Adrian's hand moved slowly, deliberately, his palm dragging down Elias's chest, across his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. His fingers traced the edge of denim along Elias's hip, back and forth, back and forth, each pass a question Elias didn't know how to answer. The pads of Adrian's calloused fingers dipped beneath the fabric, finding the jut of hipbone, the soft skin just under it, and Elias's back arched before he could stop it, a sound breaking from his throat that might have been a name.
Adrian watched him, those sharp blue eyes dark and fixed, cataloging every tremor, every breath that hitched and stuttered. His thumb pressed into the hollow of Elias's hip, rubbing small circles into that tender skin, and Elias felt his whole body tilt toward the touch, desperate and helpless and not caring anymore.
"Look at you," Adrian said, voice low, rough at the edges. "One move and you're gone."
Elias couldn't answer. Couldn't form words. His fingers found the hem of Adrian's shirt instead, tugging upward with trembling hands. Adrian's jaw tightened but he didn't stop him. The fabric lifted, inch by inch, exposing a pale, jagged scar running along his ribs—a secret mapped in flesh, raised and slick under the dim light from the window.
Adrian went still. The air stopped moving between them. His hand on Elias's hip froze, the easy rhythm gone, replaced by a tension that hummed through his whole body.
Elias lowered his mouth to the scar before he could think. His lips pressed against the raised tissue, tasting salt and the faint memory of ice, the skin there cooler than the rest of Adrian's body. He held the kiss, feeling the scar against his mouth, and Adrian's shudder ran through him like a current.
No one had touched it like that. Elias knew it the way Adrian's breath caught, the way his hand clenched against Elias's hip. He pressed another kiss, softer, then another, each one a question he couldn't ask, a promise he couldn't speak.
Adrian made a sound low in his throat, raw and broken, and his hand moved from Elias's hip to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there against the scar. Not pulling him away. Keeping him close.
Elias lifted his head, meeting Adrian's eyes in the dim room wet and unguarded. He pressed his palm flat over the scar, feeling Adrian's heart hammer beneath it, and said nothing because nothing needed to be said. The scar was not a wound anymore. It was a door. And Elias had just walked through.
Elias started to pull back, his palm lifting from the scar, and Adrian's hand caught his wrist. The grip was firm, calloused fingers circling bone, holding him there with Elias's hand still inches above the raised tissue. Adrian's eyes met his in the dim light — sharp blue and wet and terrified and hopeful all at once, asking a question his mouth couldn't form.
"Don't," Adrian said. The word came out rough, barely a whisper, and his hand tightened on Elias's wrist. "Don't pull away."
Elias let his palm settle back against the scar, feeling the heat of Adrian's skin, the steady hammer of his heart. The muscle beneath his hand trembled, a fine vibration that ran through Adrian's whole body. Elias pressed harder, grounding him, and watched Adrian's throat work as he swallowed.
"No one," Adrian started, then stopped. His jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his stubble. He looked away, at the wall, at the snow falling past the window — anywhere but Elias. "No one's ever touched it. Like that."
Elias waited. His thumb traced the edge of the scar, a feather-light stroke, and Adrian flinched — not from pain, from something else. Something raw and unnamed that lived just under his skin.
"How did you get it?" Elias asked. Quiet. A question he could take back if Adrian didn't want to answer.
Adrian's laugh was hollow, humorless. "Skate blade. Freshman year. Caught me across the ribs during practice." He paused, his hand still wrapped around Elias's wrist. "Eighteen stitches. Coach told me to sit out the season. I was back on the ice in three weeks."
Elias pressed his lips to the scar again, slow, deliberate, feeling the ridged tissue against his mouth. Adrian's breath stuttered, his hand sliding from Elias's wrist to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there. Elias kissed the scar once more, then lifted his head, meeting Adrian's eyes.
"You're not on the ice now," Elias said. His voice was steady, sure in a way he didn't feel. "You don't have to pretend."
Adrian stared at him, those sharp blue eyes searching his face for something — a lie, a crack, a reason to build the wall back up. He didn't find one. His hand tightened in Elias's hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched, breath mingling in the narrow space between them.
"You're going to see all of it," Adrian said, voice breaking on the last word. "Every ugly part. And I don't know if I can survive you walking away after."
Elias pressed his palm flat against Adrian's heart, feeling it race beneath his fingers. "I'm not walking anywhere."