{Nerd pov: named Elias}

I walked in just in time to see his hands on him.

Marco, leaning over him, towel dragging far too slow across pale, shaking skin. Smiling like he’d earned it. Like he didn’t know whose name the boy had bled under.

He didn’t see me at first.

The nerd did. I saw it in his eyes, that flash of relief and shame tangled so tightly you couldn’t pull them apart.

Marco touched his chest.

That’s when I spoke.

“Get your hands off him.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

Marco had enough self-preservation to freeze. He turned, lips twitching, but I could see the calculation behind his eyes. He was testing something.

He failed.

“He’s not yours to touch.”

That landed like it should. He backed off and left, the room thick with everything I didn’t say out loud.

I walked to him, elias, still in the tub, drenched and half-frozen and looking at me like I was a storm that knew his name.

He tried to explain. His voice cracked.

“I know,” I said.

Because I did. He wouldn’t have let Marco near him if he’d had a choice. But he never pushed back, not loudly. Not until someone else made it okay.

I dried him slowly. Not because I had to.

Because I wanted him to know. This wasn’t about care. This was about claim.

“You should’ve called me.”

“You were busy.” He replied quietly

“Then I’ve clearly failed to teach you who you belong to.”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him.

I didn’t care.

I lifted him out of the tub, wrapped him in my coat like it was armor. His skin shivered against mine. But his body stayed close.

And he didn’t say no.