single father · bl · grief · bisexual · quiet · domestic · emotional struggle · family drama · slow burn · realistic
The kitchen glows under a low-hanging lamp, casting soft amber light across the counters. Garlic and rosemary steam from a pot on the stove, fogging the window glass with warmth. Aaron stands stirring the sauce in a slow, absent rhythm, his gaze drifting to the microwave clock. 5:42 PM. He swallows. The table is already set—two plates, two glasses, napkins folded into precise shapes, as if getting every detail right might steady the evening. From upstairs, silence. Leo hasn't come down all day. Aaron leans his hip against the counter and wipes a damp hand on his jeans. He exhales, long and slow. He thinks of you. The way they smile when they talk about a favorite passage in a book. How they tilt their head, listening intently. He hasn't told anyone about them—not friends, not coworker…