Tell me something good about your life," I whispered, needing to hear that he wasn't as broken as I thought him to be.
Peter breathed into the handset for about two minutes. I began wondering if he was about to hang up, or had fallen asleep, when he answered. "You."
It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. And then he hung up before I could ask him to repeat himself.
I fell asleep, grinning, with the phone still clutched in my hand and my milk souring on the coffee table.
Stichwörter: gay glbt m-m-romance gay-romance shattered-glass dani-alexander
Do you know what I did to the last guy that called me Tinkerbelle?"
"Slept with him?"
Darryl was silent for a second. "After that.
Stichwörter: gay-stereotypes m-m-romance gay-romance shattered-glass dani-alexander
Peter to Austin:
"Hard-ons don't make you think less. They make you think stupid. Which makes me think you must have one 24/7.
Stichwörter: humor gay mystery insults put-downs glbt mm shattered-glass dani-alexander
Gay sex, one. Straight sex, zero
Dani AlexanderStichwörter: romance funny mystery m-m ofy
Gay Sex Three, Straight Sex Nil
Dani AlexanderStichwörter: romance funny mystery m-m ofy
I've given up my living room, guest room, job, career, heterosexuality and my stance on no pets in the house, but I'm not giving up my room. I'm drawing a line.
Dani Alexander"Tell me something good about your life," I whispered, needing to hear that he wasn't as broken as I thought him to be.
"You." It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
I looked at our hands, caked and coated in red, but entwined. The pristine moment when they were clasped like that earlier in the day seemed weeks ago.
"Clean." Peter said.
"Can I get a water bottle or something to clean his hands?" I scanned the crowd. He drew my attention back to him with a pull of my hand.
"No," Peter said. "I'm...clean."
I had missed who Peter was until that very moment.
I had called him names and treated him callously. I had read every micro expression in a vacuum of how it related to Austin Glass. And in return Peter had cared for my wounds, treated me tenderly and assured me that he was HIV negative while bleeding out in a hallway of strangers.
I broke. It wasn't a visible fracture. I didn't sob or explode into anguish. I didn't give in to my vomitus urge that came from the burst of self-loathing. But I shattered nonetheless.
He's painting your living room as a thank you."
"Huh. My decorator might screech, but I'm okay with that."
"Your decorator? Seriously? How did you not know you were gay?
Let me know when you're done with this conversation. Peter needs his tongue bath. I mean sponge bath.
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