Marco stared at the dandelion on the counter.
It was fresh, golden, and placed with care — not tossed, not forgotten. His fingers brushed the stem, and something inside him stirred. A memory. A feeling. A truth he hadn't dared name.
Colden stood nearby, quiet, watching.
"I wrote something," Colden said softly. "For you."
Marco looked up.
"It's not perfect," Colden added. "But it's honest."
He reached into his coat and unfolded a small piece of parchment. His voice was low, steady, like a song whispered between stars.
"I saw you once beneath the moon,
Where lanterns danced and silence bloomed.
You smiled like spring, like something new,
And I forgot the weight of who I was.
If I could choose a crown to wear,
It would be your laughter in the air.
If I could choose a throne to keep,
It would be your hand, when I'm asleep."
Colden folded the parchment slowly, eyes still on Marco.
"I don't know what this is," he said. "But I know it's real. And I know it's you."
Marco didn't answer.
He stepped forward.
And kissed him.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't rehearsed. It was sudden, soft, and full of everything they hadn't said.
Colden froze for a moment, then melted into it — hands rising to Marco's shoulders, breath catching in his throat.
The inn was quiet. The world was quiet.
They moved together, slowly, like a dance learned in dreams.
Upstairs, the room was warm. The rain had stopped. The sheets were fresh.
They undressed with quiet hands, laughter slipping between kisses. Colden traced the curve of Marco's back, the line of his jaw, the softness of his breath.
Colden swiftly moved down at Marco's pants , unzipping them and jerking Marco off and Marco moans .
Marco then grabs Colden's and jerks it off and they both moan ...
Marco whispered his name — Colden — and it felt wrong a little
They lay together, skin against skin, hearts racing, the dandelion still resting on the bedside table.
Outside, the moon rose.
Inside, they found something they hadn't known they were missing.