Initially, I was going to shop out Whiton’s Charm to producers and movie houses but I decided to post the story publicly for the benefit and joy of the LGBTQ+ community as a love story to read—available to all.

There was nothing ever very interesting about Ms. Landry down the hall.

Always coming home with a bag of bread, and an opinion about everything. Stomping up the stairs, always yelling as her fettered dresses drug upon the ground.

“I’m sick and tired of these fools visiting the city,” she would lament.

Each time I could hear her a few flights downstairs, I made sure to step back into my apartment until she passed. Not only was she unpleasant on the ears, but also, in smell….

Chapter 1:

Rich CT guy moves to NYC. Whiton Pine arrived in New York City with a strange mix of excitement and nerves.

The apartment was smaller than anything he’d lived in before, with walls that seemed closer than they should be and a faint smell of the city outside seeping in. As he looked around, wondering what he’d just signed up for, he heard a heavy, clomping sound from the hallway.

Whiton peeked out and saw Ms. Landry, his loud neighbor, shuffling up the stairs with her bags and muttering to herself about “fools visiting the city.” She barely noticed him as she passed, and he could feel a strong scent of stale bread and old wool linger in the air. Alone again, he turned back to his new place, trying to remind himself why he’d come: a fresh start, a place to make his own, to live out a dream he hadn’t told anyone about.

Yet, as he looked out over the busy street below, a hint of doubt crept in. Had he made the right choice?

Chapter 2:

Exploring the city felt thrilling, but sometimes, Whiton felt eyes on him, like a shadow lurking just beyond his view. He would walk quickly, trying to blend in, but the sounds and flashes of the city made him feel exposed.

His parents’ voices echoed in his head, warning him to “be careful” and “always stay aware. NYC isn’t Connecticut” At first, he shrugged it off as just nerves, telling himself that everyone feels a little jumpy in a new city. But every so often, he’d glance back and swear he saw the same figure standing just out of reach. Part of him brushed it off as paranoia, yet another part wondered if he should pay closer attention.

He was both uneasy and excited by the thought of being noticed, caught between fear and the thrill of his new life.

Chapter 3:

Needing a break from the busy streets, Whiton wandered into a small, stylish bar with low lighting and a warm, steady hum of jazz in the background.

He ordered a drink and settled in, letting the dark, cozy atmosphere swallow him up. Just as he started to unwind, he noticed someone at the end of the bar: a striking man who seemed comfortable, as if he belonged in every corner of this city. They locked eyes, and Whiton felt something spark between them, an unspoken pull. The man walked over, introducing himself as Rant Ballow.

His voice was calm, friendly, but there was a confidence beneath it that made Whiton feel both drawn in and slightly on edge. They shared a drink, exchanged small talk, and for the first time since he arrived, Whiton felt like he was part of the city rather than just passing through.

Chapter 4:

Weeks passed, and Whiton found himself seeing more of Rant.

They wandered through different parts of the city, shared late nights talking, and discovered quiet spots only locals knew about. The connection between them grew, each moment bringing them closer. One evening, as they were walking through Central Park, Whiton noticed a small charm around Rant’s neck—a silver wing, delicate and detailed.

Curious, Whiton asked about it, but Rant shrugged, brushing it off as “just something old.” Whiton sensed there was more to it, but he let it go, focusing instead on the feeling that his world was starting to feel complete in a way he hadn’t expected. Despite Rant’s quiet mystery, Whiton was falling, and he could tell this was something he didn’t want to let go of.

Chapter 5:

At first, Whiton admired Rant’s apparent success—money coming in steadily, nice clothes, a casual confidence that seemed to come naturally.

But as the days went on, Whiton began noticing cracks in the polished image. Rant would disappear for hours, only to come back looking disheveled, his clothes smudged and smelling faintly of the streets. There was always a ready excuse—“Just a long night,” he’d say, brushing Whiton off with a casual grin, but something didn’t sit right. Whiton started piecing together little things: Rant’s habit of frequently changing phones, claiming it was “necessary for the business,” the odd way he’d rush to clean his hands as soon as he came in, scrubbing them almost too carefully. Whiton had seen enough movies to know the signs. Was Rant dealing? It sounded crazy, but the signs pointed to something in that direction. There were moments when Rant would catch him watching and throw him a look—a mix of pride and secrecy, as if he was daring Whiton to ask, or maybe warning him not to.

Whiton’s curiosity turned to worry, but he couldn’t shake his fascination with this man who seemed as untouchable as the city skyline.

Chapter 6:

Living in New York City was supposed to be Whiton’s fresh start, a chance to stand on his own without his family’s wealth defining him.

The Pines were a fixture in Connecticut’s high society—old money, known for banking and mutual funds, and while his parents were outwardly accepting of his life choices, Whiton always felt like he was walking a fine line. The city was supposed to be his proving ground, a place to explore himself outside of Connecticut’s conservative gaze. But while he’d managed to stay afloat, he hadn’t found his footing. He’d tried working the front desk at a nail salon, delivering food in his polished Mustang, even exploring odd jobs that didn’t quite fit.

His parents had helped him a little, but he wanted to make his own mark here. In quiet moments, he felt the weight of expectation—his parents’ silent hope that he’d eventually “find himself” back home. And yet, here he was, clinging to a life that was messy, imperfect, but finally his own.

Chapter 7:

Lately, Rant had been acting even stranger, like he was haunted by something Whiton couldn’t see.

Little things began to shift in their daily routine. Rant became almost obsessively meticulous, straightening his clothes, lining up the items on his nightstand just so, all with a tense, focused expression. He’d come home looking worn out, and sometimes, Whiton would catch him staring at the eagle wing charm around his neck, gripping it like a lifeline. When Whiton asked about it, Rant let slip that it was his “backup plan,” something to help him if he ever overdosed, the drug naloxone inside in case of an emergency. Whiton wasn’t sure if he believed him, but the image of Rant spiraling downwards like that haunted him.

Rant’s once-comforting presence now carried an air of mystery that left Whiton feeling like he was standing on shifting ground, unsure what was real and what was slipping through his fingers.

Chapter 8:

One night, everything changed. Whiton was heading home, his mind wandering, when he felt a sharp tug from behind.

A bag was shoved over his head, and rough hands dragged him into a car. Dazed and panicked, he was brought to a dimly lit room, his captors looming over him as they peppered him with questions that made no sense. His mind reeled, his thoughts jumbled. Just when he thought he’d reached the end, the door flew open.

In a blur, Rant appeared, moving with a precision Whiton had never seen. In a matter of moments, Rant dispatched his attackers, his hands and movements skilled, almost inhuman. Whiton, bruised and shaken, watched Rant, barely able to process the man he thought he knew. Rant’s gaze softened when he looked at him, but there was something hardened there too—a determination, a darkness Whiton didn’t recognize.

Chapter 9:

Rant took Whiton back to their shared apartment, the silence between them heavy and charged.

Whiton’s head still spun from the abduction, his body aching, but he couldn’t shake the image of Rant fighting with such raw, practiced skill. As they sat in the dim living room, Rant finally spoke, his voice low and cautious. He admitted he’d been in deep with the wrong people for years, caught up in debts and favors he couldn’t escape. He’d learned how to fight to survive, each skill hard-won on the streets.

Rant’s eyes, usually so guarded, softened as he looked at Whiton, and he promised he’d clean up his life for good. “I want to be someone you’re proud of, someone who can face your family one day,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Whiton, still reeling, nodded, caught between relief and doubt, wanting to believe but unsure if he could.

Chapter 10:

Christmas lights sparkled along the streets, giving the city a rare warmth that even Whiton hadn’t expected.

He and Rant spent the holiday together, wandering past festive displays, bundled in scarves and laughing as they sipped hot drinks from a street vendor. Whiton felt something close to peace, the usual tension of their lives faded for the moment. At one point, Rant turned to him, his gaze intense. “One day, I’d like to be free, to just be myself,” he said, as if confessing something he’d kept buried. Whiton realized how little he knew of Rant’s life before they met; any time he brought it up, Rant would sidestep, his past wrapped in silence. As they stood in the soft glow of Christmas lights, Whiton felt a pang, wondering if he’d ever fully know the man beside him, and whether he could trust the path they were building together.

With Christmas lights still twinkling outside, Whiton and Rant returned to their apartment, the chill of the winter night fading in the warmth of the small space they’d made into a home. The festive magic of the city still lingered, but both seemed to feel the need for quiet as they moved through the room. Whiton took Rant’s hand, guiding him toward the sofa where they sat together, close enough to feel the calm of each other’s presence. For the first time, Rant’s guarded exterior seemed to drop, his expression soft as he glanced at Whiton, as if seeing something he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

They talked through the night, Rant sharing pieces of himself he’d never revealed—moments from his past that felt fragile, parts of a life he’d lived with no one to lean on. Whiton, listening intently, reached for the silver wing charm around Rant’s neck, brushing his fingers against it, feeling its cool metal. Rant watched him, his usual wary glance replaced with something raw and open. “It’s a reminder,” Rant finally murmured. “Of all the things I’ve carried and can’t put down.” Whiton, sensing the weight of his words, leaned in closer, their hands entwined, their breaths mingling in the soft light of the room.

In the quiet moments that followed, they shared a closeness that went beyond words. Rant held Whiton as if grounding himself, Whiton’s presence a rare solace in a world that rarely offered him peace. For Whiton, this was more than just love; it felt like the start of something he’d been searching for all along, a life lived on his terms, with someone who truly understood him.

Wrapped in each other’s warmth, they drifted into sleep, unaware that their peace would soon be shattered again.

Chapter 11:

Late one evening, Whiton left the table at a quiet café to use the restroom, still reliving the joy of the holiday season with Rant. But as he turned down a dark hallway, a group of men appeared, and before he could react, they seized him, shoving him into an unmarked car.

Fear gripped him, but this time, he stayed silent, his mind racing to piece together what they wanted. In a cold, dimly lit room, his captors sat him down, their faces cast in shadow as they drilled him with questions he couldn’t answer. “Call your friend Rant,” one of them ordered, a glint of menace in his eyes. “Tell him we need what he owes us.” The realization dawned slowly, chilling Whiton. Rant was deeper into this life than he’d ever imagined, and now Whiton was tangled in the web, being used as bait in a game he barely understood.

Chapter 12:

The door opened with a heavy creak, and Whiton’s eyes locked onto Rant’s silhouette in the doorway. Rant’s face was unreadable as he walked in, tense but calm. Whiton’s captors stepped back, clearly wary of him. Whiton watched, stunned, as Rant negotiated with them, his voice smooth and practiced. Once they were alone, Rant finally told him the truth: he wasn’t just some street fighter or low-level dealer.

He’d been hired by Whiton’s own parents to keep an eye on him, to protect him in the city from threats they’d known would follow Whiton’s move. “Your family’s wealth… it’s not just stocks and banking,” Rant said carefully, the words cutting through Whiton’s shock. “There’s a side you don’t know about. And they didn’t want you getting tangled in it.” Whiton’s heart pounded, disbelief mingling with hurt as he realized his family had controlled his life in ways he hadn’t known, even sending Rant to shadow his every move.

The weight of betrayal and confusion pressed in on him, yet a glimmer of something more—the knowledge that Rant’s dedication to him had transformed into something real.

Chapter 13:

Rant traced Whiton’s location, determined to pull him from the chaos that had swallowed their lives.

Every step felt weighted, his mind honed to the task at hand. He tore through his opponents, every punch, every calculated move speaking to years of experience Whiton had never known about. He fought with a desperation Whiton had never seen—a man willing to sacrifice everything. When he finally reached Whiton, bruised but safe, Rant slumped, clutching his side where a deep wound was beginning to bloom.

Whiton rushed to his side, frantic, but Rant’s gaze softened as he looked up at him, his expression filled with a rare openness, a vulnerability he’d always hidden.

“There’s more I wanted to tell you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I never planned… I wasn’t supposed to feel this.” Whiton held him close, feeling the fragility of the moment. With trembling hands, Rant reached for the eagle charm around his neck, removing it carefully and pressing it into Whiton’s palm. “You have to know… it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I… I fell in love with you, Whiton.” As his eyes closed, Rant’s hand went limp, leaving Whiton stunned, clutching the charm that now held the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Chapter 14:

Whiton’s world became a dull, relentless blur in the days following Rant’s death.

He wandered their apartment like a ghost, every object and memory a reminder of the love that had filled these walls. It was a love he’d only just begun to grasp, a love that had cost Rant everything. The eagle wing charm lay heavy in his palm, its cool metal grounding him. Late one night, as he lay in the quiet they’d once shared, Whiton traced the charm’s edges, finally noticing the tiniest latch—a hidden compartment he hadn’t seen before. Hands trembling, he clicked it open to reveal a small USB drive nestled inside.

With a mixture of hope and dread, Whiton plugged it into his laptop, the light from the screen illuminating the dark room. Files began to load: Rant’s mission reports, encrypted messages, surveillance photos, and video logs. Piece by piece, Whiton watched Rant’s life unfold, everything he had hidden to protect Whiton from the darker truths of his family’s wealth. His heart ached as he realized that every time Rant had disappeared, every time he’d returned with that scruffy look and half-truths about his “business,” he had been working within a world far beyond Whiton’s understanding—a world filled with risks that were meant to shield him from danger.

Then, Whiton’s screen flickered with a final video file. His breath caught as Rant’s face appeared, looking directly into the camera, his eyes carrying that familiar softness Whiton had always cherished. “If you’re watching this,” Rant began, his voice steady, “then I’m no longer there. But I need you to know… I was never meant to love you. You were my mission, my assignment. But then… you became my whole world.” He paused, as though grappling with the words. “They sent me to protect you, Whiton, but I stayed because I wanted to.”

Tears blurred Whiton’s vision as Rant’s voice filled the room, his tone tender, raw with the vulnerability he’d never fully shown. “That charm,” Rant continued, “was always meant to remind me of what I was fighting for—honor, duty, sacrifice. But with you… it became something else. It became our promise, something that would always keep you safe, even if I couldn’t.” The screen faded, and Whiton sat in the quiet, clutching the charm, feeling Rant’s presence as if he were right beside him, holding him as he had in life. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the weight of that love—a love so profound it had transcended life itself.

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself standing in the pine trees of Connecticut, an eagle soaring above as the man he loved watched over him, even now.

As the dawn began to break outside, Whiton lay in bed, clutching Rant’s charm to his chest, knowing he would carry Rant with him always. And in that stillness, Whiton realized that some loves, like the bond he shared with Rant, could never be broken, not by death, not by secrets, but would live on, deep, unshakable, his forever.