Donny couldn't sleep.
So, at five-thirty in the morning, he climbed out of bed, slipped on a hoodie, and biked toward the hill that overlooked the lake. The sky was bruised with pre-light, and the air smelled like damp leaves and leftover dreams.
He sat on the highest rock, legs tucked in, eyes tracing the slow reveal of morning. And as the sun cracked open along the horizon, something stirred inside him - not panic, not yearning. Just presence.
He took out his sketchbook, drew the way the light kissed the water. Then he stopped. Closed his eyes.
What did he want?
Not just affection, not just boys who kissed with kindness. He wanted someone who would see his fears and stay anyway. Someone who wouldn't rush him but would never let him retreat alone.
As the orange filtered across the lake, Donny whispered to no one: "I want to be chosen. Again and again."
Behind him, footsteps.
Christopher sat beside him without speaking.
Benjamin followed minutes later, breath still fogging. "You didn't text us. But we knew."
Donny turned. "I didn't know I needed you. Until I did."
Christopher took his hand. Benjamin kissed his cheek.
And the sunrise, rising warm and whole, wrapped the trio in light.