The words came out of him before he could stop them, tumbling into the quiet of the locker room like something physical, something he couldn't take back. "Come with me tomorrow."
Adrian's hands stilled on his shoulders. The thumbs that had been tracing slow, absent circles went motionless, and Eli felt the weight of that stillness like a held breath. The fluorescent light above them buzzed—that same flicker, that same hum, the sound of a room that had seen too many quiet moments and didn't know what to do with this one.
Eli's cycling jersey was still damp against his skin, the fabric clinging to his chest, the smell of sweat and cheap soap rising off him in waves. He could feel the cold metal of the locker against his back, the ridged edge of it pressing into his spine through the thin cotton. His heart was doing something strange in his chest—not racing, not slowing, just... waiting.
Adrian pulled back. Not far—just enough to look at him. His eyes moved across Eli's face like he was reading something written there, something Eli didn't know he'd spelled out. The locker room was quiet around them. The tap dripped somewhere behind them, a steady, patient sound. The fan whirred overhead, pushing warm air down, and Eli could feel the heat of Adrian's body still close, still there, even with the distance between them.
"Tomorrow," Adrian said. Not a question. A confirmation, a testing of the word on his tongue.
Eli nodded, then stopped himself, then nodded again because he didn't know what else to do with his head. "The facility. My third count. I have to—" His voice cracked on the word, split right down the middle like dry wood, and he felt his face heat. He swallowed, tried again. "I have to go back."
Adrian's jaw tightened. There it was—that flicker of something Eli couldn't name, a muscle jumping beneath the skin, a shadow passing behind his eyes. It was there and gone in a second, smoothed over by the easy confidence Adrian wore like a second skin. But Eli had seen it. He'd been watching for it, looking for the seams, and he'd found one.
"You don't have to do anything," Adrian said. His voice was low, careful, like he was choosing each word with deliberate precision. "You could walk away. Right now. We could walk out of here together and never look back."
Eli shook his head. The movement was small, almost involuntary, a reflex he couldn't suppress. "Sam."
The name hung between them, heavy as the air in the room. Sam, sealed in latex somewhere in that facility, waiting to be broken. Sam, whose freedom depended on Eli's choice. Sam, who had looked at Eli with those questioning eyes and offered help, not knowing what he was stepping into.
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. His hands came up again, settling on Eli's shoulders—not gripping, just resting there, thumbs resuming their slow circles against the damp fabric of the jersey. The touch was grounding, solid, a reminder that Eli wasn't alone in this. Not anymore.
"You really care about him," Adrian said. Not a question. An observation, spoken with something like wonder, like he was seeing something rare and didn't quite know what to make of it.
"He's my friend." Eli's voice came out rough, scraped raw by everything he'd been holding in. "He came to the facility because I told him about it. Because I thought—" He stopped, swallowed, forced himself to keep going. "I thought if I had someone there, it would be easier. I didn't know they'd take him."
Adrian's thumbs stilled again. His eyes searched Eli's face, and Eli felt laid bare under that gaze, stripped of every layer of bravado he'd tried to wrap around himself. The locker room lights buzzed. The tap dripped. The fan pushed warm air down, and Eli could feel a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.
"You asked me to come with you," Adrian said slowly. "Do you know what you're asking?"
Eli did. He knew exactly what he was asking. He was asking Adrian to walk into that facility, to face Marcus and Lena and everything that waited behind those steel doors. He was asking Adrian to stand beside him while the machine did its work, while the chair held him down, while his body was milked and measured and cataloged like a specimen. He was asking Adrian to see him at his most vulnerable, his most broken, his most exposed—and to stay.
"I know," Eli said. His voice didn't crack this time. It came out steady, sure, the first thing he'd said all night that felt solid beneath him. "I know what I'm asking."
Adrian held his gaze for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire, and Eli could feel the weight of the question pressing down on him—not just the question of whether Adrian would say yes, but the question of what it would mean if he did. What it would mean to have someone there. What it would mean to not be alone.
The tap dripped. The fan hummed. The fluorescent light above them flickered once, twice, then steadied.
And then Adrian nodded.
It was a small thing—a single, deliberate motion of his head, a dip of his chin that carried the weight of a promise. But Eli felt it in his chest like a physical blow, a release of pressure he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The air left his lungs in a rush, and he sagged against the locker, the cold metal pressing into his back, grounding him, holding him up.
"Okay," Adrian said. The word was quiet, almost soft, but it landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water. "Tomorrow. I'll be there."
Eli opened his mouth to say something—thank you, or I'm sorry, or some combination of words that might capture the enormity of what Adrian had just agreed to—but nothing came out. His throat was tight, his chest aching with something that felt dangerously close to hope. He closed his mouth, nodded instead, and let the silence settle around them.
Adrian's hands were still on his shoulders. The thumbs resumed their circles, slow and steady, and Eli let himself lean into the touch, let himself be held by it. The locker room was quiet around them, the tap dripping, the fan humming, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead. And somewhere in the back of Eli's mind, the chair was still waiting, the rubber suit, the machine. Tomorrow. One more night.
But this time, he wouldn't be alone.
Adrian's jaw tightened again—that same flicker of unease Eli had caught before, the muscle jumping beneath the skin. He didn't name it. He didn't ask. But he saw it, and he knew it was there, a small crack in Adrian's easy confidence, a hairline fracture that spoke of something Adrian wasn't saying.
"What is it?" Eli asked. The words came out before he could stop them, and he felt Adrian's hands still on his shoulders.
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. His eyes moved across Eli's face, searching, measuring, deciding something Eli couldn't see. The tap dripped. The fan hummed. The fluorescent light flickered.
"Nothing," Adrian said finally. But his jaw was still tight, and his eyes were still shadowed, and Eli knew—he knew—that it wasn't nothing. It was something. It was the weight of what Eli had asked him to do, settling onto his shoulders like a coat that didn't quite fit.
Eli wanted to press. He wanted to ask what Adrian wasn't saying, wanted to pull the thread and see what unraveled. But he was tired. He was so tired, bone-deep and soul-weary, and the thought of pushing into that shadowed place in Adrian's eyes felt like more than he could carry tonight.
So he let it go. He let the silence stand, let the unspoken thing hang between them, and he leaned into the warmth of Adrian's hands on his shoulders and the promise of tomorrow.
"I should go," Eli said. The words came out quiet, reluctant, a confession he didn't want to make. "I need to—" He gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the night outside, toward everything that waited beyond the locker room's fluorescent glow.
Adrian nodded. His hands slipped from Eli's shoulders, and Eli felt the absence of them like a physical thing, a cold spot where warmth had been. "Get some rest," Adrian said. "You're going to need it."
Eli nodded. He pushed off the locker, his legs unsteady beneath him, and took a step toward the door. Then another. Then he stopped, turned back, and looked at Adrian—really looked at him, at the easy confidence and the shadowed eyes and the jaw that was still tight with something unspoken.
"Thank you," Eli said. The words felt small, inadequate, nowhere near enough to capture what he meant. But they were all he had.
Adrian's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Go," he said. "I'll be there tomorrow."
Eli nodded. He turned, walked to the door, and pushed through it into the cool night air. The fluorescent light buzzed behind him, the tap dripped, the fan hummed. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the chair was still waiting, the rubber suit, the machine. Tomorrow. One more night.
But this time, he wouldn't be alone.
The door swung shut behind him, and Eli stood in the parking lot, the night air cool against his damp skin, the weight of Adrian's promise settling into his chest like a warm coal. He could still feel the ghost of Adrian's hands on his shoulders, the slow circles of his thumbs, the quiet gravity of his nod.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't know what the machine would do to him, what Marcus would demand, what Lena would measure and catalog and take. He didn't know if he would walk out of that facility with Sam, or if he would walk out at all.
But he knew one thing. He knew that tomorrow, when he walked through that steel door, he wouldn't be alone.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen glowing pale in the dark, and typed a message to Adrian before he could second-guess himself. Thank you. For tonight. For tomorrow.
The phone buzzed in his hand almost before he could slide it back into his pocket. Adrian's reply was a single word, no punctuation, no flourish: Always. Eli stared at the screen until it dimmed, then locked it and let the dark take the parking lot back.
He walked to his car with the gravel crunching under his sneakers, the night air cool against his still-damp skin. The jersey had gone clammy against his back, the sweat cooling into something that felt like a warning. He slid into the driver's seat, closed the door, and sat there with his hands on the wheel, not starting the engine. The cage pressed against him, a familiar weight now, a constant reminder of everything he'd agreed to and everything still owed.
His apartment was dark when he got there. The radiator knocked in the corner, that same patient sound, and he stood in the middle of the living room with the light off, letting his eyes adjust. The Recruitment Agreement was still on the bed where he'd left it, the edges of the paper curling slightly in the humid air. He didn't look at it. He stripped off the jersey, the shorts, the socks, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in just the cage, studying the shape of himself in the dim light—the swimmer's shoulders, the cyclist's thighs, the lean, hard body that had gotten him into this and would, he hoped, get him out.
He slept badly. The dreams were fragmented, full of latex and steel and the sound of suction, and he woke more than once with his heart hammering, the sheets twisted around his legs. The last time he woke, the window was gray with early light, and he lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling the cage against his groin, running through the plan again and again like a rider memorizing a course. Go at 8:30. Meet Adrian at the facility door at 8:50. Face Marcus. Get Sam. Get out.
The morning passed in a blur of small, deliberate actions. He showered, dressed in clean jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, ate a piece of toast he didn't taste. He checked his phone a dozen times, but there were no new messages from Adrian, and he told himself that was fine. Adrian had said he'd be there. Adrian had nodded. That was enough.
At 8:15 he stood in his kitchen, the envelope of money in his jacket lining, the cage locked around him, the contract folded in his back pocket. He hadn't signed it. He wasn't sure he would. He looked around the apartment one last time—the radiator, the stack of cycling magazines, the worn spot on the floor where he did his stretching—and then he walked out the door.
The drive to the facility was short, shorter than he remembered, the familiar streets sliding past in a blur of streetlights and storefronts. He parked in the gravel lot, killed the engine, and sat there with his hands on the wheel, watching the steel door recessed in the concrete wall. The fluorescent light above it buzzed, casting the same flat, sterile glare he remembered. He was early. He knew he was early. He sat in the car and waited, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the steering wheel.
A pair of headlights swung into the lot, cutting through the dusk, and Eli's hands stilled on the wheel. The car pulled up beside his, the engine idling for a moment before cutting out. The door opened, and Adrian stepped out, all easy confidence and shadowed eyes, dressed in a dark jacket over a plain shirt. He looked at Eli through the windshield, and something in his expression shifted—a small, almost imperceptible softening—before he nodded once, slowly, and walked toward the facility door.
Eli got out of the car. The gravel crunched under his feet, the night air cool against his face, and he fell into step beside Adrian without a word. The steel door loomed ahead of them, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead, and Eli could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the same weight he'd carried every time he'd walked through this door. But this time, Adrian was beside him. This time, he wasn't alone.
The door opened before they reached it, and Marcus stood in the threshold, his tailored charcoal suit immaculate, his gray eyes sliding from Eli to Adrian with a smile that didn't reach them. "Elias," he said, the name a greeting and a statement all at once. "You brought a friend."