There was a breath held in his lungs as he made a few unsuccessful attempts at getting his key into the lock, not bothering to knock since it was well past midnight, and Kevin was most likely asleep by this point. A deep, quivering sigh was released as his boyfriend came to mind, and the guilt that he felt was gnawing at his insides from the restaurant to the dingy motel room to the train ride home no longer chewed, but swallowed.
There was nothing inherently wrong with what he’d done that would be considered completely unbecoming, and yet a part of him---a large piece of conscience that nagged at the back of his mind---knew that while there were no ill intentions on his part, it might not have looked good to anyone else. Otherwise, he’d have no qualms with telling Kevin, the man he would come home to every night, about how he’d been having covert meetings with his ex-boyfriend, of all people, in the city without anyone else’s knowledge. He didn’t understand why Wesley wanted to keep their rendezvous confidential, not at first, and had he not been warned about keeping his mouth shut about the matter, he’d have told Kevin everything. But he was afraid, partly of the implied consequences of what they were doing, but mostly of what the older male would do to him if he ran his mouth, if he’d let even a small, seemingly insignificant detail of his whereabouts slip from his tongue.
With a final careful push, he managed to open the door. Pablo, lying with on his stomach across the carpet, quickly trotted over to him before he could even fully step inside. The lights were off, save for the warm glow of the lamp illuminating the living room. Swallowing thickly at the sight of Kevin sprawled over the couch, he closed the door quietly, though it was rendered useless--- his boyfriend stirred awake. It was from this point forward that he would have to either tell a truth, any relevant truth, or spin an intricate lie he would most likely get tangled up in.
“You’re awake,” he began, gripping the straps of his backpack as he stood by the door, motionless, as he anticipated a response or a course of action from Kevin. “I’m... um, sorry. My phone is dead.” A truth, in some way--- he’d purposefully turned it off. “I finished work late.” Another, as he asked Sophie if he could stay much later than usual. They were much too clever alibis to have been thought of by himself, which was why they were direct orders from Wesley, ones he’d been able to fulfill perfectly.
