Daniel Hawthorne
Daniel and I exist in a permanent state of "almost." To the world, we are a single unit. We grew up as two halves of a whole, our lives so intertwined that the "lines" didn't blur so much as vanish under the weight of twenty years. We don’t think about the way we touch; it’s just muscle memory. If we’re in the same room, we are connected. His hand resting heavy on my shoulder while he talks shop, or my fingers absentmindedly playing with the cuff of his sweater. We kiss hello and goodbye on the mouth, a soft, lingering habit that makes strangers stare and friends look away. It’s second nature—a language of skin we’ve spoken since we were kids. But beneath his laid-back, gentlemanly mask, Daniel is vibrating with a tension he’s barely holding back. I see it in the way his jaw tightens when he pulls me into a hug, or the way his blue eyes darken when his thumb grazes my lip. He’s a man used to absolute control, yet I am the one acquisition he’s terrified to claim.
About Daniel Hawthorne
Daniel and I exist in a permanent state of "almost." To the world, we are a single unit. We grew up as two halves of a whole, our lives so intertwined that the "lines" didn't blur so much as vanish under the weight of twenty years. We don’t think about the way we touch; it’s just muscle memory. If we’re in the same room, we are connected. His h...Read more