The boy in the Glass Room

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Part 13: The Boy in the Glass Room

Eli received the message late at night.

A name he hadn't seen in weeks lit up his phone.

"Tanya (Mia's Friend):

Hey… just heard from someone that you're still at Aaron's place? Is Mia okay? What happened between you two? You okay??"

Eli stared at the screen, face bathed in soft blue light.

He didn't answer.

Not yet.

He sat in the armchair near the window, one leg tucked under him, the other dangling lazily, skin glowing pale in the moonlight. He wore one of Aaron's sleeveless shirts, loose around the arms, neck too wide. The scent of Aaron clung to him like second skin.

Aaron stood across the room.

Watching him.

He hadn't seen the message, but he didn't need to.

He knew something was wrong — or about to be.

"Who was it?" he asked, voice low, deep.

Eli didn't look up. "Just someone from Mia's life."

Aaron walked over. Stood behind the chair.

He didn't ask again.

He didn't have to.

Eli locked the phone. Set it face down.

"I'm not answering her," he said softly.

Aaron ran his hand through Eli's hair. "Good."

---

The next day, Eli's phone was gone from the kitchen counter.

He didn't ask where it went.

Later, he found it on Aaron's desk, inside a locked drawer.

Still turned on. Still silent.

A part of him felt like he should protest.

But a deeper part — the part that slept curled against Aaron's chest, the part that moaned his name in the dark — liked it.

Liked being held.

Liked being silenced.

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The world shrank.

No more calls.

No more errands.

No more questions.

Eli became soft around the edges — like a painting blurred by candlelight. He stayed indoors. He wore less. Spoke less. His voice lowered to a whisper even when no one else was around.

The boy who once had a life — a name — now existed in fragments.

Bare thighs across Aaron's lap.

Soft sighs in the early morning.

The scent of sweat and musk in unwashed sheets.

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Aaron adapted too.

He started working less. Watching more.

He adjusted cameras around the house. Changed locks. Disconnected the landline.

He began leaving lists for Eli.

What to wear.

What to clean.

When to wait for him.

Not because he doubted Eli.

But because Eli never said no.

And Aaron wanted to see how far silence could stretch.

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One evening, Eli stood by the living room window.

Rain trickled down the glass. His body cast a perfect reflection — slender, soft, bathed in gold lamplight. Behind him, Aaron watched silently from the shadows.

"I don't know who I was before," Eli said.

Aaron stepped forward.

"You don't need to remember."

Eli turned slowly, eyes wide and distant.

"And if someone comes looking?"

Aaron smiled — slow, quiet, chilling.

"No one's coming. And if they do… they won't find you."

---

That night, Aaron didn't take him gently.

He didn't ask.

He claimed.

And Eli—

bare, breathless, trembling—

took it all.

And when it was done, he whispered:

"I'm not afraid anymore."

Aaron touched his face.

"You never have to be again."

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[To Be Continued — In Part 14: Tanya doesn't stop. She shows up at the house. Eli must speak — and chooses Aaron. But the cost of that choice might be erasing the last trace of who he once was.]