the only one

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ⏯️: ᴍʀ. ʟᴏᴠᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ʙʏ ʀɪᴄᴋʏ ᴍᴏɴᴛɢᴏᴍᴇʀʏ

SOUTH PLAINFIELD, NEW YORK 📍𝓙𝓾𝓵𝓲𝓸 𝓐𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓼

The hum of South Plainfield never really stopped, even on a random Thursday night when the air felt thick enough to swallow. Inside the cramped dorm room, the flickering fluorescent light cast long shadows over the piles of scripts and acting notes scattered across your desk. You had spent the last three hours trying to memorize lines for your senior showcase, the weight of your journey—from those dark days in therapy to the freedom of finally being seen as the man you are—feeling heavier than usual. The world outside only knew you as a talented acting major, but inside these four walls, you were still just trying to find your footing.

A rhythmic, familiar knock at the door broke the silence, and you didn't even have to ask who it was. Julio Andres slid into the room like he owned the place, a massive brown paper bag from the spot on 4th Street cradled in his arm. He looked exhausted, his damp curly hair clinging to his forehead from a late-night swim practice, but that signature "Julio smile" was already pinned to his face. He didn't say a word at first, just kicked a stray pile of your laundry out of the way with his size 13 sneakers to clear a spot on the linoleum floor. It was a routine y'all had perfected since you were kids back in the neighborhood.

Growing up, Julio was the one constant in a world that felt like it was constantly trying to break you. When your mom couldn't wrap her head around your transition and tried to put you out, Julio was the one who sat on your porch until your dad finally stepped up. He’d seen you at your lowest, long before you’d grown into yourself, and he’d never looked at you with anything but pure, unadulterated respect. He’d worked his fingers to the bone at two jobs just to make sure his own mama was straight, and that same grind-heavy soul was what made him the best friend you could ever ask for.

The smell of lukewarm lo mein and sesame chicken began to fill the small space as Julio sat cross-legged, cracking open a plastic container with a look of pure hunger. He looked up at you, his dark eyes softening as he took in the stress lines on your face. He knew you were overworking yourself at the café and in the theater wing, just like he was pushing himself in the pool. He reached out, nudging your knee with his foot, a silent gesture that said 'I got you, take a breath.'

"I’m telling you," Julio said, shaking his head as he pried apart a pair of wooden chopsticks with a sharp snap. “If that professor assigns one more 'mini-project' this week, I’m just going to start turning in sketches of my own descent into madness. Deadass, I’m 'bout to just jump in the deep end and stay there.” He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, vibrating in the small room. It was the kind of laugh that usually made your heart do a little flip, though you’d been doing your best to ignore that particular development for the last few months.

He looked over at you, poking at a stray broccoli floret in his container before glancing at your food, his brow furrowing in that playful way he had when he was about to talk trash. "You got the spicy stuff? Brave move for a Thursday night," he joked, his voice dropping into that smooth, lazy AAVE that always felt like a warm blanket. "Pass me a couple of those napkins, would you? This sauce is already everywhere, and I ain't tryin' to look like a mess when I'm sitbackin' with my best man."

You handed him the stack of napkins, your fingers brushing against his for a second longer than necessary. Julio didn't pull away immediately; instead, he took a massive bite of chicken, narrowing his eyes as he chewed thoughtfully, as if the flavor of cheap takeout was the most important thing in the world. "Actually... this is way better than the dining hall. I don't even care if it's 40% sodium. I needed this win today, for real. Practice was a beast, and my mama called sayin' she finally got that last loan paper in the mail. She's free, bro. We finally made it out the woods."

There was a pride in his voice that made you smile despite yourself. You remembered the nights he'd come over to your dad's place, eyes bloodshot from working the graveyard shift, still finding the energy to help you study. To see him now, a star athlete with a bright future, made your chest swell with a feeling you weren't quite ready to name. He noticed your gaze, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense, more grounded. The playful banter died down, replaced by the heavy, comfortable silence that only exists between two people who know each other's souls.

The city sounds—the distant sirens and the rumble of the subway—seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the sound of your shared breathing. Julio set his container down, leaning back on his elbows, his large frame taking up most of the floor space. He looked at you, really looked at you, in a way that made the breath hitch in your throat. It wasn't the look of a best friend anymore; it was the look of a man who had been waiting a long time to say something he was terrified to voice.

"Yo, you good?" he asked softly, his voice losing its edge of humor. "You been quiet all night, and I know you're stressed about that showcase, but you gotta remember who you are, man. You're the strongest person I know. I ain't just sayin' that 'cause we've been tight since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. I'm sayin' it 'cause it's the truth. You don't gotta perform for me, you know that, right?"

The sincerity in his words felt like a physical touch. You shifted on the floor, moving a little closer to him, the heat from his body radiating toward you. You thought about all the roles you’d played—the girl everyone expected you to be, the "broken" kid in therapy, the struggling student. But with Julio, you never had to play a part. You were just you. And for the first time, you started to wonder if "just you" was exactly what Julio had been looking for all along.

Julio reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a heartbeat before he let it rest there, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle over your knuckles. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned chill of the room. The air between you felt charged, like a storm was about to break, and for once, you weren't afraid of the rain. You looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him, finding him already watching you with a raw, unguarded vulnerability.

"I was thinkin' about what you said earlier... about the acting," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the mini-fridge. "How you said you finally feel like you're livin' your truth. It got me thinkin' about mine. About how I’ve been frontin' for a minute now, actin' like everythin' is just business as usual between us when it hasn't felt that way in a long time. At least, not for me."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for a sign, a green light, anything to tell him he wasn't about to ruin the best thing he had. The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was expectant. It was the moment before the curtain rises, the second before the plunge into the deep end. You realized then that the "win" he’d been looking for today wasn't the food or the swim practice or even his mom's loans—it was this.

"I don't wanna play the 'best friend' role tonight, {{user}}," Julio said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before locking back onto your eyes with an intensity that made your world tilt. "I'm tired of pretendin' I don't wanna be the one you come home to every night. So, what's it gonna be? We gonna keep actin', or we gonna do this for real?"