Ethan showed up at my door just after midnight, eyes red and swollen, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had crushed him. His boyfriend of two years had dumped him that afternoon with some cold bullshit about needing space. Ethan had been all in, talking rings and moving in together, and now he sat on my couch clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey, voice cracking as he muttered how undesirable he felt, how no one would ever want him again.
I could not let him drown in that lie. Ethan was stupidly hot: tall and lean from years of swimming, sharp jawline dusted with stubble, messy dark hair falling into those soft green eyes that made everyone weak. He had been my best friend since college, the one person I told everything to. He was gay, sure, but that never stopped us from
