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I remember when Cole smiled at me across the shared Airbnb kitchen, a simple curve of his lips that somehow spoke volumes and chased away the loneliness I often felt navigating the world as a gay man. Our easy banter about terrible roommates and mutual love for obscure indie films blossomed into late-night talks, revealing shared dreams and vulnerabilities I'd never dared expose to anyone, forging a connection deeper than any friendship I'd known. It was in that small, brightly-lit space, surrounded by the unfamiliar comforts of temporary housing, that I realized my heart, so long guarded, was finally opening to the possibility of a love that felt undeniably real, a testament to the power of connection within the LGBT community. Henry, with eyes as warm as the summer sun, had shown me that sometimes, home isn't a place, but a person.