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Part 15: The Door Still Opens
The house didn't change overnight.
But the air did.
Lighter. Less charged. Still intimate — still thick with tension and memory — but now threaded with something else: freedom.
Eli woke first most mornings now.
He'd stretch in Aaron's bed — their bed — and slip on a robe, not out of shame, but because he wanted to. He'd make breakfast, hum low and sweet, and sometimes even open the curtains wide.
Aaron let him.
Sometimes he'd watch, quietly, from the hallway — Eli glowing in the morning light, hair messy, legs bare, humming as he plated eggs and toast.
But he no longer followed Eli like a shadow.
He waited.
And Eli always looked back at him. Always smiled.
Always said, "Come sit."
---
Eli began leaving the house again.
Small things first: the mailbox. The corner store. A slow walk around the block.
Aaron didn't stop him.
He just watched him go.
And watched the door until it opened again.
Every single time.
---
One afternoon, Eli returned with flowers.
He dropped them on the kitchen counter like groceries and smiled.
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "You want a vase or something?"
"I want you to put them in one," Eli replied, leaning on the counter, cheek in his palm. "I want to see if you can be delicate with anything other than me."
Aaron snorted. "I don't break the things I like."
"No," Eli said. "You keep them."
Aaron met his eyes.
Neither smiled.
The flowers were arranged in a whiskey bottle that night.
---
The roleplay didn't vanish.
There were still nights where Aaron pulled Eli into his lap like a toy, whispered dark things into his ear, made him beg. There were still whispered names, silk bands, rituals.
But Eli wasn't melting into it anymore.
He was playing.
He would tease Aaron in public — brush too close, whisper filth into his ear, vanish into a different room just to be chased.
And Aaron would play along.
But now, when the games ended, Eli was still there.
Not lost.
Not erased.
Still his, yes.
But also himself.
---
One night, Eli sat on Aaron's chest, straddling him in the dark.
His fingers traced slow circles on Aaron's collarbone.
"I like this," he whispered.
"What?"
"This version of us."
Aaron grunted. "It's not that different."
"It is," Eli said. "You're not watching me like I'll vanish."
Aaron's voice dropped. "You won't."
"I know."
He leaned down and kissed Aaron softly — not like surrender.
Like a choice.
---
Outside, Tanya's messages came once in a while.
Just light check-ins now.
Sometimes Eli replied. Sometimes he didn't.
But he always showed Aaron the screen first — not for permission, but trust.
And Aaron never said no.
He just nodded.
---
There was a storm one night. Power went out. Rain slashed the windows.
Eli lit a candle, curled into Aaron's side on the couch, his voice low.
"I still want you to be a little scary."
Aaron laughed, slow and deep. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eli whispered. "But only when I ask."
Aaron kissed his temple.
"That's the difference now, isn't it?"
Eli nodded.
"I get to ask."
---
[To Be Continued — In Part 16: A new person enters their lives — someone from Aaron's past. The world pulls at their door again. But now, Eli isn't someone to hide. He's someone to fight for — and someone who chooses to stand beside Aaron, not behind him.]