Part 5: Territorial
Mia stood by the window, watching the rain pour down the glass. Behind her, the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Eli was humming again. Something slow and nostalgic, almost lullaby-like. He was in the living room, folding laundry — one of Mia's hoodies, Aaron's gym shorts, his own delicate briefs.
Aaron stood in the hallway, watching from the corner of his eye.
He always lingered now. Just long enough to see how Eli moved. How his hips swayed as he bent, how his fingers smoothed out wrinkles with care. Every motion unhurried, practiced. Intimate.
"Why do you do so much for us?" Mia asked, finally turning from the window.
Eli glanced over. "I like helping."
"You didn't used to. Not like this."
Eli smiled. "Maybe I feel… more at home here."
Aaron looked away sharply, jaw tense.
Mia noticed that.
That evening, Eli cooked.
The kitchen smelled like garlic, sesame oil, something floral and sweet. He wore a half-apron tied around his waist, legs bare, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was damp from a recent shower.
When Aaron walked in, he stopped in the doorway.
The boy didn't turn.
"Dinner's almost ready," Eli said gently, without looking.
"You didn't have to cook," Aaron said.
"I wanted to," Eli replied.
He turned slowly, face lit by the warm kitchen light, eyes wide and soft. "Sit down. You work all day. Let me take care of you."
Aaron stiffened.
Those words weren't meant for him — not directly — but they sank into his chest like hot coals.
He sat down at the table in silence.
Mia arrived a few minutes later, laughing about something on her phone. But the tension was already strung tight, like the space between two magnets.
After dinner, Aaron lingered as Eli rinsed dishes.
He didn't say much. Just watched.
Watched the curve of Eli's back, the dip of his spine, the sway of his hips. Eli was fully aware.
He leaned forward slightly, pretending to reach for a plate, his shorts riding higher. Water ran over his fingers and wrist like glass.
Aaron stood.
"You don't have to clean everything."
Eli looked over his shoulder, his voice low. "I want to be useful."
"You already are," Aaron said, almost before thinking.
Their eyes locked.
Eli turned fully, dish still in his hand. "Then stop treating me like I'm fragile."
Aaron stepped forward. Close.
"You're not fragile," he said.
Eli tilted his chin up. "Then touch me like you mean it."
Aaron's hand twitched. For a moment, he almost obeyed.
But Mia called from the hallway, breaking the spell.
Eli turned back to the sink like nothing had happened.
Aaron stood there, fists clenched, breath sharp.
Later that night, Mia sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair.
Eli walked in slowly, wearing one of Aaron's old tees again. This one hung low over his bare thighs.
"Do you feel different?" Mia asked him suddenly.
Eli blinked. "About what?"
"About him."
There was no name. Just a pronoun.
But they both knew who she meant.
Eli smiled faintly. "I don't know what you're asking."
"Yes, you do."
Eli moved to the mirror and adjusted his shirt. "Why would you be jealous of your brother?"
Mia frowned.
"I'm not jealous," she said. "I just… I see things."
Eli didn't argue. He didn't defend.
He only said, "And what do you want to do about it?"
That silenced her.
The next morning, Aaron found himself alone with Eli in the living room. The air was still. Their conversation silent.
Eli stood at the window in soft shorts, drinking tea.
Aaron walked over and stood beside him.
"You always dress like that?" he asked again, not in judgment, but… something else.
Eli turned, smiled. "I thought you liked it."
Aaron stared at him.
And then — without thinking — he reached out and pulled the waistband of Eli's shorts down just an inch. Not enough to expose anything. Just enough to touch skin.
Eli gasped.
But he didn't stop him.
Aaron's fingers hovered there, grazing the warm flesh of his lower back.
A heartbeat passed.
Then he let go.
Eli turned to face him — flushed, breathing softly — but still calm.
"I thought you weren't like the others," Eli whispered.
Aaron leaned in. "I'm worse."
Eli smiled — small, knowing. "I know."
Then footsteps echoed upstairs. Mia.
The two pulled apart like magnets forced to separate.
But the damage was done.
The current between them had shifted.
There was no more pretending.
[To Be Continued — In Part 6: Mia begins confronting the truth. Aaron grows openly protective and territorial, leading to a near-altercation. Eli, now fully aware of his power, begins testing loyalty.]