4. Honey Has Thoughts #2
I looked away… at nothing, really.
So, she leaned back in her chair, studying me.
Then, casually, she said, “You weren’t in love with him,” as though she was stating a fact.
I looked back at her with doubtful eyes.
“James, you were in love with the fantasy,” she continued. “You were in love with the idea.”
Something pricked in my chest.
“What?” I said, almost laughing. “No.”
“Yes,” she said, calm and certain. “You fell in love with how he made you feel. The attention. The moments. The version of him you thought was real.”
She paused, letting the words sit.
A tired exhale escaped from me. “All I know now is that I feel this regret not fighting for us.”
“So,” she said, “you fell in love with the what ifs after the what happened.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
“James,” she said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Trust me when I say, people actually do fall in love with potential.”
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “That sounds like something people say to make themselves feel better after a breakup—well technically, we didn’t have a breakup ‘cause there was no us.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s what people say when they finally see it clearly.”
I frowned, not fully committing to what she was saying.
“He was real,” I said stubbornly.
“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” she replied calmly. “What I’m saying is that you are filling the gaps after your relationship—or situationship—ended.”
I stilled. “What gaps?”
She sighed, took her hand back, and sat straight.
“The ones he never gave you answers to,” she said.
I swallowed.
“You are not attached to him with who he showed you,” she continued. “You got attached with who you think he could be.”
“That’s not fair,” I said quietly.
“It’s not supposed to be fair,” she replied. “It’s supposed to be honest.”
I looked down at the table.
“You remembered the highs,” she said more gently now. “The moments he made you feel chosen and special. And when he was gone, you clung to possibilities of you together like promises. That’s not falling in love with the person, that’s falling in love with potential.”
I didn’t say anything, because I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“After it ended,” she said, “you didn’t let go of him. You held on to the story you were still trying to finish. And the reality is—he decided not to continue. But in your head, you kept going.”
Silence settled between us.
I just sat there, holding my tears back.
“This is the trap, James,” she added. “Potential always feels better than reality. Because in your head, it never disappoints you.”
She reached out for my hand again and squeezed it.
“Real love doesn’t need you to imagine a better version of someone just for them to stay,” she said.
I stared at her, tears welling in my eyes, because that line hit.
Honey gave a small, knowing smile, before picking up the menu again, casually flipping it open like we had just been talking about drinks and not the collapse of my emotional reality.
“I’m getting pasta,” she said.
But then I wasn’t in Tampé anymore.
I was somewhere else.
Somewhere brighter.
Warmer
Back to the beginning.
To the first time I met him—
March 2025.
Dean & Luca.
Soft lighting.
Glasses clinking.
The quiet hum of people pretending not to watch each other.
Victor sat across from me. Eyes smiling that made me feel like I was the one.
He had the kind of face that didn’t try too hard to be liked—clean, effortless, with just a hint of something guarded.
His hair was neatly cropped, which told me that he knew how to carry himself without making it a performance.
A neatly trimmed beard framed his jaw just enough to give him an edge, but not enough to take away from how easy his smile came.
And that smile… oh God.
It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t the kind that asked for my attention. It just… happened. Wide, genuine—the kind that made me feel like I had done something right just by being there.
A full sleeve tattoo wrapped around both his arms, dark lines and soft shading blending into something intricate I couldn’t fully make out under the dim lights—giving him an edge and a bad-boy image that contrasted with how almost formal he looked.
His eyes met mine. Almost amused. Like he already knew something about me I hadn’t said yet.
“You look good,” he said to me.
I laughed—a little too quickly.
“Is that your line?” I asked, already blushing.
“No,” he said. “That’s me being honest.”
And somehow, that landed.
Then suddenly, he slid a small box across the table.
I frowned. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I picked it up. And inside was an Apple Watch.
I froze.
He smiled at my reaction. “I figured you need an update. And besides, it’s got good tracking for your workouts.”
I remained speechless, because even if the gift was expensive, to me it was something simple. Thoughtful. Personal. Something that said I paid attention.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.
“I wanted to,” he said.
Just like that.
Effortless.
After dinner, we walked to his apartment.
Everything felt slowed. Delayed. Romantic.
I looked at him, and he looked back at me.
We smiled.
The air was cool.
His hand brushing mine.
Not accidental. Not fully intentional either.
Just enough to linger.
Later—
His place.
Dim lights.
Closer now.
Everything seemed quieter. More certain.
My hands brushed his face, and I looked at him like he was something rare.
And the way he looked at me was like something he had already decided he wanted for the rest of his life.
And for a moment, I believed it.
Sheets tangled.
Skin warm.
Our breaths intertwining between our trembling lips.
The room wrapped in a silence that felt full instead of empty.
I looked down at him—pained yet satisfied—and he was already looking up at me, gazing at an altar he’d waited his whole life to praise.
That same look.
Soft.
Certain.
Like I was the only thing in the world.
“You’re dangerous,” I said, half-joking.
He smiled. Slightly wicked. “Only if you let me be.”
I kissed him, slow and deliberate.
“Don’t break my heart,” I pleaded under my breath.
“I’d rather die,” he said like a vow made without understanding its weight.
I should’ve asked what that meant. But I didn’t. I just pulled him closer and kissed him more, because in that moment, I thought he was already mine.
Then another memory surfaced.
It was only the few days into whatever Victor and I were becoming.
My hands were on his face.
“That’s it,” I whispered softly.
His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deliberate as he tried to steady his heartbeat.
“Again.”
Victor inhaled deeply.
Held it.
Then exhaled.
Around us, the mall continued as if nothing had happened.
People walked past. Stores played their music. Voices still drifted in and out of the crowd.
A few moments earlier, a couple had erupted into a screaming match. Not an argument, but a fight.
I remembered how Victor had frozen.
The way his shoulders locked.
The way the color drained from his face.
The way his eyes suddenly looked distant, like he wasn’t standing beside me anymore.
Like the shouting had pulled him somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere older.
Somewhere painful.
Then Victor finally opened his eyes.
“Are you alright now?” I asked gently.
A small smile appeared on his face as the color slowly returned.
“There you are,” I said, brushing my thumbs softly against his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t apologize.”
Victor shook his head. “I hate it when people yell.”
He leaned into my hand for a second.
But I remember it.
The trust in it.
The safety.
The way he looked at me afterward—like I was the calm place he ran to when the world became too loud.
Because before I became the person he couldn’t forgive, I had once been the person who made him feel safe.
Then the drag bar again.
The music vibrating through the floor.
Lights flashing.
Everything felt alive and electric, with the queens performing.
People cheered and screamed.
And in the middle of it all was us.
He sat across from me—close enough to touch, far enough to look.
I was laughing at something on stage, but when I turned to him… he was already looking at me.
Not casually. Not distracted.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the music, but in his eyes, everything paused. The crowd disappeared. The music faded away.
The world thinned out until it was just us.
Everything blurred into motion—but he remained clear. Sharp. Still. Like time had decided to hesitate. Just for us.
I didn’t smile.
I couldn’t.
I just looked at him with a certainty that held only one truth: he was the one.
For many years I searched for the man I would spend my life with. And… this was it.
My heartbeat slowed and sped up at the same time, like my body didn’t know whether to stay or run. Like it understood something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
The moment felt too fragile for anything that might break it.
And he didn’t look away.
God, he didn’t look away.
There was longing in his gaze—quiet, but unmistakable. The kind that doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t promise anything, but still says too much. The kind that wanted to drag me away from the place, go out into the night, and finally start a future.
A life.
Together.
And just like that, I fell in love with him.
Not because of what he said. Not because of what he did. But because of what I saw, and what I thought it meant.
Because in that moment, I didn’t see who he was, I saw who he could be.
For me.
And maybe Honey and Mel were right.
Maybe it was chemical.
Maybe it was potential.
But it was all real to me.