He comes home too late, already exhausted. The thought of a warm bed is all that’s kept him going the past few hours.
Still, as he enters, he turns on the light – turns it off again – and on – and off – five times, so; touches his fingers against the door, thumb-little-index-ring-middle, right hand first, then left, then right again; locks the door, unlocks it, locks it again and twists the key twice.
In his mind, he knows that the ritual is meaningless.
In his heart, it’s all that keeps the bed he shares with his husband from burning as they sleep.
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2018, day 18. This year I'm also fulfilling a challenge by an anonymous contributor: Every character must be queer.
I've also been convinced to take on an additional challenge by joe-wright:
The rest of today's stories can be found here.
The All-Star challenge.
Over the course of FFM, your oeuvre must address the following items:
-Something somebody once told you -The sharpest tool -A finger and a thumb -The shape of an L
- -What does it mean to be 'fed to the rules'?
-A smart brain and a dumb head -"You'll never shine if you don't glow" -Definitive proof that all that glitters is in fact gold -A shooting star that breaks the mold -The meteor men, and the hole in the satellite picture
- -Skating on thin ice
-The world on fire -"Can you spare some change for gas?"
- -An all-star, getting their game on, and going to play, or alternatively and perhaps easier, a rock star, getting the show on, and getting paid.