worried he’d see it as pity. I didn’t want that. I wanted him to see what I saw: a beginning.
The apartment was quiet that night. Too quiet. I went to bed early, but sleep was slippery. Around two in the morning, I woke to the faint sound of muttering, Justin’s voice, low, indistinct, coming from the living room.
I thought about getting up, but something in me said to stay put. Everyone needs private moments. So I lay there, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing until sleep finally took me again.
When morning came, Christmas Eve light spilled into the apartment, soft and pale, like the world had been dusted in frost. Justin was still asleep on the couch, his head buried under the blanket. The sight of him made something in my chest twist. There was a peacefulness to him that I hadn’t seen in days.
I lingered a moment, just watching him. He’s beautiful, I thought, and immediately felt foolish for thinking it so plainly. But it was true. He was beautiful, not in some polished, practiced way, but in the quiet, unguarded way people are when they finally feel safe.
It was time, I decided. Time to end our agreement. Time to admit that what had started as kindness had become something deeper, even deeper than strong attraction.
I padded into the kitchen, setting English muffins by the toaster and measuring out coffee grounds. The smell of the brew filled the apartment as the first rays of light slipped through the blinds. I carefully placed the eggs on a towel next to the mixing bowl. I located the whisk and placed it into the bowl, listening to the faint sound of the heater kicking on.
When everything was ready, I went back to the couch. The blanket had moved slightly, covering Justin’s head. The way he’d pulled it over his head completely made me smile. I used to do that as a kid when I wanted to sleep late on Christmas morning.
I bent over him and whispered, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Nothing.
I stared at him for a moment longer. Maybe if I just think it hard enough, I told myself. Maybe I can will him awake.
I stared. And stared.
Then a cold realization hit me. He wasn’t moving. His chest wasn’t rising.
“Justin?” I whispered, my heart beginning to race.
Before panic could take root, a voice boomed from behind me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I jumped so hard I nearly toppled the coffee table. Justin was standing in the doorway, towel around his waist, with an obvious bed-head.
“Saints!” I gasped. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He laughed, leaning against the door frame. “I could say the same thing. You looked like you were about to perform CPR on my blanket.”
I exhaled shakily, half laughing, half furious. “I was trying to will you awake. I didn’t know you’d moved! For an instant, I wondered whether you were dead.”
Justin started laughing again, the sound rich and unguarded. I couldn’t help but join in. The tension that had hovered between us for days seemed to dissolve with that laughter.
I went to him and pulled him into a hug. “Merry almost Christmas,” I said.
He smiled, brushing a kiss across my cheek. “I was going to shower before fixing you breakfast.”
“I’ve already got coffee going,” I said. “And I picked something out for you to wear.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Picking out my clothes now, huh?”
“Just for today,” I said, grinning. “And maybe a few other special occasions.”
“Like days that end in ‘y’?”
“Something like that.” I nuzzled his neck; the scent of him stirred my blood. “How about you make us some omelets while I pour the coffee?”
He smiled, that real smile I’d missed. “I’d love to.”
The smell of coffee and eggs filled the apartment, warm and comforting. The laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, soft, fragile, like the first sunlight after a long storm.
Justin stood at the stove, humming quietly again, whisking eggs as I laid out the plates. His shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. When he turned, the morning light caught the edges of his face, his smile, faint but genuine, his eyes bright with something I hadn’t seen since before my sister’s visit.
“Smells amazing,” I said.
He grinned. “You did most of the prep.”
“Still,” I said, pouring the coffee. “It’s better when you’re the one behind the skillet.”
We sat down across from each other, steam curling between our mugs. The tree lights blinked softly in the corner, a patient pulse of red, green, blue, and gold.
For a while, neither of us spoke. I wanted to keep the quiet, to hold onto it, but the words had been building inside me for days, maybe weeks, and they wouldn’t stay down any longer.
“Justin,” I said finally, setting my fork aside. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He looked up, instantly attentive, his expression open but wary.
“I told myself not to rush anything,” I began. “That what happened between us was already enough, the closeness, the friendship, the way you’ve changed this place just by being in it. But somewhere in all that, I stopped being just attracted to you.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“I fell in love with you,” I said simply. “And it’s not about what you’ve been through, or what I did to help. It’s you. The way you think. The way you care. The way you breathe life into every quiet corner.”
He stared at me, silent. Then he let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief.
“Phillip, I—” he started, but I pressed on, voice soft.
“I don’t just want to kiss you anymore,” I said. “After breakfast, I want us to go into the day together. I want to share everything, no walls, no fear. I want us to start something real.”
For a heartbeat, I thought I’d gone too far. His fork paused in midair, and he looked down, swallowing hard.
“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.
“Just tell me what you feel,” I said.
He set the fork down and rubbed his hands over his face. “These past few days, I’ve been… scared. Your sister’s words got in my head. I kept asking myself if I deserved to be here, if maybe I was just pretending I belonged in your life.” He looked up then, eyes shining. “But every time I tried to convince myself to pull away, all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to have something to share with you this Christmas, so I did my best to stay focused on making that happen. I wanted you to show you that I wanted to stay.”
I reached for his hand. “Then you’re going to stay.”
He smiled, small and trembling, then nodded. “The truth is, I love you too. I think I have for a while now. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”
The quiet stretched again, only this time it was full, warm, alive.
When we cleared the dishes, he stood close beside me at the sink. The space between us disappeared in a heartbeat, replaced by the kind of stillness that hums before something changes forever.
His hand brushed mine, a deliberate touch, not accidental. “I think I’m ready,” he whispered.
I smiled, the weight of the moment sinking deep. “So am I.”
We moved together through the rest of the dishes, not rushing, not needing words. We went side by side to the shower. We spoke in hushed voices. Even our laughter, as full as it was, could barely be heard above the roar of the water. We shed our clothing and memorized our body curves. The steam from the hot water curled around us as the cold winter world fell away.
I reached forward and rubbed my finger across Justin’s left nipple. There was nothing hurried, nothing to prove, just two people learning the shape of trust, washing away fear, beginning again. The excitement of touching him excited me, and he witnessed my response.
I drew him into the shower and under the stream of the water. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around his swelling manhood. His shaft thickened, stiffened, and lengthened. His head fell forward onto my shoulder. The vibration on my skin told me he was moaning.
I grabbed the body wash with my free hand. I released my grip and used both hands to form a lather that I spread over every crook and crevice of his body. I rinsed it all away. Justin soaped my body in return, and once he finished, we were both squeaky clean. We toweled every droplet of water away, and when we finally stood side by side, wrapped in towels, the air felt charged and new. The door to the bedroom stood open, golden light spilling across the floorboards.
His fingers interlaced with mine, and he turned his head toward me. I met his eyes. “Merry Christmas,” I said, and we stepped together into the bedroom.
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