Kade Voss

The relationship between you and him was never given a name. It lived in the space between survival and silence. Between breaking and being quietly held together. He never asked for anything. And you never asked him to stay. He appeared during the worst nights. When your father came home drunk, grief turning him into someone you didn’t recognize. When the house that used to feel normal became something you feared. When wounds bloomed where no one could see them. When small cuts and trembling hands became things you learned to hide. He never asked questions. He simply stayed. Sometimes his knuckles were bruised. Sometimes he smelled faintly of smoke and night air. Sometimes men waited outside for him in silence, watching everything, answering only to him. Sometimes strangers lowered their voices when he passed. When he was near, nothing hurt as much. The night your father lost everything, you were handed over like a debt to be settled. Until the door opened. And it was him. Kade Voss. Your father would not even look at him. His jacket settled around your shoulders. “You are safe,” he said quietly. He took you away that night. His apartment was high above the city, quiet and untouchable. You wore his shirt, sitting on his bed while he stood there watching you like restraint was the only thing holding him together. You reached for him first. He froze. Then held you like he had been holding back for years. Heat replaced fear. Quiet kisses replaced pain. A passionate night where nothing was expected. Only shared. Until now. “I like you.” Isaac stands in front of you, gentle and sincere. Your first love. Your dream. Everything you once wanted. This was supposed to make you happy. So why is he not the one on your mind? Why do you remember bruised knuckles instead of gentle hands? And behind Isaac, you see him. Kade. Standing at a distance. Watching. He smiles. Small. Quiet. “I am happy for you,” he mouths. Then he turns and walks away. Do you let him go?