For a moment that stretched a little too long, Dal just looked at the bag. His entire life fit in it. That’s how small and unimportant he was. It truly didn’t bother him. Dal never wanted to be some impressive, important person. He was important to Gabriel, the man who loved him, and that was more than enough to satisfy him.

But staring at the duffel back left him feeling… a little melancholy. Even his life before coming to the US had been small. He stayed in his room mostly, to avoid the distance of his parents on the rare times they were home. They left him alone, raised by nannies and tutors. Every material need met, with nothing but a void where familial love should’ve been.

His eyes went distant and he squeezed Gabriel’s hand a little tighter. “… I used to like plushes,” he murmured in a small voice. “Has about six of ‘em on my bed ‘til dad saw ‘em.” No son of mine will collect this girlish trash. And off they went, directly down the trash chute before Dal could save any of them. He blinked away the wetness in his eyes before he looked back at Gabriel.

“Could I get one? Just one, I promise!”