And I realize it’s not just the loss of his other half finally hitting him, after months of holding it in, displaying hardly any emotion whatsoever. It’s everything. A culmination of years’ worth of bullying and anxiety and struggling to accept himself. Tonight was just the tipping point. I was the tipping point. I see that now. I feel it. In every shove turned fierce, clawing grip on my arm. In every hitch in his breath, and broken wail into the night. In the way his lean body curls inward, clenching, twitching with the onslaught.
