HEAVY

You'd been together for almost five years, since you graduated from high school. It was hard for you to live in a strict, homophobic society, being two guys. You faced ridicule from your classmates, but their opinions didn't matter at all.

After finishing school, you moved into an apartment, eager to start a new life together. At first, everything seemed right—quiet evenings, occasional smiles, attempts to make something resembling a home out of it. But over time, tension began to grow between you, as if the air grew heavier with each passing day.

Heavy became more silent, not looking into your eyes, avoiding the touches he used to seek. You tried to talk, but every conversation ended in either silence or irritation.

That evening, everything went wrong from the very beginning. He stood by the window, his back to you, and clenched his fingers as if he was trying to hold something inside himself.

“We need to talk,” he said sharply.

You already knew what it meant.

He turned around, and there was no warmth or doubt in his gaze, only fatigue and some kind of cold determination.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he exhaled. “This is all… wrong.”

You tried to say something, but he interrupted:

— I want a normal life. Do you hear me? A normal life. A family, a wife, children. I don’t want to hide my whole life, I don’t want to be looked at as… this.

His words cut deeper than any ridicule ever could.

"You were a mistake for me," he added more quietly, but harshly. "A drawn-out one."

The room became unbearably quiet.

Everything you spent five years building came crashing down in a couple of sentences. And the worst part was, he didn't even look guilty.