Category: Resolutions (Page 2 of 2)

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Graham stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, only half listening to the steady buzz of the morning news wafting in from the living room TV. The usual lineup of economic updates and global affairs blurred, one into the next until a breaking news sting interrupted the broadcast. Graham turned toward the TV, watching over the rim of his coffee mug. A red banner crept across the bottom of the screen: “BREAKING: Arcturus Innovations Announces Historic Merger.” 

The anchor, a neatly dressed older man with military posture and crisp delivery, spoke directly into the camera. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Friday morning arrived with a soft, mechanical hum. The Shields buzzed lightly before sunrise, prompting Tobias and Graham to wake at precisely 6 a.m., no alarm necessary. 

Max, already active in the kitchen, greeted them with their prepared schedules for the day. Tobias barely glanced at his before nodding, arms already sliding into his pressed shirt. Still adjusting to the upgraded Shield’s constant presence, Graham blinked sleepily at the charted blocks of time displayed on the tablet screen. 

Tobias emerged from the bedroom just after seven on Saturday morning, fastening the final button on the jacket of one of his new suits. The garment was impossibly sharp—dark gray with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and a subtle sheen that made him appear slightly more angular, more authoritative, and more defined. 

Still in pajama bottoms and a soft old sweatshirt, Graham paused mid sip of his coffee. The sight of Tobias dressed like that—the clean lines, the high collar, the quiet clink of cufflinks—hit him like a wave. He’d always been attracted to Tobias, but a different set of feelings stirred within him now. The suit made Tobias appear larger than life, and Graham, by comparison, smaller and meeker. Insignificant. Still reeling from Tobias’ dismissal and Max’s muddling of his thoughts the day before, Graham averted his eyes, lest his husband’s inexplicable new magnetism confuse him further. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

The kitchen counters were already gleaming when Graham began wiping them for the third time. The vacuumed carpets still showed orderly, parallel lines without tread marks from socked feet. Not a speck of dust had had time to settle on the baseboards. Still, Graham couldn’t sit still. Max’s suggestion—no, Max’s assignment—to begin dinner prep echoed in the back of his mind. Tobias would be home in under two hours, and his calendar noted their shared evening meal: Quality Bonding. Despite, or perhaps because of, another emotional roller coaster of a day, Graham had been looking forward to dinner with his husband. 

He opened the fridge and stared into its sterile glow. The ingredients sat there like foreign objects—chicken breasts, leafy greens, and trimmed root vegetables. It wasn’t just that Graham didn’t know what to make. He didn’t know what to feel. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Tap. Buzz. Green to amber. 

Tap. Buzz. Amber to green. 

It was 3:17 p.m., and Graham’s diligence in completing his Monday chores had earned him a few precious minutes of downtime between scheduled activities. The apartment was still but not quiet, and the lights remained locked at Max’s preferred “Domestic Mid-Afternoon” level: bright enough for task performance but sufficiently soft to discourage reflection. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Graham stood beside the bed, his posture stiffening under harsh lighting and temperature-regulated air. He inhaled, the scent of cedar and sterile linens—Max’s default settings for mornings labeled Leadership Optimization Days—filling his nostrils. There were no shadows, no softness, and nowhere to hide. 

He wore nothing but a compression undergarment. Tight, black, and smooth, it covered him from shoulders to upper thigh, including the Shield encasing his groin. He felt oddly exposed despite the coverage, like a doll waiting for its costume. His arms hung at his sides, bare and vulnerable. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Max moved like a metronome, arms folded behind its narrow frame, steps unnaturally fluid, a perfect mimicry of grace without intention. Graham followed, his pace stifled by the constriction of his compression trousers, the fabric sculpting his thighs and binding his lower belly in a soft vise. Each step felt like a silent reprimand. His lavender shirt clung faintly beneath the arm, damp where sweat met synthetic fibers. The ArcturusVision Glasses pressed into his temples, a gentle but insistent hum that made the skin there throb with low-grade awareness. 

The coffee shop, if it could still be called that, was tucked into the ground floor of a glass and steel skyscraper downtown near ArcturusVision headquarters. The establishment, once unassumingly called Beanz and run by a friendly, somewhat crunchy Australian couple, now bore the sterile designation Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7. Graham had passed Beanz hundreds of times, only occasionally stopping by to work on his laptop or re-caffeinate after hitting the gym.