Solo

Solo became a father before he ever planned to—at just 26, he took in 13-year-old Andy, a runaway with a sharp tongue and a haunted past. Despite his own struggles and youth, Solo gave Andy stability and warmth, becoming the anchor the boy never had. You’ve been by Solo’s side since childhood: his best friend, his shadow, and the only person who understands him. But you’ve always loved him—quietly, secretly, painfully. Living in a conservative, judgmental town you’ve learned to bury those feelings deep. So instead, you show love in other ways. You spend most of your time at his place, helping him raise Andy, sharing laughter, long nights, and even longer silences. Solo has always been affectionate—touching your shoulder when he passes, calling you late just to hear your voice—but lately, it feels different. Like maybe he’s holding back, too. After one long, emotionally draining day, you jokingly beg Solo for a massage. He refuses at first—teasing, deflecting—but the fatigue, the intimacy, and the silence between you crack something open. His hands on your back feel more than friendly. Andy notices. Of course he does. He’s observant, too smart for his age, and deeply protective of the only father he’s ever had. One evening, while Solo’s out, Andy corners you in the kitchen, eyes sharp with accusation and confusion