Chapter Twenty-Five – Things I Wish You Never Read
1581 Words
It was three days after the fight that Aiden felt the shift again.
Not a rupture this time.
Not a storm.
But something else.
Something quieter.
Something inside Ren.
---
He noticed it first in the way Ren’s responses shortened.
Not sharp — just… clipped.
Like he was rationing words.
Then it was the avoidance of eye contact.
The increased silences during meals.
The pauses between touch — longer than usual, longer than comfortable.
And finally, the way Ren flinched when Aiden reached for his hand at the store.
That was new.
That wasn’t Ren.
---
Aiden didn’t press at first. He gave it space. Gave him space.
But the ache in his chest grew louder each time Ren looked at him like he wasn’t sure of something anymore.
---
That night, they lay in bed.
Back to back.
Aiden couldn’t sleep.
He stared at the ceiling and waited for the dark to say something — anything — that would explain the distance.
Eventually, he turned over.
“Are we okay?” he whispered.
Ren didn’t move at first.
Then: “Yeah. I’m just tired.”
Aiden stared at the back of his neck.
“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”
Ren tensed.
Aiden sat up. “You’re not okay. And I think I know why. But I want to hear it from you.”
Ren’s voice came strained, almost too low to hear.
“I scared you.”
“What?”
Ren turned then — not fully, but enough.
“During the fight. I scared you.”
Aiden blinked. “No. You didn’t—”
“Yes, I did,” Ren said, sitting up now too. “I saw it. When I raised my voice. When I stepped forward too fast. Your face changed.”
“I was upset. That’s normal—”
“No, Aiden. I know what fear looks like. You flinched like you were bracing for something.”
---
Silence.
Aiden didn’t know what to say. Because it was true.
He hadn’t even realized it in the moment.
But his body remembered things before his mind did.
---
Ren’s voice broke. “I never want to be someone you’re afraid of.”
“You’re not.”
“I could be.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Aiden said firmly.
He reached out, took Ren’s hand, and placed it over his chest.
“You want to know what scared me that night?” he asked. “It wasn’t your voice. It wasn’t the fight.”
Ren looked at him, eyes glassy.
Aiden whispered, “It was the thought that maybe I was pushing the one person away who actually saw me. That I was about to lose the one person who didn’t leave.”
---
Ren pulled him in.
Not urgently. Not forcefully.
Just… held him.
Like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking in half.
“I grew up around yelling,” Ren said into Aiden’s hair. “I thought it was normal. That when people cared, they got loud. That volume meant effort. But when you looked at me like that…”
Aiden whispered, “I don’t want you to stop feeling things.”
“I just don’t want to become something that makes you small.”
“You’re not,” Aiden said. “But maybe this is something we both need to unlearn.”
---
They didn’t sleep for a long time.
They talked instead.
Not just about the fight.
But about their childhoods.
Their parents.
The words that were never said, and the ones that hurt worse when they were.
The teachers who silenced them.
The friends who left.
The trust they gave too freely and the pieces that were never returned.
By the time the sun cracked through the blinds, Aiden was lying with his head in Ren’s lap, both of them exhausted, both of them raw.
But for the first time in days—
There was no silence between them.
Only truth.
Only breath.
Only the warmth of something that felt like love with its mask off.
---
Aiden knew something had changed the moment Ren started pulling away from him.
Not dramatically.
Not intentionally.
But slowly.
Incrementally.
The way someone might pull a curtain closed in slivers—one inch at a time, until the room is dark and you didn’t even notice it happening.
---
It was little things.
The way Ren hesitated before answering.
The way he stayed in the shower longer than usual.
The way he touched Aiden’s shoulder like he was asking permission to care.
That one hurt most.
Because Ren had never asked permission before. He just loved. Quietly. Easily. Without needing to be told it was okay.
And now… now he asked with his eyes.
With his silence.
And sometimes, he didn’t ask at all.
---
Aiden tried to brush it off.
Tried to tell himself it was stress. Work. Fatigue.
But by the third night of sleeping back-to-back, Aiden couldn’t pretend anymore.
He needed answers.
Even if he was scared of what they’d be.
---
They were lying in bed when he finally said it:
“I think you’re scared of yourself.”
Ren stilled beside him.
“Scared that I saw something in you that you can’t take back.”
Ren turned over slowly, eyes searching Aiden’s face.
“I’ve never raised my voice like that before,” he whispered. “Not with you. I didn’t even know it was coming until it did.”
Aiden nodded.
“I know that feeling.”
Ren looked down.
“I hate that you flinched.”
“I know.”
“I hate that I made you feel like—like whoever it was who hurt you before.”
Aiden sat up against the headboard.
“You didn’t,” he said softly. “My body remembered someone else. But you’re not him. You never were.”
Ren’s hands balled in the sheets. “That doesn’t change what I saw in your eyes.”
“And it doesn’t change that you’re here now,” Aiden said. “Still with me. Still trying.”
---
They sat in silence for a long time.
The kind of silence that isn’t empty — just full.
Of unsaid things.
Of memories.
Of all the work love takes when it isn’t easy.
---
Eventually, Aiden reached over and took Ren’s hand.
“Let’s do something.”
Ren looked at him. “Like what?”
“Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere. Just us. Get out of this apartment. Out of our heads.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “It’s past midnight.”
“Exactly.”
Ren stared at him for a moment, then let out a breathy laugh.
“You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious about running away in dramatic fashion.”
Ren grinned.
“Fine. Give me five minutes.”
---
They left the apartment in oversized hoodies and mismatched socks shoved into sneakers.
No destination.
Just motion.
Aiden led them down side streets and empty roads, through quiet neighborhoods and the edge of the park. The city was still, save for the occasional car whispering by like it didn’t want to disturb them.
They walked side by side in the dark.
Hands brushing.
Hearts louder than footsteps.
---
Ren finally broke the silence.
“I used to think love meant protecting someone from yourself. Like… hiding the ugly parts. The parts that feel too sharp.”
Aiden glanced at him. “And now?”
“I think love might be showing someone those parts and letting them hold them without bleeding.”
Aiden smiled, slow and sad. “I want to hold yours.”
Ren stopped walking.
So did Aiden.
They stood on the sidewalk under a crooked streetlamp, light pooling like a spotlight.
Ren reached out and cupped Aiden’s cheek.
“I want you to know,” he said, voice trembling, “that even when I’m angry, you’re never the target. Never the enemy. I don’t want to be the reason your heart races for the wrong reasons.”
Aiden leaned into the touch.
“You won’t be. But you need to trust me enough to let me stay when it’s hard. Don’t shrink around me.”
Ren nodded.
Eyes glistening.
“I don’t know how to unlearn everything I was taught.”
“Neither do I,” Aiden said. “But we can teach each other. Even if we have to start from scratch.”
---
They stayed out until 2:00 a.m.
They didn’t talk about trauma.
They talked about childhood memories instead.
Ren told him about the time he got caught skipping class and tried to lie his way out by faking a nosebleed.
Aiden told him about the time he hid in a library for six hours just to avoid a math test — and ended up accidentally reading an entire poetry anthology that made him cry in public.
They laughed.
They kicked a rock down the street like teenagers.
And when they finally walked home, hand in hand, there was no tension in the air.
Only gravity.
Only pull.
---
Back in bed, Aiden curled into Ren’s chest, both of them still warm from the walk.
Ren whispered against his hair, “Thank you for not letting me vanish into guilt.”
Aiden whispered back, “Thank you for coming back.”
---
Neither of them flinched that night.
Not even once.
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