---
The fight should have ended it.
The rough way Brian had slammed Scott into the wall — the way Scott had spit out Don't call me again with his mouth still wet from loving him.
That should have been the final nail.
But it wasn't.
It never was.
---
Scott lay in bed that night, the bruises on his hips pulsing with every heartbeat.
He told himself he was done — that he'd let Brian use him up one last time, and now there was nothing left to break.
But at 2 AM, when the sky cracked open and rain slapped his window, he found himself pulling on his jeans, grabbing his keys, and slipping out the back door.
---
He didn't think — he just drove.
Puddles splashed under his tires, the windshield wipers couldn't keep up. His hands shook on the wheel.
By the time he reached Brian's street, he could barely see through the downpour. But the house was there — that same porch light that always stayed on, even when Brian came home drunk from some victory party, pretending he was straight enough to belong.
Scott slammed the car door, rain soaking him instantly. He didn't care.
He stumbled up the lawn, feet slipping in the grass, chest burning.
"Brian!" he yelled, voice cracking like thunder. "Brian, please — open the fuck up!"
---
Inside, Brian was curled on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow him.
His phone was on his chest — no missed calls, no messages from Scott.
He deserved that silence.
But then he heard it — the pounding on the front door.
And Scott's voice, broken and raw: I love you — I hate that I do, but I do. Please, Brian. I can't— I can't not love you.
Brian shot up so fast he nearly tripped over his guitar stand. He threw the door open, barefoot on the porch, the rain blowing sideways across his chest.
And there Scott was — drenched, shaking, eyes wild with heartbreak and hope all tangled up.
---
Brian stepped out into the storm.
They stood there for half a second — two boys who'd spent so long trying to hide every piece of themselves.
Now there was nowhere to hide.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Scott sobbed, rain sliding down his cheeks, mixing with tears. "I don't want to love you. But I fucking do. I always do."
Brian's hands trembled as he cupped Scott's face, thumbs brushing rain from his lashes. "I'm done pretending. I want you — all of you. I don't care who sees."
"You mean it?" Scott's voice broke.
"I'm dying without you," Brian whispered, forehead pressing to Scott's. "I'd lose everything to keep you."
---
When they kissed, it wasn't rough like before.
It was slow — lips trembling, hands clutching wet clothes like they were afraid to let go.
The storm roared around them, but they barely felt it.
The taste of salt, the warmth of their mouths — it was enough to make them whole again.
---
Upstairs, behind the half-closed blinds, Mr. Drake watched — shoulders hunched, eyes glassy.
He saw the way his son held that boy like he was the only safe thing left in the world.
And his heart cracked open.
Not with anger — but with the bitter ache that his son had been drowning alone for so long.
He whispered to the dark, to no one but himself — Why didn't you trust me, Brian? I'm your father. I'm supposed to be your safe place.
---
But down below, in the rain, none of that mattered yet.
For now, it was just Brian and Scott — breathing each other in, promising that this time they wouldn't let go.
No more secrets.
No more shame.
Just them.
Finally free.
--