It was nearly one in the morning when Terrance pulled into his mother's driveway.

  The neighborhood was asleep. Porch lights glowed softly against the dark, and the house looked exactly as it always had. Familiar. Steady. Unchanged.

  He turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the front door. Coming back felt different than leaving. Leaving had been forced. This felt like surrender.

  He stepped out quietly and eased the door open with his spare key.

  The house smelled the same. Laundry detergent. Faint traces of whatever his stepfather had cooked earlier that evening. Safe smells. Stable smells.

  He moved down the hallway without turning on any lights.

  When he pushed open his old bedroom door, the hinges gave a soft groan. The room was mostly empty, just as he had left it over a month ago when he thought he was starting something new.

  The walls were bare except for faint outlines where pictures used to hang. The bed sat neatly made, almost untouched.

  It felt as though the room had been waiting.

  As if it had known he would be back.

  He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. The quiet settled around him, not heavy like his father's house, but watchful.

  He lay down without changing his clothes and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged him under.

  The next few days blurred together.

  He stayed in his room.

  He barely ate.

  When he did, it was something small he could grab quickly before retreating back behind his door.

  He avoided the living room. Avoided conversation. Avoided the questions he knew were coming.

  His mother did not push.

  On the third afternoon, there was a soft knock.

  "Terrance?" she called gently through the door.

  He sat up, running a hand over his face before answering. "Yeah."

  She opened the door just enough to peek inside. Her expression was careful, tender.

  "I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she said. "If you need anything, you let me know."

  Her voice carried concern but no pressure.

  "I'm okay," he replied, though he knew he did not look it.

  She studied him for a second longer, then nodded and closed the door quietly behind her.

  That evening, his phone buzzed in his hand.

  Isaiah.

  Can we FaceTime?

  Terrance's stomach dropped instantly.

  He stared at the message as if it might disappear.

  He had known this would come.

  Texting was easy. Controlled. He could curate every word. But a video call meant visibility. Exposure.

  He typed quickly.

  I broke my phone during the move. My camera's a little blurry.

  The three dots appeared almost immediately.

  That's fine. I want you to see me, and I want to show you my barracks.

  His spine stiffened.

  He had not expected that.

  Terrance looked around the room, mind racing. His phone was perfectly fine. The camera worked without flaw.

  If he declined now, it would raise more suspicion than answering.

  He needed something.

  His eyes landed on a stack of tape sitting on the desk from when he had boxed things up before leaving. He grabbed it and tore off a few thin strips with shaking fingers.

  Carefully, he placed them over the camera lens, layering them just enough to blur the image without blocking it completely.

  He tested it.

  The screen showed a hazy outline. Enough to pass as broken. Not enough to reveal him clearly.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He inhaled once to steady himself and pressed accept.

  Isaiah's face filled the screen almost instantly, smiling wide, effortless as always. The sight of him made something in Terrance ache.

  Isaiah leaned closer to his own camera and laughed softly. "Damn, gorgeous. You weren't lying when you said it was broken."

  Terrance forced a small smile, keeping his voice light, soft, carefully sweet. "Told you."

  His heart was racing hard enough to make his hands tremble, but Isaiah seemed relaxed, unaware.

  For now, the excuse was working, and for now, that was enough.

  Isaiah shifted the phone in his hand and turned the camera outward.

  "Hold on, let me show you," he said, flipping it around.

  The screen filled with a small, neatly kept barracks room. A narrow bed tucked against the wall. Boots lined up with precise order. A duffel bag half unpacked.

  The space was simple, structured, almost clinical.

  "It's not much," Isaiah said with a small laugh. "But it's mine for now."

  Terrance could see how proud Isaiah was. How grounded he looked. There was something steady about him.

  Something honest.

  Terrance forced a smile.

  "That's nice," he replied softly. "It looks... good."

  Isaiah turned the camera back toward himself. His face filled the screen again, warm and open.

  "I wish you were here," Isaiah said without hesitation. "I'd show you around. It's different from back home in the upstate, but I think you'd like it."

  The words landed deep.

  Terrance felt his chest tighten.

  Home. He was not even sure where that was anymore.

  He shifted slightly on his bed, careful not to move too much in case the tape slipped.

  He imagined what it would be like to stand in that room in person. To not blur himself. To not measure every word.

  Isaiah kept talking, telling him about the guys in his unit, about how early they had to wake up, about the way Texas felt bigger somehow.

  Terrance listened, nodding at the right times, smiling when expected, but beneath it all, something tugged at him.

  Isaiah was letting him in. Showing him his space. His world.

  Trusting him.

  Terrance was sitting in a half empty childhood bedroom, hiding behind strips of tape and a softened voice.

  "Hey," Isaiah said suddenly, his tone shifting. "You seem quiet. You okay?"

  Terrance's pulse jumped.

  "I'm good," he answered quickly. "Just tired."

  Isaiah studied the blurred image on his screen. "You sure?"

  There it was again. That attentiveness. That instinct to notice.

  Terrance forced a small laugh. "Yeah. I just hate that my camera's messed up. You can barely see me."

  Isaiah smiled easily. "I don't need to see you perfectly to know you're beautiful."

  The words hit harder than they should have.

  Terrance looked away from the screen for a moment, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes.

  The compliment felt undeserved.

  Not because he did not believe Isaiah meant it, but because it was being offered to someone who did not fully exist.

  "I missed you," Isaiah added quietly.

  Terrance's throat tightened.

  He wanted to say it back without hesitation. Wanted to let it sit between them clean and honest.

  Instead, he said it carefully. "I missed you too."

  The words felt split down the middle.

  Isaiah smiled again, unaware of the fracture.

  "When you get that phone fixed, I better get the real view."

  Terrance forced another light tone. "You will."

  When they finally said goodnight, Isaiah lingered a second longer on the screen.

  "Get some rest blurry queen, okay?"

  "You too," Terrance laughed softly.

  The call ended, and the room settled into silence once more.

  Terrance reached up and slowly peeled the tape from his camera. The adhesive lifted with a faint sound, and the lens cleared instantly, sharp and unfiltered.

  He stared at his reflection in the darkened screen, his own face staring back at him without distortion or softened edges.

  Isaiah had shown him his world without hesitation, turning the phone freely, letting him see the bare walls of his barracks, the unmade bed, the small details of his daily life.

  Terrance had offered deception wrapped in a pretty blonde bow.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, pressing his head lightly against the wall.

  The guilt didn't rush in all at once.

  It moved slowly, settling into his chest and refusing to leave.

  He did not feel entirely dishonest because the emotions themselves were real. The longing was real. The comfort he felt when Isaiah laughed was real. Nothing about that had been manufactured.

  Yet the person receiving those feelings was not seeing him fully or truthfully.

  He rolled onto his side and pulled his pillow closer, his thoughts darkening as the room grew heavier around him.

  Lately, he barely recognized the version of himself he was becoming. He had grown skilled at lying without stumbling. He had learned how to blur his own face without hesitation.

  He had grown comfortable hiding behind a name because it felt safer than standing inside his own.

  Somewhere along the way, survival had begun to resemble performance, and he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

  A question rose quietly but relentlessly in his chest.

  If Isaiah ever saw him clearly, would he still choose to stay?

  Terrance swallowed and rolled onto his back, staring at the faint shadows drifting across the ceiling. The room felt dim and suspended in stillness.

  He wanted the connection and the warmth that came with it, and more than anything he wanted relief from the loneliness that had settled into him like a second skin.

  But with every passing day that he allowed this to continue, the distance between who he was and who he was pretending to be stretched wider. His thoughts circled the same truth, pressing harder each time.

  Then his phone buzzed again, sudden and insistent in the quiet.

  Terrance glanced down, and his chest tightened when he saw Isaiah's name lighting up the screen.

  He reached for the strip of tape he had just peeled away and pressed it quickly back over the camera lens, smoothing it down with his thumb.

  His movements were rushed but practiced now, careful enough to blur the image without blocking it completely.

  He adjusted the angle, checked the distortion, and only then did he swipe to answer.

  Isaiah's face appeared, warm and familiar.

  "Hey," he said, a little breathless, like he had almost talked himself out of calling. "I know we just got off, but... can we sleep on the phone tonight?"

  Terrance blinked, surprised by the request even though something in him had been hoping for it. "Sleep on the phone?" he repeated, keeping his tone soft.

  "Yeah." Isaiah shifted against his pillow, the dim light of his barracks outlining his features. "I don't know. I just want you there."

  The simplicity of it settled deep in Terrance's chest. He had not realized how badly he wanted the same thing until Isaiah said it out loud.

  Even through distance and screens and careful concealment, there was a pull between them.

  It felt like both of them were reaching across the miles for something steady, something that made the night less empty.

  "Okay," Terrance answered quietly.

  Isaiah's shoulders relaxed, relief flickering across his face. After a moment, he smiled. "Tell me a story."

  Terrance let out a small, confused laugh. "What? Why?"

  Isaiah's expression softened in a way that made Terrance's throat tighten. "Your voice," he admitted. "I just want to hear your voice while I fall asleep."

  The words wrapped around him, gentle and unguarded. Isaiah was not asking for clarity or proof or visuals. He was asking for presence. For comfort. For something real in the dark.

  Terrance adjusted the phone slightly, making sure the tape still blurred the lens just enough, and drew in a steady breath.

  When he began to speak, his voice came out low and warm, sweeter than the storm inside him. He chose a simple story, nothing dramatic, letting the rhythm of his words do most of the work.

  The details flowed softly, almost like a lullaby, his tone even and careful.

  On the other side of the screen, Isaiah listened without interruption. His eyes gradually grew heavier, his breathing slowing as Terrance continued.

  The distance between them seemed to shrink, reduced to sound and shared quiet, to the subtle comfort of knowing someone else was still awake.

  As he spoke, Terrance felt both the warmth and the ache settle side by side in his chest.

  What he was giving Isaiah was real in feeling, even if it was incomplete in form. The connection was genuine, even if the image was not.

  Eventually, Isaiah's breathing evened out completely, his face relaxed in sleep while the call remained connected.

  Terrance kept talking for a few moments longer, his voice lowering to a near whisper, as though stopping would invite the silence back in too quickly.

  When he finally fell quiet, the only sound left was Isaiah's steady breathing through the speaker, filling the dark room with something that almost felt like peace.