Hunter
I’m a bastard. I know I am.
Charlie has texted me three times since Sunday.
Sweet, light little messages that I’ve read and re-read like a fucking addict.
I haven’t answered any of them. Every time my thumb hovered over the keyboard, Robby’s voice crawled back in, bitter and ugly, reminding me exactly what happens when I let myself get close to someone soft and bright.
And I’m going to see him. In person.
I stand outside the old brick building, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, staring at the narrow alley that leads to the community room. My chest feels like it’s full of broken glass.
It’s better to tell him we can’t do this in person, right?
Sending a text to end whatever the hell this is feels like the coward’s way out. Like I owe him more than that after kissing him on his doorstep like a starving man. After letting him draw me. After watching him light up at the fucking snow leopards like the world hadn’t already tried to break him.
I drag a hand down my face and force myself down the alley. The metal door to the third floor groans when I push it open. Warm lighting, mismatched chairs, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap donuts. Tim gives me that same gentle, cult-leader smile when I walk in.
“Hunter. Good to see you.”
I just nod and drop into my usual seat, if you can call it that after three meetings. My stomach twists.
I’m doing the right thing. This is the right thing. Pulling away now, before I drag him any deeper into my shit, is the least selfish thing I’ve done in years. Charlie deserves someone who isn’t carrying around burn scars and ghosts and guilt of not being able to save the last person they loved.
I’m not that person. I might not be in love with Robby anymore, and honestly, maybe I hadn’t been for at least a year before he died…but I can’t be the person Charlie deserves.
The door opens again. My head snaps up before I can stop myself.
Charlie walks in.
He looks like a fucking angel. Golden curls a mess, normal eyeliner making his blue eyes even bluer, and that cropped hoodie he seems to love showing a sliver of skin as he shrugs his bag off. He looks…fucking amazing.
His eyes find mine almost immediately, and that small, almost crooked smile starts to form. My ribs feel too tight and breathing is no longer an option.
Then he sees my face.
The smile falters, before fading.
I look away fast, jaw clenched so hard it aches. I can feel him hesitate for half a second before he drops into his usual chair across the circle.
Conversations pick up around us as more people arrive. Some get coffee and a donut before taking a seat, like this is some sort of fucked-up social hour. But I stay silent, arms crossed tight over my chest, staring at the ugly tile floor like it might swallow me whole.
Tim starts talking, something about checking in and safe space and all the usual gentle bullshit, but I barely hear any of it.
All I can focus on is Charlie, the way his knee is bouncing and his fingers keep picking at the nail polish on his nails.
And how he keeps glancing at me like he’s waiting for me to look back.
I don’t. Because if I look at him, I’m going to want to cross this shitty little circle and kiss him again.
Fuck.
How the hell am I going to tell him that I can’t do this? That we can’t do this. When I feel like I’ll burn the whole world down if it means I get to keep standing in his light.
“Does anyone want to share how their week has been since last Friday?” Tim asks, gentle as ever.
I blink, dragging myself back into focus.
A few people talk. One guy tells a cute little story about his daughter, Maggie, that makes everyone laugh.
Another admits he lost a patient on the table during surgery—voice cracking as he says it.
The woman next to Charlie talks about making her new apartment feel more like home.
Then Charlie clears his throat.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
He keeps his voice low but steady as he tells the room about the religious freaks on the street corner. The way they targeted him. The panic attack that hit him like a truck. He doesn’t mention me. Just says “someone passing by helped me through it.”
The protective instinct that flared to life on that sidewalk roars back so hard it nearly chokes me. I want the whole room to know it was me. I want them to know I was the one who put my hand on his back and talked him down. I want them to know I was there.
Guess Robby was right. I always have to play the fucking hero.
Charlie finishes and looks down at his hands again, knee still bouncing. For a split second, his eyes flick to me—hopeful, questioning, a little hurt that I haven’t said anything.
I look away.
Tim nods gently, offering the usual validating words. The circle moves on. I stay silent the entire time, teeth clenched so tight they hurt.
When the session finally ends, people start gathering their things, murmuring goodbyes. Charlie stands slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He hesitates for half a second, clearly waiting to see if I’ll approach him.
I don’t.
I stay seated, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
He lingers a moment longer, then turns and heads for the door without a word. The slump in his shoulders hits me harder than any punch ever could.
I wait until the room is almost empty before I stand. Tim gives me a quiet, knowing look but doesn’t say anything. Good man.
I make it outside just in time to see Charlie disappearing down the alley, golden curls catching the last of the evening light.
I should let him go.
I should turn around and walk the other way.
Instead, my feet start moving before my brain catches up.
“Charlie.”
He stops. Turns slowly. The look on his face—hopeful and guarded all at once—nearly guts me.
I stop a few feet away, hands shoved deep in my pockets so I don’t reach for him.
“We need to talk,” I say.
His shoulders tense. The small smile he gives me doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”
The alley feels too narrow. The city noise too loud. And all I can think about is how badly I want to pull him against me and kiss him until neither of us can breathe.
But I can’t.
Not if I want to do the right thing for once in my miserable life.
We end up in the alley behind the building, the same narrow stretch of concrete where he found me drunk and puking.
The evening light is fading fast, turning everything into shades of gray and bruised orange.
Charlie stands a few feet away, hands in the front pocket of his jeans, looking up at me with eyes that always see too much.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start. “About us. Whatever the hell this is.”
Charlie tilts his head slightly, waiting.
“I think we should keep things to group only,” I say. The words taste like ash. “Outside of here… it’s better if we don’t do this.”
He’s quiet for a long second. Then he nods, slow and accepting, like I just told him the weather forecast.
“Okay,” he says softly. “If that’s what you need.”
That’s it. No argument. No fight. No “but I thought—” or “why are you doing this?” Just… okay.
Something ugly and possessive flares hot in my gut.
He’s too calm. Too fucking understanding.
Like this doesn’t even hurt him and I’m just another guy who passed through his life, and now he’s ready to move on to the next one.
How many others are there? How many other damaged assholes has he let kiss him on doorsteps and then shrugged when they pulled away?
I expected him to push back. I wanted him to push back. Instead, he’s standing there looking at me like he already knew this was coming, like I’m not even special enough to fight for.
The thought burns.
I grind my teeth. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”
Charlie shrugs, small and tired. “What do you want me to say, Hunter? That it sucks? Yeah, it does. But I’m not going to beg you to want me. I’ve done enough begging in my life.”
Fuck.
He’s being mature. Reasonable. Giving me exactly the clean break I told myself I wanted. And all it does is make me want to crowd him against the brick wall and kiss him until he stops being so goddamn understanding.
I hate how much I want that. I hate how easily he’s letting me go.
Because if he’s this okay with it, then maybe I was never that important to him in the first place. Maybe I’m just another intense older guy who got a kiss and one amazing day before he moved on to someone less fucked up.
The possessiveness claws up my throat. I want to tell him no one else gets to have him. I want to tell him he’s mine to watch over, mine to want, mine to ruin if anyone has to. But I don’t say any of it.
I just nod, once, like my chest isn’t caving in.
“Alright,” I manage. “See you Friday, then.”
Charlie looks at me for a long moment—those soft blue-gray eyes searching my face like he’s trying to memorize it.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “See you next week.”