Perfect — here is Side Story 4: "The Gallery", a tender, full-circle moment where Eli unveils his first solo art exhibition.
Aaron — in his usual quiet way — shows up, dressed in something far out of his comfort zone, standing like a bear among soft lights and curated walls.
But it's not the crowd that humbles him.
It's the art
Side Story 5: The Gallery
It was a Thursday night.
The gallery was downtown — white walls, wine glasses, soft music playing low through hidden speakers. A small show, local-only, tucked between a bookstore and a tea shop.
Eli had been working toward this for over a year.
He hadn't told Aaron much. Just that it was happening. That he didn't want to jinx it.
But the night before, he left a note on Aaron's pillow.
If you want to come, I'd like you there. Wear something nice. Don't growl at anyone.
Aaron found a black button-down in the closet. Ironed it. Even tucked it in.
He grumbled the whole way there.
But he came.
The room was crowded.
Aaron stood like a mountain among ferns — tall, silent, arms folded, not knowing where to look.
Then he saw it.
The first painting.
And stopped breathing.
It was him.
Not photorealistic. Not literal. But him.
A shadowed form in muted charcoal, strong shoulders bowed in sleep, one hand resting over something small and golden — a suggestion of warmth, of trust.
The title beneath the frame read:
"Safety."
Aaron moved to the next.
Then the next.
And the next.
They were all of him — not always directly, not always obvious — but every canvas pulsed with it.
His hands brushing Eli's hair.
His shadow over Eli's sleeping form.
His back turned, looking out the window, smoke curling from a forgotten cigarette.
His work boots at the door.
His jacket around Eli's shoulders.
His fingers stained with paint — because he'd once helped Eli stretch a canvas and didn't wash them after.
The final piece stopped him cold.
It was called:
"He Never Looked Away."
And it showed Eli on a couch, curled like a cat, sketchbook in hand.
Across from him — only half in frame — sat Aaron, blurry and still.
The man was staring straight at Eli.
Eyes soft.
Unmoving.
Completely, utterly focused.
The painting shimmered with quiet devotion.
Not lust.
Not obsession.
Just presence.
Steadiness.
The kind of love that doesn't demand attention, because it's always already there.
Aaron didn't notice Eli walk up behind him.
"Do you like it?" Eli asked, almost shy.
Aaron turned.
And for once, didn't speak.
He just pulled Eli into his arms, right there in the middle of the gallery, and held him so tightly the wine glass Eli had been holding nearly dropped.
"You saw me," Aaron murmured.
"I always did," Eli whispered back.
Aaron kissed the top of his head.
"I didn't know I looked like that."
Eli smiled. "You only ever looked at me. I figured it was time you saw yourself through my eyes."
Later that night, Aaron asked if he could keep one.
"Only one?" Eli teased.
Aaron grinned. "Startin' small."
He chose "He Never Looked Away."
It hung above their bed from that night forward.
Aaron never once looked at it without touching Eli after.
[End of Side Story 5: The Gallery]