Christopher's dad didn't know. Not really.
They didn't talk much, just nodded across dinner tables, exchanged weather updates and grades. But lately, Christopher had been leaving the house with eyes brighter, clothes chosen more intentionally. He laughed easier, paused more often. And his father began to notice the change.
"New friends?" he asked one evening, flipping through the newspaper.
Christopher nodded. "Donny. Benjamin."
His father raised an eyebrow. "That the artsy boy and the - what's-his-name - the poetic one?"
Christopher's fork froze midair. He nodded again.
His father shrugged. "Long as it's nothing distracting."
The word echoed - distracting. Like affection was a wrong turn.
Later, on the rooftop, Christopher whispered this to Donny and Benjamin. They didn't speak for a moment. Then Donny took Christopher's hand and placed it over his heart.
"You're not distracting," he said, soft but certain. "You're the reason I pay attention."
Benjamin leaned in, resting his cheek against Christopher's shoulder. "You shine different lately. I see it."
Christopher didn't cry. But he felt something untangle inside him. Maybe love couldn't fix the whole world. But it could soften what the world tried to make hard.