Ghost and walls

The weekend passed too quickly.

Ethan spent most of it at Kai's apartment, neither of them acknowledging the elephant in the room. They cooked breakfast together, watched old movies, existed in a bubble that felt fragile as glass. Every time Ethan's phone lit up with another message from the firm, Kai would distract him. A kiss. A touch. A story about his childhood that made Ethan laugh despite the dread pooling in his stomach.

But Sunday night arrived anyway.

"You should go home," Kai said, even though his arms were still wrapped around Ethan on the couch. "Get some sleep. Be ready for tomorrow."

"I don't want to."

"I know." Kai pressed his face into Ethan's neck. "But you need to."

They stayed like that for another hour before Ethan finally forced himself to leave. The walk to his own apartment felt like moving through water. Heavy. Slow. Wrong.

His place was exactly as he'd left it. Clean. Organized. Empty.

He didn't sleep.

By the time Monday morning came, Ethan had rehearsed seventeen different versions of what he'd say to the board. None of them felt right. All of them ended the same way.

He dressed carefully. The armor of a perfect suit, perfectly knotted tie, cufflinks that had been his father's. Looking the part even if he no longer fit it.

His phone buzzed. Kai: *You've got this. Call me after?*

Ethan stared at the message, then typed back: *Yeah.*

The firm felt different when he walked in. Or maybe he was different. Either way, the marble lobby that had once felt like achievement now felt like a mausoleum.

Marcus was waiting by the elevators.

"My office," he said. "Now."

They rode up in silence. Ethan watched the floor numbers climb, each one a countdown to something inevitable.

Inside Marcus's office, his mentor closed the door and turned. He looked tired. Older than Ethan remembered.

"I tried," Marcus said without preamble. "I really tried to buy you time. To convince them this was temporary, that you'd come to your senses."

"Marcus—"

"But then Caroline Mitchell filed a formal report. About seeing you at an art gallery. With him. Publicly claiming him as your boyfriend." Marcus's voice was carefully controlled. "Did you really think that wouldn't get back to the partners?"

"I wasn't thinking about the partners."

"Clearly." Marcus moved to his desk, pulled out a folder. "They want you gone, Ethan. Effective immediately."

The words should have hit harder. Should have destroyed him. Instead, Ethan felt strangely calm.

"What's in the folder?"

"Your exit package. Generous, considering. Three months severance, full benefits through the end of the year. In exchange for your immediate resignation and a non-disparagement agreement."

Ethan took the folder, flipped through it. Legal language. Clinical. Final.

"And if I don't sign?"

Marcus laughed, hollow. "Then they terminate you for cause. Professional misconduct. Moral turpitude. Whatever they need to put in your file to make sure you never work in this industry again."

"Moral turpitude." Ethan repeated the words, tasting their bitterness. "For having a boyfriend."

"For letting your personal life compromise your professional judgment. For becoming a liability." Marcus sat heavily. "This isn't personal, Ethan. It's business."

"It's absolutely personal."

"Then make it business. Sign the papers. Take the money. Move on with your life and your... whatever he is to you."

Ethan looked at his mentor. Really looked. Saw the disappointment there, yes, but also something else. Fear, maybe. Of difference. Of anything that didn't fit the narrow definition of acceptable.

"I'm sorry I let you down," Ethan said quietly.

Marcus's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry you let yourself down."

"No." Ethan set the folder on the desk. "I'm sorry I ever thought becoming you was something to aspire to."

The words landed like a slap.

Marcus stood. "Get out of my office."

"Gladly."

Ethan walked out, leaving the folder behind. He'd read enough. Knew what it meant. His career here was over whether he signed or not.

He made it to his own office, started packing his personal items into a box. There wasn't much. A few framed certificates. A photo of him at the firm's charity gala from three years ago, smiling and hollow-eyed.

He threw the photo in the trash.

"Ethan."

Lucas stood in the doorway, face stricken. "I just heard. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be."

"They can't do this. It's discrimination, it's—"

"It's done." Ethan closed the box. "And honestly? I'm relieved."

Lucas stared at him. "You're relieved."

"Yeah." And saying it out loud, Ethan realized it was true. The weight he'd been carrying for years, the constant performance, the fear of being discovered as somehow less than perfect—it was gone. "I'm free."

"Free and unemployed."

"Better than employed and suffocating."

Lucas shook his head, but he was smiling slightly. "You're insane."

"Probably."

They stood there for a moment, the office that had been Ethan's second home for six years suddenly just a room.

"What are you going to do?" Lucas asked.

"I have no idea." Ethan picked up the box. "But I'm going to figure it out."

He left without looking back.

The coffee shop was crowded, lunch rush in full swing. Ethan sat in the corner, box at his feet, coffee growing cold in front of him. He'd texted Kai that he needed time to think. Kai had responded immediately: Take all the time you need. I'm here when you're ready.

Ethan was staring at his phone when someone sat down across from him.

Not Kai.

A woman. Late twenties, sharp eyes, expensive bag. She looked vaguely familiar.

"Ethan Blackwood?"

He tensed. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet. I'm Diana Torres. I work for Kai." She pulled out a business card, slid it across the table. "Gallery coordinator. Event planning. I've known Kai for about five years."

Ethan picked up the card warily. "Okay."

"I saw you both at the gallery Friday night. Saw how he looked at you." Diana leaned forward. "And I need to know if you're serious about him."

"Excuse me?"

"Because if you're not, if this is just some crisis-fueled rebellion, you need to walk away now."

Anger flared. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you just got fired. I know you're from a world that eats people like Kai alive. And I know he's already been hurt by someone exactly like you."

Ethan went still. "What?"

Diana's expression was hard. "Three years ago. Another buttoned-up professional who thought he could have it both ways. Promised Kai everything in private, then ghosted him the second it got complicated. Kai spent six months barely functioning."

The words hit like a punch.

"He didn't tell you?" Diana continued. "Of course not. He wouldn't. Because he's too busy trying to save you from yourself to protect his own heart."

"I'm not going to hurt him."

"Everyone says that." Diana stood. "But when the reality of being with someone like Kai actually sets in, when you realize it means giving up respectability and career prospects and the approval of people who matter to you, most people choose themselves."

"I already chose him."

"You chose him when you had something to lose. Let's see if you choose him now that you have nothing." Diana picked up her bag. "For what it's worth, I hope you prove me wrong. He deserves better than another person who can't handle the cost of loving him."

She left.

Ethan sat there, coffee cold, Diana's words echoing.

Someone like you.

Another person who can't handle the cost.

His phone buzzed. Kai: *How did it go?*

Ethan stared at the message. He should tell him. Should explain about the firing, about Diana's warning, about the fear suddenly clawing at his chest.

Instead he typed: *Can I come over?*

The response was immediate: *Always.*

Kai's apartment felt like sanctuary when Ethan arrived. Warm. Safe. Real.

Kai took one look at his face and pulled him inside. "What happened?"

"I got fired."

Kai's arms came around him immediately. "Oh god. Ethan, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I knew it was coming." Ethan pulled back. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay."

"Three years ago. Someone hurt you."

Kai went very still. "Diana called you."

"She found me."

"Damn it." Kai moved away, running his hands through his hair. "She had no right."

"She was protecting you."

"From you? That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Ethan's voice was quiet. "She said he was like me. Professional. Closeted. Promised you everything until it got hard."

Kai turned, face tight. "You're not him."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're here!" Kai's voice rose. "Because you just lost your job and instead of blaming me, you came to me."

"What was his name?"

"Ethan—"

"What was his name?"

Kai closed his eyes. "James. His name was James."

The silence stretched.

"Tell me what happened," Ethan said.

"Why? What does it matter?"

"Because I need to know what I'm up against. What ghosts are in this room with us."

Kai laughed bitterly. "You want the story? Fine." He sat heavily on the couch. "I met him at an exhibition. He was charming, successful, everything I thought I wanted. We dated for eight months. In secret, always in secret, because he wasn't ready. Said he needed time."

Ethan's chest tightened.

"I waited," Kai continued. "Made myself smaller. Easier. Never pushed. And then one day, he got a promotion. Big one. And suddenly I was too risky. Too visible. Too much."

"Kai—"

"He sent me a text. A fucking text. Said it was over, that he couldn't do it anymore, that I'd always known what this was." Kai's voice cracked. "And the worst part? I had known. I'd seen it coming for months. But I'd convinced myself that if I just loved him enough, if I just made it easy enough, he'd choose me."

"I'm not going to do that to you."

Kai looked up, eyes red. "How can you promise that? You don't even know what you want yet."

"I want you."

"Today. But what about in a month when the money runs out? When you need to find a new job and my name next to yours becomes a liability again? What about when your family finds out, or your old colleagues, or—"

"Stop." Ethan crossed to him, knelt in front of the couch. "You're right. I can't promise the future. I can't promise I won't be scared or make mistakes or struggle with this."

Kai's jaw clenched.

"But I can promise I won't leave by text. I won't make you smaller. And if I ever decide this is too much, I'll have the decency to say it to your face." Ethan took his hands. "I'm not James. I'm a mess, and I'm terrified, and I have no idea what I'm doing. But I'm here. And I'm trying."

A tear slid down Kai's cheek. "I can't go through that again."

"Then don't. We go through this together. The scary parts and the good parts and everything in between."

Kai pulled his hands away, stood, walked to the window. His shoulders were tight, defensive.

"I need you to understand something," he said without turning around. "When James left, it broke something in me. Made me think I was too much. Too difficult. That wanting to be loved openly was asking for too much."

"It's not."

"It took me two years to believe that again. Two years of therapy and late night crying and Diana talking me off ledges." Kai finally turned. "So when I met you, when I felt that pull, I swore I wouldn't do it again. Wouldn't fall for someone who couldn't meet me halfway."

"And yet here we are."

"Here we are." Kai's smile was sad. "Because apparently I'm an idiot who can't help falling for emotionally unavailable men in nice suits."

"I'm trying not to be emotionally unavailable."

"I know. And that's why this is terrifying. Because you're actually trying, which means I'm actually hoping, which means when this inevitably crashes—"

"It won't."

"You don't know that!"

The words hung between them, sharp and true.

Ethan stood. "You're right. I don't know that. But neither do you."

"Statistics are against us, Ethan. How many stories do you think end well for people like us?"

"I don't care about statistics."

"Well I do!" Kai's voice broke. "Because I'm the one who's going to be left standing here when you realize this was a mistake. When you go back to your world and find someone appropriate, someone easy, someone—"

Ethan kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Pouring everything he couldn't articulate into it.

Kai resisted for half a second, then melted, hands coming up to grip Ethan's shirt like he was drowning.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Ethan pressed their foreheads together.

"I lost my job today," he said. "My mentor looked at me like I was a stranger. My entire professional life imploded. And you know what the worst part was?"

Kai shook his head.

"Sitting in that coffee shop afterward, all I could think about was whether you'd still want me now that I have nothing to offer."

"Ethan—"

"So yeah, I'm scared. And I have ghosts too. Not exes, but expectations. A lifetime of being told that success means safety, that visibility means vulnerability, that people like us don't get happy endings."

Kai's hands tightened on his shirt.

"But I'm choosing to believe we might anyway," Ethan continued. "So you can push me away if you need to. Protect yourself. I'll understand. But don't push me away because you're scared I'll leave first. That's not fair to either of us."

Silence fell.

Kai's eyes searched his face, looking for lies, for cracks, for proof that this was temporary.

"What if Diana's right?" Kai whispered. "What if you can't handle the cost?"

"Then we'll deal with it when we get there. Together."

"You make it sound simple."

"It's not. But it's worth it."

Kai closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were clearer. Decided.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Okay?"

"We try. We're honest. We don't run." Kai cupped Ethan's face. "But if this gets too hard, if you need out, you tell me. You don't just disappear."

"I promise."

"And I promise to stop waiting for you to leave."

They kissed again, slower this time. Sealing the promise.

That night, they lay in Kai's bed, tangled together, talking quietly about nothing and everything. Ethan told him about his father's disappointment when he'd chosen business over medicine. Kai told him about his mother's confusion when he'd come out at sixteen, how it had taken her three years to really accept it.

"Does she know about me?" Ethan asked.

"Not yet. I wanted to wait until..." Kai trailed off.

"Until you knew I'd stick around."

"Yeah."

Ethan kissed his shoulder. "Call her tomorrow. Tell her."

Kai pulled back to look at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I want to meet her. Eventually. When you're ready."

Something shifted in Kai's expression. Hope, fragile but real.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

They fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, ghosts temporarily quiet.

Ethan woke to his phone buzzing insistently.

It was still dark. Kai was asleep beside him, one arm thrown across Ethan's chest.

He grabbed the phone, squinted at the screen.

Unknown number.

He almost ignored it. Then he saw the text preview: *We need to talk about your future. The firm isn't your only option.*

Ethan sat up carefully, trying not to wake Kai.

He opened the message.

This is Richard Chen from Chen & Associates. I heard about your departure from the firm. I'd like to discuss a position. We handle cases the big firms won't touch. Including discrimination suits. Call me.

Below was a phone number.

Ethan stared at it, heart racing.

A job offer. A lifeline.

Or a trap.

He looked at Kai, sleeping peacefully, trusting him to still be there in the morning.

He thought about Diana's warning. About Kai's fear. About the choice he'd made on that rooftop that had led to this moment.

His finger hovered over the delete button.

Then he saved the number instead.

Because maybe this time, he could have both.

Maybe this time, he didn't have to choose.

But as he settled back down, Kai's warmth against him, one thought kept circling.

What if he still did?