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.”

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.”

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. 

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.