Delsin paused and quieted, taking a drag from his blunt,
and it’s supposed to be playful, but Brent’s
w o r d s
fester in his gut, like stones, a familiar heaviness.

Pots bang in the kitchen and he can
see Abel cooking, a soft smile playing his boyfriend’s
lips as he takes a drag off his own blunt and
lets the smoke slowly roll out.

And
fuck

he’s so beautiful.

He doesn’t say he hates himself because
even though Brent and Abel are family,
he doesn’t feel it.
Sometimes Delsin doesn’t feel like a Walker,

sometimes he feels like he doesn’t deserve them.

Especially Abel.
His boyfriend somehow puts up with his baggage,
his shit, all his
i s s u e s and
still kisses him good night
with a fucking smile,
and soft eyes.

Even though he’s twenty-something and
still finds tears in his eyes over the loss of his
mother at three am.

And Brent keeps him close,
shielding him with protective arms and
leading him through life, so he’s not so
blind. Not so lost and not so alone anymore.
The older man could find somebody better, could find
another friend, somebody with less issues.

“What are you even talking about dude,”
he finally answers, trying to sound like
he’s laughing off a funny fucking joke.