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Anxious
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2025-12-31 19:25:16
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LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 129. Finale
We ate on the couch with the containers on the coffee table and his laptop open to something neither of us were watching, and it was possibly the most relaxed I had ever seen him. Sleeves pushed up, feet on the coffee table — which he never did, I noted, filed it away — eating Thai food out of a container with a plastic fork without any visible philosophical objection to the plastic fork."This is good," I said."Yes.""Better than the seed situation.""That's not a high bar.""It's a bar you cleared, which is what matters."He looked at me sideways with the almost-smile. I bumped his shoulder with mine.We ate in the comfortable quiet for a while. Then I put my container down and looked at the middle distance and said: "I want to teach."He looked at me."Not pack training. Not Alpha preparation courses or territorial strategy seminars." I'd been turning it over for months, this specific want, never saying it out loud because it felt like admitting to something. "I want to teach actu
LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 128. Therapy
Without any pause at all, without even the performance of thinking about it: "Atlas."I looked at him over the top of my phone.He turned a page in his journal."You're insufferable," I said."You're the one reading them out loud.""I hate you a little bit.""Fourteen across," he said mildly. "Seven letters."I looked down at my phone. Fourteen across. Seven letters. I hadn't gotten to it yet.I filled in Atlas and moved on and did not look up because I could feel him almost smiling from across the room.---The afternoon arrived the way Sunday afternoons arrived — gradually, the light going from pale to gold, the day deepening into itself without any particular announcement.I was on the couch with my book. He'd migrated from the armchair to the other end of the couch somewhere around two o'clock, ostensibly with his own reading, though I'd noticed the journal was closed now and sitting on the coffee table.I felt him look at me.The specific quality of his attention was something I'
LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 127. Letters
LEXII woke up before him.That never happened. In all the months of staying here, in all the mornings this apartment had absorbed me into its rhythms, I had never once opened my eyes and found the other side of the bed still occupied. He was always already up — already at the kitchen table or standing at the window with his coffee or simply gone from the room, the warm indent in the pillow the only evidence he'd been there at all.This morning he was still there.I turned carefully, slowly, and just — looked at him.He was on his back with one arm above his head, face turned slightly toward me, completely and genuinely asleep. Not the light watchful sleep I'd felt from him in harder weeks, the sleep of someone still listening for something. This was all the way down. His chest rose and fell in a slow even rhythm and his face had lost everything it carried when he was awake — the vigilance, the careful attention, the controlled quality that lived in him even in relaxed moments.He loo
LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 126. Making Love🌶️🌶️🌶️
We undressed each other in the amber light from the window, unhurried, her sweatshirt going first and then my shirt, her hands flat on my chest for a moment after like she was taking inventory.Her bed was narrow. We worked with it rather than against it — the proximity it required becoming its own thing, the closeness enforced by twin mattress dimensions turning into something that felt intentional.I took my time.That was what her space gave me — the complete and absolute permission to take my time. No professional proximity, no thin walls, no carefully managed sounds. Just her dorm room with Maya gone for the weekend and the two of us with nowhere to be and all night to be nowhere.I pressed my mouth to her throat, felt her pulse jump under my lips. Moved down to her collarbone, the top of her sternum, the soft curve just below it. Her breathing changed — that specific shift I knew now, the one where she stopped managing her responses and just had them."Damon—""I know," I said a
LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 125. A Guest?
I sat down on the edge of her desk chair — her gear on the back of it, her scent on everything in this room in the specific way a space absorbed the person who lived in it — and drank my tea and let her watch me be out of my element for once.She seemed to find it enormously satisfying.We ended up on her bed because it was the only real option.The desk chair was occupied by me and then her gear, the floor had an open textbook situation that neither of us wanted to disturb, and the bed was there — narrow, practical, with the sweatshirt she'd been wearing earlier folded at the foot of it and a book face-down on the pillow marking where she'd been before I arrived.I sat with my back against the wall. She sat cross-legged at the foot of it facing me, mug in both hands, and we talked the way we always talked — picking up threads and following them wherever they went, no agenda, no performance.The setting loosened something in me that I hadn't known was still being held.His apartment w
LORENZO, MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND 124. Invited To Her Dorm
DAMONThe text came at seven-fifteen on a Friday evening.Maya's gone for the weekend. Come over.I read it twice. Not because it was complicated but because it took a moment to register what was different about it. Every other version of this — every other evening, every other plan made between us — ended with her walking across campus to my apartment. Her knocking on my door. Her in my space, my kitchen, my routines.Come over.Her space.I'd been in her dorm room once before. Briefly — in the middle of everything with Vanessa, some errand I couldn't fully remember now, both of us moving fast through a situation that required moving fast. I'd stood in the doorway for approximately ninety seconds and registered almost nothing except that she was there and we needed to leave.This was different.I put on my jacket and walked across campus.-It was strange, being the one walking toward something instead of waiting for it to arrive.The campus had that Friday evening looseness — studen
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