Elias did not expect jealousy to feel so quiet.
It crept in without spectacle, without anger or accusation just a tightening in his chest when he saw Damien across the room, speaking to someone else with that same calm authority, that same effortless command of space.
The gala was necessary. Strategic. Public.
And Elias hated every second of it.
Damien had warned him.
You'll feel this, he had said earlier, voice low and certain. And it will tell you something important.
Elias stood near the edge of the crowd, glass untouched in his hand, watching Damien engage with donors and executives alike. Damien smiled when required. Listened when it served him. Controlled the room without ever appearing to try.
And Elias realized with a jolt that left him breathless that he wanted to be the only one who saw what lived beneath that control.
The thought unsettled him.
When Damien finally approached, it was unhurried, deliberate, as if he had felt Elias's attention the entire time.
"You're tense," Damien said softly, stopping just close enough to be felt, not touched.
Elias forced a neutral expression. "You're observant."
"Yes," Damien replied. "And you're pretending."
The words struck closer than Elias liked.
Damien didn't push. He never did in public. Instead, he offered Elias his arm not possessive, not claiming, just an invitation wrapped in etiquette.
Elias took it.
They moved through the crowd together, a quiet alignment that steadied Elias more than he expected. Damien's presence grounded him, even as the unease remained.
Later, when the penthouse doors closed behind them and the city noise fell away, Elias finally exhaled.
"That bothered you," Damien said.
Elias didn't ask how he knew. "Yes."
Damien set his jacket aside, movements precise. "Why?"
Elias hesitated, then chose honesty the habit Damien had taught him.
"Because I realized I don't like sharing your attention," Elias said. "And I don't know what that makes me."
Damien studied him carefully, expression unreadable.
"It makes you human," Damien said. "And aware."
Elias frowned. "You're not bothered."
Damien considered that. "I'm accustomed to being wanted for what I provide. Power. Access. Stability."
"And me?" Elias asked quietly.
Damien's gaze sharpened not defensively, but inward.
"You," Damien said slowly, "want what I withhold."
The admission landed heavily.
They sat not touching at first, the distance between them charged but intentional.
"You asked me once," Damien continued, "why I value control."
"Yes."
"I didn't answer," Damien said. "Because the truth isn't flattering."
Elias leaned forward slightly. "I want to know."
Damien nodded once, as if deciding something.
"I learned early," Damien said, voice steady, "that attachment invites loss. My father ruled through absence. My mother loved fiercely and paid for it."
He paused, jaw tightening briefly.
"When she died," Damien continued, "everything she had built vanished. Because she trusted the wrong man with too much."
Silence filled the room.
"So you became him?" Elias asked gently.
"No," Damien replied. "I became impossible to destabilize."
Elias felt the weight of that of years shaped by restraint masquerading as strength.
"And now?" Elias asked.
Damien met his gaze. "Now I am destabilized."
The honesty stole Elias's breath.
Damien stood and moved closer, stopping just in front of him.
"This," Damien said quietly, "is why I insist on consent. On structure. On control that is chosen."
Elias rose instinctively. "Because if it isn't…"
"Then it becomes something that can destroy us both," Damien finished.
Elias stepped closer, closing the distance without touching.
"I don't want to own you," Elias said. "I want to stand with you."
Damien searched his face, something unguarded flickering behind his eyes.
"You will feel jealousy," Damien said. "Fear. Want."
"I already do," Elias admitted.
"And you will tell me," Damien continued. "Not act on it silently."
Elias nodded. "I promise."
Damien exhaled slowly, then reached out this time touching Elias's face, thumb brushing his cheek with reverent care.
The intimacy of it made Elias's chest ache.
"I don't give this easily," Damien said.
"I know," Elias replied.
They kissed slow, grounding, full of everything unsaid. Damien held him close, not dominating, not yielding meeting him.
When they finally pulled apart, Damien rested his forehead against Elias's.
"You're not a weakness," Damien said quietly. "You're a risk I am choosing."
Elias's voice trembled just slightly. "So am I."
They moved to the bed again not with urgency, but intention. They lay together, fully clothed, bodies aligned, breathing in sync. Damien's arm wrapped around Elias securely, not tightly.
This closeness this trust felt more intimate than any act could.
"You stayed," Damien murmured.
"Yes."
"And you spoke," Damien added.
"Yes."
Damien pressed a kiss to Elias's hair. "That matters."
Elias closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest fully against Damien for the first time. Not braced. Not guarded.
Held.
Later, when sleep hovered close, Elias spoke again.
"If someone tried to take this from me," he said softly, "I wouldn't walk away quietly."
Damien's grip tightened just slightly. "Neither would I."
The admission carried weight.
They fell asleep like that not tangled, not consuming but connected in a way that felt deliberate and dangerous.
Because when morning came, Elias understood something with startling clarity:
Jealousy had revealed his fear.
Intimacy had revealed Damien's.
And together, they had crossed into territory far more perilous than desire—
They had begun to matter to each other.