HE LOOKED LOST.

        Clothed in a purple, blue, and black shirt with matching black jeans, he was dressed far more conservatively than the majority of people that walked into this club. I'd been here a month and even I knew that. I watch as he climbs into the seat just a few feet from me, glancing around the club with wide eyes that couldn't seem to stop staring. He was new, then.

        I walk up to him, smiling as kindly as possible. His eyes take me in, honing in on my tattoos and piercings with even wider eyes. I fight back a laugh. I was used to those reactions by now. "What can I get you?" I ask, talking a bit loudly over the sound of the music playing.

        He glances at me and then the drinks behind me before speaking. "Oh, just a water with ice, please."

        I nod once, quickly making his drink and adding a lemon to the top. "Can I see your ID?" I ask curiously, wondering if my hunch had been wrong or not. He frowns deeply and a small patch of red appears on his cheeks. I wasn't wrong, then. He still pulls out the card and hands it to me. His hands are shaking.

        "Since when do you need ID to serve water?" the boy asks and I smirk. He was confident, at least. If I wasn't so well-versed in underage drinking, I might've believed him.

        I shrug my shoulders once. "I don't. I just wanted to see how good your fake was that you were even allowed to step in here," I say, staring at the ID he'd handed me. It wasn't bad at all. As I said, it could've easily fooled another bartender. But I knew better.

        "How did you—?"

        I smile. "You're looking at the king of fake IDs here. This one's not bad. Seems a little off-center, but...," I say. My voice trails off and I watch him gulp, no doubt wondering what I was going to do now that I knew he'd snuck in here. My stomach sinks. I didn't want him to be afraid of me. "I'm Roman," I say, sticking out my hand.

        He stares at it for a moment before reaching forward, too, shaking my hand. "I'm Braylen." Braylen. I didn't think I'd ever heard the name before, and yet, it seemed to fit him perfectly somehow. He blows out a breath, leaning forward, and his hair falls like a curtain over half his face. "Are you going to kick me out?" he asks, still afraid. I don't mean to laugh, but I do. I hand him his drink, watching as he watches it with those curious eyes of his.

        "No," I respond. "You seem sweet. And I figure you didn't go to a gay club just to get drunk. So what's your story, Braylen?"

         I liked the way his name sounded when I said it. I wanted to say it again.

        "I don't know," he murmurs, running a finger along with the condensation of the glass. "It's kind of a long one."

        I glance at the crowd, noticing that half of them are already beyond drunk. They wouldn't be coming back to the bar for a while, at least. With a smile, I turn back to Braylen. Braylen, who is already looking at me.

        "I think I've got time."

¥

        HE ASKED FOR ME.

        I'd clocked in on time, just like any other day, ready for the endless drunks and flirts that I encounter every night. But one smirk from Kacey told me that tonight would be different.

        "Jenny said your boyfriend is back. And that he asked specifically for you," she says with a wicked grin. I scowl at her, but I can't ignore the excitement bubbling in my chest. A small smile spreads across my face and I turn away so Kacey can't see.

When I walk up to him, he looks like he's ready to leave. My smile drops slightly and our eyes meet. Butterflies. Again. What, was I twelve?

"Hi," he says, or rather, slurs. He straightens up and shakes his head. "I mean, hey."

I chuckle once, leaning against the counter so I could see him better in the dark light of the club. He looked nice, dressed in a black leather jacket and his hair falling off the side of his neck. But something was off. "Well, hello there," I say with a charming smile. "Evan South, was it?"

"North, actually," he mutters with a small smirk that stuns me for a moment. He reaches over and grabs a beer, one that I hadn't noticed due to my incessant staring.

I frown, watching as he drinks the rest of the glass' contents in one sip. "You're drunk," I put together, eyeing him warily.

"A little bit over tipsy," he responds quickly, leaning in closer to me as if he were telling me a secret. He smells good and it distracts for a moment, just as he flashes me another immobilizing smirk. "One of those days," he mumbles and the phrase makes us both laugh. I take the glass from him, shaking my head in disbelief.

"If you're going to be drinking underage, at least let it be a quality drink. Not some $7 beer."

Braylen blows out a breath before licking his pink lips, an action that knocks the air out of my chest. "It was $5. And it's all I could afford."

I stare at him for a moment, finally noticing what was off about him. Before, when we'd met, I thought he looked lost. But this was more. Before he was just out of place. Now he just looked like he didn't know where he belonged.

        "Really has been rough, yeah?" I murmur.

        He hiccups. "Yeah."

        I consider my prospects, wondering what I could do to make him feel better. He'd come here to see me, hadn't he? That fake ID would've worked anywhere else. And he asked for me. He asked to see me.

        I lower my head, letting out a sigh. "Fine. I'll make you a drink, Braylen. On the house. And you're going to tell me what it is you're doing here."

         He smiles slowly, the first real smile I'd seen all night. It makes me smile too. "Okay, okay. If you insist."

         I make him a drink, and he tells me about his hardships with his boyfriend. It's apparent that he's in love with the guy, and for a moment, anger pangs through my chest. I didn't want him to be hurt like this. I didn't want him to hurt at all. I roll my eyes at myself. I was far too attached to a guy I barely knew.

        Sebastian eventually shows up to collect Braylen. I look up from drying empty glasses and laugh at something silly Braylen's said. He turns at the sound of my laugh and sends me a grin that has the butterflies erupting in my stomach again.

         Braylen's boyfriend hooks his arms underneath Braylen's pulling him to his feet at once. He nods at me. "Thank you. For looking out for B. I appreciate it, really."

        I nod back, eyes still on Braylen who was looking slightly green at this point. Worry floods through my veins but I fight the urge to walk them out. His boyfriend would take care of him. It wasn't my job. "You take care of that one, Sebastian. He's a good guy. You're very lucky." If only he knew.

         Sebastian's eyes hone in on me, his brows furrowing. He looks at me for a moment and I realize he knows. I'd looked at Braylen too long, or I'd sounded too stern in my last statement. Either way, he knew. I stare back.

         "Trust me," he responds sharply. "I know."

         I watch as they disappear from the club, bracing my arms on the counter and taking a deep breath as soon as the door closes.

         I knew then that I was fucked.

¥

        TO MY ANGEL.

I thought I'd been in love before.

I thought that wanting someone was love. I thought that wanting to want someone was love. With Beau, with Eden. Some of the best people I knew. If I couldn't love them, who could I love?

I'm realizing this is a weird way to start a love letter, with me talking about my past relationships. But I need you to understand and this is the only way I know how.

Do you remember that night? At the memorial? We sat by the beach and you were drunk and I told you that I envied you. Not because you'd been in love and I hadn't, but because you knew the difference. You could easily, confidently say that you'd been in love before. I wanted that. I wanted that for me.

It didn't take me long to realize I had it. With you.

I want to say it happened gradually, and maybe it did. Maybe I've always known I would come to love you, maybe I've known since that night you showed up in my bar. I never told you about that night, did I? How you brightened up my entire day with a single smile? How I felt like a middle schooler with a crush and stupid fucking butterflies in his stomach? I never told you how happy I was when you came back, when you asked for me, when you remembered who I was. Because you are so special, Braylen. It is beautiful to just be known by you.

I could say it happened gradually, but I don't think it did. I think I knew it all at once. It was that morning after the Pride parade. Up until then, I could write my feelings off. I could say I liked you a lot, that I liked what we did together, how your body felt with mine. But that night and that next morning were more than just that. I think you knew it too. Nobody had ever been so kind to me before; nobody had ever seen me so vulnerable before. And you were there. Through it all, you were there. You shaved your fucking head for me, held me when I cried and made me strong when I felt like I wasn't. And I loved you. You held me, and I loved you.

I never told you this. I never told you a lot of things. Like how I regret leaving you every day. Like how I heard what you said that night in your car during sex when we were driving back from San Francisco, how I heard you say that you loved me. I knew it wasn't for me to hear. But I did. And it made all of this so much harder.

I told you before I left that I'd find a way. I'd find a way to make this work, to make this right. But sometimes, I feel like I don't deserve to. You should hate me. I would hate me. But I know you don't. And that kills me every single day.

I miss you. I miss your laugh, your blush, your jokes. I miss the way you kissed me, the way you made me feel okay to just be me.

I don't want us to disappear. I don't want that summer to just be that summer. I want all of your summers, and your falls, and your winters, and your springs, too. I want you every day and every second of every year for the rest of my life.

This is getting cheesy, I think. I'm writing this and feeling stupid. Because I could say all of this in a love letter, but it means nothing if I don't do anything about it. Only, I don't know what to do.

Maybe someday we'll figure it out. I can hope for that at least. But I need you to know how I feel. Because it's real. I love you. I do.

I hope one day that's enough.

Happy birthday.

Yours, Roman