Chapter 4 Cracks in the Glass

It started with little things-missed phone calls, unanswered texts, and rescheduled plans. At first, Mitchell told himself it was nothing. Michael had always been busy, moving between gigs, working late in dimly lit studios, his hands dancing over piano keys like they were an extension of his soul. But as weeks stretched into months, the silences grew longer, and the distance between them became something Mitchell could no longer ignore.

"You're overthinking it," Clara said one afternoon as they sat at their favorite coffee shop. The rain drizzled outside, streaking the windows, a slow and steady rhythm.

"Am I?" Mitchell asked, stirring his untouched latte.

Clara gave him a look. "Michael adores you. Anyone with eyes can see that."

"Then why does it feel like I'm losing him?"

Clara hesitated, her expression softening. "Have you talked to him about it?"

Mitchell sighed. "Every time I try, he tells me everything is fine. That he's just busy. That I'm worrying too much."

"And do you believe him?"

Mitchell didn't answer.

Because the truth was, he wanted to. But something felt different now-like the space between them was no longer just physical.

That night, Mitchell waited for Michael at his apartment. He had cooked dinner, something simple, something warm, hoping they could finally talk. But as the hours passed, the food grew cold, and the hope he had clung to slowly unraveled.

It was past midnight when the door finally opened, and Michael stepped inside. His shirt was rumpled, his dark hair tousled in that careless way that usually made Mitchell weak. But tonight, it only made his chest tighten.

"You're late," Mitchell said quietly.

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I got caught up at the studio."

"You could have called."

"I meant to, but-"

"But you didn't." Mitchell exhaled sharply, trying to push down the frustration simmering beneath his skin.

Michael dropped his bag onto the couch and walked toward him, reaching for his hand. "I'm here now. Can we not do this tonight?"

Mitchell pulled away. "Do what? Talk? Because we never seem to do that anymore."

Michael's jaw tightened. "Mitchell-"

"No," Mitchell cut in. "Tell me the truth, Michael. Are we okay?"

Michael hesitated-just for a second, but it was long enough. Long enough for Mitchell to see the cracks in the glass, the fractures in the promise they had made under the stars.

"Of course we are," Michael said finally, but the words didn't feel like the truth.

Mitchell wanted to believe him. He really, really did.

But something told him that they were standing on the edge of something fragile-something that, with just the right amount of pressure, would shatter completely.