It was almost sundown when the chime above the greenhouse door rang again.

Kyle didn’t move from his seat behind the counter.

His hands were still clenched in his lap, and the ghost of Ryan’s unwanted kiss still lingered like static on his lips. His eyes were red, but dry now. Empty, more than anything. Tired.

He expected another customer, or maybe his boss.

What he didn’t expect was Mark Lee.

Sharp suit. Loafers that made no sound. Holding a paper bag like it contained royal treasure. His brow furrowed the moment he saw Kyle’s slumped posture behind the register.

“Kyle?” His voice was soft—like velvet brushing over something broken.

Kyle jolted upright, startled. “M-Mark?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I—” Mark glanced down at the bag in his hand. “I brought cinnamon rolls. The ones from Luna? The one you like.”

Kyle blinked at him, stunned.

Mark took a cautious step closer. “Are you alright?”

“I’m—” Kyle paused. Swallowed. “Yeah. Sorry. Long day.”

Mark hesitated, then slowly placed the bag on the counter, carefully—not wanting to startle him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Kyle looked up. Mark looked regal, as always—hair neatly swept back, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. But his expression was nothing but gentle concern.

“No,” Kyle said, surprising even himself. “You can stay.”

Mark nodded once. Said nothing more. Just walked around the counter and sat across from him, arms resting on his knees, respectful and steady.

They sat like that for a moment.

Then Kyle let out a breath. “I think I made a mistake.”

Mark’s eyes flickered toward him, but he didn’t speak.

Kyle kept his gaze on the tiny crack in the counter laminate. “Ryan and I had a fight. Again. He got… angry.”

A pause.

“He kissed me when I told him no.”

Mark’s shoulders tensed slightly. Not a word left his lips.

“I shoved him away. He left.” Kyle smiled faintly. “So that’s how my day’s going.”

Mark didn’t touch him. Didn’t pry. He simply nodded, like someone acknowledging another person’s pain without trying to fix it. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and steady.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kyle’s throat closed.

“You don’t owe anyone your body. Not even someone who says they love you.”

Kyle turned to look at him. Mark’s gaze was distant, vulnerable in a way Kyle rarely saw. And then—

“I brought extra,” Mark said, nodding to the bag. “If you want to split one. Or not. We can just sit.”

Kyle’s lips quirked, a breath of air leaving him that might’ve been a laugh. “You really like feeding people, huh?”

“It’s easier than feelings,” Mark said simply.

That got a proper chuckle out of Kyle.

So they sat. Shared a roll. Said nothing else. And for the first time that day, Kyle felt like he could breathe.


---

Later That Night…

The store was closed. The silence was comforting. Kyle was organizing a few pots by the counter when he heard a knock on the glass.

It was Ryan.

His hair was a mess. His eyes were red. There were sweat stains on his collar like he’d walked too far too fast just to get here.

Kyle didn’t move.

Ryan opened the door slowly. “I—I’m sorry.”

Kyle didn’t respond.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just…” Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot. I know you’re not ready. And I keep pushing. That’s not love. I know that. I just—”

Kyle closed his eyes.

“I missed you,” Ryan said. “I panicked. I thought I was losing you.”

“You don’t get to touch me like that,” Kyle said softly. “Not when I say no.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Ryan stepped forward, cautiously. “Can I… can we start over? I promise I won't do that again.I'll wait. However long.”

Kyle watched him. Measured him. His heart was still heavy from the day—still confused, still hurting. But this wasn’t new. Forgiveness was something Kyle knew too well. Maybe too well.

“Okay,” Kyle said, voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

They didn’t hug. Kyle didn’t smile. But Ryan seemed relieved just to be allowed back into the doorway of his life.


---

At home...

As Kyle lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, his mind drifted.

Not to Ryan.

But to Mark.

To the warmth of silence. To steady presence. To cinnamon rolls wrapped in quiet care. To someone who didn’t push. Who didn’t grab. Who didn’t yell.

Someone who stayed.

Kyle closed his eyes.

And for the first time, he let the thought come fully:

What if the one who made me feel safe... wasn’t the one I said yes to?