Last time a quiet night turned into something warmer.
What began with mud, towels and laughter ended with two men
finding comfort in the same silence.
A home that didn't feel borrowed anymore.
Daniel let someone see him without his guard.
Evan learned how care can sound like belonging.
And somewhere between the scent of soap and the glow of the
kitchen light, something changed.
Morning finds them closer than before, Not because of what
happened, but because of what it might mean.
A Sunday without work, two dogs restless for the park, one
invitation waiting to be said out loud.
This is Autumn Tales, chapter 5, a tale for two.
It was the kind of morning that doesn't ask to begin.
A slow unfolding of warmth and quiet breath beside you forever.
It's been a while since the space next to him wasn't cold,
since the sound of another heartbeat felt steady enough to
keep listening to from the hallway.
The soft click of pause. Sonny pushes the door open with
his nose. Tail swains slowly, sniffing the
unfamiliar air. Cucumber pads in after him,
smaller, curious, pausing at the edge of the bed like he stumbled
on a secret worth guarding. Sonny sniffs the wall, then
Daniel's shoe. Satisfied, he exhales through
his nose and sits. Cucumber looks from one man to
the other, eyes wide, ears flicking, tail still, before
letting out a small, approving sound.
Evan steers. The world feels softer than it
should. The air smells faintly of
detergent and rain, the kind that lingers after a long night.
His hand brushes the sheet. Heat, skin, the steady weight of
someone real. He doesn't move for a few
breaths, just lets the feeling sink in.
Daniel shifts beside him, half asleep.
Instinctive. His hand finds Evans under the
blanket, not searching, just finding.
Evans breath catches, quiet but noticeable.
He glances down, sees their hands touching his own, smaller
against Daniel's, and something steadies in him.
No questions, no hesitation, just the realization that
closeness can feel like peace. Evan slips carefully from the
bed. The floorboards creak cool under
his feet. He moves to the small drying
rack near the heater, folding the last of the laundry from
last night. The air smells of soap and
steam, Daniel's shirt clean, soft, grey.
He folds with both hands, smoothing the fabric once before
setting it neatly on the chair by the bed.
Evan turns back, notices Daniel watching, and offers a small
smile. He clears his throat, voice
soft. You want coffee?
I can also make some scrambles, and we can walk the dogs after.
Daniel pushes himself upright, the sheet falling to his waist.
A quiet smile crosses his face, the kind that mixes warmth with
something unspoken. Daniel after careful thoughts.
Let's do take away. There's a bagel shop near the
park. Good coffee, too.
Evan hesitates for a second, then nods, almost relieved.
Daniel sits up, runs a hand through his hair.
He reaches for the clean shirt, studies at a moment, then
glances toward Evan. There's gratitude in the
silence. For the first time in a while,
he feels what it's like to be looked after.
For Daniel. It's not the night that stays.
It's the small kindness. After.
Without a word, he walks into the bathroom.
The faint sound of running water, toothbrush on porcelain,
the splash of a face being washed.
Evan moves through the kitchen, bowls clinking cucumbers, tail
beats against the floor as he sets their food down.
Soon his paws tap impatiently on tile, waiting for the cue.
The bathroom door opens. Steam drifts out.
Daniel steps back into the room, shirt crisp, face still damp
from the sink. He looks more awake, quietly
surprised at himself. He picks up his jacket from the
chair, hesitates, then looks at Evan.
The air between them hums with something unspoken.
Daniel quietly thanks for all this.
Evan looks up, almost embarrassed by the sincerity.
He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can,
Daniel steps forward and pulls him into a hug.
Some thanks don't need words, just the kind of hold that says
I feel it too. They pull a pot as Cucumber
barks once, tail wagging frantically.
Sonny gives a low whine. The signal.
Evan laughs. They're going to leave without
us. Daniel grinning.
Then let's not keep them waiting.
And just like that, Sunday begins with clean clothes, warm
coffee, waiting somewhere, and for footsteps headed out the
door. The morning drifts open, the
kind where everything feels lighter, pavement still damped
from the night rain, dogs tugging at their leads.
Evan follows Daniel down a quiet side street.
The city feels different today, less foreign, more alive.
He notices details he hadn't before.
A bakery window fogged with heat, a cafe sign written in
chalk. The way the autumn light turns
even the concrete warm. Sunny leads confidently, tail
high, a local in his own neighborhood.
Cucumber trots to keep up, ears flapping, stopping every few
meters to sniff at something fascinating.
Evan tries to keep pace, but it's hard not to look around.
The city feels slower when you walk beside someone who knows
where he's going. They stop outside a small corner
shop. Bagel and bean.
The windows are steamed, the air thick with coffee and toasted
bread. Daniel holds the door for him,
nodding toward the counter. They've got cinnamon Raisin, if
you're into that, and real cream cheese, not the watery stuff.
Evan laughs, brushing rain from his sleeve.
Danielle ores Izili 2 coffees, one black, one with milk, 2
bagels, both warm, both wrapped neatly in paper.
Evans already watching him, not staring, just quietly studying
how he fits here, how natural he looks.
Ordering in check and smiling at the staff.
They turn a corner onto a narrow St. lined with vines and faded
shop signs. Daniel jesters ahead with his
cup. That's my place.
Across the street, a small storefront sits between a
florist and a laundromat. A sign over the window reads
Fixed Phones and PCs. Above it, a narrow balcony with
an iron railing and a potted Fern.
Evan glances up, taking it in. The tiny life Daniel's built in
this corner of Prague. Something about it makes him
smile. There's something about seeing
someone in their world. The easy rhythm, the small
gestures that makes you realize how much of them you've yet to
know. They step back outside, cups in
hand, the dogs instantly alert. Sunny barks once, finely.
Cucumber spins in a small circle of excitement, nearly tangling
the leash. They walk toward the park,
gravel crunching, pigeon scattering.
By the time they reach the open field, the sun has broken
through clouds, scattering gold across wet leaves.
Daniel unclips Sunny's leash. Evan follows with cucumber.
The dogs take off 1 golden blur, one small flash of tricolor fur
racing across the grass. Freedom looks different on
everyone. For the dogs, it's a Sprint.
For them, it's something quieter, the ease of walking
side by side without needing to fill the space.
They find a bench near the pond. Coffee's still warm.
Evan wipes a crumb from his lip, smiling faintly.
Daniel sips his coffee, eyes on the dogs chasing through
puddles. And then he broke the silence.
It took a while. After everything with my ex, I
didn't think routine was possible again.
Evan glances over softly, cautious.
Daniel nods once. Gay, steady.
Feels like another life. We still talk mostly about our
daughter. She's 9, smart, opinionated,
thinks she's training me. Evan laughs quietly.
Sounds like someone I'd like to meet.
She's the best thing I ever did, right?
But I'm still learning how to be good at this, at letting people
close again. Evan looks at him, a small smile
that doesn't quite hide the truth.
This time, Evan opened up. I think I forgot how to make
space for it. I hadn't been in a relationship
for a while now. Daniel exhales, a quiet sound,
half breath, half relief. Evan greening.
Was that a thank God or a poor you?
Daniel smirking. Maybe both.
They both laugh, soft, familiar, the kind that folds easily into
silence. Again.
It isn't a confession, just the kind of honesty that stays in
the air long after it's set. Cucumber barrels toward them,
tail wild, Sunny close behind. Evan bends to catch him.
Big AL's still in hand. Guess they're making the most of
the freedom. Their eyes meet for a beat
longer than comfort allows. Daniel looks away first, takes
another sip of coffee, voice lighter now.
Dinner next week, my place. Real food, not bagels.
Evan turns the paper cup in his hands, smiling.
Dinner sounds good. And with that, two coffees cool
in the breeze. Two dogs circle back for more
chaos, and something unnamed settles quietly between them.
The week drifts quietly, not with distance, with rhythm.
A message here, a pause there, a phone lighting up in the middle
of an ordinary day at the shop, Daniel works with steady hands
until a text sound stops in mid motion.
Sometimes it's a customer, sometimes it's Evan.
He checks everyone. Sonny watches from the rug, tail
brushing in lazy rhythm. He doesn't need to know what the
words say. He can hear it in Daniel's
breathing. Across town, Evans Week fills
with lessons and laughter in the middle of class.
His phone buzzes once. He glances down, reads quickly,
and can't help smiling. One of the students notices and
teases. You've been smiling at your
phone a lot, Sir. You in love?
The room bursts into laughter. Evan shakes his head, pretending
to think. By Friday, the week exhales.
Cucumber has been home alone all day, small restless tail ready
to explode. When Evan picks up the leash,
joy bursts out of him like a spark at the park.
The air smells of wet leaves and coffee still on Daniel's hands.
Sunny bounds ahead, golden blur against Silverlight.
Cucumber charges after yelping with pure delight, rolling in
grass, demanding the world notice he's back.
Evan laughs, trying to keep up. Daniel watches with quiet
amusement. He's been waiting for this.
They stand side by side, two men in the middle of the field,
sharing the weight of a leash and the lightness of everything
else. Daniel glances over, voice low.
You could leave him at my shop during the day.
Sonny would keep him company, and I wouldn't mind either.
Cucumber's ears flick up, as if he understands.
He looks between them, tail wagging faster.
He heard that you just made a friend for life.
Daniel smiles, small, honest. The space between them softens.
The sky has gone pale, The park has emptied.
No one left now, just wind St. lights, 2 dogs circling back and
two people who stop pretending this is casual.
Daniel looks at him once, steps closer, and before either of
them thinks, the kiss happens. Warm breath, cold air, the kind
that feels inevitable. Cucumber twirls, sunny barks.
Twice the approval of witnesses, and under the faint glow of the
park lights, they finally let the weekend end the way it's
been building, in quiet laughter and the promise of tomorrow.
The streets glisten with rain and the air smells faintly of
yeast and iron. Evan leaves work later than
usual, his shoulders relaxed, a warmth in his chest he can't
quite name. On the way to Daniel's shop, he
stops by the bakery. Daniel once pointed out, picking
up a small cake, still warm through the folds.
It feels like a gesture, small but full, a quiet way of saying
he was thought of. The rote of Rosavis feels
familiar now. Window lights ripple across
puddles, and somewhere ahead a bell chime rings from a tram
passing the corner. He imagines a scene before it
happens, Cucumber waiting by the counter, tail already thudding.
Daniel's soft smile when he sees him.
Maybe they'll have tea before their walk.
Maybe tonight will be simple. But when the shop door opens,
the air inside feels heavier. The smell of solder and rain
mixes with something else, Voices lowered, steady, tired.
A woman stands by the counter, umbrella folded at her feet.
Her tone isn't sharp, just sad, like a conversation that has
already happened too many times. Evan recognizes her before he
even means to the quiet authority of someone who used to
belong here. She reminds Daniel about the
Christmas plans Saturday, the tree they were meant to choose
with their daughter. Her voice is measured, not
bitter, but it lands with a kind of weight that fills the small
room. Daniel's reply is soft, almost
apologetic. He'll make it right.
He'll still find the gift. The woman exhales, a sound
between defeat and acceptance. Then she says to forget the
tree, just not the gift, and leaves.
The bell above the door chimes once, and the rain swallows her
footsteps. Evan stands near the entrance,
cake still in his hands. Paper has dampened slightly from
the drizzle, his fingers pressing faint marks into it.
Behind the counter. Daniel exhales slowly, shoulders
loosening as the silence returns.
For a moment they only look at each other, two different kinds
of tired meeting in the same space.
From the backroom comes a sudden sound.
Cucumbers bark, followed by the tap of small paws on the floor.
He appears with a leash tangled around him, Sonny trotting close
behind. The dogs break the heaviness
just by being there. Daniel kneels to untangle them,
the smallest smile tugging at his mouth.
He says something quiet that Evan can't quite hear, but it's
enough to ease the moment. Evan sets the cake on the
counter. He almost says they could
reschedule dinner, but the thought dissolves when Daniel
looks up. There's still warmth in his
expression, the kind of look that says the night is in
ruined, just rearranged. When they step outside, the
drizzle has softened into a fine mist.
The streetlights glow against the wet pavement, and the dogs
move ahead in easy rhythm. For a while, they walk in
silence, the kind that feels shared rather than empty.
Then Daniel reaches out, fingers brushing once against Evans
before holding firm. Their hands stay together to
leashes, to dogs, to quiet hearts keeping pace under the
rain. Saturday unfolds with unspoken
kindness. Evan suggests Daniel spend the
day with his daughter, says he'll watch Sunny take both dogs
to the park, and that dinner can wait until the evening.
The offer makes Daniel pause, then smile in that quiet, a
grateful way he does when words aren't enough.
By noon, the small family is out among rows of pine trees.
The air smells of resin and snow.
His daughter circles the lots, inspecting each branch as though
she's choosing a friend. When she points to one, proud
and certain, Daniel nods and laughs.
But instead of 1, he pays for two.
She watches him with a sly grin, tugging at his sleeve.
You're getting 2? She asks.
You're going to make one at your place, too.
Daniel nods, trying not to look too obvious.
She squints, noticing the groceries already piled high in
the cart. Extra fruit, bread, and more
than one bottle of wine. That's a lot for one person.
She grins, tucking her hands into her pockets.
I'll keep your secret, but I want to meet the person someday.
He promises soon. By early evening, the first tree
glows softly at his daughter's house, a small constellation of
colored lights in the window. Daniel lingers a moment longer
than planned before heading home, the second tree tied to
the roof of his car. When he carries it upstairs, his
apartment smells faintly of rain and chestnuts.
He sets the tree near the window, unties the net, and
watches the branches open slowly, like something
remembering how to breathe. The kitchen is alive with quiet
motion. Daniel worms food from the
market, stirs a sauce he doesn't need, arranges plates with the
care of someone who still wants to make things right.
He glances at the clock. A few minutes before 8, Evan is
walking through the park. The air is cold enough to sting,
his breath visible beside the dog's eager, panting cucumber
bounds ahead, Sunny trailing close.
He checks his phone for the time.
The smell of food and pine fills the air.
The tree stands tall, branches still bare but already alive in
the room's light. Dinner happens quickly, platters
shared stories overlapping laughter, filling spaces where
words used to hesitate. Neither of them lingers over the
food. What they really want is the
tree. They start untangling lights,
arguing softly over which strand works best, both pretending to
know what they're doing. 1 ornament rolls across the floor.
Both dogs chase it, sniff, then lose interest and return to
their corners. The laughter that follows is
quiet but full, the kind that belongs to people who have
stopped pretending to be careful.
When the last light holds steady, the tree glows golden
against the window. Daniel sits on the rug, Sonny
curled in his lap. Evan settles beside him with
cucumber tucked against his arm. For a long time, they just sit
there, The hum of the heater, the rhythm of two dogs
breathing, the kind of silence that feels earned.
Then Daniel notices at first, snow falling outside, slow and
soundless, and they both turn to the window.
The reflection of the tree shimmers faintly against the
glass, and in that glow something shifts.
Evan looks back at him, the quiet of the moment wrapping
around them like warmth itself. The kiss begins gently, not
rushed, not asked for. It deepens, steady and certain,
the kind of closeness that feels like trust more than hunger.
Daniel pulls him closer. Evan doesn't move away.
Daniel's words come softly, carried between breaths.
Will you be my boyfriend? Evan's answer is quiet, not in
words, but in another kiss, longer, slower, certain.
Outside, Prague turns white. Inside, the dogs sleep heavy by
the tree, the lights casting soft Halos across their fur.
And somewhere between the sound of falling snow and shared
breath, 2 hearts begin again. Some stories don't begin with
fireworks. They begin with small things.
A leash unhooked, a late dinner, a hand that doesn't pull away.
In the heart of winter, in a city of quiet streets and
patient light, two people found a warmth that didn't ask for
proof. For Evan, it was a sound of
footsteps returning, the space beside him no longer empty.
For Daniel, it was a simple truth of being cared for without
conditions, without fear. The world that finally settled
into peace. This is what love looks like
when it learns to stay. Not loud, not sudden, but
steady. This was autumn Tales, and as
the city turns to winter, new stories for them are just
beginning to unfold. Thank you for listening to
Autumn Tales, but more stories are already waiting to begin,
with new voices, new stories, and more moments worth holding
on to. Subscribe, like, and follow gay
audiobooks to know when the next story drops.
I hope you have a peaceful holiday full of warmth,
kindness, and the people and pets that make home feel real.
We'll see you in the new year.