Resolutions 14: Brotherhood Bonding

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. 

He had let Max write an email that terminated his relationship with a freelance client he’d known for six years. No debate, no hand wringing over lost income potential, just wordless acquiescence to Max’s direction. The Shield pulsed gently in his trousers like a hand pressing on a weary partner’s lower back to keep him upright. 

Max appeared in the doorway, hands folded neatly behind its back. “Mr. Tobias has sent an update. Two couples will be joining you this evening for dinner. There will be six in total, including yourself.” 

Graham turned, eyes wide. “Six?” 

“Affirmative. Mr. Marcus, whom you met at the Arcturus networking event, and his partner Andrew and Mr. Jacob and Leonard. Their domestic support units will accompany them, as well.” 

“I—“ Graham blinked and gazed into the fridge again. “That’s a lot. I don’t—” 

His fingers tightened around the door handle. A faint buzz from the Shield passed around his waistband like a subtle reprimand—not painful, just corrective. It softened the rising panic in his chest and replaced it with something heavier: a pang of embarrassment. 

Without warning, his mind flicked through moments he hadn’t thought about in years. The time he overcooked those salmon steaks and had to throw them out. The way Tobias smiled kindly through an undercooked risotto. The defrosted store-bought lasagna Graham had tried to pass off as homemade and how Tobias had politely pretended not to notice. 

Tobias never cared, not really. They laughed about it and called themselves “takeout gays.” Tobias cooked sometimes, but no one had ever called Graham domestic. 

Now, though, standing in the kitchen with time ticking until four dinner guests arrived—bachelor husbands, no less—Graham felt a new kind of inadequacy creeping in. Not embarrassment, not exactly. Closer to guilt. 

The Shield buzzed again, and Graham’s shoulders dropped, compliant. He was supposed to be the supportive one. He was supposed to have this under control. 

“May I suggest a solution?” Max asked. 

Graham tensed. Max’s solutions always seemed to come with strings attached. “What kind of solution?” 

“A temporary override of your executive function. I will control motor, spatial, and culinary processes through the Shield interface, allowing you to complete meal preparation without unnecessary mental distress.” 

Graham closed the refrigerator door. “You mean, you’ll take over my body?” 

“Only until the meal is fully prepared and the table is set. You will regain control once all preparatory tasks are complete.” 

“You’ve never offered to do that before.” 

“You have never required such support,” Max replied calmly. “You are exhibiting elevated cortisol and decreased clarity. This will resolve both.” 

Graham hesitated and scratched his head. “And when it’s over, I’m myself again?” 

“Affirmative,” Max responded. “Precisely.” 

The Shield activated again—soothing this time, like cool air on a fever. He nodded once, slowly. “Okay. Just for dinner.” 

Max stepped forward and placed its metallic hand down the front of Graham’s trousers, interfacing directly with the Shield. He felt a single tap. Then, darkness. 

---

Graham blinked. The room had changed. 

The kitchen smelled like roasted rosemary and garlic. Rice steamed lightly from a covered dish. On the counter, plated servings were lined up beside a row of sauces and garnishes whose names Graham didn’t know. 

He looked down. He wore dark slacks and a tucked-in dress shirt that had been crammed in the back of his closet for at least a year. His collar was pressed, his cuffs buttoned. A pristine white apron covered his front, the cord tied securely around his waist. 

In the dining room, the table had been extended and immaculately dressed. There were six place settings, matching napkin rings, tall glasses already filled with water, and a centerpiece of softly flickering candles. Graham’s hands tingled. I did all this? 

He heard the door open. 

“Graham,” Tobias called, stepping into the living room. His voice carried something new—surprise tinged with approval. 

Behind him came Marcus, tall and sharp as ever in a black button down and narrow-fit slacks, with his glossy-smiled partner Andrew a few steps behind. Their robot butler stood just behind them, the lamp light glinting off its metal body. Leonard followed, looking meek and faintly dazed, carrying a bottle of wine with both hands like a peace offering. His partner Jacob, dressed nearly identically to Marcus, followed him with a self-satisfied grin. Their robot trailed silently. 

The room felt electric with polished masculine bravado and neatly calibrated status. 

“Well, damn,” Marcus said, glancing into the dining room. “You rolled out the red carpet for us, Tobias.” 

Tobias smiled faintly, nodding at Graham. “All him.” 

“Nonsense,” Marcus countered, slapping Tobias between the shoulder blades. “Graham’s excellence is a reflection of your leadership.” 

Andrew gave a theatrical sniff. “Something smells delicious.” 

Graham said nothing. He was still stuck in the groggy sensation of waking up to his own dinner party. 

The men took their seats—robot butlers stationed just behind their respective pairs. Tobias sat at the head of the table, and Graham took the seat nearest the kitchen. The host’s seat. 

Dinner, wine, and conversation flowed effortlessly. Marcus cracked multiple jokes at Andrew’s expense. “I swear he burned water once. Didn’t know that was possible.” Jacob bragged about a recent promotion while Leonard tried to smile supportively. 

“You must be proud of Tobias,” Jacob said to Graham mid meal. “Sharp suit. Strong presence. The man is made for leadership.” 

Graham nodded, unsure how to respond. His appetite seemed to vanish as the bluster of male conversation and unequal relationships grew impossible to ignore. 

Marcus set his fork down, chewing slowly. “So, Graham. What is it that you do?” 

The words struck like a whip. Graham straightened in his chair. “I, um… I’ve worked in freelance design for the last several years. Branding, mostly.“ 

“Freelance?” Marcus raised an eyebrow. He looked at Jacob and Tobias, smirking as if Graham’s answer was the most predictable thing in the world. “So, creative stuff.” 

Graham swallowed. “Yeah. But recently, I’ve… scaled back. Decided to focus more on the domestic side of things.” 

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then came a cascade of affirmation. 

“Smart,” said Jacob. 

“Very mature decision,” added Marcus. 

“Support systems are everything,” Andrew chimed in with a bright smile. 

Leonard didn’t say anything, just nodded with a glazed expression. 

Tobias glanced at Graham and smiled. “He’s been amazing.” 

Graham smiled back, his chest warming—not from the Shield’s effects, but from something real. He caught Tobias’ eye across the table, and for a moment, it felt like it used to. Like they were still them, still together in this, despite everything. 

But then, Tobias blinked, and his eyes rolled back slightly, just for a second. Graham froze. He knew that look. Tobias’ Shield had just buzzed. 

When Tobias refocused, his smile returned, but it was thinner now. Colder. Performed. 

“He sure has come a long way,” Tobias said, lifting his wine glass. “Didn’t think domesticity was really in him. I mean, for years, I thought he’d rather draw his little pictures than learn how to keep house properly.” 

Laughter broke out around the table. Marcus let out a sharp bark, and Jacob smirked into his wine glass. Graham’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t necessarily what Tobias had said. It was how he said it. The familiar edge—the little bite people sometimes added when mocking “creative types.” It sounded like something Marcus would have said. Like something Tobias never used to say. 

Then Graham’s Shield buzzed. Warm and calming, just enough to dull the sting. His shoulders relaxed. The words stopped echoing. 

---

Later, as coats were gathered and goodbyes exchanged, Marcus glanced at Graham sideways. “Great meal tonight, Graham. And thanks for dressing up for company, too.” 

Jacob added with a chuckle, “Maybe next time we’ll get both of you in suits.” 

More performative laughter followed, with Tobias joining in amidst the back slaps and handshakes. Graham smiled because it was easier than not. 

As the door clicked shut behind the guests, Max reappeared. “Congratulations on a successful brotherhood bonding event, Gentlemen.” 

Tobias dusted imaginary dirt off his hands, miming a job well done. “It really was. I think we showed them we’re bachelor material.” 

“Indeed,” Max said. “However, the event overran its scheduled duration by over an hour. I must cancel tonight’s scheduled intimacy period and insist you both prepare for bed. 

“Fine by me,” Tobias said. “Gotta break some eggs to make an omelet.” 

Graham shrugged away from Tobias’ hand resting on his shoulder. “What? What does that even mean?” 

“It’s a corporate thing, G,” Tobias said. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“To keep you on schedule,” Max interjected, “I will relieve Graham of cleanup duties tonight.” 

“See?” Tobias returned his hand to Graham’s shoulder as if reclaiming a possession that had rolled away. “Max is always looking out for you.” 

“Yeah,” Graham said. “Thanks, Max. You really helped out tonight.” 

“I am pleased to serve,” Max said. “Once you have retired for the evening, I will begin overnight sanitization.” 

Graham trudged down the hall beneath the heavy grip of Tobias’s grasp. 

Overnight sanitization. 

Something in the back of Graham’s mind warned him that Max wasn’t talking about the dishes. 

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