Gavon couldn't stop thinking about him.
All day at the office, while replying to emails and sitting through dull Zoom meetings, his mind wandered back to the subway, to those eyes, that coat, that voice. He replayed the moment over and over, like a scene from a film that lingered just under his skin.
"Sir… how’s your day going?" The words echoed like a tease.
He hadn’t even answered. He had just stood there—shocked, silent, throbbing with something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just lust. Or wasn’t only lust. It was curiosity. Longing. Mystery.
Later that night, he found himself staring at the ceiling, fully clothed, hands on his chest, heart racing. The city buzzed outside his apartment, but inside it was quiet. Except for the noise in his head.
Effie, his cat, jumped onto the bed, claiming her usual spot on his legs. She meowed once, unimpressed by Gavon’s daze. He smiled faintly and scratched behind her ear.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he whispered to her. “You don’t take the subway.”
He closed his eyes. And then, the dream came.
He was on the train again. Same car. Same time. The stranger—his stranger—walked straight to him this time. No distance. No delay. He leaned in, placed a warm hand on Gavon’s thigh, and whispered something Gavon couldn’t make out.
But his touch burned. And Gavon leaned into it, let it happen.
Their lips touched—barely. Electricity.
He woke up sweating, his breath shallow, his underwear damp.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his chest.
The image was too vivid. Too real. And too frustrating.
He got up and went to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of cold water, then sat by the window, watching the early light creep in. Something had shifted. Something in him was open now.
He didn’t know who the man was, but he wanted to.
No—he needed to.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths.
All day at the office, while replying to emails and sitting through dull Zoom meetings, his mind wandered back to the subway, to those eyes, that coat, that voice. He replayed the moment over and over, like a scene from a film that lingered just under his skin.
"Sir… how’s your day going?" The words echoed like a tease.
He hadn’t even answered. He had just stood there—shocked, silent, throbbing with something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just lust. Or wasn’t only lust. It was curiosity. Longing. Mystery.
Later that night, he found himself staring at the ceiling, fully clothed, hands on his chest, heart racing. The city buzzed outside his apartment, but inside it was quiet. Except for the noise in his head.
Effie, his cat, jumped onto the bed, claiming her usual spot on his legs. She meowed once, unimpressed by Gavon’s daze. He smiled faintly and scratched behind her ear.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he whispered to her. “You don’t take the subway.”
He closed his eyes. And then, the dream came.
He was on the train again. Same car. Same time. The stranger—his stranger—walked straight to him this time. No distance. No delay. He leaned in, placed a warm hand on Gavon’s thigh, and whispered something Gavon couldn’t make out.
But his touch burned. And Gavon leaned into it, let it happen.
Their lips touched—barely. Electricity.
He woke up sweating, his breath shallow, his underwear damp.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his chest.
The image was too vivid. Too real. And too frustrating.
He got up and went to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of cold water, then sat by the window, watching the early light creep in. Something had shifted. Something in him was open now.
He didn’t know who the man was, but he wanted to.
No—he needed to.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths.
