*+*After the lights *+*

|4| {Boundaries and Balance}

The sun was dipping low, painting the apartment in honey and shadows. James sprawled across the couch, phone angled high as he leaned into Aiden, who had been mid-laugh at something Sofia had said earlier. He snapped the picture quick, catching Aiden's dimples, his own arm snug around Aiden's shoulders.

"Perfect," James murmured, fingers already dancing over his screen.

He didn't even think twice. A caption, a couple hashtags, and the photo was online—filed into the gallery of curated moments he shared with the world.

⸻

Aiden noticed minutes later.

He had been curled against the armrest, scrolling idly, when a notification popped up. His breath hitched. The photo. Their photo. Already flooded with hearts and comments: You two are adorable! Couple goals!! Finally he posts him again!

It wasn't that it was unflattering—James had caught him looking happy, even radiant. But his stomach still twisted. Not because of how he looked, but because he hadn't been asked.

His voice came out flat, too calm to be casual. "James. Why is there a picture of me online right now?"

James looked up, smile ready. "Because it's cute! We look amazing, babe. People love it already—"

"That's the problem," Aiden snapped, sharper than he meant to. He sat up, heat rising in his chest. "You didn't ask. You just... decided for me."

James blinked, momentarily thrown. "I wasn't trying to make you upset, I just wanted—"

"You wanted likes. Attention," Aiden said, words tumbling fast, raw. "Sometimes it feels like I'm not your boyfriend, I'm your content. Like our love doesn't exist unless other people can see it."

The room went still. James's lips parted, but for once no easy comeback came. He saw the hurt in Aiden's eyes, and it landed like a punch.

⸻

When Rosa came by later with Sofia—arms full of crayons, hair messy from the playground—she immediately picked up on the tension. James sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands. Aiden had retreated to the balcony, out of sight.

Rosa set Sofia up with paper and markers before sliding into the chair across from James. She didn't ask what happened. She just waited.

Finally, he muttered, "He's not mad. He's... disappointed. And that's worse."

Rosa's gaze was steady, kind but unyielding. "You know, love isn't measured in how loudly you show it off. It's measured in how safe you make the other person feel."

James's throat tightened. He hated how true that sounded.

"You've spent your whole life fighting to be seen," Rosa continued, softer now. "But Aiden? He's spent his life trying to be comfortable in his own skin. If you want this to work, you have to let him choose what's visible."

The words sank deep. James rubbed his face, muttering, "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"I know," Rosa said gently. "But meaning well isn't enough. Respect is love, too."

⸻

That night, Aiden found James on the balcony, hunched against the railing, his phone turned face-down beside him like a guilty secret.

"I deleted it," James said the moment Aiden stepped outside. His voice was quiet, stripped of bravado. "I should've asked you first. I didn't. And I'm sorry."

Aiden's arms folded across his chest, but his expression wasn't angry anymore—just tired, vulnerable. "It's not that I don't want to share things. I just... I don't want to feel like I don't have a choice. I don't want my scars, my body, or my love to be part of some stage."

James stood slowly, careful not to crowd him. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by something raw. "Then no stage. No spotlight. Just you and me. You set the pace, Aiden. However slow you need it, I'll follow."

For a long beat, neither of them moved. Then, almost hesitantly, Aiden let James take his hand. Their fingers laced together, warm and certain.

James brushed their foreheads together, voice hushed. "Balance."

Aiden closed his eyes, exhaling as though letting go of the tension at last. "Balance."

And in the hush of the night, with only the city lights bearing witness, they rebuilt what mattered—not visibility, not performance, but trust.