It was about seven-ish something in the evening when we got back home. The whole first floor smelled of Dad's famous pizza dough. (He was eager to learn how to make it himself after a trip to Italy six years ago. Even paid a chef for private lessons and bought a special portable gas oven because he claims he can't go back to eating "false pizza," whatever that is.)

And before we could even take off our shoes, he jumped at us like a Ninja who had been hiding and waiting for hours already.

"Asher, Conor, do you have a minute? There is something I need to talk to you about."

And without waiting for an answer, if we actually had a minute, he walked toward the study in the back, behind the living and dining room. We followed him, but not without exchanging a couple of looks, trying to figure out what to expect. But I couldn't imagine anything positive happening. It's never good when parents feel the need to "talk."

Dad waited for us to enter, pushing the white sliding doors shut before pointing toward the lounge chairs. The room was filled with books and artistic versions of blueprints hanging on the walls. This was my parents' office when they worked from home, as well as the room Aj and I used to do our homework. And it was one of the best rooms to speak in without being heard by curious ears.

We all sat down. And boy, I wish I didn't have to because I'd rather be able to move my legs while not knowing what this conversation would be about. My head spun like crazy.

Dad cleared his throat, smiled at me, then at Conor, only to clear his throat again.

Okay. Something is wrong with him.

"Ash," he said, searched for my eyes but didn't look at them, moved the corners of his mouth up to half a smile and then down again, and cleared his throat for the third time.

I'm as good as dead, even though I have no clue what I screwed up this time.

"I have to apologize to you," he finally revealed.

And… I didn't expect that. My initial thought on how to react was to ask him what for exactly, but I was so staggered that I just didn't do anything besides staring at him as if he was crazy.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But I—and I want to point out that it was coincidental, and I'm sorry for it—I… accidentally overheard your conversation with your mother two days ago."

I was never so happy to be sitting down as I was at that moment.

So he knows Conor is more than just a friend to me.

"My first thought was to not say anything because I wanted you to tell us, me, whenever you were ready to do so. But since you didn't go for it, I got the impression that maybe I didn't give you the room to feel safe being open about your relationship."

"What? No, no,” I stammered. "I… there just wasn't the right moment."

"You don't have to defend yourself. It's my fault that I listened in and made you believe you aren't allowed to be open about your feelings. I want to apologize for that. So, here I am: I'm sorry. Ash."

What does one reply to that?

"That's… I… accept… your apology," I stammered.

"I also needed to speak up because I wanted you to know you have my full support. I'm aware that I'm not always easy on you, Ash. And I know you have had a rough time since transferring to high school. But this house here is meant for everyone who lives in it to live in a way that makes them happy. It is meant to celebrate our love for each other. And I want to assure you that this also includes," he glanced at Conor, "boyfriends."

Dad's face had a softness to it that I hadn't seen in a long time. I can't deny that hearing these words from him meant a lot to me. For so long, I had the impression that it didn't matter what I did. I would always be the child they were the least proud of. But… maybe I was wrong? It's not like they ever said something like that. But even if: that wasn't just on them. It's not like I was the perfect son. It's not like I was especially kind to anyone for so long.

"I'm sorry I caused so much trouble." My voice was unintentionally quiet when I said that.

Dad let out a deep breath upon hearing what I said. And then he did something he hadn't done in years. He got up, put his hand on my shoulder, and… hugged me. Not for long, just for a couple of seconds, so it didn't get too weird.

"Well, I was in puberty once too. I know what it's like."

And just like that, he killed the mood.

"Please, Dad!" I said, whelmed by all of this.

He flopped back into his chair as we shared a short laugh.

"Okay, okay. I don't know why I thought that would be appropriate."

And then the three of us laughed again. As if someone had told a joke that no one besides us would ever understand. (I doubt any of us understood why we laughed at that moment.) Dad's eyes wandered between Conor and me.

"Okay, let's not make this more awkward than it is," he said and stood up. "I'm happy you guys found each other again. And if you have any trouble," he fixed his eyes on mine, "you can always also come and talk to me, ok?"

With a heavy dad-groan, he lifted himself out of the chair and returned to the sliding doors.

"Good talk," he said, trying to sound like a football coach, probably to make things easier for him.

"Dad?"

"Here."

"Thanks."

"I know it doesn't always seem like that, but… I love you, son. And I only want you to be happy."

Those words hit me harder than everything else. I honestly didn't know he saw it like that. And… it made me want to walk to him and give him another hug. So I did. Of course, just a short one so it wouldn't get too awkward.

"Conor, can I talk to you for a second as well?" he interrupted our moment. "And in private." Glancing at me as if he knew what I wanted to ask him, he added, "Nothing to be worried about." And just like that, he slid the left door open, shoved me out, and shut it right in front of my face.

Huh? How can he be so loving in one moment and then exclude me from a conversation with my boyfriend the next second? That was strange even for him.

I felt the heat coming back to me.

No, no. No need to freak out. Just breathe.

This seems weird, yes. But Conor didn't seem to be surprised. And my father was more playful about it than odd. It will be nothing. I'll just ask Conor.

My chest still felt fluttery, but I walked over to the couch in the living room. To my surprise, I found Aj chilling there, staring at his Switch.

"How long have you been sitting there?" I asked, mostly because I wondered if he saw or heard anything.

"I've been sitting here like forever."

I threw myself next to him because I was not walking away while they were talking in there without me.

"What are you playing?"

Aj tilted the screen so I could have a look.

"You're playing chess? Why?"

"Because it's fun."

Yeah, that answer makes sense. I didn't know what I expected him to answer besides that. I followed his moves. He was pretty fast, and it appeared to me as if he was winning.

"Did Dad scold you?" Aj asked while moving his king and capturing the other player's pawn.

"It was quite the opposite," I answered. Should I tell Aj? Eventually, everyone will know anyway. "It was about Conor being my boyfriend."

"Cool."

What? That's everything? No shocked Pikachu-face? No other reaction? (Come to think about it, I reacted the exact same way when Conor told me he was gay. Maybe Aj and I are more alike than I thought.)

"Is that why you kissed him?"

"When did you…?"

"Monday? When Mom told me to get you for the barbecue?"

"We weren't kissing when you walked in on us!"

"I'm thirteen, not dumb."

"But that's… yeah, well, we kissed after you left," I laughed.

The door to the study opened, and Dad friendly patted Conor on the shoulder.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," he said, and as soon as he spotted me watching them, he narrowed his eyes. "You don't have to ask him what this was about. I made him swear not to say anything."

We walked up to my room, and as soon as we were alone, I asked, "So what was that about?"

"Nothing to worry about. He basically said the same thing to me as he said to you."

"Then why could you listen when he talked to me, but I had to leave?"

"I don't know," he answered and shrugged. "It's really nothing to worry about."

I took a deep breath, and a sigh came out of my mouth.

"Okay. If you say so, I believe you."

And I meant that even though I'm sure it didn't sound like it.

—

Our last hours flew by as if the fast-forward button on my TV's remote was stuck. We enjoyed Dad's pizza with my whole family, finally letting Adam also in on our relationship. (His only comment was, "See! As I said, Conor is my brother!")

We wandered through the forest behind the house (and we both couldn't stop sneaking kisses every other minute) until the approaching night made us walk back.

The last night Conor and I spent together was full of warmth and tears. But we both agreed they were happy tears, as there was so much to celebrate. And even with this feeling like the end again, we both kept reassuring each other that it wasn't our last night. It was only a matter of time before we could hold each other again.

And just like that, it was morning again. When Conor packed his suitcase, I observed how he wrapped the framed picture of us into a couple of his shirts so that it wouldn't break during his travels.

What felt like only seconds later, Mom wished Conor safe travels after breakfast because she was about to head out to a meeting with one of their clients.

Dad drove us to the airport. He waited in the car while I walked as far into the airport with Conor as possible. We gave up his suitcase together and wandered around for a few minutes until we found ourselves in front of the security check-in. A sign announced that "no people without a boarding pass allowed behind this point," and a woman sitting in a wheelchair made sure everyone obeyed that.

"I guess this is it," I said and hugged Conor into me deeply. Why is time running when we don't want it to? Why do I already know it will feel like forever once he walks through that gate? I felt like crying but tried to keep myself together for Conor. To not make this moment that I knew was about to come even harder.

"You have to let me go sooner or later," Conor whispered.

"Do I?"

He nodded his head yes and shoved it into my collarbone.

"But I don't want you to either," he murmured into my ears.

"Summer break isn't too far away," I said, but I think that wasn't consoling anyone.

We stood there like this for a couple of minutes until we both had to admit that we couldn't fight this inevitable moment any longer.

"I'll call you once I'm home." His voice wasn't as steady as it usually is.

"Have a safe flight," I said as he turned around.

He showed his boarding pass on his phone and then walked to an escalator that would take him to the gate. We stared at each other as he was slowly being pulled away. I raised my hand to wave at him.

So did he.

Until he was gone.

—

I closed the door to my room behind me. As predicted, the last hour felt like forever. Walking back to the car, where Dad waited for me, was torture, as was driving home. I did my best to keep my composure, but that didn't prevent me from going back into this fucking empty room.

It was only early afternoon. How am I supposed to make it until the evening?

I pressed my back into the door and stared at the space before me as if it wasn't my home anymore.

The place where his suitcase had been for days felt empty now. My bed wasn't made, and the additional pillows remained there as if Conor would return to sleep in them again tonight.

And then I saw it—a small piece of paper lying on my nightstand that wasn't there this morning. I rushed over to read it. And as I held it in my hand, the weight on my shoulder pulled me down.

It simply said, "I love you," and had a doodle of us holding hands underneath it.

Fuck.

My head felt hot as if it was a volcano that was about to explode. I stared at the piece of paper. He loves me… And I didn't even say it when we said goodbye.

Fuck!

Should I write him a message now? But he won't read that soon, as his phone will be in flight mode. I have to say it to him when he calls me. But this will still take hours. It’s… just…

"Fuck!" I screamed.

Everything I held back earlier came out within seconds. Tears streamed down my cheeks as if they were a river. I threw myself onto my bed, and the sheets smelling like Conor comforted me and made it a pain at the same time.

I wanted to trash the whole place. What does staying in a room like this mean when I can't share it with the person I love most?

Everything here reminds me of him now. The couch (where we kissed), my bed (where we cuddled), my nightstand (where his surprise note waited for me), the carpet (where his suitcase was), the bathroom mirror (where I first saw him with his glasses) and even my freaking dresser (where I had hidden the framed picture of us until I gave it to him). It's… shit! Why can't I just be with him?

I hate reality. Especially this reality. Because what happened during the last days won't be what my life will be like. It was basically just a dream. Of course, for all I know, I will be allowed to dream it again—at some point in the future. But what good does that do to me when I already know that the bigger portion of my days will be filled with anger about not being with him?

Without thinking, I clenched my right hand into a fist and punched it into my mattress. A sharp sting rushed through my palm. Shit. I forgot about the cut from two days ago that still took its time to heal.

Breathe.

I groaned in pain until a knock on my door shook me.

"No," I instantly yelled, as I wasn't in the mood to talk to someone. It was hard enough not to smash my furniture into pieces. I don't know if I can handle talking to anyone right now.

"Okay. But just so you know, I'm here if you need me," Dad replied. "To talk. Or just to… listen."

My initial reaction was to ignore him. Dad had never offered something like that before. And opening up about those shitty stupid thoughts to him seemed… awkward, uncomfortable—simply put, just wrong. But… if I've learned anything from those last days, it's that opening up… might be good for me.

And… It would be nice not to be alone all afternoon.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You can… come in… if you want to."

"Do you want me to?"

“I think… I wouldn’t hate that…”