Win followed me up the stairs, his footsteps quick and determined.
Bang.
His fist struck the door.
King, open the door.
I wiped my face, but the tears kept falling hot and endless. My breathing was shallow, and erratic, like my lungs didn't know what to do with the pain.
I said open the damn door.
The knock comes again quietly and slower.
Bang. Again
I flinched not because he sounded angry, but because it was something harder to face. There was panic in his voice, buried beneath the frustration. That familiar tone twisted my stomach with dread.
Still, I didn't move.
You're being ridiculous, he said, trying to sound rational. I didn't mean it like that.
You just don't see how people look at you.
I let out a bitter, breathless laugh just loud enough for me to hear. The same excuse every time?
I didn't mean to embarrass you, he murmured. I just can't stand seeing you with guys like that.
My heart twisted. My fists clenched.
Guys like what? I shouted through the door. Guys who talk to me like a human being. Who doesn't call me sick behind my back?
Silence.
I leaned my forehead against the door, my voice shaking as it dropped into something diminutive. Why does it hurt so much to be myself around you?
I'm just trying to protect you, he said.
I pulled in a breath sharp, angry. Protect me from what? Win. From me, from who I am.
He said nothing. But I could hear his breathing on the other side uneven and shaky.
Like he didn't know whether to fight harder or fall apart.
King, said my name like it was breaking inside his mouth.
I shut my eyes, the ache behind them blooming. Just go, Win.
He didn't move at first. I could feel him lingering right there, just inches away, caught in some invisible war between control and care.
Then finally I heard his footsteps walking away.
I cried after he left biting my lower lips, and covering my mouth so as not to be loud. I wish I could be human and be what you want Win.
Silence stretched through the house like a ghost.
Even after Win walked away, his presence lingered woven into the air, heavy in my chest, stuck to my skin like sweat I couldn't wash off.
I didn't sleep.
I lay in bed curled beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could erase everything that had happened his voice outside my door, the anger beneath his words, the pain in mine.
Why does it always feel like I'm the one who has to change to be loved?
At some point, my eyes gave in, but sleep wasn't kind. I woke up feeling heavier than I had the night before eyes swollen, lips dry, my throat scratchy from crying too much. My face looked like it had been bruised by grief.
I dragged myself out of bed, every step and effort, like gravity, had grown meaner overnight.
No knock came from the door.
No quiet voice saying "Breakfast's ready."
For a moment, I thought he had left for work. Maybe he was giving me space.
I forced my feet down the stairs only to freeze halfway.
He was still there.
Win was sitting on the couch in the living room not alone.
His tall frame leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, scanning through a few documents spread across the coffee table with his best friend, Mike.
My heart kicked.
Mike. The guy Win once told to stop talking to me, because he was getting too close.
The same friend he got into a shouting match with because Mike dared to treat me like a human being.
When I stepped fully into view, Win looked up. Briefly. His eyes flickered to mine. Then they dropped again, back to the papers in front of him.
It was Mike who greeted me first.
"Morning, King," he said with a small, warm nod.
I returned it. "Morning, Mike."
Win said nothing. Not a single word.
I didn't bother greeting him either.
I walked to the dining table and sat down, my body stiff with tension.
I already knew how this would play out.
No matter how complicated things got, Win would still make me breakfast. He always did. Control disguised as care.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, he excused himself from Mike with a polite gesture and walked into the kitchen.
He returned with a tray and gently set it in front of me. Eggs, toast, fruit. The usual. His way of showing love without saying it.
Here's your breakfast, he murmured. His voice was careful testing the waters.
Then, after a pause. He finally muttered "Good morning."
I didn't reply. I kept my eyes on the plate.
He stood there for a moment, watching me, unsure of what to say next afraid that even one wrong word might tear open the wound from last night.
I'll be working from home today, he said eventually, glancing toward Mike. With him.
I looked up slowly. Why? Aren't you going to the office?
He answered without looking at me. No.
But he saw the way my hands stilled, the way my jaw clenched ever so slightly, he understood.
My fear had spoken before I did.
My mind was already spiraling.
Did he call someone again? Another therapist? Another session where I'm poked and prodded and told I'm broken for loving the wrong gender?
Win's expression shifted. He saw the panic in my eyes and stepped closer calm, but serious.
I know what you're thinking, he said softly, his voice low and careful. But it's not like that. I'm not dragging you anywhere, King. Not this time. I won't force you to do anything you don't want ever again. From now on, you get to choose. Always.
My throat tightened. I looked up at him, stunned. He sounded sincere.
I'm sorry about yesterday, he went on, voice lower now. I overreacted. I should've listened. I should've trusted you.
He leaned forward, just enough that his voice dropped near my cheek. Okay.
I hesitated. My pride, my fear, my broken heart they all screamed at me not to trust so easily.
But I gave a small nod anyway.
He offered a soft smile. Am I forgiven?
I hesitated just for a breath. Then I nodded. "Yes." The word came out quiet but certain.
It was the first real apology I'd ever gotten from Win the first time he didn't hide behind rules or drown it in guilt. And somewhere deep inside me, in that small, hurting place that still wanted to trust him, I believed him.
Then I asked again why are you working from home?
To care for you, he said simply.
He reached for a drawer in the kitchen and returned with a small white box.
A sealed pack of medication.
I ordered it over a month ago, he said. It just arrived this morning. I believe it might help you.
My eyes widened.
I stood so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. I knew it. I knew you hadn't changed.
I turned to head back upstairs, but his hand caught my wrist gently.
Hey, King. Please. Just listen.
I didn't pull away.
I promised Just now, didn't I? he said, voice calm but firm. No forcing. No pressure. I'm keeping that promise.
He slowly released my wrist and stepped back.
I'm not asking you to take it. If you don't want to. I'll put it away.
Are we good? he asked, watching me closely.
I held his gaze for a second before answering. Yeah… we're good.
He smiled faintly and reached out to ruffle my hair.
Good boy.
I hated how warm that made me feel.
Then he gently guided me back to the chair and said, Now eat. I've got work to do.
As he walked away, I watched him.
That was the first time I'd said no to Win and he didn't push back.
He didn't guilt me. He didn't call me broken. He just listened.
Maybe it was a small thing, something that didn't erase all the pain from before but it was enough to make me smile, just a little.
And for the first time in a long time, I forgave him, not because he had earned it, but because a part of me still wanted to believe he could be better.