41

ASHTON

Lennox carefully examines my childhood bedroom as though it holds precious artifacts in a museum. His gaze drifts towards the wooden dresser, where he picks up my collection of Fourth Degree action figures. His brown eyes then scan the walls painted black, adorned with X-Men chalk drawings and an array of Batman posters.

Allowing Lennox into my world at such a profound level is a first for me, beyond my own family. It's far from a mere fantasy; I've imagined Lennox Burke in this very room countless times, though usually confined to the bed.

I prefer reality, though, where he means so much more to me than just a passionate encounter.

I grab a damp bone from my orange rug and toss it onto Gotham's dog bed. Lennox lets out a whistle