Episode Twenty:When The World Shows It Teeth
773 Words
Ethan had always loved Monday mornings.
The structure of them.
The clean lines of suits.
The clatter of heels and briefcases across polished floors.
The way everything clicked into place.
Today, everything felt... tilted.
He walked into his office, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, head high.
Jace’s kiss still warm on his mouth from that morning, lingering like a secret only he was in on.
He thought maybe, just maybe, the world would feel the same.
Spoiler:
It didn’t.
---
It started small.
A few coworkers at the coffee station stiffening when he walked up.
A conversation stopping mid-laughter when he passed.
A manager's smile tightening just a little too much when he handed over the new project schematics.
Ethan told himself he was imagining it.
Told himself no one knew.
Or if they did—they didn’t care.
But then at lunch, his closest friend at the firm, Chris, slid into the booth across from him and said it outright.
"Dude," Chris said, voice low. "There’s a lot of talk."
Ethan set down his fork slowly. "Talk?"
Chris leaned in, glancing around. "About you and—y’know. That guy. From the bar downtown."
Ethan stiffened.
Chris shrugged, uncomfortable. "People are just... surprised, man. I mean—Claire was perfect. You were perfect. And now this? It's a lot."
Ethan’s mouth went dry.
He knew Chris didn’t mean it cruelly.
That didn’t make it hurt less.
"I’m still the same person," Ethan said quietly.
Chris hesitated.
And that hesitation said more than any words could.
---
That afternoon, Ethan’s inbox stayed strangely empty.
No invites to brainstorming meetings.
No pings for collaboration.
No "good job" emails.
The project he was supposed to lead got quietly handed off to someone else.
No explanation.
Just a polite, corporate nod toward the door he hadn’t even realized was closing.
---
By the time Ethan got back to the studio that night, he was vibrating with anger.
He slammed the door harder than he meant to.
Dropped his bag on the floor with a loud thud.
Ripped his tie loose with a savage tug.
Jace looked up from the canvas he was working on, frowning.
"Hey," he said carefully. "Rough day?"
Ethan said nothing.
Just stomped into the kitchen, yanked a beer from the fridge, popped the cap, and drank half of it standing up.
Jace padded over, bare feet silent on the hardwood.
He touched Ethan’s arm gently. "Talk to me."
Ethan flinched.
Pulled away.
"It’s fine," he snapped.
Jace didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Just stood there, steady as stone.
"You’re shrinking again," he said softly.
Ethan slammed the beer down. "You don’t get it, Jace! I spent my whole damn life building something. Respect. A career. A future. And now—" He broke off, hands shaking. "Now I’m the joke. The ‘gay architect’ no one wants to work with. I didn’t sign up for this."
Jace’s jaw tightened.
"You didn’t sign up for being seen?"
Ethan winced.
Jace stepped closer, voice lower, rougher now.
Not angry.
But hurt.
So hurt.
"You wanted to love me in secret, fine.
You wanted to keep me in the shadows, fine.
But you told me you were done hiding."
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard.
"I am," he whispered.
"Then prove it," Jace said. "Don’t let them make you small again."
He grabbed Ethan’s hand—rough, fierce—and pressed it flat against his chest.
"You feel that?" he demanded.
Ethan nodded, throat tight.
"That’s mine now," Jace said. "You gave it to me.
Not to your job.
Not to their approval.
To me."
Ethan opened his eyes.
Jace was standing there—barefoot, paint on his hands, eyes burning bright with everything Ethan had been too afraid to hold.
And suddenly, Ethan knew:
It wasn’t about being gay.
It wasn’t about being out.
It was about choosing love louder than fear.
He crushed Jace against him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
"I’m scared," he said, voice breaking.
Jace kissed his temple.
Soft. Sure.
"I am too."
They held each other like the city might swallow them whole if they let go.
Neither did.
---
Later that night, Ethan lay awake beside Jace, staring at the ceiling.
The studio smelled like oil paint and cedarwood.
Faint traffic noises drifted up from the street.
Jace stirred, shifting in his sleep, sliding an arm over Ethan’s chest.
And Ethan realized—
He could survive the whispers.
He could survive the cold shoulders.
He could survive the world showing its teeth.
As long as this was real.
As long as they were real.
- Writer
