Secret Menu

Before the lockdown, Reed's life had rhythm.

It wasn't glamorous. A hustler's work never was. But it was clean, in its way--tight edges, reliable routines, the easy choreography of transactional affection. Hotels at noon. Condos after dark. A bar downtown where the bartender let him use the back booth for the discreet types. Men with strong grips and weak marriages. Women who didn't want to be adored, just obeyed. Couples with strict rules and trembling hands.

He dressed sharp, fucked well, and always left before sunrise.

And he liked it. Or rather--he liked the version of himself who liked it. The one who knew how to be anything: soft, sharp, dom, sub, prize, punishment. The one who knew how to get paid without giving anything real away.

---

Then the pandemic hit, and everything stopped.

In the first spring of lockdown, everything shut down. With clubs dark and hotel lobbies silent, he found himself suddenly unemployed. No touch, no tips, no cash.

Abruptly, the money dried up. The streets emptied. Reed sat in his apartment in a bathrobe for three weeks, watching the world shrink to a series of blue-lit screens: news feeds, dating apps, old clients who wanted Zoom calls and dick pics and to pretend nothing had changed.

But it had.

You can't fuck through Plexiglass. You can't flirt through N95s. And suddenly, even the lonely ones didn't want company. They wanted groceries. They wanted safety. They wanted silence.

Reed didn't spiral. Not right away.

He rationed his savings. Made lists. Jogged in the mornings. Did press-ups at home. Deleted old numbers. Binged a TV show. Learned how to make banana bread, just like everyone else.

But, despite everything, the quiet got loud. And very lonely.

---

Then one night, a friend texted him - a fellow hustler he'd known for over five years. Just a meme at first--something about ordering a dildo and a pizza and getting the same guy for both. Then a follow-up:

"Ever heard of Secret Menu?"

It wasn't an app. It was barely a whisper. A network of bored sex workers and broke delivery drivers who realized there was overlap in their clientele. You signed up for DoorDash. You joined the right Discord. You wore a tiny badge on your jacket. And if someone tipped high and asked for "extra sauce," you knew what it meant.

At first he scoffed. After all, he was a seasoned pro. Give him fifteen minutes and a big enough tip, and he could make a married man cry. Menial food labour seemed... beneath him.

So he held out, always waiting for the lockdown to finally end the following month, always watching the end date get pushed back again, and again, and again...

One day, when he'd had enough of his bank balance dwindling and the trail of his mayor's broken promises - he wrote back.

"Send an invite."

---

Adjusting to his new normal proved challenging.

The work was different now. Grittier. Less polished. He swapped his tailored suits for hoodies and joggers, condoms for takeout bags. And he set to work - hustling, as he'd always done. Prowling the streets, always hunting for his next opportunity.

Occasionally, he'd get a nibble. A flick of the eyes, noting the badge he wore clipped to the front of his hoodie. And he could still turn it on when he needed to--lean on the car window in a low-cut tank, hand over a bag of dumplings like it was foreplay. Let them get a peek of something they didn't know they craved until it was three feet from their door.

Some nights it worked. Some nights it didn't. Some nights it was just food, hours spent waiting outside takeout places, queue number in hand, endlessly driving from one place to another, stuck in a perpetual cycle of churn.

He wasn't sure which one he preferred.

---

Over time, Reed found a routine, slowly but steadily rebuilding a roster of select clients - people who knew what to ask for, on a regular schedule, and who'd pay handsomely for the privilege.

That evening, Reed arrived at exactly 7:30 p. m., stepping from the silent elevator onto Michael's polished marble entryway. He barely registered the cool gleam beneath his shoes or the subtle fragrance of sandalwood lingering in the air. His reflection moved alongside him, impeccably groomed yet detached, an echo of practiced perfection. His mind was already elsewhere, operating automatically.

Michael answered the door after a single perfunctory knock, his silver hair perfectly styled, wearing the familiar expensive casualness Reed had grown accustomed to seeing. Michael glanced over Reed briefly, nodding with habitual approval. "On time, as always," he said evenly, turning away without further greeting. Reed followed him in, setting the takeout on the desk. They both knew it wouldn't be eaten.

Inside, the condo's lavish minimalism was striking--every surface polished, every object placed with sterile precision--but Reed's eyes drifted past the luxury, as his mouth feigned interest.

Michael poured him scotch without asking, handing him the heavy crystal glass. Reed accepted it with mechanical poise, tasting the burn without enjoying it, letting Michael's confident voice blend into the hum of white noise in his mind.

They danced toward intimacy with clockwork predictability. Reed stepped forward when Michael did, tilted his head just enough, offered the correct smiles, the calculated touches, everything arranged just so. His body responded automatically, knowing exactly when and how to react, his eyes fluttering at the right moments, his hands tracing his lover's body the way he'd always done.

Throughout their choreographed sex routine, Reed felt distant, feeling more spectator than participant, emotionally numb and disengaged even as he made the right moans and noises, Michael gripping him firmly, thrusting powerfully into him.

Afterward, Reed showered briskly, the hot water doing nothing to wash away the detached hollowness he carried like a constant shadow. He dressed methodically, returning to the bedroom to find Michael's generous tip neatly placed on the bedside table. He picked it up silently, counting without real interest before tucking it away.

"Next week," Michael said, already looking at his phone, voice disinterested.

"Of course," Reed replied, his tone sensual, empty, rehearsed.

Leaving the condo, Reed's reflection flickered by again, expression carefully blank. The polished surfaces, elegant décor, and expansive views no longer impressed him; they merely reflected his emptiness back at him, a hollow shell moving through a world of meaningless transactions.

He stepped into the elevator, closing his eyes briefly, a grim thought surfacing despite his efforts to suppress it: another stain on my soul. He pushes it down roughly, hardening his expression, as the elevator quietly descends back into the indifferent city night.

So went Reed's days and nights.

---

And then, one night--a new order.

No notes. No secret code. No history.

Just a name and a tip.

Reed checked the order again: Eli K., Lucky Noodle, delivery #311. No special notes. The tip was generous, but nothing unusual. He shrugged it off as easy money, zipped his hoodie just low enough to tease, and headed toward the suburban edge of town.

The rain was persistent, coating everything in a slick sheen. Reed parked, grabbed the bag from the passenger seat, and glanced briefly at his reflection in the side mirror, giving his damp hair a practiced shake. Just enough to look accidentally appealing. He knew the look well.

He approached the front door, knocked gently, and waited.

The door opened quietly, revealing Eli in oversized clothing, fuzzy socks, and rumpled hair. He seemed startled for a moment, eyes wide as they flickered over Reed, then settled into a warm, shy smile.

"Oh--hey. Thanks for coming all the way out here. Sorry about the weather."

Reed smiled back, tilting his head just so. "No worries. Rain makes it interesting."

He let their fingers brush as he handed over the bag, holding the contact just a half-second too long. Eli blinked, flushed faintly, then stepped back a little, clearly unsure what to do next.

"Your tip was pretty generous," Reed said casually, his voice pitched low, inviting Eli to take the bait. "Much appreciated. Special occasion?"

Eli looked genuinely startled, then laughed nervously. "Oh - you're welcome! No, I just... figured the drive out here was pretty long, especially in this weather. And gas is expensive right now..." He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks growing visibly pinker.

Reed raised an eyebrow. Waiting. Expecting more. But Eli only shifted awkwardly, as if unsure.

"Seriously, thanks," he added, flushing a little more. "I've had three people cancel my order just today because of the distance. You're the only guy who came out all the way here". He paused, glancing away shyly. "Stay safe out there, alright?"

Reed paused, thrown off balance by the earnestness. "Yeah... you too."

Walking back to his car, Reed frowned slightly, puzzled. Most customers who tipped this much were after something extra, a hint of flirtation or more. Eli hadn't seemed interested in playing along, which was unusual. Sliding back into the driver's seat, Reed shook his head, dismissing the encounter as an odd anomaly.

As he drove away, the faint question lingered in the back of his mind--one he quickly brushed off, refocusing instead on the next delivery and the simple promise of easy money.

---

After their first encounter, Reed couldn't shake the feeling Eli was just too shy to make the first move. "Cute," Reed thought, amused. Clearly, Eli was waiting for Reed to take charge. Reed knew that game well enough.

As it turned out, Eli ordered takeout multiple times a week. So Reed had plenty of opportunities to adapt.

The second time around, Reed wore a tank top that hung loosely from his shoulders, exposing just enough skin to suggest without outright offering. Eli's gaze lingered longer than necessary, and Reed smirked inwardly--exactly as he'd thought.

On the third delivery, Reed leaned closer at the door, intentionally invading Eli's space. Eli blushed furiously but didn't retreat, murmuring his thanks while staring determinedly at the floor. "Shy," Reed mused, stepping away. "But interested."

By the fourth visit, Reed arrived damp from the rain, hoodie half-unzipped to reveal a sliver of his chest and the edge of a thin harness beneath. Eli's eyes widened, flickering downward with startled curiosity, before hastily looking away. Reed smiled to himself. "Definitely interested."

On the fifth delivery, Reed brushed fingertips against Eli's palm, voice low and inviting. "You know, you can always ask for extra if you want."

Eli flushed scarlet, eyes darting away quickly before meeting Reed's again with genuine confusion. "Thanks, Reed," he murmured shyly, smiling awkwardly.

Feeling bolder, Reed tilted his head, a slow smile curving his lips. "Mind if I come inside for a bit?"

Eli hesitated, startled, then quickly stepped aside, looking adorably flustered. "Oh--yeah, sure. Do you, uh, want a glass of water or something?"

As he leant against the counter, muscles flexing invitingly, Reed sipped the offered water slowly, watching Eli hover awkwardly nearby, trying and failing to decode the situation.

"Unbelievably clueless," Reed thought, more puzzled than frustrated. He left that night with Eli's sweet, confused expression lingering in his mind.

---

By their sixth encounter, Reed was almost amused by how thoroughly Eli had managed to fumble every subtle invitation. The rain was pouring heavier than usual, drenching Reed from head to toe by the time he reached Eli's door, clothes clinging suggestively to his toned frame.

When Eli opened the door, he paused, clearly taken aback by Reed's soaked appearance. His eyes traveled quickly over Reed, cheeks instantly turning pink.

"God, Reed, you're completely soaked," Eli said anxiously. "Come in, seriously, you'll catch a cold."

Surprised by Eli's decisive tone, Reed stepped inside. He watched, fascinated, as Eli nervously fetched a towel from a nearby closet, thrusting it towards him.

"You didn't need to do that," Reed teased softly, drying his face. He lowered the towel slightly, smiling knowingly. "Afraid of me getting sick?"

Eli cleared his throat awkwardly, unable to meet Reed's eyes. "Something like that."

The air between them shifted subtly, charged with an energy Reed felt acutely. Eli was close--closer than usual--eyes darting between Reed's face and the floor, visibly nervous but rooted in place.

Reed moved first, cautiously closing the distance between them. Eli's breath hitched slightly as Reed reached out, gently brushing damp hair away from Eli's forehead. Eli didn't pull away.

"You know," Reed whispered, leaning closer, "you're allowed to tell me exactly what you want."

For a moment, Eli only stared, eyes wide, breathing shallowly. Then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, "Maybe I don't know how."

Their eyes locked, the space between them crackling with anticipation. Unable to resist, Reed tilted Eli's chin up gently, giving him plenty of time to pull away. When Eli didn't, Reed leaned in slowly, their lips finally brushing softly together, tentative and electric.

The moment stretched on, warm and hesitant, before Eli finally relaxed against him, deepening the kiss. Reed felt a thrill shiver down his spine, something deeper and more genuine than he'd anticipated. It unsettled him, and yet--he couldn't pull away.

When they finally broke apart, Eli was breathless, flushed and clearly overwhelmed. "I... I've never really done anything like this," he confessed softly.

Reed smiled, running his thumb gently along Eli's jawline. "Good thing I have," he teased lightly. But behind his practiced bravado, Reed felt something he'd thought he'd left behind long ago--a genuine flutter of nervous excitement.

---

It started softly, quieter than Reed expected.

After that first tentative kiss, Reed anticipated fiery urgency--a familiar path he'd walked dozens of times before. But Eli was something else entirely. Something new. Instead of rushed embraces and quick goodbyes, Eli drew Reed slowly into his world, one shy invitation at a time.

Most nights were simple, almost ordinary. Eli would open his door, smiling warmly, gently pulling Reed inside. They'd settle onto Eli's worn, comfortable couch, sipping tea Eli prepared nervously, his hands often trembling slightly as he handed Reed the mug. Reed couldn't help noticing that vulnerability, how Eli would flush each time their fingers touched, as though intimacy was still something startling and precious.

At first, Reed dismissed these evenings as an odd detour from his usual patterns, a curious novelty. Yet, slowly, he found himself genuinely looking forward to them. The gentle way Eli's fingers would find Reed's, intertwining quietly, without expectation. The softness in Eli's voice when he talked about his day, sharing tentative stories about his first job after college--awkward bosses, endless Zoom calls, his anxious desire to make a good impression. Reed would watch Eli closely, noticing the way his eyes lit up when talking about his favorite movies--old classics Reed had never heard of, obscure documentaries Eli passionately defended.

One evening, Eli nestled closer to Reed, his head lightly resting on Reed's shoulder as he laughed about some old family vacation mishap. Reed listened, strangely captivated, laughing along despite himself.

"Wait," Eli suddenly asked, pulling back slightly, eyes curious and bright. "What about you? Favorite movie?"

Reed chuckled, thrown by the earnest interest on Eli's face. "I haven't watched much lately," he admitted softly, surprised by his own honesty. "Movies weren't really part of the job description."

Eli's brow furrowed gently, compassion clear in his expression. "Then favorite book?" he asked softly, encouragingly.

Reed hesitated, warmth unexpectedly flooding his chest. He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Not exactly much of a reader either."

Eli laughed, eyes twinkling. "Alright. Then I'll have to introduce you. We'll find something you love."

Something fluttered inside Reed at that casual promise of future evenings, future shared moments. He tried to brush it off, tease his way past it, yet Eli's quiet sincerity made that impossible. Eli was effortlessly dismantling the walls Reed had carefully built around himself, brick by brick, without even realizing.

Days turned into weeks, their moments of quiet intimacy becoming Reed's secret solace. Denial gradually became harder. The evenings spent with Eli haunted Reed even when he wasn't there--Eli's gentle voice, the softness of his touch, his open-hearted laughter.

---

In his previous life, Reed had played by a simple rule. Business on one side, pleasure safely on the other, never allowed to overlap. It was how he survived, how he maintained control in a life defined by the demands and desires of others.

But Eli was obliterating those rules without even trying.

Each evening Reed found himself parked outside Eli's modest home, gripping the steering wheel tightly, feeling unsteady. Inside, he knew Eli would greet him with a soft smile, eager eyes, and an invitation to step into warmth, into comfort. Into something Reed knew better than to want.

Yet, he always got out of the car.

He told himself it was about the tips, the security Eli's generosity provided in uncertain times. But the lie became thinner each time Eli opened the door, face lighting up with unguarded joy. Reed had never been greeted like that before--not without expectations, not without transactions clearly defined.

In the hours they spent together, Reed felt his defenses quietly eroding. He'd watch Eli animatedly explaining a favorite film, hear the vulnerability in his voice as he shared small, nervous details about his first office job, and feel an unfamiliar ache in his chest. Eli's authenticity made Reed's practiced charm feel hollow by comparison.

He hated it.

But he craved it even more.

He found himself restless between visits, anxious in a way he'd never experienced. The anticipation of Eli's touch, the warmth of their easy conversations, haunted him. When had Eli become his anchor, the thing he looked forward to every week?

One evening, as Reed stood outside Eli's door, heart pounding in a way he no longer understood, he paused, hand hovering inches from the doorbell. Inside, Eli waited, unaware that he was slowly reshaping Reed's carefully constructed world.

Reed pressed the bell and closed his eyes, heart fluttering with fear and excitement, knowing he was no longer in control--and unsure if he ever wanted it back.

---

At some point, Reed decided he'd had enough of the games.

That night, Reed knew exactly what he was doing. No more confusion, no more blurred lines. Just a clear, simple seduction to remind himself--and Eli--what this really was. A transaction. Clean, controlled, predictable.

He chose his outfit carefully. Hoodie unzipped, chest exposed just enough to catch attention, joggers hugging his hips perfectly. A harness to make his chest pop enticingly, and no underwear beneath--just a calculated tease. Virgin slayer mode, he thought smugly, checking his reflection one last time. Eli didn't stand a chance.

The night air was sharp, heightening Reed's anticipation as he knocked at Eli's door, leaning casually against the frame, eyes low, lips curled invitingly.

The door opened and Eli's face lit up instantly, warm and entirely genuine. "Hey! Come inside, it's freezing out. I made extra--figured you'd be hungry too."

Reed faltered, the seductive swagger cracking slightly. "You... cooked?" He blinked, feeling oddly thrown off.

Eli laughed softly, already turning to lead the way to the kitchen, his steps casual and unaware. "Well--heated up leftovers, but still. You're always out so late, thought it'd be nice to eat together for once."

Reed stepped inside slowly, his eyes drifting to the modestly arranged table. Two plates. Real forks. A candle flickering quietly between them, charmingly earnest. A faint twist formed in Reed's gut, discomfortingly sharp.

He placed the delivery bag on the table with stiff fingers, feeling suddenly ridiculous, overdressed in an absurdly revealing outfit for a dinner that looked achingly like something normal people did. Something real.

Eli handed him the usual thirty-dollar tip without hesitation, smiling gently. "Thanks for always coming out here."

Reed felt himself breaking. Against his better judgment, he asked softly, almost pleading, "You sure you don't want anything else tonight?"

Eli glanced up, eyebrows knit together in quiet confusion. His voice was softly sincere, completely oblivious to any subtext. "I think this is enough. It's just nice having you here."

The words pierced Reed's chest, twisting painfully. He was suddenly, horribly aware of his own vulnerability, standing in Eli's kitchen with his pulse racing, his cock hardening helplessly beneath tight joggers.

Eli wasn't playing the game. He never had been.

---

That night, alone in his car, Reed gripped himself tightly, rough and desperate, eyes shut against the humiliation of his mistake. It wasn't Eli's body he imagined, but that gentle, sincere voice--echoing sweetly and devastatingly:

"It's nice having you here."

Gasping, Reed came hard, shuddering violently, shame mingling with something deeper, something painfully raw--need.

The realization burned through him: Eli wasn't the one who'd lost control.

Reed was.

---

Over the next few weeks, Reed found himself helplessly caught between deep yearning and crushing guilt. Every moment with Eli felt like sweet torture - at times he craved it, and at times he wished he could just be numb.

He didn't want to play the game anymore. But the game wasn't letting him quit.

---

On one of his routine visits, Eli caught his wrist as he turned to go. "You wanna stay for a bit?" Eli asked quietly, looking hopeful. Reed hesitated, aware of the dampness in his socks and how his joggers clung lazily to his thighs. "Just for a sec," he said, attempting casual indifference. He sank into Eli's couch and didn't move for two hours, quietly mesmerized by Eli's gentle laugh and soft gestures, frozen by how good it felt to be there.

---

They watched a movie, something Eli had mentioned once, and Reed couldn't resist suggesting. Eli leaned heavily into Reed halfway through, eyes drifting shut. Reed kept perfectly still, heart thrumming beneath his ribs, staring blankly at the ceiling long after the credits rolled. Eli's warmth felt agonizingly good. When Reed left, at precisely 1:17 a. m., his body ached and his heart felt bruised. He didn't even bother touching himself that night--just lay awake, suffering.

---

Another time, Reed showed up with extra food, smiling innocently at Eli's surprise. "Restaurant messed up," Reed lied smoothly. Eli's delighted grin made Reed's stomach flip dangerously. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder on Eli's sofa, the familiar glow of Netflix lighting up the room. Reed stayed well past midnight, greedily soaking up Eli's sleepy warmth and casual affection, silently wishing it would never end.

---

Late one Friday night, Reed's phone buzzed angrily, ignored on the coffee table as messages from clients stacked up--frustration, enticement, offers too good to refuse. He didn't even glance at the screen, too busy laughing softly alongside Eli at some sitcom he'd never admit to enjoying. He curled into the couch, feeling safer than he had in years, the world beyond Eli's living room seeming impossibly distant.

---

Jealousy was new, uncomfortable territory. When Eli casually mentioned a coworker who'd dropped off supplies earlier, Reed's easy smile faltered sharply. "Is he cute?" Reed asked lightly, carefully masking the tightness in his chest.

Eli laughed easily, oblivious. "Not really."

Relief surged so powerfully Reed spent the next hour needlessly affectionate--his elbow lingering warmly against Eli's thigh, fingers softly carding through Eli's hair as the younger man yawned sleepily. Later, alone at home, Reed fantasized intensely about Eli claiming him entirely, helplessly giving in to the potent fantasy of being kept.

---

Once, Eli pulled Reed into a hug so enthusiastic he completely forgot the tip. Reed didn't even realize until he'd pulled back into his driveway, staring blankly at the delivery app. The absurdity hit him suddenly, and he laughed softly into the quiet. "Fuck," he whispered to himself.

---

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being pretend. At some level, he knew he had to end things. Come clean to Eli and break it off.

But Reed's heart twisted painfully each time he thought about confessing. He couldn't bear the thought of Eli's devastated face. More importantly, he couldn't bear the thought of actually being cut off - an increasingly real possibility.

The cowardly silence became a permanent ache, making him suffer constantly.

---

Eli leaned back, laughing too hard at Reed's dry joke about their terrible pad thai. His eyes shone brightly, his knee brushing Reed's, sending electricity skittering up Reed's spine. Reed's pulse surged dangerously. "I need to tell you something," he began quietly, mouth dry.

Eli glanced up curiously, smile gentle. "Yeah?"

Reed swallowed roughly, heartbeat roaring in his ears, the truth aching at the back of his throat. He opened his mouth, the words forming but instantly turning to sand on his tongue. Fear overwhelmed honesty. "You've got... sauce on your face," he whispered instead, despising himself immediately.

Eli laughed again, wiping it away carelessly, never noticing Reed's strained jaw or haunted eyes.

---

Eli reached eagerly for his phone at dinner. "Let me get this one. You've been feeding me more than I feed you lately."

A bitter ache twisted Reed's stomach. Irony burned in his throat--he'd been paid to dine with countless others. "You don't have to," he murmured weakly.

Eli smiled, teasing gently. "You're too nice to me."

Reed almost confessed the ugly truth. Instead, he whispered softly, vulnerably honest: "Maybe I just like you."

Eli blushed beautifully. Reed felt sick, loathing his own cowardice.

---

They hadn't intended to share a bed, but it happened naturally. Eli drifted easily into sleep, leaving Reed awake at 2:11 a. m., staring at Eli's peaceful back, the darkness pressing heavily around him.

"I wasn't always... like this," Reed whispered hesitantly.

Eli stirred slightly, voice muffled by sleep. "Like what?"

Reed hesitated, heart aching. "Happy," he lied softly.

Eli reached back, seeking Reed's hand. Reed clutched it tightly, silently vowing to never let go--yet unable to speak the truth.

---

Reed stood under the hot stream of Eli's shower, achingly hard, stroking himself roughly, desperately trying to find release. Eli slept peacefully just feet away, wrapped in Reed's hoodie. But the fantasy refused to come, guilt strangling every attempt. The shameful truth echoed painfully in his mind:

I'm a whore.

I lied.

I used you.

And now I love you.

---

Every day the burden grew heavier, the unspoken truth turning toxic. Yet each time Reed caught Eli's gentle, trusting smile, the thought of losing him became unbearable. He kept delaying the inevitable, trapped by his fear, somehow hoping things would resolve themselves.

And they did - but not in the way he'd wanted.

---

The prelude to the storm was quiet. Accidental, even.

Eli sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open, sorting through bills and credit card statements. Routine, boring stuff. Reed was showering, humming softly through the sound of running water. Eli smiled faintly to himself, clicking through old charges idly. He paused briefly at the familiar rows of food deliveries, warmth spreading gently through his chest at each one--reminders of countless evenings spent together.

His brow furrowed slightly at one charge, unfamiliar amidst the comfortingly mundane list. Secret Menu LLC. Curious, Eli opened another tab, typing the name absently into the search bar, waiting for the results.

A Reddit thread loaded first, and Eli clicked without thought, scanning casually. His heart stilled slowly, breath catching painfully in his throat as his eyes landed on a grainy image. Familiar tattoos. That cocky smirk. Reed--shirtless, holding a takeout bag like a tantalizing prop. Eli's pulse thumped dully in his ears, the world narrowing down to the single damning caption beneath the photo:

"Ask for the secret menu. Worth every penny."

---

A few more Google searches later, Eli sat numbly on his bed, an uncomfortable picture emerging in his head. The room seemed suddenly colder. His chest felt tight, compressed, something heavy pressing painfully against his ribs.

Minutes dragged endlessly until Reed finally emerged, towel around his hips, hair dripping, eyes bright and unguarded. He paused immediately at the bedroom doorway, sensing the change.

"Hey," Reed said softly, uncertainty in his voice. "You okay?"

Wordlessly, Eli raised his phone, screen glowing with Reed's exposed truth.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Reed went utterly still, eyes wide, mouth suddenly dry.

"What's this?" Eli finally whispered, voice quiet and numb. "You never told me."

"Eli, I--" Reed began, throat tight, words tangled desperately.

"You let me think you were here because you wanted me. You let me believe I was different," Eli said softly, barely audible over the roaring in Reed's ears.

"You are different," Reed choked out, voice breaking, desperate to bridge the rapidly widening gap.

"No." Eli's voice hardened just enough, raw pain seeping through the exhaustion. "Don't do that. Don't sell it to me."

Reed stepped forward urgently, panic clawing at his chest. "I swear it started as a job, Eli, but it didn't stay that way. I wanted to tell you, I just--"

Eli's eyes shone with quiet hurt, shimmering but refusing to spill over. "You should've told me the second it changed. But you didn't. You kept letting me believe."

Reed's voice cracked painfully. "I never meant to hurt you."

Eli's eyes finally overflowed, silent tears trailing slowly down his pale face. "But you did."

The words hung in the air, final and merciless. Eli drew in a shaky breath, his next words barely more than a whisper, yet sharp enough to pierce Reed's chest:

"I think you should go."

---

Reed barely remembered leaving Eli's house. The drive home was a blur--streetlights melting together, traffic sounds muffled, distant. By the time he reached his tiny apartment, he felt hollow, emptied of everything but numb disbelief. He collapsed onto his mattress, face pressed into a pillow, hoodie still damp from the forgotten shower. His phone stayed clutched to his chest, silent, as though he could will it back to life.

But it never buzzed.

---

Day One

Reed lay awake, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling. He couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Eli's wounded face haunted every quiet moment, echoing the crushing words:

"You let me think I was different."

The ache was unbearable. He typed and deleted, finally sending a single message:

> eli i'm sorry. please talk to me

He stared helplessly at the screen, heart hammering, breath frozen.

No response came.

---

Day Two

Desperation gnawed at him. He sent more messages, one after another, frantic and pleading:

> i miss you

> i fucked up

> i'll tell you everything

> it wasn't a game

> please just let me explain

> eli. please.

Silence.

He stopped checking the app. Ignored messages from old clients, their demands suddenly repulsive. Reed felt hollowed out, aching for something genuine--starving, yet unable to stomach even the thought of anyone else's touch.

---

Day Three

Hands trembling, Reed dialed Eli's number. His heart twisted sharply when the call went directly to voicemail.

He spent the night staring at the ceiling again, replaying every missed chance, every unspoken confession. Eli's soft smiles, candlelit dinners, the gentle warmth of shared nights, the scent lingering on Eli's borrowed hoodie--every memory a painful, mocking comfort.

He clutched the hoodie tightly, tears soaking silently into the fabric, shaking as grief clawed deep into his chest.

---

Day Four

Blocked. He confirmed it harshly--texts failed, calls dead. Eli was truly gone.

That realization shattered something deep inside Reed.

He drank until the room spun, bitterness twisting into rage. Shouting harsh, hateful words at his own reflection. His fist slammed into the wall, pain radiating numbly from his knuckles. He slid down onto the cold floor, face buried in his hands, whispering "fuck" desperately, like a broken prayer.

When the anger faded, there was nothing left but emptiness.

Days blurred together, and Reed's existence unraveled further. He stopped showering, eating, living. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes, delivery bags scattered across the floor. The apartment smelled stale, lifeless.

Reed was no longer spiraling. He had finally hit rock bottom.

---

Reed lay motionless on the bed, the same hoodie he'd worn for days wrapped loosely around him, stale and heavy. His phone rested face-down beside his pillow, silent as a tombstone, the air around him thick with sadness and neglect.

Then the screen flickered, lighting the dim room.

> Mom -- Calling

He stared blankly, watching as it rang out, silent, unanswered. When it finally slipped into voicemail, he exhaled, eyes drifting shut. But the screen flickered again almost immediately.

> Voicemail received.

Something compelled Reed to reach out, pressing the screen softly. His mother's voice filled the suffocating silence, calm and clear, cutting sharply through the numbness.

"Hey sweetheart," she began gently. "Just calling to check in. Had the strangest feeling about you. You okay?" A quiet hesitation. "I'm probably just being silly. Call me back when you can, alright?" Another pause, softer now. "I miss your voice."

Reed's breath hitched sharply, an unexpected ache slicing through him. He covered his face with trembling hands, tears rising suddenly, silently spilling down his cheeks. He didn't sob--just cried quietly, deeply, feeling pain and relief break through the thick numbness he'd drowned himself in.

It wasn't redemption, not yet. But it was a lifeline--a small, fragile reminder that somewhere in the world, someone still saw him clearly. Not as what he'd become, but who he still was, beneath everything. Just Reed.

Slowly, he wiped his eyes, steadying himself with deep, careful breaths. Then, heart hammering, he tapped Call Back.

---

His mother answered almost immediately, voice gentle as ever. "Hey baby."

Reed forced a small, shaky smile into his voice. "Hey, Ma."

The silence was brief but telling.

Her tone softened perceptibly. "You sound tired."

He forced an unconvincing laugh. "Nah. Just--working a lot, you know."

"Mmhmm," she murmured softly, her skepticism gentle but evident. She didn't press.

They wandered through casual topics--weather, neighborhood news, family updates. Reed murmured softly, distant, barely keeping it together.

Eventually, her voice turned quieter, gently probing. "You remember when you were twelve, and you lied about stealing that boy's Game Boy?"

Reed's breath caught, startled. "Uh... yeah?"

"You were miserable for weeks," she continued calmly. "Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. You looked like a little ghost haunting the house."

Reed released a shaky, watery laugh. "Yeah. I guess I was."

Her voice carried a faint smile. "You cried harder than he did when you gave it back. Never seen you so guilty in all your life."

Reed swallowed thickly, eyes stinging.

After a pause, she spoke again, carefully. "I always admired that about you, Reed. How much it mattered to you when you got things wrong. How you couldn't rest until you'd made it right."

He pressed the phone tighter to his cheek, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

"You know," she continued gently, "some people are really lucky to have someone like that in their life. Someone willing to admit mistakes, even when it's hard. Someone who cares enough to fix things."

Reed closed his eyes tightly, tears slipping free, tracing silently down his face.

She didn't ask what was wrong. She didn't need to.

"You still have a good heart, baby. Don't forget that."

And those quiet words finally broke through.

Not with guilt, not with shame.

But hope.

---

Reed woke before noon, startled by the bright, harsh sunlight pouring through his grimy bedroom window. Everything hurt--his head pounded dully, his limbs felt heavy, and his eyes burned with exhaustion. Still, he forced himself upright, feet shuffling across the cold floorboards toward the bathroom.

He stared blankly at his reflection, eyes shadowed and face pale, skin dull from days of neglect. He barely recognized the haunted expression staring back at him. But beneath the exhaustion, beneath the hollow gaze, something new sparked. A small, fragile ember of determination.

He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him, scrubbing himself raw, as if cleansing his body might help cleanse his soul. He shaved roughly, ignoring the nick at his jawline, watching blood bead and then smear away beneath his thumb.

He dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt--no seductive clothing, no artifice. Just Reed. He moved through the apartment methodically, clearing away dishes, doing laundry, taking out trash. He opened a window, letting fresh air invade the stale rooms. When he found Eli's forgotten hoodie, crumpled on the couch, he froze, heart clenching tightly. He picked it up, pressing it against his face, inhaling deeply, desperately, feeling the ache sharply return.

Finally, after hours of quiet, relentless cleaning, he opened his laptop. Not for the usual distractions, not for work. Instead, he opened a blank document and started writing, carefully, deliberately.

---

Late afternoon found him walking slowly up the familiar path toward Eli's door. His heart hammered nervously, palms sweating slightly as he clutched an envelope protectively in his pocket. Inside were two things: a carefully handwritten letter and a second envelope containing every tip Eli had ever given him--cash, printouts, and loose change, painstakingly collected.

He paused at the door, taking a shaky breath before knocking softly, once.

The porch light flicked on, a quiet moment passed, and then Eli appeared in the doorway. He stood stiffly, arms crossed defensively, eyes guarded and cautious.

Reed's heart dropped painfully. "Hi," he murmured softly, barely audible.

Eli didn't speak, just watched him silently, wariness etched clearly across his face.

Reed slowly pulled the envelope from his jacket, holding it out like a fragile offering, gaze lowered. "I--I'm not here to talk," he said quietly, voice shaking slightly. "I just needed you to have this."

Eli hesitated before accepting the envelope, carefully avoiding contact as he took it. Reed swallowed thickly, forcing himself not to beg, not to plead.

"It's everything you ever gave me," he whispered. "And a letter. You don't have to read it. I just... wanted you to have it."

Eli gave a tight, clipped nod but stayed silent.

Reed lingered one more moment, aching to ask questions, to apologize again, to somehow bridge the gap. But he didn't. Instead, he whispered, "Take care, Eli," turned, and slowly made his way back down the porch steps, shoulders stiff, eyes burning with restrained tears.

He didn't hear the door close until he was halfway down the block.

He didn't let himself look back--not even once.

---

Eli,

I don't know if I deserve to be writing this to you. I probably don't. But I don't want to carry it around in silence anymore. You deserve better than that.

The truth is... when we met, I wasn't looking for anything real. I was working. I was surviving. You were out of the way, quiet, kind--an easy mark, I thought. I showed up to charm you. To make you tip big. To be what I thought you wanted.

But then you offered me leftovers. And you smiled at my dumb jokes. And you set a second plate at the table like I was someone who mattered.

You didn't fall for the version of me I was selling.

You saw something underneath.

And I was too much of a coward to tell you when it stopped being a game.

I should have told you. Every day I didn't made it worse. I told myself I was protecting what we had, but the truth is, I was protecting myself. I was afraid you'd leave if you knew who I'd been before you.

And I guess I was right.

I'm not writing this to ask for forgiveness. I think I lost that the day I chose silence. But I needed you to know:

None of it was pretend. Not the dinners. Not the nights I stayed too long. Not the way I looked at you like you were the only thing holding me together.

You weren't a client.

You were the first person who ever made me feel clean.

I'm sorry I turned something beautiful into something rotten.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth the moment it mattered.

If you never want to speak to me again, I'll understand. I'll carry that.

But if there's even the smallest part of you that still believes I meant it--

I'll be here.

Not waiting.

Just... open.

Thank you for everything you gave me.

Even when I didn't deserve it.

Reed

---

The next day, Reed woke up with purpose--not the joyful, eager kind he once felt, nor the energetic optimism he wished for. It was simpler, quieter. Just momentum. Enough to push himself out of bed, enough to face another day.

Routine took hold, gently guiding him back toward normalcy. He showered daily, made his bed meticulously, and took tentative steps back into work. Simple deliveries--straightforward, clean, free of complications. He avoided Secret Menu entirely, steering clear of anything with emotional entanglements.

He felt softer, quieter, as if something inside him had gentled. People noticed, asking him carefully if he was okay. Reed managed soft, believable smiles, murmuring vague assurances of tiredness. Flirting, teasing--once second nature--felt meaningless now, empty gestures without sincerity.

In the evenings, he wandered the city streets alone, headphones humming softly with music Eli had once loved. Sometimes his path led him unconsciously toward a small bakery Eli had mentioned fondly, its warm light glowing invitingly from within. He'd pause outside, imagining briefly sending a message: Thought of you today. Each time, his thumb hovered briefly over the send button, then retreated.

At home, Reed purged his phone of old photos, each deletion painful yet necessary. Only the letter file remained, tucked safely away. Small things changed--he cut his hair, bought fresh sheets, picked up neglected books. One afternoon, a barista made him laugh unexpectedly, joy briefly surfacing before guilt swiftly followed. Happiness felt disloyal somehow, yet he allowed the laughter anyway, tentative but real.

Each night, when his phone lay quiet, Reed felt the familiar sting of silence. Yet, he no longer spiraled into despair. Instead, he brushed his teeth methodically, donned soft clothes, lit a comforting candle, and breathed deeply.

His world wasn't perfect. Pain still lingered softly beneath the surface. But slowly, gently, Reed recognized he was healing.

---

It was an unremarkable Tuesday, gray skies outside casting dull shadows across the apartment. Reed stood beside his bed, folding laundry with a mechanical rhythm, an audiobook playing softly in the background--words he wasn't really absorbing.

His phone buzzed sharply, vibrating against the worn wooden table. Reed glanced over absently, curiosity only mildly piqued--until his eyes snagged on the glowing screen.

> New Order -- Eli K.

The world dropped away, replaced instantly by a roaring silence in Reed's head. His pulse vanished, replaced by a ringing, breathless numbness. He stared, fingers frozen mid-fold, heart lodged painfully high in his chest.

With shaking hands, Reed tapped the notification open, eyes scanning wildly.

It wasn't the usual restaurant Eli preferred; it was Reed's favorite spot. The one he'd always picked without asking, back when every order was a thinly veiled excuse just to see Eli again.

And the tip--

The amount was staggering. More than Eli had ever given him. More than any one-night stand had ever tipped. Enough to say something Reed couldn't yet decipher, something meaningful beyond words.

But there was no message, no explanatory note. Just the stark, familiar address staring up at him. Eli's address.

Reed's breath shuddered, his pulse suddenly hammering hard enough to drown out rational thought. The screen trembled slightly in his sweaty grip.

He could cancel. Maybe he should cancel. Fear hissed warnings: it might be a trap, a test, a terrible misunderstanding.

Yet his thumb hovered, hesitating for only a heartbeat before softly pressing "accept." His voice, barely audible even to himself, whispered one word into the quiet:

"Fuck."

---

Reed paced his apartment in tight, restless circles, eyes glued to the glowing screen of his phone as if the accepted order might vanish if he looked away. His heart thudded painfully, a frantic rhythm echoing in his ears. Doubt clawed at his chest, whispering anxiously: was this real? Was it some cruel joke or misunderstanding?

With a shaky exhale, he grabbed his keys from the table, hands trembling, fumbling clumsily as he shrugged into his jacket. Halfway out the door, he hesitated, swallowing hard. But then he forced himself forward, propelled by some stubborn, irrational hope.

---

A while later, he settled into the driver's seat, placing the takeout bag carefully on the passenger side. The aroma rose in soft curls of steam--rich, spicy, painfully familiar--wrapping around him like memories he wasn't prepared to face.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white under the strain. He navigated the streets robotically, heart hammering louder with each passing block. The city blurred around him, sights and sounds reduced to indistinct flashes, meaningless compared to the relentless beating of his heart.

At a red light, he stopped abruptly, the sudden stillness amplifying his anxiety. Reed drummed his fingertips restlessly against his thigh, eyes fixed straight ahead, lips moving silently. Was he rehearsing what to say? Offering quiet, desperate prayers for forgiveness? Practicing yet another apology he knew he owed?

In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of his own reflection--pale, drawn, jaw clenched tight. Wide eyes stared back, haunted by the uncertainty tangled sharply with fragile hope.

Then the light changed.

His breath hitched, and Reed pressed gently on the gas, moving steadily forward into whatever came next.

---

The porch was exactly as Reed remembered it. The same wooden boards creaked softly underfoot, and the familiar paint was peeling slightly around the edges of the door frame. But standing there, clutching the takeout bag tightly, Reed knew he was no longer the man who had last stood in this spot.

His pulse thrummed nervously in his throat, breath puffing faintly in the chill air, hands trembling enough that the bag rustled softly. Twice he nearly lost his nerve, muscles tensed to turn away and retreat into the safer shadows. Each time, something intangible rooted him firmly in place.

Finally, with a shaky exhale, he raised his hand and knocked--once, softly, reverently. Like he was knocking not on a door, but on a chance, a fragile hope. He lowered his hand slowly, heart hammering fiercely, and waited.

The doorknob turned gently, painfully slow. Reed's breath stilled, locked tightly in his chest, as the door opened softly, revealing Eli.

Eli stood framed in the doorway, hair tousled as if he'd run his fingers through it a thousand times, sweater sleeves pushed carelessly to his elbows. Barefoot, as always. His expression was quiet, thoughtful--fatigued, but free of anger or resentment. The guardedness, the stiff caution that Reed had last seen, was gone. In its place, there was only a gentle, hesitant openness.

"Hey," Eli spoke first, voice quiet, tentative, eyes searching Reed's face as if looking for hidden answers. A long breath hung between them, delicate and heavy.

"Hey," Reed finally echoed, voice nearly cracking beneath the weight of everything left unsaid. He stood frozen, half expecting Eli to shut him out--but Eli's eyes, still guarded yet undeniably softening, offered him a fragile, wordless sense of hope.

Eli's eyes flicked briefly downward, noticing the takeout bag clutched in Reed's grip, before returning carefully to Reed's face. The silence stretched between them, thick and meaningful.

Then, quietly, Eli stepped back--a small gesture, barely more than an invitation, yet more than Reed had dared dream of.

"You, uh... wanna come in?" Eli asked softly, eyes cautious.

Reed nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and stepped carefully over the threshold.

---

Reed stepped cautiously into the familiar warmth of Eli's home, the quiet click of the door shutting behind him echoing softly. The space felt different somehow--still familiar, yet warmer, more genuinely lived-in. Less careful. Less curated. Reed lingered near the entryway, gripping the takeout bag like a lifeline, uncertain and vulnerable.

Ahead of him, Eli moved quietly toward the kitchen, not looking back. His movements were restless, nervous--one hand rubbing at his opposite wrist, tugging anxiously at his sleeve. His breathing was shallow, measured, as if carefully maintaining control.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and laden, though not hostile. Reed stood frozen, afraid to break the fragile peace, heart thudding unevenly in his chest.

Finally, Eli's voice broke the silence, careful and hesitant. "I read your letter."

Reed inhaled sharply, heart in his throat, eyes fixed desperately on Eli's back.

A long pause filled the room. Eli's fingers twitched nervously, scratching absently at his forearm. Then, softly, he continued. "I... wasn't ready to answer. Not then." Another quiet beat, stretching painfully. "But I never stopped thinking about it."

Reed moved a hesitant step forward, voice trembling. "Eli, I--"

Eli raised a hand gently, cutting him off--not harsh, just firm, needing space to speak. "Let me talk."

Reed swallowed thickly and nodded, stepping back obediently, waiting.

Eli drew a steadying breath, eyes still fixed downward. His voice came slowly, measured and raw. "I was angry. Hurt. Maybe I still am. Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting from you. I guess... I just wanted it to be real. And when I found out, I felt foolish. Like I'd let myself be tricked."

Reed's jaw tightened painfully, his gaze dropping to the floor, accepting Eli's words with quiet pain.

"But the thing is--" Eli paused again, finally raising his eyes to meet Reed's, vulnerable and honest. "When I read your letter, I believed you."

The silence thickened, full and charged.

"I didn't want to believe you," Eli added quietly, softer now. "But I did."

His hands fidgeted restlessly, clasping and unclasping as he continued, voice nearly shaking. "I believed you, and that scared the shit out of me."

Reed opened his mouth, but Eli's eyes implored him to stay silent. Eli exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts carefully. "I didn't know how to forgive you. I still don't. I don't even know what starting over looks like--or if that's even possible. But--" Eli's voice cracked gently, eyes shimmering. "I missed you. So much."

Reed felt a lump swell painfully in his throat, eyes burning.

"I missed how you looked at me like I mattered. I missed stupid things--like how you always sat way too close, or pretended to enjoy movies I know you hated just because they mattered to me... how you always knew when I needed comfort but couldn't say it." Eli hesitated, eyes shining.

"I know we were complicated. Messy. Not normal. But... I loved having you in my life. And I think I still want you there."

He laughed softly, a fragile sound. "Even if I'm still a little mad. Even if we go slow. Even if I'm not sure what this is now. I just... I can't pretend it meant nothing."

The silence between them hummed, brittle and delicate.

Then Eli stepped forward--careful, tentative. His hand lifted slowly, hovering uncertainly before softly brushing Reed's jaw. Reed exhaled shakily, leaning instinctively into the touch.

Eli leaned forward, their lips barely brushing at first, hesitant and gentle. Then the kiss deepened, slow and tender, something genuine and honest and earned. Reed melted into Eli, hands trembling at his waist, relief flooding through him.

When they parted, foreheads touching gently, Eli murmured softly, "This time, it's for me. Not the secret menu."

Reed choked out a quiet laugh, nodding against him, voice barely audible but fiercely sincere.

"Only ever for you."

---

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Eli took Reed's hand and led him to the bedroom, their fingers laced with the kind of quiet intimacy that said more than words ever could. Everything about the way they moved was unhurried--no hunger, just heat. Something patient. Earned.

At the edge of the bed, Reed turned to face him. His hands rested at Eli's hips, thumbs brushing gently across fabric. His eyes shimmered--wet, but not manipulative. Not performative. Just raw.

"Can I...?" His voice broke on the question. "Please."

Eli cupped his face, thumb grazing the tear that hadn't yet fallen. "Yes."

Reed sank to his knees like it was instinct. Like gravity had been waiting for this moment. His breath trembled as he kissed along Eli's thigh, his hip, the curve of his belly--each kiss reverent, like a prayer made flesh. He undressed Eli slowly, hands shaking, like each layer stripped away a piece of his old self.

The tears came unbidden, slipping silently down his cheeks as he took Eli into his mouth. No choreography. No tricks. Just softness. Worship. He held Eli's hips gently, as if afraid to break him, lips dragging along the length of him, tongue coaxing him to life.

Every sigh Eli let out felt like forgiveness.

When Reed finally took him in, slow and steady, his eyes fluttered closed. It wasn't for money. Or power. Or survival. It was for the boy who fed him dinner. Who set a second plate. Who opened the door when he had every reason to shut it.

Reed let the tears smear along Eli's skin, not bothering to hide them. He wanted Eli to feel them. To know what this meant.

His mouth moved with aching care, lips soft, tongue slow. His hands pressed to Eli's thighs, steadying them both. Eli's head tipped back, a moan escaping--part disbelief, part hunger, part ache. His fingers drifted down, tentative at first, then tangled gently in Reed's hair.

When his grip tightened, it wasn't cruel. It was anchoring.

Reed moaned around him, overwhelmed, lips wet and slick, tears still falling. Eli felt it then--how much Reed was giving him. Not just with his mouth, but with his whole body. His whole being.

So Eli guided him. A slow roll of his hips. A breath. A deeper thrust.

Reed took it all, moaning low, fingers curling tighter. He became something sacred in that moment. Not a servant. Not a sinner.

Just his.

Eli gasped, trembling. "Fuck--Reed, I missed you--so much--"

Reed didn't answer with words. He just pressed deeper, burying his face at Eli's base, letting him feel it. Letting him know.

Eli's thighs began to shake. His breath broke.

"Fuck--Reed--I'm--"

Reed didn't stop. He only moaned louder, swallowing him down, eyes shut, lashes wet. His mouth and heart ached sweetly.

Full. Loved.

---

Eli collapsed back against the wall, chest heaving, fingers loosening in Reed's hair--but Reed didn't move.

He stayed right there, mouth still open around the softening head of Eli's cock, kissing it like it was sacred. Let it slip out only to drag his tongue along Eli's inner thigh. Licked up a drop of sweat. Presses soft kisses to his hip, his belly, the hollow just above his pelvis, painting apologies in invisible ink.

His hands roamed now, slow and devoted, fingertips cherishing every inch of Eli's skin.

And then--

He leant forward again, mouthing gently at Eli's cock.

Soft sucks.

Tender. Persistent.

Not letting go.

Eli let out a shaky noise, half protest, half ache.

"Reed--" he gasps, hand still tangled in his curls, "You don't have to--"

Reed looked up at him.

Eyes wet. Lips swollen. Voice softer than Eli had ever heard:

"I want to."

And then his mouth was back on him--slowly coaxing him hard again, like he needed it. Like Reed couldn't breathe unless he was giving Eli everything.

---

And somehow--God, somehow--Eli responded.

Gasping. Arching.

His fingers tightening in Reed's hair all over again.

His voice was a ragged plea:

"Reed--fuck--I just came--"

But Reed didn't stop. He couldn't.

Every motion was a confession: I love you. I want you. I need to give this to you.

Eli's cock stiffened in his mouth again, pulsing back to full hardness under Reed's relentless devotion. Reed moaned like it was salvation, like it was proof of forgiveness.

And then--when Eli was shaking again, flushed and breathless--Reed let him go. With a kiss to the tip. Another down the shaft. Another at his hip. Then he stood slowly, eyes never leaving Eli's.

"Get up," Reed whispered.

Eli blinked, dazed. "What?"

"Get off the bed."

Eli obeyed--numb, stunned, cock throbbing, heart pounding.

Reed climbed up in his place.

Silently. Gracefully. Willingly.

Then--on his back now--he pulled his shirt over his head. Peeled down his pants. Laid himself bare. His thighs parted. His knees lifted. He spread himself open.

His hole already slick, already prepared--like he'd been waiting for this. Like this offering was written into his bones.

He looked at Eli, voice breaking.

"Please."

A pause. Then softer:

"I want you to take it. I want you inside me. Please--make me yours again."

---

Eli stood at the foot of the bed, frozen in place. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly, breath catching in shallow, awed pants. His chest rose and fell quickly, heart visibly hammering beneath flushed skin. His cock was rigid, glistening faintly in the soft glow from the bedside lamp--still wet from Reed's mouth.

But it wasn't just desire that held Eli captive.

It was wonder.

Reed lay before him, fully bare and utterly vulnerable. His thighs spread wide, opening himself without hesitation. His hole, slick and inviting, twitched gently, gleaming softly. His arms rested loosely above his head, expression gentle--no trace of smugness, only quiet trust. Eyes wide, shimmering with tears, Reed looked up at Eli with patient longing.

"Eli," Reed whispered softly, voice cracking slightly. "Please."

Eli swallowed thickly, fingertips twitching anxiously at his sides, his knees feeling unsteady beneath him. He couldn't speak, overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment--the unguarded surrender before him, the depth of Reed's devotion. It was humbling. It was terrifying. It was everything.

After an endless breath, Eli moved forward carefully, as if stepping onto hallowed ground. His knees pressed into the mattress, sinking slowly as he braced himself over Reed, their eyes locked. Eli hovered silently, breath trembling.

Reed smiled up at him--a soft, shaky curve of lips that reached his eyes, illuminating his entire face.

"I love you," Reed breathed.

Eli lowered his forehead to rest against Reed's, feeling warmth bloom between them, intense and undeniable. "I love you too, silly."

---

Slowly, Eli positioned himself, gripping his slick, trembling cock in a shaky hand. As he pressed forward, the tight heat of Reed's body welcomed him inch by inch, both men gasping as the sensation overwhelmed them.

Reed's moan was soft, breathy, eyes fluttering closed as he instinctively rolled his hips up to meet Eli's slow thrust. Eli whispered Reed's name reverently, feeling a surge of pure, aching tenderness.

"Reed..."

Fully sheathed, Eli paused for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness. Then, gently, he began to move--steady, deep strokes, slow and intentional, each thrust an act of devotion. Reed trembled beneath him, locking his legs around Eli's waist, pulling him deeper.

"I want you close," Reed murmured urgently, arms tightening around Eli. "I want to feel you."

Eli leaned down, chests pressed together, mouths colliding in a messy, desperate kiss. Every thrust punctuated their breaths, skin sliding damply together, the mattress creaking beneath their weight. Reed cupped Eli's jaw, drawing him closer, eyes shining.

"I missed you," Reed gasped, voice breaking with emotion. "I missed you so fucking much."

Eli thrust deeper, still gentle but now more forceful, voice trembling against Reed's skin. "I've never felt this with anyone. Never."

---

Their mouths stayed locked, breaths mingling as Eli's pace quickened--deeper, more urgent, driven by something raw and profound. His hands roamed hungrily over Reed's skin, tracing every inch as if memorizing him. Reed moaned openly, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks.

"Yes--yes, Eli--God, yes--"

Eli pressed their foreheads together again, voice hoarse with emotion. "I love you--fuck--I love you--"

Reed's body tightened beneath him, legs gripping Eli even harder. "Don't stop--please--don't stop--"

Eli's hips snapped forward harder now, rhythm dissolving into desperate, deep thrusts. His body broke rhythm, driven purely by the overwhelming need to claim, to connect, to lose himself entirely in Reed.

With a sharp, trembling cry, Eli came--deep, shaking, buried to the hilt. His arms tightened around Reed, mouth seeking Reed's desperately, their breath intermingling, hearts hammering in unison.

And Reed shattered beneath him, untouched and overwhelmed, screaming Eli's name as his body convulsed. Warmth spread between them as Reed climaxed, sobbing, clutching Eli desperately, waves of release wracking him.

"Eli--Eli--Eli--"

They collapsed together, chests heaving, still intimately joined. Sweat and tears mingled between them, mouths brushing softly in quiet, grateful kisses. Reed stroked Eli's hair tenderly, whispering reverent gratitude between soft sobs.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Eli held Reed fiercely, fingers tangled in his hair, breathing him in deeply--as if he planned never to let go.

---

Three months later

The pandemic lingered, uncertain and endless, but inside their cozy, sun-drenched one-bedroom apartment, the world felt distinctly smaller, safer, and infinitely more manageable. Sunlight spilled lazily across hardwood floors scattered with worn rugs, stacks of takeout containers piled precariously by the recycling, and a half-dead succulent Reed continually forgot to water but refused to discard.

Reed had quit Secret Menu completely--no more secret menus, no more late-night deliveries, no more hiding behind an act. These days, his only delivery was the near-constant supply of teasing kisses, distracting touches, and well-timed innuendos aimed squarely at Eli, who feigned annoyance even while smiling fondly.

Reed wandered shirtless around the apartment, perfectly content to hover behind Eli's shoulder during Zoom meetings, munching noisily on snacks, casually trailing his fingers across Eli's collarbone. And when Eli pretended to scowl, whispering sharply, "Reed, please--I'm working," Reed would only laugh quietly, pressing gentle, distracting kisses just below Eli's ear.

"You chose this," Reed murmured smugly, a grin tugging at his lips, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Eli's protests softened into laughter, surrendering easily to Reed's affection. "Touche."

---

When the workday ended, they cooked together, sharing tasks seamlessly--Eli chopping vegetables, Reed stirring sauces and seasoning to taste. Sometimes dinner ended up slightly burnt when Reed couldn't resist pressing Eli against the counter, mouths colliding in slow, heated kisses, bodies pressed tight. Other nights they argued playfully over movie selections, ultimately settling onto the couch with limbs intertwined, Reed's head tucked comfortably against Eli's chest, his hand slipping easily beneath Eli's shirt to rest warmly against skin.

They spoke openly about the future now, no longer hesitant, no longer unsure. Their voices filled the apartment softly, confidently weaving dreams of shared vacations, furniture upgrades, quiet mornings, and busy evenings. Plans felt tangible, like promises they both fully intended to keep.

And sometimes--often, in fact--the nights stretched long, hot, and restless. Reed woke Eli with slow, teasing kisses along his neck, down his chest, whispering quiet, breathless promises in the dark until Eli groaned softly, rolling Reed beneath him, sinking deeply into heat and intimacy. Their bodies moved fluidly together, knowing each other instinctively, building toward climax slowly, sweetly, until both were left shuddering and breathless, tangled limbs and sweat-slicked skin warm against rumpled sheets.

Outside, uncertainty still lingered in the air. But here, inside their little sanctuary of sunlight and second chances, there was only certainty:

The soft click of Eli's keyboard keys.

Reed humming tunelessly as he made breakfast, swaying gently in rhythm with a song only he could hear.

And lingering quietly within their walls, a faint, constant echo of that first, fragile kiss--the one that began it all.