The city’s edge

"Let's go out today," Elias said.

Damian paused, his fountain pen hovering a fraction of an inch above the contract on his desk.

He looked up. Elias was leaning against the doorframe of the study, a pair of dark tailored trousers replacing his lounge pants, though he had kept the oversized cream sweater on.

"Out?" Damian repeated, mildly surprised. "I thought you wanted to stay inside."

"I do," Elias said, walking over and resting his chin on Damian's shoulder, staring down at the legal documents. "But I want to spend time with you outside, too. Just for a little bit. We could go to that small gallery near the river. The one you like."

Damian's chest tightened with a strange, sweet pressure. Usually, getting Elias to accompany him to places Damian enjoyed was a negotiation. Elias preferred loud, trendy spots in the heart of the city; he used to call Damian's favorite galleries "stuffy vaults for old money."

"If that's what you want," Damian murmured, turning his head to press a brief kiss to Elias's forehead. "Let me finish this page."

The drive into the city was quiet. Rain streaked across the windshield of the Bentley, blurring the towering glass skyscrapers into gray smudges.

When they arrived at the gallery, the city felt different-colder, busier, more intrusive.

The moment they stepped out of the car, Elias caught Damian's hand.

It wasn't a casual touch. Elias laced their fingers together tightly, pulling himself close against Damian's side. In the past, Elias had been fiercely private about public affection, often rolling his eyes or stepping away if Damian reached for him in high-society districts. "I don't need your family's paparazzi making a story out of us," he used to snap.

Now, he didn't seem to care about appearances at all. He just clung to Damian's arm, his eyes darting warily toward the passersby on the sidewalk. Damian merely assumed the boy was still feeling vulnerable after his night out, and he found himself leaning into the fierce, possessive grip.

The gallery was mostly empty, save for a few quiet patrons and a curator who gave them a long, incredibly heavy look from behind the reception desk. Damian ignored it. People always stared at him; wealth and status carried a lingering glare.

As they moved into the deeper, quieter exhibition rooms, Elias suddenly pulled Damian into a shadowed alcove behind a large marble sculpture.

"What is it?" Damian asked, a faint smile touching his lips.

Elias didn't answer right away. He reached up, his cool fingers carefully straightening the lapel of Damian's overcoat, smoothing down the fabric with intense, focused precision. His dark eyes were wide, completely fixated on Damian's face.

"I don't like when people look at you too much," Elias whispered, his voice dropping into a soft, intense register.

Damian let out a low, flattered laugh. "Are you jealous, Elias?"

Elias didn't smile back. He didn't offer a playful jab or a sarcastic retort. He just kept his eyes locked on Damian's, his expression deadly serious, almost desperate.

"Maybe," Elias murmured, his thumb brushing against Damian's lower lip. "I just want you to only look at me."

Elias later excused himself for washroom.

The sheer weight of the obsession should have triggered a warning bell, but Damian only felt a profound, intoxicating rush of validation. He liked the cage Elias was building around them.

"Damian?"

The voice broke the spell. Damian turned his head to see Noah standing at the entrance of the alcove.

Noah looked exhausted, dark circles shadowing his eyes, his coat damp from the rain. He looked tense-deeply, uncomfortably guarded-as his gaze flicked from Damian to the empty space beside him, and then back up to Damian's face.

"Noah," Damian said, his tone instantly cooling. "I told you I was busy today."

Noah didn't snap back with his usual loud, confident banter. Instead, he took a slow step forward, speaking carefully, his voice sounding as though he were walking on fragile glass.

"I know. I just... I saw your car outside," Noah said softly. He swallowed hard, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "You've been... really different lately, Damian. Hidden away in that house. Everyone is asking where you are."

"I am taking some personal time," Damian replied coldly, his hand instinctively tightening around Elias's waist to pull him closer. "Elias and I are trying to enjoy a quiet afternoon. If you're here to talk about the club-"

"Damian," Noah interrupted, his voice dropping, thick with a strange, repressed emotion that looked almost like pity. He didn't look in Elias's direction at all, keeping his eyes glued strictly to Damian's. "Noah, if this is about Elias not answering messages, he's with me,"

Damian said, his irritation flaring.

He just let out a sharp, exhausted sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, looking deeply frustrated.

"Yeah, of course he is," Noah muttered, his tone laced with a bitter, heavy sarcasm. He wouldn't look in Elias's direction at all—a move Damian interpreted as petty resentment. "He's always right there now, isn't he? You guys are completely glued at the hip."

Noah took a step back, shaking his head.

"Look, Damian, if you want to lock yourself away and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, fine. But you should come by the office sometime."

"T'll return when I want to," Damian said smoothly.

Noah gave him one last, lingering look of sheer exhaustion before turning on his heel and walking quickly out of the gallery.

Damian scoffed softly under his breath, turning back to Elias. "See? Dramatic. I told you we shouldn't have come to the city."

Elias was watching Noah's retreating form, a calm, serene expression on his face. When he looked back at Damian, the warmth returned instantly. "Let's go home, love," he whispered.

The drive back to the estate felt like escaping a war zone. The moment the heavy iron gates clicked shut behind the Bentley, the suffocating tension of the outside world melted away.

They walked into the grand, silent foyer of the mansion. Elias shut the heavy oak door behind them and sighed softly, leaning his back against it.

He looked up at Damian, his eyes soft, the cool air of the city replaced by the immediate, wrapping warmth of their isolated sanctuary.

"I like it better in here," Elias said quietly, reaching out to take Damian's hand again. "Don't you?"

Damian looked at the boy-so soft, so perfectly, beautifully devoted to him-and felt the final pieces of his uneasiness dissolve.

"Yes," Damian agreed, pulling Elias into his arms.

"I do."

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