Hunter
I make it three blocks before I have to stop under a broken streetlight and just breathe.
My hands are still shaking. My mouth still tastes like him and that soft, desperate sound he made when I kissed him. I can still feel the way his fingers twisted in my shirt, the way he went up on his toes like he was trying to climb inside me.
I wanted to go up those stairs so fucking badly it hurt.
Instead, I’m standing here on a dirty sidewalk like a goddamn coward, hard as steel and aching with it, while every instinct screams at me to turn around and finish what we started.
I drag a hand down my face and keep walking. The healing burn on my shoulder and upper arm pull tight with every step, a sharp reminder of the last time I let myself get this close to someone.
By the time I get back to my shitty apartment, the high of the day has already started to curdle.
I drop onto the couch in the dark, still fully clothed, and stare sightlessly at my space. My phone is burning a hole in my pocket. I want to text him again. I want to tell him I changed my mind. I want to ask if he’s touching himself right now thinking about that kiss.
Instead, I close my eyes and let the day replay.
Charlie’s bright laugh. The way he felt in my arms in front of the snow leopards. How he looked while drawing me. And his face as he looked up at me, his lips swollen and face flushed after I kissed him.
My dick twitches again just thinking about it.
And then, right on cue, Robby’s voice slithers in.
Look at you, he sneers, the same bitter, mocking tone he used toward the end. Playing hero for some soft little twink with eyeliner. You gonna fix him, Hunter? Gonna save him the way you couldn’t save me?
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, but he doesn’t stop.
You kissed him like you’re someone worth wanting. We both know you’re not. Remember how you kissed me the night I told you I was leaving? Like you could fuck the leaving out of me. How’d that work out?
“Shut up,” I mutter into the empty room. I prefer his voice when he’s encouraging me, not that he would have ever done that in life. Not at the end at least.
The echo of Robby’s laugh surrounds me—low, ugly, mocking, exactly how he sounded the night everything burned.
He’s gonna see you eventually. The drinking. The gross scars. The way you let me die because you were too fucked up to do the right thing. You think that pretty boy’s gonna stick around when he finds out you’re the reason I’m dead?
I sit up fast, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My chest feels too tight. The apartment is too quiet. The ghosts are louder than they’ve been in days.
Because he’s right.
Charlie is bright and soft and still trying to heal.
I’m the guy who watched the love of his life walk into that fire that took his life.
We were both too angry to be at that call.
Hell, I was so hurt that night that if it had been me in Robby’s place, I would have let the fire take me. How fucked up is that?
I don’t deserve to put my hands on him.
But fuck…I want to.
I want to so badly it scares me.
I pull out my phone and open our chat. The last message I sent him stares back at me.
Me: Goodnight, beautiful.
I type something. Delete it. Type again.
Me: You still up?
I don’t send it. I stare at the unsent message until the screen goes dark.
Robby’s voice comes back, quieter this time, almost tired.
You’re gonna ruin him, Hunter. Just like you ruined me.
I drop the phone on the couch and drag both hands through my hair. Maybe he’s right. And I don’t want to be the reason another person dies.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep showing up in his life like some shadow, feeding off his light while I drag all my smoke and ash behind me. He’s already got enough darkness. He doesn’t need mine, too.
I stand up and start pacing the small apartment. The resolve settles in slow and heavy, like concrete pouring into my chest.
I pick up my phone again and open our chat one last time. My thumb hovers over the keyboard for a long time.
Me: I had a good time today. But I think it’s better if we keep our distance outside of group. You deserve better than what I can give you right now.
I stare at the message for almost a full minute, thumb shaking.
Then I delete it.
I’ll tell him tomorrow. Or the next day. When I’m not still tasting him on my tongue and feeling the way he shivered in my arms.
I toss the phone onto the coffee table and collapse back onto the couch, arm thrown over my eyes.
I need to stay away.
No more “just happening” to be in the same places. No more walking him home. No more kissing him on his doorstep like I have any right to taste something that good. If I keep this up, I’ll only end up breaking him the same way I broke everything else I’ve ever touched.
But the second I try to lock that decision in place, a memory slams into me so hard I stop breathing.
We were dancing.
Back when things were still good—or at least when I was still lying to myself that they were.
Some shitty little club downtown, bass thumping so loud it rattled my ribs.
Robby had been laughing, drunk and beautiful, grinding against me like we were the only two people in the room.
His hands were in my hair, mouth on my neck, whispering filthy promises between songs.
I remember thinking this is it. This is what love feels like.
Then his phone lit up on the bar where he’d left it.
Prism.
The hookup app.
I saw the notification before he could hide the screen—some guy named “Jace92” saying my place or yours? with a shirtless picture attached.
I asked him about it. Calm at first. Then not calm.
Robby turned on me like I’d stabbed him.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” he’d snapped, eyes glassy with alcohol and anger.
“You’re really gonna accuse me of cheating because some random guy messaged me?
Jesus, Hunter, you’re so fucking insecure.
Maybe if you didn’t drink so much and act like a jealous asshole I wouldn’t need attention from other people. ”
He gaslit me so smoothly I actually apologized. I didn’t even point out that having a hook-up app on your phone when you were with someone was fucked up.
By the end of the night, we were fucking in the bathroom like the fight had never happened, like his anger had just been foreplay. I told myself it was fine. That I was overreacting. That the app notification didn’t mean anything.
It meant everything.
I blink hard, back in my dark apartment, chest heaving like I just ran ten blocks. The memory tastes like ash and cheap beer.
That’s who I was with Robby.
That’s who I let myself become.
And now I’m doing the same thing with Charlie—showing up where I shouldn’t, watching him when he doesn’t know, kissing him like I have any right to want him.
I can’t do this to him.
I won’t.