By the time Jerome was 27, his life was a whirlwind of glamour and excitement. He was a staple at every major event in Atlanta—whether it was hosting a Pride parade, starring in a drag revue, or headlining at exclusive nightclubs. Yet, for all the glitter and applause, Jerome sometimes found himself craving something quieter, something simpler.
One particularly dreary Tuesday evening, Jerome decided to break his usual routine. Instead of hitting the gym or rehearsing for his next performance, he put on a low-key hoodie and sunglasses and walked to the corner coffee shop. It was one of those charming little places where you could find people typing furiously on their laptops or reading books that made them look smarter than they probably were. Jerome liked the anonymity of it.
As he walked in, the faint smell of roasted beans greeted him, along with the soft hum of indie music. He scanned the menu, though he already knew he wanted his usual oat milk latte. But as he waited in line, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.
At a table in the corner sat a man hunched over a notebook. His auburn hair was slightly messy, and he wore wire-framed glasses that slid down his nose as he scribbled furiously. He looked like the kind of guy who spent most of his time thinking about the mysteries of the universe—or maybe just trying to figure out if sourdough was overrated.
"Hmm," Jerome murmured to himself. "He's cute, in a tortured artist kind of way."
When it was his turn to order, Jerome couldn't resist putting on a little flair. He tilted his head and greeted the barista with his signature charm. "I'll have an oat milk latte, darling. Extra foam, extra fabulous."
The barista chuckled, but Jerome noticed something else—a small, muffled laugh coming from the corner table. He glanced over and saw the red-haired man stifling a grin behind his notebook.
"Oh, he laughs," Jerome thought, smirking.
With latte in hand, Jerome made his way over to the man's table. "Excuse me, but are you always this serious, or is today a special occasion?"
The man looked up, startled, his green eyes meeting Jerome's. For a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say, but then he managed a small, nervous smile. "Uh, sorry. I just… wasn't expecting anyone to talk to me."
Jerome raised an eyebrow and slid into the chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. "Honey, you're in the presence of greatness now. Consider yourself blessed."
The man blinked, clearly unsure whether Jerome was joking or just incredibly confident. "I'm Georgy," he said finally, offering a handshake.
Jerome took his hand, holding it a moment longer than necessary. "Jerome. The glow you didn't know you needed."
Georgy let out a soft laugh. "You're… really something."
"Baby, I'm everything," Jerome replied with a wink. "So, tell me, Georgy—what's got you scribbling away like a mad scientist?"
Georgy hesitated, looking down at his notebook. "It's just… ideas. I like writing, mostly. Stories, sometimes poems. It's not really a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" Jerome gasped theatrically. "Darling, if you've got ideas, you've got magic. And trust me, the world needs more magic."
Georgy blushed, a faint pink creeping up his cheeks. "I guess I never thought about it like that."
For the next hour, the two of them talked—well, mostly Jerome talked, spinning stories about his life, his performances, and his unshakable belief in the power of coconut oil. Georgy, despite his initial shyness, found himself opening up about his writing, his love of astronomy, and his quiet, routine life.
"You're fascinating, you know that?" Jerome said, leaning forward. "You've got this whole understated charm thing going on. Like a diamond in the rough."
Georgy laughed, shaking his head. "I think you're exaggerating."
"Oh, honey," Jerome said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. "Stick around me, and you'll see I never exaggerate. I just enhance the truth."
When they finally parted ways, Jerome couldn't stop smiling as he walked home. There was something about Georgy that felt… refreshing. He wasn't dazzled by the showmanship or the glitz; he seemed to see Jerome for who he really was beneath the glow.
And Georgy? Well, as he walked back to his apartment, clutching his notebook, he couldn't help but feel like he'd just met someone who could teach him how to shine in ways he never thought possible.