Dear friend,

It’s been a couple days since I’ve written in. It’s also been three nights since David told me to think about what would help me feel better about myself, him, and us as a couple.

We’ve gone about our business as usual. And although we haven’t been out much, since David is still tired from the incident at the restaurant and I’ve been working on a side project for Warrior Tribe, I suppose it’s been peaceful.

In the mornings, I officially made it a habit to bring him pancakes and hot chocolate just like the first time I did so. There isn’t a particular reason for this, however, I figured it was silly to do so only once. After all, why wouldn’t I celebrate being with him every day?

Why would I hold back from loving him and making him happy under the pretense that these things must be reserved for special occasions? David never seems to tire of it, and I never find boredom in seeing his smile every time he wakes up to his modest feast. As a thank you, I suppose David’s been doing the same in his own way. Sometimes, when I’m working late at night and I haven’t gone to bed yet, he grabs a blanket from the closet and lays it over my shoulders. Then, he always says something similar to, “I’ll be back soon, this isn’t over yet!” in a clearly overly dramatic tone, until he returns from the kitchen with a hot mug of tea. At first, I thought his antics would stop there, but then he lingered behind me and asked if my back wasn’t sore from being at my desk for so long.

“Surely, you jest,” I said with a laughter that was more forced than natural. I suppose it was a roundabout way of giving him the option to walk away so that he needn’t feel bothered by doing any more than he already had. David loved to prove me wrong though, for soon enough, his arms were wrapped around my shoulders from behind as he bent over and started kissing my neck.

“I don’t joke when it comes to you, Alexander,” he whispered against my skin. “If you want a massage or a hot bath, just tell me, I don’t mind.”

I could hear the smile in his tone. It was contagious, for I found myself grinning, too, within a matter of seconds. I reached up and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you,” I said.

We followed these rituals, up until today, that is.

Truthfully, I was still off from work. My boss was happy, of course, when I returned assignments to him that still weren’t due for about three months’ time, but I was doing it to drown in something that wasn’t related to the talk we’d had a few days back. I figured it would clear my mind, at the very worst, and at the very best, give me the answer I’d so longed for.

Perhaps the solution I found wouldn’t have come without a lack of sleep. Perhaps it would’ve. I don’t know. Only, I’m certain I didn’t find it on any forum, web-page, or book—even after many hours of searching. I found it myself, during dusk today, when I was listening to David turning on the water in our bathroom.

I dropped my pen and stopped mid-drawing.

I couldn’t sit still.

I had this urge to be with him.

Not because of our conversation where we laid everything bare before each other.

No, it was much simpler than that: It was the feeling I had ignored—the yearning I had to just feel his skin against mine, and nothing more.

I remember thinking, What if this is the answer?

What if I was merely enraged at him for having accepted who I am, easier than how I’d accepted myself?

Is that why I could not believe him?

Is that why I could not let him embrace me? Because I myself could not embrace my own existence?

What if this wasn’t about David?

What if this had been about me all along?

And how could I believe he’d view me in such ways, if I was still, perhaps, a tad less confident—and much more fearful than I’d anticipated—about this situation as a whole?

Maybe holding back was never the answer, I thought, as I reached for the bathroom’s door. Maybe, by holding back, I had only slowed myself down by not allowing my thoughts to linger where they truly wanted to go—to him.

Would it truly change my mind, to change this body? Would it not merely only change this body, and not my mindset?

Yes, it was clear to me that night that my terrible ideas—the ones that had been chaining me down—had to go.

No matter my decision in the end, they could not stay.

They would ruin me.

“David,” I said as the bathroom’s door shut behind my figure.

“A-Alex?” David was a tad jumpy, I couldn’t blame him; he was stark naked in the shower after all. “What are you doing here—”

“I have my answer. Don’t turn around,” I muttered, as he continued to face the shower’s wall.

It occurred to me that he heard me taking off my clothes, for soon after, he laughed, and asked, “Are you… going to join me? Or is this just another wet dream?”

“I’m going to assume that’s the sound of consent.”

He paused for a moment. He nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”