For the first time in what felt like forever, Caleb sat on the couch without the cold clink of metal dragging from his limbs. No chains. No leather restraints. Just his thin, tired body draped in a soft blanket Noah had wrapped around him earlier. He was free—physically, at least. But the mental shackle? That remained. Caleb glanced at the half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table. His eyes shifted to Noah, who was humming softly in the kitchen, arranging lunch plates with unusual cheer.
Something had changed. Since Caleb's unexpected choice to stay—since he'd looked Noah in the eyes and said, "You're late. I'm hungry."—the younger man had been radiant, like a child whose long-lost toy had finally returned. He trusted Caleb now. Too easily. Caleb wasn't sure if that trust was a good thing or just another shade of delusion.
He's happy now... but how long will it last? Caleb wonders, watching the boy with a quiet gaze.
Noah brought over their food—omelets, a salad, and some warm bread—and they ate in silence. Caleb took each bite carefully, trying to appear comfortable. He knew Noah was watching him closely.
"So, Noah," Caleb began, voice even and cautious, "how's it like... outside these walls? I mean, we could go out sometime, right? Just a little air, maybe?"
Noah's hand froze mid-air, the fork halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he placed it back on the plate. The hum in his throat vanished, replaced by a cold, mechanical silence.
"No," Noah said, too quickly. "It's dangerous, brother. There's still police. And bad people. And... and I don't want you to get hurt."
His tone was soft, but the panic behind it vibrated like a snapped wire. His fingers twitched as he added, "They hurt you before. They'll do it again. I can't risk that."
Caleb held his tongue. The sympathy dripping from Noah's words was fake—fabricated like the smile he wore after every kiss, every spoon-fed meal. It wasn't concern. It was possession. Obsession.
"I see," Caleb said simply, reaching for his tea. "I was just curious."
....
The day passed in routine normalcy. They watched old cartoons together. Caleb pretended to laugh. Noah giggled beside him, curled into his side like a warm dog. In the afternoon, they baked banana bread. Or rather, Noah baked, and Caleb supervised, tossing in suggestions like a good housemate. When the bread was done, Noah fed him a slice, still warm and sweet, watching his expression like a worshipper awaiting divine approval.
And as evening tiptoed into the sky, a stillness settled across the little house.
Caleb, relaxed into the couch, was flipping channels on the TV. The soft blue glow illuminated the darkening room. Behind him, he could hear the faint clink of dishes and Noah's humming in the kitchen.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Suddenly, the soft patter of footsteps approached, but Caleb barely had time to register them when Noah's arms slipped under his knees and shoulders.
"Wait—!" Caleb gasped as his body was lifted effortlessly.
"Shh, I got you," Noah said calmly, almost too calmly. His hoodie brushed against Caleb's chin as he carried him, bridal style, to the kitchen.
Caleb didn't struggle. The risk of falling—hurting his back at this age—was too real. His breath caught in his throat as he was gently placed on the counter. A warm blanket followed, covering his disabled legs. The marble was cool under him, but the blanket softened it.
"Noah, what the hell are you—"
"Shh," Noah hushed him again, and pressed something soft against his lips.
A chocolate-dipped strawberry.
"I thought... we could have some dessert," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from Caleb's forehead. "I want brother to try first. Tell me how good it tastes."
Caleb blinked. "What?"
"Eat," Noah urged, more insistent now.
Against his better judgment, Caleb opened his mouth. The strawberry was sweet, smooth chocolate melting instantly on his tongue. But his focus was sharp—not on the taste, but on Noah's hungry eyes drinking in every reaction.
"You like it?" Noah asked, voice low.
"It's good," Caleb replied carefully.
Without a word, Noah dipped his index and middle fingers into the chocolate syrup and brought them to Caleb's lips.
"Suck them clean, brother," he whispered, eyes glowing in dim kitchen light. "Tell me how good... I taste."
Caleb's breath hitched. "What the hell are you—"
He turned his head, but Noah's hand gently grabbed his jaw—not painfully, but firm.
"Please," he whispered. "Just... once."
Caleb's heart pounded. He could feel his pulse in his throat, feel his face heating with a fire he couldn't understand or control. He let Noah's fingers slip into his mouth. Chocolate. Warm skin. Caleb sucked, hesitantly at first, then firmer—if only to make it end faster.
The moment stretched.
When Noah pulled his fingers back, his breathing was heavier. His lips parted, eyes dazed. "I want to taste too," he murmured. "I want to taste brother."
His face inched closer. Caleb didn't stop him.
Their lips met.
The kiss was deep. Sticky chocolate smeared between them as Noah devoured his mouth with slow hunger. Caleb whimpered against the contact—overwhelmed, suffocated by sensation. He wasn't drugged. He wasn't chained. But he was caged in something else entirely.
He kissed back.
Just as the heat was about to burst between them—
BANG!
The sound was thunderous. A loud knock. Or maybe a kick. The main door vibrated.
Caleb flinched, snapping out of the trance. Noah stiffened.
Someone's here.
Noah growled low in his throat, like a beast disturbed. His head whipped toward the living room. Caleb pulled away, wiping chocolate off his lips with the back of his hand.
"That... that was the front door," Caleb muttered, shocked.
"This place is isolated," Noah hissed. "How... who the fuck...?"
He stormed off toward the hall.
Caleb sat frozen on the counter. Heart racing. Skin trembling.
But somewhere deep inside him, something flickered.
Hope.