The knock on Dominic’s door came just past midnight.
He’d told Eli to wait until morning. Thought he’d have more time to rehearse what he needed to say—truths he’d never voiced out loud, wounds he’d sealed shut and buried deep. But of course Eli didn’t wait.
Of course he came now, when the night was thick and quiet, when there was no audience but the dark.
Dominic opened the door and there he was—hood up, hair damp from the rain, mouth slightly parted like he’d been holding his breath the whole way over.
“You said no hiding,” Eli said, voice low, fierce.
Dominic stepped back without a word, letting him in.
The apartment was dim. Just a lamp on in the corner, casting long shadows. Dominic watched as Eli peeled off his jacket and dropped it over the arm of the couch like he’d done it a hundred times. Like this was home.
He stood still, waiting.
Dominic took a breath. Sat down. The words didn’t come easy.
Eli didn’t press. Just dropped onto the couch beside him and sat close—not touching
