Sunday afternoon settled over the city like a sigh. The streets outside Gavon’s apartment hummed gently with life—cars passing, distant chatter, a neighbor playing music a bit too loud.
Inside, the light was warm and slow. Gavon stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, folding laundry while a mellow playlist echoed softly through the space.
Bruno had left an hour ago, claiming he needed to pick up something for his dad. The apartment still carried his scent—shampoo, sweat, and something unmistakably him. Gavon could still feel the shape of him in the bedsheets.
Effie watched from the windowsill, tail twitching like a metronome.
Gavon moved methodically, folding shirts and placing them into drawers, but his mind was elsewhere. On the dream. On the stranger. On the fact that no matter how good Bruno made him feel, there was something missing.
He opened the fridge, stared at it blankly, then closed it again. Hunger wasn’t the issue. He needed something else. Distraction. Movement.
So he grabbed his laptop and settled on the couch. Logged into work email. Scrolled aimlessly.
Nothing urgent.
Then, almost by reflex, he opened a chat window. Alice.
Or a kiss you almost had.
He closed the chat gently, like folding a letter he wasn’t ready to send.
And then, he sat back, letting the room go quiet.
Outside, the sun had dipped just enough to turn the sky golden.
And inside, something in him stirred—restless. Expectant.
Sunday had come quietly.
But it wasn’t leaving without a mark.
Inside, the light was warm and slow. Gavon stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, folding laundry while a mellow playlist echoed softly through the space.
Bruno had left an hour ago, claiming he needed to pick up something for his dad. The apartment still carried his scent—shampoo, sweat, and something unmistakably him. Gavon could still feel the shape of him in the bedsheets.
Effie watched from the windowsill, tail twitching like a metronome.
Gavon moved methodically, folding shirts and placing them into drawers, but his mind was elsewhere. On the dream. On the stranger. On the fact that no matter how good Bruno made him feel, there was something missing.
He opened the fridge, stared at it blankly, then closed it again. Hunger wasn’t the issue. He needed something else. Distraction. Movement.
So he grabbed his laptop and settled on the couch. Logged into work email. Scrolled aimlessly.
Nothing urgent.
Then, almost by reflex, he opened a chat window. Alice.
She replied almost instantly:
Gavon smiled.
They chatted for a bit. Books. Weather. Life. The safe stuff. But behind the screen, Gavon’s chest felt tight.
Gavon stared at her words for a long time.
Or a kiss you almost had.
He closed the chat gently, like folding a letter he wasn’t ready to send.
And then, he sat back, letting the room go quiet.
Outside, the sun had dipped just enough to turn the sky golden.
And inside, something in him stirred—restless. Expectant.
Sunday had come quietly.
But it wasn’t leaving without a mark.
