Eric leads the way down the plane aisle, me following in tow, holding my carry-on in front of me. As we pass first class, I reflect on our debate when we were booking the tickets. Eric typically flies priority, but since I didn’t want him buying my ticket and I refused to fly first class, he conceded. I can tell by his uneasiness as he puts his bag in the overhead compartment by our seats that he would have been perfectly happy to upgrade.

Eric waves for me to get in, but as I scoot to the window seat, I turn back, catching Eric’s uneasy expression. “Oh, did you want to sit by the window? Sorry. I assumed by the way you offered that you preferred the aisle.” I start to get up.

“No,” Eric says as he forces his way into the row and sits in the aisle seat. “This is your first time going to San Diego. I’d rather you get to see it when we fly in.”

“It’s really thoughtful, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to sit where you normally do, considering you’re already not sitting in first class, Mr. Bougie.”

“Whatever. Sit down and be quiet.” I enjoy the playfulness in his tone as I obey his command.

However, he seems tense…more tense than he should be from giving up a window seat.

“Are you nervous about flying?” I ask.

He leans close to me and whispers, “I’m nervous about being in the economy comfort. I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but I don’t enjoy being around a lot of people…not close, at least. I get a little claustrophobic.”

I’m left wondering if this is somehow related to the abuse he experienced as a kid—if it acts as a trigger for him. Now I really feel like a shithead.

“Eric, if you would’ve mentioned that it was about that and not just you wanting to be fancy, I wouldn’t have fought you so hard about it.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to push past my comfort zone, and I took a Xanax. Waiting for it to kick in.”

I take his hand and squeeze gently, and his grip quickly relaxes.

“Guess that Xanax is kicking in,” I tease him.

He smiles, though I can read the discomfort on his expression, which is so different from how it’s been the past few days, since our date night.

We’ve been fucking like rabbits, like we did when we first started fucking in PV, but barebacking has been so much better. I love us being unrestricted and free with one another. Even as I’m sitting in an airplane, I can’t keep some of these interactions from creeping into my thoughts and making my dick hard.

This new chapter in our relationship has me thinking even more like a horny teen than after meeting him. I want Eric so badly it hurts. It hurts because I know I can’t spend every waking moment with him. We both have lives and careers, and this trip forces me to bear in mind that there are going to be times when Eric won’t be in Atlanta. Because really, his life is in San Diego.

We’ve been lucky that hasn’t presented an obstacle for our relationship so far, but similarly to PV, I’m aware that, in some ways, what we’ve been doing is a bit of a fantasy…that we’ll have to find a way to sustain this relationship long term.

Once we’re in the air, I watch Eric as he seems to grow more comfortable, perhaps because his Xanax really is kicking in.

I pull my earbuds out of my pocket while Eric pulls out his. We sift through the movie selections on the screens mounted on the seats before us.

“What movie are we gonna watch?” I ask.

“What?”

“What movie are we gonna watch? I assume we’re gonna watch something together.”

“At the same time?” He appears totally thrown by my suggestion. “Do you do that?”

“You don’t? Not even you and Casey?”

“We would just watch whatever we were interested in. We didn’t really have similar tastes, so…”

“Are you kidding me? It’s so much more fun flying when you watch movies with someone. I mean, we don’t have to watch every movie on a flight like this together, but one would be nice. Come on, watch a movie with me, Eric.”

He beams. “You have a way with words, Jesse.”

“What do you mean?”

“That reminded me of the way you asked me to be your boyfriend, which wasn’t much of a question. You basically bullied me into being in a relationship with you.”

“You did have an opportunity to say no.”

He laughs. “That wasn’t going to happen.”

I’m an idiot for how giddy I feel when he says those words. Obviously, he wants to be with me and he’s in this relationship as much as I am, yet confirmation means so much to me, especially considering how guarded he typically is.

I know that’s why he made such a big deal the other night about how candid I am about things I don’t understand or have questions about. He’s not the type who likes to let people know when he’s down or what his weaknesses are, which is one of the reasons I’m appreciative he’s letting me come with him to this therapy appointment.

Who knows how that will play out? I fear he might not let me actually go to the appointment with him…or if he does, not bring up this issue that’s been weighing on him for so long.

I hope he will, for his own sake.

Although, even if it’s not this time, I need to keep being there for him…to help him get to the place where he can do this.

The more research I’ve done about all this, the easier it’s been for me to remind myself that he’s not alone in this…that so many have had to walk a similar path and face these demons. And that it’s not a race to figure it out.

We scan through the available movies on the flight, naming our options and reading synopses, searching for one neither of us has seen, since we agree it’ll be more fun to experience it together for the first time.

Hell, I do enjoy sharing first times with Eric.

There’s this 2008 French movie called Martyrs, and while it’s older, the synopsis catches our interest.

“Sounds pretty cool,” I say. “Although, I’d hate to bore you with subtitles.”

“Shut up. You know I love me a subtitled movie. Let’s try it and see if we like it.”

We agree, and start the movie on each of our screens.

The film opens interestingly enough, but what I figured would be a quiet psychological thriller is a giant mind-fuck that has us nearly crawling into each other’s laps as Eric grabs my arm during particularly suspenseful scenes, whispering, “Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.” At one point toward the end, we’re both muttering our holy fucks together.

I glance around to make sure no one is noticing our freak-out, and the rest of the plane doesn’t seem to get how the director of this film is terrorizing our brains.

“Are they seriously about to…” Eric has his hand over his eyes but is peering around his fingers.

So many times I want to turn away, but my eyes are glued to the screen, and despite Eric’s attempts at shielding himself from the horror, so are his.

“Why are we doing this? Why are we doing this?” Eric asks.

“Because you haven’t said to stop yet,” I say, and I have to admit, there are times when I kind of wish he’d bailed.

As the final scene comes to a close and fades to black, Eric whispers, “What…the…fuck?”

The credits roll, and I feel out of breath, like I do after a night of Eric working my body out.

“That was kind of amazing,” I mutter.

Eric eyes me peculiarly. “I worry about the thoughts in your head, Jesse, if you thought that was amazing.”

“You should be worried…because that was…epic. I haven’t had that kind of movie-watching experience in a long-ass time. And I was thinking it was going to be boring as fuck based on the synopsis.”

“I thought I was going to have to get up and go to the bathroom to throw up.”

I chuckle. “All the gross stuff we watch, and this freaked you out?”

“It was that one scene toward the end where they had her tied up, and then they were going to…”

He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence, so I start to do it for him. “You mean when they—”

“Don’t say it, don’t you fucking say it.”

“Okay, okay,” I say.

We chat some more about the movie, which we’re both still recovering from. Then we switch it up and watch some other movies. I pass out during the second one since it’s not nearly as interesting, but Eric wakes me up and urges me to look out the window when we get near San Diego.

After we land, we catch an Uber, and Eric gives me an oral tour as we head through the city.

I don’t think I’m as interested in the city, though, as I am in the fact that it’s Eric’s city. I imagine him walking to the Starbucks on the corner or stumbling out of a bar he mentions he and his friends hang out at. This is where Eric’s life is…where so much of it has taken place.

“This is my condo building we’re coming up on,” he says, indicating a high-rise alongside the beach.

“Oh, Mr. Bougie indeed,” I say, and he snickers.

As soon as we enter his unit, I realize how true that nickname is.

“What do you think, Mr. Morgan?” he asks.

“Mr. Morgan and Mr. Bougie? Hmmm…fitting,” I say as I look around at the decor—far more extravagant than his place in Atlanta.

Sunlight pours in through stacked windows on the other side of the room, which overlook the oceanfront, apparently, by the view, perfect for a sunset. A black-leather sectional sofa sits in the middle of the room, facing a dark-brown wooden coffee table and the mounted big-screen TV. Behind the sofa, an empty space allows room to walk around to the dual balcony doors. He’s got print artworks, some microphotography. There’s a photo behind the sofa that takes up most of the wall—a black and white that it takes me a moment to realize is actually San Diego.

Unlike his Atlanta unit, where the kitchen is to the left, here it’s on the right, but with a similar large, rectangular kitchen island in black marble. Complementing the place are various side tables with accessories I’m sure he and his designer picked out just to his tastes.

These are Eric’s tastes, I tell myself. This is the sort of world he’s used to living in. This is part of the man I want to come to know so much better.

He gives me a tour of the place, the way I gave him the tour of mine. He guides me upstairs, through a massive library and office space, and then he takes me into the master bedroom, where I hope we’ll be spending plenty of time while we’re here. He leads me onto the balcony in his room. It overlooks his impressive view of the ocean. I press my hands against the concrete rail, shaking my head before turning to him and folding my arms.

He stands at my side, the wind catching his bangs.

“What?” he asks, but judging by his expression, with one eyebrow raised higher than the other, he must know what I’m thinking.

“You were all surprised by my place, and this is incredible. Not the kind of place I was expecting from a guy who likes his ten-piece nuggets meal at Wendy’s. I think I’ve been had. But seriously. It’s very nice…insanely nice. I’m constantly surprised that it’s easy to forget how much money you really make.”

“How much money do you think I make?” Eric asks me.

“A lot more than me.” I glance back through the floor-length windows. “I’m basically in the poor house compared to you. I’ll be collecting food stamps by the time I get back home, especially taking a vacation right at the beginning of my job.”

“You didn’t have to come here,” he says, his tone unexpectedly serious.

“No, no. That was a joke. I wanted to come. This is important, and I have plenty of vacation time. I’m not concerned. Most of what I do at my job I can do remotely anyway.”

He approaches, his gaze drifting to the floor as his arms make their way around me so naturally…which is good because that’s where they belong.

“Well, I am glad you’re here,” he says.

“I appreciate you letting me be here for you, Eric. Speaking of which, how do you feel about tomorrow?”

“Nervous. Worried. It still doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen.”

“But you are going to tell her, right?”

He looks uncertain, as though he’s considered bailing.

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

“That’s all I ask, but you owe it to yourself.” I rest my hand on his bicep, running my thumb along where the hem of his sleeve meets his skin. “Let me know what I need to do. If you don’t want me to go back in the room with you, and I need to wait until you’re finished, that’s fine. I don’t care. I want to hold your hand through this as much as I can, but I’m not interested in doing anything that’ll make you uneasy.”

“I appreciate that, Jesse. More than you could possibly know.”

We gaze into each other’s eyes as he moves forward slowly, and then once again, like so many other times, I can’t help myself. My lips are back on his, and his hands are clawing at my back.

I relax into it, but he leans back. “Enough of that,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I haven’t shown you the best view of the bedroom yet.”

He squats down, wraps his arms around my legs, and hoists me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he carries me back into the condo.

We take advantage of this opportunity, enjoying each other, enjoying the evening in bed before we make dinner together and have an incredible evening with me appreciating how much he fits into this place.

At the same time, there is that worry that maybe I’m the thing that’s a little out of place in his life.