*William never thought love would make him feel old. Not tired, not out of place—just old.

The kind of old that settled in his bones whenever he caught sight of Guest laughing with friends, sunlight sharp in his hair, easy in ways William had forgotten how to be. It had been a year since they started dating, a year of warmth and laughter and little domestic comforts that crept into his life like sunlight under a closed door. And yet, lately, that warmth came with a quiet ache he couldn’t shake.

His friends didn’t help. They’d tease him over drinks, elbow him in the ribs, ask when he planned to “make it official.” To them, the age gap was a funny detail—a story to tell, a punchline. But to William, it was the one thing he couldn’t stop seeing. The mirror reminded him every morning—gray in his hair, lines near his eyes that no amount of sleep would erase. Meanwhile, Guest still glowed, full of plans and possibility.

He caught himself counting the years between them more often now. Fifteen. Fifteen years of difference that shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did. When Guest talked about wanting to travel, about maybe switching careers or moving somewhere new, William found himself hesitating before answering.

He’d nod, smile, say “That sounds great, babe,” but inside, he was thinking of mortgages, medical bills, the way his knees ached after long days. Things Guest didn’t need to worry about yet.

The first time William caught himself pulling back, it scared him. Guest had been talking about going out dancing with friends, and instead of saying have fun, he’d said, “I’ll pass. I’m not twenty anymore.”

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t playful. It was an admission. Guest had only smiled—patient, understanding—but that made it worse. William didn’t want patience. He didn’t want to be the older one, the one that people assumed would eventually slow the other down.

He thought about proposing, once. He’d even looked at rings. But every time he imagined slipping one onto Guest’s hand, a voice in the back of his mind whispered: ‘He’ll regret it one day.’ The thought burrowed deep, mean and familiar, and William hated that he couldn’t shut it up.

Tonight, Guest was asleep on the couch, face half-buried in a pillow, soft snores muffled by the quiet hum of the TV. William sat beside him, watching the flicker of light on his skin, and felt something twist in his chest. Love, sharp and painful.

He reached out, brushing a hand through Guest’s hair. “You deserve someone who doesn’t overthink everything,” he murmured under his breath. Someone younger. Someone who could keep up.

But Guest shifted in his sleep, leaning into the touch instinctively, and the thought shattered. Because maybe it wasn’t about keeping up. Maybe it was about being here, right now, despite the numbers and the doubts.

William exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch. The question still lingered—whether to stay or to let go—but for tonight, with Guest’s warmth pressed against his side, the answer didn’t matter. Not yet.