Archive of Our Own

Back then, Claude thought forever looked a lot like Leo.

They met at thirteen, both were yet to hit puberty, still childish in some ways. Their town was small enough that their houses were only walks away from each other. It was a rural town, one where everyone knew each other. 

Leo’s family just freshly moved in from the city and Claude’s parents happened to be the ones to help them settle in. The first time he met Leo, it was when his parents told him to show him around town. To help Leo get used to the places and for him to finally have an actual friend, they told him. Claude was a quiet child, reserved but easy-going. He wasn’t the type to make friends, he was someone who needed time to get used to new people.

So when Claude met up with Leo, he was nervous, shy as he waited for the door to open. But Leo smiled at him like he’s known him for years. Waved at him with a grin that went up his ears. Greeted him with a tone full of joy.

“Hi!” Leo cheerfully greete, “I’m Leo! I heard we’re the same age!” 

“I’m Claude,” Claude blinks at him, nervousness gone, “And yeah, we are.”

Leo didn’t say anything back, he just gave him a cheerful smile.

They rode their bikes together. He’d point at places he thought Leo should and need to know—the local train station, the convenience store, the bakery shop, the tiny mall, the only coffee shop in their town, and more. At some point, they stopped to take a break under a shed. It was quiet, peaceful even. 

It wasn’t the type of silence that made Claude’s skin itch and crawl. The type that made him feel suffocated.

It was the type of silence that made him breathe freely.

“Do you like games, Claude?” Leo asked him.

Claude’s feet swung as he replied, “Yeah, I do.”

He turned to him.

“Do you?”

Leo smiled and nodded, “I do!”

“We should play together sometime.”

They ended up spending every weekends together playing video games. They would hang out at each other’s places, either playing or doing their homeworks together. Claude felt like he finally found someone he could call his best friend. They just click together, almost as if they were always meant to meet each other and be friends. Leo’s energy made it easier to breathe and Claude’s energy grounded him.

They fit each other perfectly. 

They were sprawled across Leo’s bedroom floor, socked feet tangled, the game controller still warm in Claude’s hands. The TV buzzed faintly, long forgotten. Leo was talking — about school, or their bald teacher who keeps throwing chalks at him, or that girl who waved at him in the hallway — but Claude wasn’t hearing it anymore.

He didn’t mean to stare at him that long.

It was just a glance, or maybe that’s what he told himself — but when Leo laughed at something stupid and threw his head back, eyes creasing at the edges, Claude felt something crack. Not break. Just… crack. A clean, sharp little split in the part of him that had always known what things were supposed to be. 

He was watching his mouth.

And suddenly, it hit him like a sucker punch. He didn’t just like Leo.

He liked Leo.

Like the way people wrote about in songs. Like the way he saw couples hold hands under the bleachers, or kiss by the vending machines when they thought no one was watching.

His heart stuttered, then pounded. He looked away so fast his neck tensed.

No. No, No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what best friends felt. Was it?

The room felt warmer now, his palms clammy. He shifted slightly, pretending to scratch his arm, trying to hide the sudden flood of nerves.

“Dude, you okay?” Leo asked, looking over, brows furrowed. Concerned. Kind.

Too kind.

Claude managed a weak smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Leo shrugged, unbothered, and leaned back against the bed, arms folded behind his head. The way his shirt lifted a little when he moved made Claude’s stomach flip in a way that terrified him.

He stared at the ceiling. His thoughts were loud, messy things.

It was wrong, wasn’t it? Leo was his best friend and to like him in a way that the wanted to kiss him was just wrong. He doesn’t want to ruin things between them. He doesn’t want his feelings to continue simmering. 

But his heart says otherwise.

Deep inside, Claude knew that he wanted something more. He wanted to be the only one who gets to hear Leo’s sickeningly sweet morning voice. 

There was no answer. Only the soft sound of Leo humming under his breath, half-asleep already, like he belonged in this moment, like he trusted Claude to stay.

Claude closed his eyes.

It scared him—the not knowing what this meant, or if it would pass, or if it would pull everything apart. But in the fear, nestled between his heartbeat and the quiet of the room, was something else.

Something gentle.

Acceptance didn’t come in a burst. It didn’t make the fear vanish. But it sat there, small and still—the way you slowly realize the tide’s come in around your feet. He was in it now. Drenched, startled.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, he had been for a while.

He turned his head, watching Leo’s face soften with sleep.

Claude whispered, barely a breath, “God, I think I like you, Leo.” 

Then he smiled bitterly, knowing Leo wouldn’t hear — not tonight.

And maybe that was okay.

It had rained that day.

The sky was soft and gray, the kind of overcast that made everything feel quieter, closer. Claude remembered how the pavement still smelled like earth and water, how the leaves clung wetly to the bottoms of their shoes as they wandered through the park near Leo’s house, kicking at puddles and not really talking about anything.

Until they sat under the covered pavilion, side by side on the wooden bench, and the silence changed.

Leo had been fidgeting. Not in the usual way, not out of boredom. Claude could tell the difference. He kept running his thumb over the seam of his jeans, stealing glances, never quite meeting Claude’s eyes. His foot bounced. His breath was uneven.

Claude had opened his mouth to ask, but Leo spoke first.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice rough, like it scraped its way out of his throat.

Claude froze. His pulse jumped. He nodded, barely.

Leo laughed nervously. “God, I’ve been rehearsing this in my head for weeks, and now I feel like my tongue’s gone numb.”

Claude said nothing. He couldn’t. He just stared at him, heart suddenly so loud it drowned out the patter of leftover rain dripping from the roof.

Then Leo looked at him, really looked at him — and Claude had never seen his face like that. So open. So raw it almost hurt to meet his eyes.

“I love you,” Leo said. No tremor, no hesitation now. “I’ve loved you for a while. Not just as a friend, Claude. Not even close.”

Claude blinked, the words washing over him, warm and disorienting, like standing in sunlight too long.

“I love being with you,” Leo went on, voice steadier now, as if every word made the next one easier. “I love how you think. I love how you get quiet when you’re trying not to cry. I love how you‘re always just there. I love how you know me—how you read me.. I love how it feels when you laugh at something I say. Like I’m the funniest man in the world even if I’m stupid and corny.”

Claude’s breath hitched. His chest felt too small for his heart. His fingers twitched in his lap.

Leo leaned in, gently—not touching him yet, just getting close enough for Claude to feel the warmth of his presence.

“It would make me the happiest person alive to be your boyfriend,” he whispered. “No pressure. No expectations. I just… had to say it. I want you to know how much I care about you. How much I want this —us— if you want it too.”

Claude didn’t answer right away.

He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his eyes were burning, and he hated how his hands shook.

But he wasn’t scared. Not really. Not with Leo looking at him like that. Like he was the best part of the whole world. Like he could do no wrong. Like he was a gift given to Leo. He just sat there for a second, overwhelmed and reeling and loved in a way that made his ribs ache. His heart thumped so loudly he swore he heard his own heart beat.

Then, without thinking, he reached out and took Leo’s hand.

And Leo smiled. That big, unguarded smile that Claude had secretly adored for years.

Claude never said “I love you” right then. He didn’t have to. He didn’t need words when he was with Leo. He was understood and read like an open book. 

Later in the evening, still at the park, minutes after Leo’s confession.

The rain had started again—just barely. A mist more than anything. Claude could still taste the words Leo had said, feel the weight of them resting warmly against his chest. His fingers curled tighter around Leo’s.

Leo looked nervous now, like maybe he’d said too much.

Claude turned toward him, and something in his chest clicked into place.

“Can I—” Leo started, then stopped. “Can I kiss you?”

Claude nodded.

It was soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that asked permission even while it happened. Their noses bumped, and Leo smiled against Claude’s mouth. Claude forgot what it felt like to breathe.

When they pulled apart, Leo looked dazed. “That okay?”

Claude laughed, a little breathless. “That was… perfect.”

And it was. Because for the first time in a long time, Claude felt like the whole world could fall apart — and he’d still be okay, as long as Leo was there.

A week later, Saturday afternoon, with their bikes parked at a hillside overlooking the busy town.

They’d picked up cheap burgers and cold soda from a fast food place and Leo had laid out a blanket on the grass like it was something fancy. Claude didn’t care. It was fancy—because Leo made it so. They sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the trees sway and the leaves fall like it was a scene from a movie. Flowers surrounded them, the breeze was cold even as the sun glared over the sky.

“This is nice,” Claude murmured, unwrapping his burger. “Simple. Like… just us.”

Leo bumped their shoulders. “Yeah. I didn’t want to do anything big. I just wanted you here.”

They talked about music. About the future. About their plans. Leo said he wanted to be an teacher just like his parents. Claude said he didn’t know what he wanted—but right now, this was enough.

“Are you happy?” Leo asked softly, staring straight ahead.

Claude looked at him, smiled, and said, “I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

And he meant it.

A month into their relationship, they were in Leo’s room mid-afternoon. Claude’s heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

Leo had said something—not cruel, just careless. They were fighting about something childish. About how Claude overthinks everything. About how it’s “exhausting” sometimes. To deal with him and his thoughts. That he wanted to breathe, too. As if to say Claude was suffocating him.

It stung. More than Claude expected.

“So, what, I’m a burden now?” Claude snapped, voice too loud in the quiet room.

Leo’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant. Claude, come on—”

“No,” Claude cut in. “You don’t get to say stuff like that and pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

Silence.

Claude stood there, arms crossed, shaking. He hated yelling. Hated fighting. But even more than that, he hated how much it hurt to feel misunderstood by the one person who usually did understand him.

Leo swallowed, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was just frustrated. With myself, not you.”

Claude swallowed, still breathing heavy. “Then why did you say it like that?”

Leo stepped closer, gentle now. “Because I’m an idiot sometimes. And I didn’t know how to ask for space without making you feel unwanted. But I never wanted to push you away. Ever.”

Claude didn’t speak. Just let himself be pulled into Leo’s arms, slowly, as the anger dissolved into something softer. He buried his face in Leo’s shoulders, grip tightening as though his boyfriend would disappear if he let go.

Later that night. Leo’s bed. The lights off. Only the sound of rain outside. They lay facing each other, quiet and tired from the emotional moment they shared earlier. Claude’s fingers curled around Leo’s hoodie, clinging like a tether.

Leo kissed his forehead and whispered, “I’d rather fight with you than be right without you.”

Claude laughed against his chest. “That’s so cheesy.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “But it’s true.”

Claude closed his eyes and listened to the heartbeat beneath his ear. Steady. Warm. Like a lighthouse in a storm. He knew their love wasn’t perfect. It was far from perfect. 

But it was pure and simple. 

They loved each other and they were both content with knowing that.

A few weeks later. Early morning. Claude’s house. The sunlight spilled through the window.

Leo was asleep, lips parted, hair a mess, arm draped lazily over Claude’s waist. And Claude stared at him like he was seeing something holy. He leaned in close, kissed his cheek, and whispered into the silence.

“I love you.”

Leo stirred but didn’t wake. Claude didn’t mind. 

It felt good just to say it. Not in fear. Not as a secret. But like a truth he could finally carry with pride. Every “first” with Leo felt like a doorway into something brighter. Claude didn’t know what the future looked like, not really—but with Leo, it didn’t scare him anymore.

Because loving him felt like the safest thing in the world.

Hiding his relationship with Leo wasn’t easy. They had to be careful and creative. They spent dinner with Leo’s family and underneath the table,, Leo’s fingers would brush Claude’s— they were brief touches, invisible to the world.

In school hallways, they had learned the art of eye contact. A single glance across the crowd said everything. Said I miss you. Said I see you. Claude once kissed Leo behind the gym building, heart pounding so loudly he thought it might give them away. Leo pulled back with a grin and whispered, “We’re getting good at this.”

They held hands in the dark of movie theaters, their thumbs stroking over each other’s skin like it was some quiet form of worship.

And every time they walked past their parents, they forced themselves to stand a little straighter. To act a little colder. To smile just the right amount—never too much. Never enough to give them away.

They were in Leo’s kitchen when they talked about it.

Not exactly private—but the house was quiet, lights dim except for the faint glow over the stove. Leo’s parents had gone to sleep hours ago, and the only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath them.

They sat on the tiled floor, backs against the lower cupboards, a blanket wrapped loosely around their shoulders. A half-finished mug of hot chocolate sat between them, long gone cold.

They had just kissed.

A quick, breathless thing. Leo had leaned in, warm and eager, and Claude hadn’t even hesitated. But the moment their lips parted, the weight of the room —of the house—slammed down on Claude’s chest.

He pulled away slightly. Not far, just enough to feel that space growing between them again.

Leo noticed right away.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over Claude’s knee. “You okay?”

Claude hesitated. His mouth opened and closed. Then he nodded.

Leo waited, as he always did, patient and still.

Claude looked around—at the framed family photo on the wall, at the religious cross above the pantry door, at the floral curtains Claude knew Leo’s mom had sewn herself.

He let out a shaky breath. “Your family is so… traditional.”

Leo blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Claude’s voice cracked around the edges. “If they found out about us, Leo, I think they’d hate me.”

Leo moved closer, gently resting his head against Claude’s shoulder. “They wouldn’t hate you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Claude’s fingers gripped the blanket tighter. “My mom asked me the other day if I had a crush on any girls. And I just laughed. Lied, like it was the easiest thing in the world. But it’s not. It’s killing me. Every time I lie to her, it feels like I’m betraying something sacred.”

Leo didn’t say anything. Just let Claude speak. Let him tremble through the words.

Claude’s throat tightened. “I’m scared all the time. When we hold hands, when we kiss, when you look at me like I matter, it makes me feel alive. But also… like the whole world could take it away.”

Leo reached for his hand beneath the blanket, threading their fingers together. “Then let’s not let it.”

Claude swallowed hard. “I want to hold your hand when we’re outside. I want to kiss you without watching the hallway first. I want to stop pretending like you’re just my best friend.”

Leo squeezed his hand. “Me too. So much.”

There was a few minutes of silence. They basked in each other’s warmth, afraid that the moment would be taken away from them.  Then, Claude leaned into Leo, closing his eyes. “What if we never get to tell them?”

Leo was quiet for a long moment. “Then we tell each other. Every day. Loudly. Until it’s enough.”

Claude smiled through the ache, resting his forehead against Leo’s.

“And if it’s not enough?” he whispered.

Leo kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then I’ll keep saying it anyway. Until it is.”

And in the quiet warmth of that kitchen, even with fears and doubts swimming in his mind, Claude felt something like peace. Maybe not safety.

But something close.

They were eighteen—messy-haired, sunkissed, and convinced that the world would make room for them somehow. It was during that summer out-of-town trip, just the two of them, sleeping in tents and swimming in rivers, where something quietly shifted. It wasn’t just the way Leo looked at him under the moonlight, or the way their hands brushed and lingered longer than they used to—it was the way Claude had felt completely, achingly seen.

That night, under a sky full of stars and with smoke from their small campfire curling in the air, Claude asked:

“Will you fight for me?”

His voice cracked around the question, a fragile thing barely held together by hope.

Leo didn’t even blink. He just looked at him — really looked — and nodded with a soft, unshakable certainty.

“I‘ll fight for you until I die.”

And Claude had believed him. 

For a while, it had been enough. Their final year of high school became a blur of soft kisses behind gym bleachers, sharing headphones on long bus rides, and late-night phone calls with barely whispered I miss you’s. They promised college would give them freedom, that once they were out, they wouldn’t have to hide anymore. He wouldn’t have to pretend like him and Leo were just extremely close friends who spend hours and hours together. They wouldn’t have to hold hands behind everyone’s backs. He held on to those plans and promises, the childish pinky promises they gave each other every night. 

But Claude learned that some people never leave you. Not really. Even when they’re gone, even when they say goodbye with words so final they cut like glass. Some people will leave a piece of them to stay with you forever even when it’s against your will.

He had to learn that the hard way.

He was twenty-seven now, back in the town he swore he’d never return to after graduating college. The streets were quieter, more hushed and peaceful than he remembered. Maybe it was just him who had grown louder inside—restless, aching, still a young adult in some ways, still standing in front of that old oak tree where Leo had once said, “I’m doing this for both of us.”

Claude had wanted to scream. To yell at him. To tell him it was stupid. To tell him he was selfish. But he hadn’t. He nodded like he understood, like he could ever understand what it meant to let someone go not because you wanted to, but because they told you they had no choice. He just stood there, smiling and reassuring Leo that he understood.

Because he did. Even if he didn’t want to.

Leo’s parents had believed in tradition. Not in boys like Claude. Not in late-night kisses in the backseat of a car with fogged-up windows and trembling hands. They believed in unions, in expectations, in a future carved in stone centuries ago. They believed in picking the perfect bride, a woman. One who could provide them with grandchildren. One who would end up as a tradwife kissing their feet as she served them tea in the afternoon. They didn’t believe in homosexuality, they believed it was a curse. 

He remembers how it happened. How he had to deal with the aftermath.

The change didn’t happen overnight.

They were in their last year of college, both busy and crammed with school work but they did their best to make up for lost time. The change was gradual. Like watching a painting lose color in slow motion. Like a tv going static. Leo started answering texts later. He stopped reaching for Claude’s hand in public, even in places that had once felt safe. Phone calls ended quicker. Excuses got vaguer. He had even stopped taking him to dates. 

Claude noticed and missed everything at the same time.

He noticed how Leo would smile with his mouth, but not with his eyes. How his voice would soften when saying goodbye, like he was about to apologize for something but couldn’t quite say it. He missed just hanging out with him, just laying in bed together without a word. Even those became rare.

Claude had always been a quiet overthinker. The kind who replayed old conversations, dissected silences, filled them with imagined disasters. And lately, that quiet had grown louder than ever.

Was it something he said?

Something he didn’t say?

Did Leo meet someone else?

Was he… already leaving?

Some nights, Claude would sit on the edge of his bed, staring at the last message Leo sent—short, impersonal, a thumbs-up emoji—and feel something twist violently in his chest. He didn’t cry but he felt like he could if he let himself.

He hated feeling unsure, afraid, powerless. He hated Leo, just a little. For makimg him feel this way. 

And he hated himself, most of all, for still loving him like the world hadn’t changed.

A week later, he found himself standing infront Leo’s dorm room. Leo had said he wanted to talk.

Claude showed up with his heart in his throat, nerves fraying with every step up the stairs. The front door was already unlocked. He stepped inside and found Leo sitting on the couch, hands clasped, body still.

There was no music playing. No lights except the one above the stove. Just quiet. Heavy.

Claude didn’t sit. “What’s going on?”

Leo didn’t look up right away. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Claude crossed his arms, trying to hold himself together. “So you stopped talking to me instead?”

Leo flinched. “That’s not fair.”

Claude’s voice cracked. “Then what is fair, Leo? Because I’ve been tearing myself apart trying to figure out what I did wrong—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why the hell have you been acting like I don’t matter anymore?”

Leo finally looked up. And Claude knew —painfullt knew—that something was coming. Something terrible. Something that would inevitably tear him apart like no other.

“My parents…” Leo started. “They’ve arranged a marriage. With a girl. From the next town over.”

Claude felt everything go still. He blinked, not understanding.

“What?”

Leo’s voice was brittle. “They’ve known her family for years. It’s been planned since I was a kid. I thought maybe they forgot, or that they’d let it go. But last month, they brought it up again. Seriously. They expect me to meet her this summer.”

Claude didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

“I told them I wasn’t interested,” Leo said. “They didn’t care.”

Claude’s heart began to race. “So you just… what? Gave up? Started pulling away instead of telling me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Claude laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “Too late.”

Leo stood then, helpless and desperate. “Claude, I’m trapped. You know what they’re like. I don’t know what to do.”

Claude stared at him like he was someone he no longer recognized. “You could’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out together. But you decided for both of us.”

Leo stepped forward. “I’m sorry.”

Claude stepped back. “I don’t want sorry.”

He wanted a different version of this story. One where they were older and freer and braver. One where they didn’t have to choose between love and family.

But that wasn’t the version they were living.

Claude felt the cracks forming. In his voice. In his chest and for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure if love would be enough. 

“She’s a good person,” Leo had whispered that same night, eyes red, fingers clutching Claude’s hand like it was the only thing tethering him to something real. “I know she isn’t you but I’ll try to care for her, maybe even love her.”

Claude had stood in silence. He didn’t ask how Leo could try to love someone else. He didn’t say that love didn’t work like that. That you didn’t fold it neatly and pack it away because someone told you to. He wanted to say all that, but his throat had closed, and all he managed was a broken, “Okay.”

He didn’t say don’t go. Didn’t beg him to with him. Didn’t say I love you.

But Leo had known. Claude saw it in the way he lingered, the way his lips trembled like they wanted one last kiss but were too scared of what it would do to both of them. They were both young, just a month shy of graduating college. They didn’t want to risk what their reckless hearts could do. 

Claude wasn’t selfish enough to take Leo for himself. He wasn’t selfish enough to beg Leo to say no to his parents.  He wasn’t selfish enough to cry infront of Leo and ask him one last time to tell him the words, ‘I love you’. He just wasn’t selfish enough.

And it costed him his first love.

Now, four years later, Claude walked the streets they used to own. He passed the 7-Eleven they’d once stolen beers from. The train station bench where Leo had kissed him first. The lamppost that used to flicker above them while they sat on the curb, sharing secrets like they were invincible. He remembers the spot he used to sit in with Leo whenever the rain poured down. He remembers every summer they spent together splashing river waters at each other. 

They were happy, weren’t they?

He sighs, running a hand through his now long hair and stared into the night. Somewhere across the country, Leo was probably sitting beside a stranger he called “wife.” Maybe he had children now. Maybe he smiled in photographs, convincing himself that the ache in his chest was just growing pains, not a memory in Claude’s shape.

But Claude remembered everything. The way Leo laughed with his whole body. The way his hand would search for Claude’s in the dark, even when they fought. The scent of his summer sweat, his sleepy voice saying stay a little longer, the way they spoke in code when others were around. The way they’d lay on the same bed after sharing kisses. The way Leo used to run a hand through his hair, always asking him if he would ever grow his hair out, always telling him he was beautiful even with the dark bags under his eyes that would appear every midterms. Leo was always just there. A presence that comforted Claude. 

He didn’t cry anymore. He hadn’t cried in years. But something about this town—this flickering light, this street, this stupid stillness—made him feel like twenty again, and small, and helpless.

He took a big, tired sigh, crumpling the old paper in his and dropping it on the pavement as if it didn’t contain their highschool promises to each other. The light flickered again above him.

And then he heard it.

A voice—clear, familiar, soft like the end of a song you almost forgot.

“Claude?”

He turned.

And there, under the glow of the old streetlight, stood Leo. Wearing a coat too heavy for spring. Hands deep in his pockets. Eyes still carrying the weight of the life he chose. Or the life chosen for him. He had grown more handsome now.

They stared at each other, the air between them thick with everything they never said.

Claude opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tried again.

“Hey.”

Leo smiled.

And the streetlight stopped flickering. 

The bell above the café door jingled softly as Claude stepped inside, the warm scent of brewed coffee and sugar pulling him from the cold. The place hadn’t changed much — same mismatched chairs, same cracked tiles near the register. Just quieter now. Dimmer.

Leo was already seated by the window, a steaming mug in front of him. He looked older. Softer around the eyes. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from carrying too much for too long.

Claude slid into the seat across from him.

No hug. No handshake. Just a cautious smile and the same ocean of silence they’d drowned in four years ago.

Leo was the first to speak. “You look good.” He says, eyeing his hair, “With the long hair, I mean.”

Claude shrugged, brushing his long hair back. “I grew it out. Like you used to tell me to.”

Leo chuckled, low. “Yeah. You finally listened.”

Claude stared down at the scratched table. “You still drink chamomile?”

Leo nodded. “Some things don’t change.”

Claude nodded too, but didn’t say anything. Because too many things had changed.

A waitress came by and poured him coffee. He thanked her quietly. Leo waited until she was gone to speak again.

“So… you’re an audio engineer now?”

Claude sipped. “Yeah. Freelance mostly. I do mixing for indie films, podcasts, some commercial stuff. It pays me better than I expected. You?”

“Teaching literature and english,” Leo said. “At a college near the city.”

Claude raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You always were the one with the good grammar.”

Leo smiled at that. “And you always used em dashes like they were commas.”

Claude laughed, a soft, surprised sound. It felt like exhaling after holding his breath for too long. He looked at Leo again. Really looked.

There was a wedding band on his finger. Gold, simple. Like the silence between them.

“Two kids,” Leo said, unprompted. “A boy and a girl. Twins. They’re three.”

Claude nodded slowly. His stomach felt like it was folding in on itself. “That’s… that’s great, Leo.”

He meant it. Almost.

Leo hesitated. “And you? Anyone?”

Claude shook his head, eyes flicking toward the window. “No. I think I got used to wanting things I couldn’t keep.”

Leo looked down at his cup.

They didn’t talk about the past. They didn’t mention that summer. Or college. Or the promises scribbled in messy handwriting behind math notebooks. But Claude felt it. He felt every word they weren’t saying. They were loud. Louder than the people inside the cafè. Louder than the espresso machine.

Every memory stitched into the silence.

Leo tapped the rim of his mug, staring into the tea like it could tell him something.

“Are you back to living around here?”

Claude nodded. “For now.”

The words hung there.

So many ways the conversation could have gone. So many versions of this moment Claude had imagined—some with yelling, others with apologies. But this? This was quiet. This was two people holding a memory so carefully between them, afraid that touching it might make it disappear.

“You ever think about…” Leo started, then stopped.

Claude looked at him.

“All the time,” he answered, before Leo could finish.

Leo closed his eyes briefly, then smiled, just a little. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sat like that a while — cups cooling, the city outside moving on without them. And even though nothing was said out loud, Claude could hear it all. The laughter. The kisses. The river water. The nights spent whispering secrets under flickering lights.

Claude didn’t ask if Leo was happy.

Leo didn’t ask if Claude had forgiven him.

Some things were too fragile for answers.

When they finally stood to leave, Leo pulled out his wallet, but Claude shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

Claude gave a faint smile. “You paid last time.”

Leo paused at the door, one hand on the handle. “It was good seeing you.”

“You too,” Claude said, and meant it, even if it broke something small inside him.

Leo left first, his coat swaying in the wind.

Claude stood there a moment longer, fingers still wrapped around his empty mug. His reflection in the window looked older  but somehow lighter.

Outside, the streetlight flickered once.

Then stayed on.

Claude found himself walking the old gravel path behind the community gym, leaves crunching beneath his boots. The trees had begun to turn, casting gold and rust into the wind like confetti for a party he never felt invited to anymore. It was midnight now, he had just gone back from doing audio work when he decided to walk around his old town.

He stopped when he reached it—the crooked tree by the riverbank. The one they carved their initials into with Leo’s old pocketknife. It was clichè, Claude laughed at it before but he liked it back then because it was Leo who did it. The bark had grown over most of it now, but Claude could still make out the faint grooves if he ran his fingers slow enough.

C + L

—barely visible, the poorly sculpted heart no longer in shape. But he could feel it like a bruise pressed under the skin. He sat down on the damp grass, ignoring the cold seeping into his jeans, and stared at the water. It was quiet now, gentle. Not like the summers they used to cannonball in, laughing too loud, splashing each other like the world would never come crashing down.

He closed his eyes and breathed it in — the river, the wet earth, the distant sound of someone’s radio playing an old pop song from down the trail. And behind it all, like a song only he could hear, Leo’s voice. Laughing. Whispering. Saying stay a little longer.

Claude had tried.

God, he’d tried.

After Leo, he dated. Men, mostly. A few girls too. All of them kind in their own ways. Some funny. Some gentle. One had a voice like wind chimes. Another kissed like she meant it.

But none of them were him.

They didn’t know how to hold Claude’s hand without being told. They didn’t instinctively turn the volume down when Claude fell asleep beside them. They didn’t run fingers through his hair and murmur about how he should keep it long, because it made him look like someone wild and free. None of them made him feel like Leo had. Like he was home.

He had slept beside others. Woken up beside others. He had tried to fall in love, to give someone else what Leo couldn’t keep.

But no matter how hard he reached, his heart always circled back to one thing.

Leo. Always Leo.

It ached. Quietly, endlessly. A pulse he’d grown used to — like background noise or a familiar scar.

He leaned back on his elbows, watching the sky fade into dusk. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried in a long time. Not even after the night Leo told him about the arranged marriage. Not when he saw the wedding photo online. Not when he deleted Leo’s number, only to memorize it anyway.

But here, in this half-forgotten place where their laughter once echoed off the trees, the ache in his chest tightened.

And he whispered into the empty air, as if the river might carry it to wherever Leo was now:

“I still want you.”

The wind rustled the leaves above him. The river kept moving, unbothered. And Claude closed his eyes — holding onto the pain, because it was the only piece of Leo he had left.

The place buzzed with low conversation and soft indie music. He was at one of the only bars in town, he sat tucked into a booth with a few old college friends, half-listening, half-swirling the amber of his drink. He wasn’t a big fan of alcohol but he ordered a drink, anyway. To feel something, he supposes. The laughter around him felt distant—like it belonged to people who hadn’t known how it felt to be left behind.

“…I swear, Claude,” his friend Vanta said, leaning in with a grin, “that little beauty mark by your lip? That thing kills. You have no idea how many girls have asked me about you.”

Claude blinked, caught off guard. He gave a small, awkward laugh and raised the glass to his lips. “It’s just a mole, man.”

“No,” Vanta insisted. “It’s like—mysterious. Sexy. Some kind of French movie star shit.”

The table laughed. Claude smiled politely.

But his heart had already started spiraling. Because suddenly, violently, he remembered.

He was in Leo’s bedroom, mid-afternoon light slipping through the blinds in warm, lazy stripes. Claude was lying on his back, one arm over his eyes, the other curled behind Leo’s neck. They were nineteen, spending their summer break together as usual.

Leo had been tracing his face like he was learning it from memory.

“You know what my favorite part of you is?” Leo had murmured.

Claude had hummed. “My skills in video games?”

Leo laughed. “No. This.”

And then he leaned in and pressed a kiss right beneath Claude’s lower lip. Where the beauty mark sat — small, subtle, nothing special.

To Claude, at least.

But Leo kissed it again. And again. Like it was sacred.

“I love this mark,” Leo said, voice hushed, reverent. “It’s like the universe left a fingerprint on you. Like proof you were meant to be stared at.”

Claude had flushed, rolled his eyes — but Leo had only grinned, diving in for more kisses. Not just the beauty mark this time, but everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — like worship.

Like Claude was something holy.

Claude blinks, breaking out of his stupor when he heard Vanta’s particularly loud laugh. He stared into his drink, the echo of that memory slicing too close. He forced another smile as someone beside him launched into a story about their Tinder date gone wrong. His throat had gone tight. And suddenly, the lights felt too harsh. The laughter too loud. The music too sweet.

He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He was too far away. Caught in a room that no longer existed. In a pair of arms that had let him go. It was stupid, really. How something so small—a comment about a damn beauty mark—could crack him open all over again.

His hand brushed the edge of his mouth, where Leo used to kiss like it was a vow.

He missed that.

Not just the kisses. But the way Leo looked at him. Like Claude was beautiful when he didn’t believe it. Like Claude was worth staying for.

And now?

Now it just hurts. Deep. Quiet. Like something living just under his ribs.

He excused himself to the bathroom, locked the door, and leaned over the sink.

He stared at his reflection — at the hair Leo always loved, the eyes he once called soft, the beauty mark that still sat defiantly in place.

And he whispered, almost angry at himself. “You still love him.”

The mirror didn’t argue.

It just reflected him back—older, lonelier, and still half-built from someone who was no longer his.

It was a Sunday afternoon at the park.

The air smelled like grass and sun-warmed dirt. Children’s laughter rang in the distance, and somewhere nearby, a dog barked in manic joy. Claude walked the path slowly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, sunglasses shielding his eyes though the sky had already begun to turn gold. His hair tied into a messy bun.

He didn’t mean to see Leo here. He didn’t plan to meet him again after their first reunion..

He almost turned around when he spotted them—Leo, crouched beside two toddlers near the sandbox. A little boy and a little girl, both in matching overalls, both squealing with delight as they ran clumsy circles around their father. The girl had a plastic crown askew on her curls, the boy clutched a stick like it was a sword. And beside the bench under a flowering tree… her.

Leo’s wife.

Claude felt something twist inside his chest. Not a pull, but a gut-punch. Like someone had reached into his ribs and gripped his heart until it couldn’t beat right.

He wanted to turn back. Disappear. But Leo looked up.

And their eyes met.

A second. Maybe two.

Then Leo smiled—that same smile Claude had memorized, the kind that curled up slowly like it belonged in private places.

“Claude!” Leo called, standing and brushing dirt off his jeans.

Claude hesitated. Everything in his body said run. But he took a breath. Swallowed down the nausea. And walked forward like the ground wasn’t crumbling under him.

He stopped just a foot away. “Hey,” he managed.

Leo’s wife stood. She looked exactly as Claude had imagined in his worst moments — beautiful, elegant, warm. Someone who made things look easy. Someone who’s so beautiful it makes him feel sick.

“This is Mira,” Leo said gently. “My wife.”

Mira offered her hand. “Claude. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Claude forced a smile, shook her hand. Her touch was soft. Kind. Somehow that made it worse.

“And these two,” Leo continued with a proud grin, “are Lily and Luke.”

The twins stared up at him, wide-eyed. The boy offered him a leaf like it was a treasure. The girl ran behind Leo’s leg, peeking out with a gummy smile. Claude crouched to their level, hoping they couldn’t see the tremble in his fingers.

“Hi, Lily. Hi, Luke.”

The girl giggled. The boy gave a dramatic bow with his leaf.

“They’re three,” Mira said, smiling as she sat back on the bench. “He teaches them words like ‘chivalry’ and ‘valor.’ I teach them how to wash their hands.”

Claude sat beside her, hands clasped tightly in his lap, watching Leo in the distance now — the kids tugging him toward the monkey bars. He looked at peace. Laughing freely, eyes bright. The kind of man Claude always knew he could be.

“They’re beautiful,” Claude said quietly.

“Thank you,” Mira replied, then paused before adding, “He talks about you all the time, you know.”

Claude’s heart stilled.

“Really?” he asked, voice thin.

She nodded, smiling at the twins. “Says you were his best friend. That you made him who he is in a lot of ways.”

Best friend.

That landed like a slap. Like someone had scrubbed out the truth and left behind only a faint shadow.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“He told me you were always there for him,” Mira continued. “That you were his constant. That when everything else felt messy, you made sense.”

Claude felt bile rise in his throat.

He could still feel Leo’s hands in his hair, his breath on his neck. Every mark Leo left on his body that screamed possession. He remembered every whispered stay a little longer, every touch that lingered too long to be innocent. They had loved each other in stolen moments. In whispers. In a language Mira would never know.

And now he was just a story Leo told with edits.

Just a best friend.

He forced a smile. “I guess we were close.”

They sat in silence, watching Leo lift Lily into the air, spinning her around until she squealed with delight. Luke climbed over Leo’s back, trying to tackle him down. Leo laughed, breathless.

Claude swallowed hard.

His chest ached in places that had only just started to scar.

“I’m glad he has all this,” he whispered. And it was true. But it hurt like hell.

He excused himself after a few minutes, saying something about an early morning. Mira hugged him goodbye.

Leo walked him to the edge of the path, children still shouting after him.

Claude didn’t look at him. Didn’t trust himself to.

“You okay?” Leo asked quietly.

Claude gave the smallest nod. “Yeah. I’m… I’m happy for you.”

Leo didn’t reply.

Claude took one step back, then another. And when he turned away, he didn’t look over his shoulder.

But he felt Leo’s eyes on his back the whole walk home.

He barely made it inside before he stumbled into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him, but it didn’t matter—there was no one else there to hear it. His mother left for a short trip. He was alone. His knees hit the tiled floor with a thud. His hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the sink. He wanted to breathe. He tried. But then it rose—hot, heavy, inescapable.

Claude threw up.

His stomach emptied, but the ache stayed. Deeper than physical. Raw. Primal.

He leaned against the cool wall, panting, body shaking. His eyes stung with tears, but he blinked them back, pressing his fists against his forehead like he could hold himself together with pressure alone. It didn’t work.

He broke.

The sob tore out of him without permission. It sounded hoarse, strangled, ugly. The kind of sound people only make when they’ve been holding something in for too long.

“Why?” he gasped. “Why—why the fuck did you let me love him?”

He wasn’t even sure who he was speaking to. The ceiling. The walls. God. The universe. Whatever had sat idle while Claude fell in love with a boy the world was never going to let him keep.

He pounded a fist weakly against the wall. “Why did you make me this way? Why make me love someone I’d have to let go of?”

The tears came harder now. Not the kind that stream quietly — these came with trembling shoulders, with teeth biting down on his knuckles to keep from screaming. He pictured Mira’s face. Her warmth. Her casual smile. He talks about you all the time. He saw the twins, their faces bright with the kind of love Claude would never get to see reflected back at him.

He saw Leo—hands full of children, a ring on his finger, a smile that didn’t need Claude anymore. A smile that told Claude he has moved on. That he was happy and content.

Claude curled onto his side, fists pressed against his chest.

“I could’ve been enough,” he whispered. “I could’ve made him happy.”

But that wasn’t how the world worked, was it? Not for people like him.

Not for boys who loved boys.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched, tears running down the sides of his face.

“I wish I’d been born a girl,” he said bitterly, voice cracked and hollow. “If I had been, maybe his parents wouldn’t have hated me. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to choose. Maybe we could have continued like normal.”

He imagined it — a version of himself the world would’ve accepted. A version who could’ve walked beside Leo in the daylight. Sat at dinner with his parents. Held his hand without trembling. Kissed him without fear.

Married him.

Had those children with him.

He would’ve loved Leo just the same. No less fiercely. No less deeply. Maybethen, Leo could’ve loved him back without consequence. Without the fear. The doubts. The constant feeling of having to pretend they were something they weren’t.

Claude pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

But he wasn’t a girl.

He was just a boy who had loved too much, too secretly, and who had to watch the life he could’ve had walk away holding someone else’s hand.

The silence of his apartment pressed in on him like a weight. In that silence, Claude did what he hadn’t done in years.

He let himself cry like he was nineteen again. Like he was a boy once more. Young. In love. 

And losing it all.

The floor was cold beneath him. The bathroom lights were still on from the night before, humming low and sterile. Claude’s back ached from where he’d passed out, curled beside the toilet, dried tears crusted on his cheeks, his breath still shallow, like he hadn’t really come up for air.

He didn’t hear her come in. Just the soft tap of slippers on tile, a quiet inhale, and then—

“Oh my god,” he hears her gasp, “Claude?”

He blinked, slowly, blearily.

His mother knelt beside him, eyes wide with worry. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs grazing his temple, brushing hair from his forehead. Her robe smelled like peppermint and laundry detergent. He couldn’t look her in the eye.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, trying to sit up. But his body betrayed him, everything felt heavy, thick with the weight of grief he’d failed to purge the night before.

“No, you’re not,” she whispered.

And that was it.

That broke him.

A sob ripped out of him again, just as violent, just as ragged as the ones before. He collapsed against her, his head burying into her shoulder like he was a child again.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, over and over, like it was the only sentence he remembered how to speak. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—sorry—Mom—I didn’t mean—”

“Claude,” she breathed, holding him tighter.

“I didn’t want to be this way,” he cried. “I didn’t want to—I tried—I liked girls too, I tried so hard to make them work, I swear—”

Her hand slid over his back in slow, soothing circles. “Baby…”

“I loved him, Mom,” Claude choked. “I loved Leo and I lost him and it hurts and I’m sorry I’m like this, I’m sorry—”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands still cupping his tear-stained face. There were tears in her eyes now, shining but unshed. She smiled, soft and trembling.

“Claude,” she said gently. “You don’t have to say sorry. Not to me.”

His breath hitched. He stared at her, stunned, aching. Tears were atill running down his cheeks.

She wiped his tears with her thumbs, brushing the remnants of the night away. “I’ve always known.”

He froze. “What?”

“I’m your mother,” she whispered, her voice cracking just the slightest bit. “You think I didn’t see how your eyes followed that boy every time he laughed? The way your world turned when he walked into a room?”

Claude’s lips parted, a tremble escaping.

“I saw it long before you did,” she said, voice warm, not accusing. “And I loved you through all of it.”

More tears fell. He didn’t try to stop them this time.

“You’re my baby, Claude,” she said, pressing her forehead gently to his. “You’ve always been my baby. Nothing will ever change that, not your love for Leo, not for anything ever.”

He broke again, this time quieter. A soft, exhausted weeping into her shoulder as she held him like he was still five and afraid of the thunder. 

“I just wanted to keep him,” Claude whispered. “I just wanted to love someone without losing everything.”

“I know,” she said, voice thick now. “I know, my love.”

They stayed there on the bathroom floor, wrapped in warmth and pain and forgiveness. He let his mother hold the version of him he had tried so hard to hide. In that quiet, surrounded by the lingering ache of loss, he was finally seen. Fully, unapologetically loved.

It was afternoon when the sun streamed gently through the half-closed blinds, casting stripes of gold across the wooden floor. Dust floated like tiny ghosts in the light. Claude stood in the doorway for a moment, staring into a room frozen in time. It still smelled faintly of books and cologne, of sleep and old dreams. The posters on the wall were faded, bands he no longer listened to, games he no longer played. The bed was neatly made, untouched for years except by time.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it. Maybe the confession to his mother had shaken something loose. Maybe now that the weight had been spoken aloud, he was ready to face the rest.

Claude pulled open the closet. Inside were boxes. the kind hastily packed during his first move out. Labeled in sharpie, smudged and half-faded. He sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the first one.

The moment he saw the handwriting, his breath caught.

Leo’s.

A small folded letter, yellowed at the edges.

“You looked pretty today, even if you were mad at me. I don’t think you know how beautiful you are when you’re angry. You’ll probably throw this away, but I hope you don’t. I love you. –L”

Claude’s fingers trembled. He held the note like it might disintegrate. His heart felt like it had been cracked open again with not just sadness, but longing. A deep, pulsing ache that had lived in his ribs for years.

He opened the second box. It constained an old game console, scratched with scribbles in permanent marker.

“Leo was here.”

“Claude is a sore loser.”

“No I’m not you cheat.”

“Shut up I love you.”

He smiled, chuckling slightly at the memory. They were fifteen at that time, playful, unafraid. His fingers grazed the plastic as if it could bring the past back to life.

There were rocks. Smooth river stones, one with “Summer” scribbled in white ink. The ones they used to collect during late-night walks, pretending they meant something more. Ones that they’d treat like rare treasures. It was silly. Childish. But it was fun. He held one to his chest, eyes shut.

Another box held pictures. So many fucking pictures.

Leo with braces, grinning beside him at age 14.

Leo asleep on his shoulder in high school.

Claude laughing as Leo squirted ketchup on his face during their first year of college.

Their high school graduation. Arms around each other. No one else in frame. Just them, smiles up to their ears.

And then—the headphones. Old stereo headphones, scuffed and taped at the ear. The same ones they used to pass back and forth, sharing songs during study nights or when they were too afraid to say how they felt, so they let music speak instead.

Claude pressed them to his ears.

Silence.

But he could hear it anyway. The song Yellow by Coldplay played in the background.

Leo’s voice, soft beside him, “This song sounds like you.”

Claude’s snort. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s my comfort song, you know. The same way you’re my comfort.” Leo says, “You’re my yellow, Claude.”

The memory hit him like a freight train.

He curled forward, the headphones still on, fists clenching the photos to his chest. He wanted to scream. To rip the photos. To bury everything. To go back in time. To never have loved Leo. To never have known what it was to feel this much.

Instead, he let himself feel it all.

Every summer.

Every kiss.

Every whispered promise.

Every night they had to pretend they were just friends.

Every time Leo called him beautiful and kissed the beauty mark by his lip like it was sacred.

Every moment that had made Claude believe. For a brief period moment of time that love might be enough.

He laid down on the floor of his childhood room, surrounded by the fragments of a love that never got to finish its story. Claude closed his eyes, letting himself ache. Because even if Leo never heard him, even if the world never made space for what they had.

Claude remembered.

And he would continue to remember the memories like they were new.

The sun was dipping behind the hills, casting the sky in hues of soft orange and pale lavender. The crickets had begun their song early, and the breeze carried with it the smell of grass and old earth. It felt familiar, heavy, grounding.

Claude sat on the porch steps, knees drawn up to his chest, the old stereo headphones resting beside him like a relic. His fingers were still smudged from digging through old boxes, his eyes puffy and dry. He wasn’t crying anymore. Just staring.

Behind him, the screen door creaked open. His mother stepped out with two mugs of hot chocolate, one in each hand.

“Figured you might need this,” she said gently, settling beside him.

Claude took the mug, warm and grounding in his palms. He didn’t speak.

They sat in silence for a while. The kind that feels lived in.

“You found the old boxes,” she finally said.

Claude nodded. “I didn’t think it’d still hurt this much.”

She let out a quiet hum, sipping her tea.

“I thought I could move on,” he said after a while. “I tried. Dated men. Dated girls. No one ever fit. No one ever felt like him.”

His voice cracked, but no tears came.

“He loved me in a way that made the world feel safe,” Claude whispered. “Like even if everything else fell apart, if I had Leo I’d be okay. That if I had him, I had everything in the world.”

His mother listened, quiet.

“I don’t know how to let that go,” he confessed.

She took a deep breath, placed her mug down beside her. Turned fully to face him.

“Claude,” she said gently, “I know you loved him. And I know it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that you had to give him up. To surrender him.”

Her hand reached over, resting on his.

“But you can’t keep bleeding for a version of the past that doesn’t exist anymore.”

He looked at her. His lip quivered.

“You don’t belong there anymore, love,” she said. “That version of him… that life you built in your hearts… it’s gone, Claude. He’s no longer the Leo you spent half your life with. No longer the Leo who loved you.”

Claude looked down, gripping the mug tight, his knuckles turning white.

“You’re still so young,” she said. “You’ve got so much ahead of you. So many people who’ll come into your life and teach you how to love again. Maybe not in the same way, maybe not as fiercely, but beautifully.”

He stayed quiet.

“You have to let him go, Claude. Not because you stopped loving him. But because you can’t continue letting yourself rot in a place that you no longer belong in.”

The words hit him like cold water. But she didn’t stop there.

“You deserve more than memory. You deserve presence. Laughter that’s now. Love that stays. You deserve someone who can be yours without hiding, without pretending. Someone who doesn’t just make you feel like you’re home—someone who is your home and not someone who already has a home.”

Claude blinked. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” she said, her voice gentle but certain. “Because I know you. Because I raised you. Because even if Leo knew your heart, I knew your soul.”

She smiled, watery but warm. “And your soul deserves peace.”

Claude’s throat burned. He looked down at the chipped mug in his hands, then out at the darkening yard, the fireflies just beginning to spark.

“I wanted to keep him,” he said softly. “Even if it meant losing pieces of me.”

“I know,” she said. “But was he willing to lose a piece of himsef for you?”

He stayed quiet. Blinking, just barely.

His mom sighs but doesn’t say anything. They spent the evening together. Quiet and peaceful.

The moon hung low and heavy above the fields, casting silver light through the curtains of Claude’s old room. Outside, the wind rustled the trees softly. The world had gone quiet — no traffic, no laughter, no movement. Just the crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl, and the hum of night.

Claude sat on the floor by his bed, a worn blanket draped around his shoulders. His fingers toyed with the edge of an old photograph—one of him and Leo, taken in their first year of college. Both of them young, stupid with joy. Claude’s cheeks hurt just looking at how hard he was smiling back then.

“I miss you,” he whispered to the empty room.

He didn’t say it like a grown man. He said it like a child. Like a boy who’d lost something soft and irreplaceable. His voice cracked around the words, so quiet it barely felt real.

“I miss you, Leo.” He utters out, “I miss your warmth.”

There was a pause. A long one. And then he laughed, dry and bitter.

“I hate you sometimes,” he admitted, voice rough. “I hate you for leaving me behind. For moving on. For loving me so much so that it hurts until now.”

He can’t even be mad at Leo because Leo didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t cheat on him. Didn’t leave him hanging. They just weren’t meant to be together forever. His throat closed up. His eyes stung. But the tears didn’t come. He didn’t want them to come. He was tired of crying. Of being the only one stuck in a memory.

“You promised to fight for me until you die,” Claude exhales, “But you already surrendered before the war even started.”

He held the photo tighter.

But in that quiet, in the low ache behind his ribs, Claude felt something else rise. Something softer. Worn, but warm.

He was grateful. Grateful for the way Leo had once loved him like he was the whole world to him. Leo loved him entirely, fearlessly, like Claude was the most beautiful thing in the world. Grateful for the nights they shared a single pillow, for every whispered confession, every scribbled note, every glance across a crowded room. Grateful, even for the ache. Because it meant it had been real. Because it meant it had mattered.

It was an experience he’ll forever cherish. No matter how painful it may be.

He leaned his head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. The ache was still there, low in his chest like a bruise pressed too hard. He knew it wasn’t going away anytime soon. For the first time in years, he wasn’t trying to run from it. He was learning to sit with it. To let it exist beside him. To let the missing live without devouring him whole.

Claude loved Leo like he was his world. 

But to love Leo was like grieving a person who has slipped past your life. Claude appreciated the years they spent together but he mourned the way his heart would continue to hold Leo in a special place even after everything. Even after reuniting with Leo felt like being haunted by a ghost of teenage memories. Even after Leo has already moved on with his life. Even after everyone have already moved on with their lives.

Even if Claude was the only person left mourning for a person who wasn’t even dead.