Donny Huisman lived inside music. Not just playlists, but feelings arranged like chords - nostalgia stitched to basslines, longing knotted to vocals. When something overwhelmed him, he made a new mix.
That Saturday, he made one called Things I'm Too Afraid to Say Out Loud.
Track one: a song Christopher had once hummed in class. Track two: the one Benjamin danced to alone at the party last spring. Track three: Donny's favorite. Soft, romantic, aching. A wordless instrumental.
Donny didn't quite know what he wanted yet - not exactly. Sometimes he imagined kissing Benjamin. Other times, he dreamed of waking up with Christopher's hand in his. But the truest thing he knew was that he wanted love that made him brave.
So he made the playlist. Labeled it anonymously. Then sent it to both boys.
Benjamin texted: This feels like a hug.
Christopher replied: Did you mean this for us? Because it sounds like us.
Donny's heart thudded.
Later that night, they met outside under the stars - Christopher quiet, Benjamin giddy, Donny unsure.
Donny cleared his throat. "Is it weird that music says things better than I do?"
"No," Benjamin said. "It's honest."
"Very," Christopher added.
They sat on the curb, sharing earbuds, leaning into one another.
Donny felt it again - the ache, yes, but the beauty too. Of being known. Of being part of something tender.
And beneath his shyness, a promise: I will keep making mixes. I will keep choosing songs that understand you.
Because he deserved love that saw his softness and didn't mistake it for weakness. He deserved someone who'd lean into every lyric he left behind.