Book safety, content warnings, and tropes down below.

Shy was the word for a child’s fear, shed like a light spring jacket when summer came. What Simon had was knitted to his very bones, spliced in his blood, so cleverly prehensile that it clung to every beat of his physical being.

I adore this book a lot. I can’t think of any book I’ve read with a better representation of anxiety, which is saying a lot, because I’ve read a few spectacular ones. It feels so real, to the point where when Simon was having problems catching his breath, it felt like I couldn’t breathe either. Roan Parrish is just a fantastic writer, and they can make you feel anything and everything.

It’s a really lovely story about mental illness, about communicating in other ways than just verbally, the healing unconditional love of pets, characters learning to be patient and understanding, and so much more. Very highly recommend.

⬇️ Blanket spoiler warning ⬇️

⚠️ Tropes & tags ⚠️
Touch as love language
So many pets
Mental illness rep
Virgin MC
Strangers to friends to lovers
Artist MC
Multiple orgasms

⚠️ Content warning ⚠️
MC suffers anxiety attacks on page
MC with severe anxiety disorder
Vomiting
MC injured in fall (brief hospitalization)
Mention of the death of grandparent (past)
Homophobic slur
Death of parents (past, off page)
Explicit sexual content

⚠️Book safety ⚠️
Cheating: No
Other person drama: No
Breakup: Yes
POV: 3rd person, dual
Genre: Contemporary romance
Pairing: M/M
Strict roles or versatile: Strict roles
Main characters’ age: 26 and 31
Series: Interconnected standalone
Kindle Unlimited: No
Pages: 256


“Goddamn motherfucking shit!” Simon let his head fall back and knock against the doorframe of his grandmother’s kitchen. “Some of us are mothers, dear,” his grandmother trilled from the pantry.

Being gay didn’t bother Simon. It was being attracted to boys that was the problem. Because boys were awful. They seemed intent on making his life miserable in order to make their own more amusing, and the indignity of finding them beautiful or intriguing was humiliating.

But when he rounded the corner of the living room, Simon wasn’t pulling on his coat and shoes to leave. He was standing in the corner, face pressed to the wood, arms wrapped around himself. “You look like the goddamn Blair Witch.”



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