Chapter 5: Tears on the Apartment Floor
The apartment smelled like grease and copper when they walked in. Gene's knuckles were split open, blood already drying to a rust-colored crust, and Zenix had a gash above his eyebrow that he kept touching with two fingers like he was checking it was still there. The job had gone sideways—not bad enough to be a disaster, but messy enough that they'd both been quiet on the ride home, the radio off, the windows down, letting the cold air do what it could.
The lights were already on. That was the first sign something was wrong.
Ender always turned the lights off when he was alone. Said the flickering gave him headaches, said he preferred the dark, but Gene knew it was because he didn't feel like he deserved to take up space—even the space of a single light bulb.
Tonight, the lamp in the corner was on. The cracked one, the one that buzzed and cast everything in a sickly yellow glow.
And Ender was in the corner of the bedroom.
Not on the bed. Not on the couch. On the floor, wedged between the wall and the workbench, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.
His glasses were crooked. One of the lenses was smudged. And his face—his face was wet, tears cutting tracks through the freckles on his cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy behind the glass.
He wasn't making any sound. That was the worst part. He was crying the way people cried when they'd learned to do it silently, when they'd learned that making noise only brought more pain.
"Ender." Gene's voice came out rougher than he meant it to. He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of the kid, his bloody knuckles forgotten. "What happened? What's wrong?"
Ender flinched. Actually flinched, his whole body jerking back like Gene had raised a hand instead of a question.
"I—" His voice cracked. Broke. Came out in pieces. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I shouldn't be here, I know you said—but I couldn't—"
"Hey." Zenix was there now, on Ender's other side, his voice soft in a way that only happened when it was just the three of them. "Hey, little bird. Breathe. Just breathe for a second."
Ender tried. He really did. His chest heaved, his breath stuttering in and out, but the tears kept coming, silent and relentless.
"I'm ugly." The words fell out of him like stones. "I'm ugly and I don't—I don't understand why you want me. I keep waiting for you to realize. I keep waiting for you to wake up and see me and just—just know. That you made a mistake."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Gene's jaw tightened. His hands, still bloody, curled into fists on his thighs. Zenix's eyes went dark, darker than Gene had ever seen them.
But neither of them yelled.
Neither of them told him to stop being stupid. Neither of them laughed it off.
Instead, Zenix reached out. Slowly. Carefully. Like Ender was something fragile that might shatter if he moved too fast.
"Come here," he said. "Come on. Up."
Ender shook his head. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can." Gene's voice was quiet but firm. "You can. We've got you."
They lifted him together. Gene took his arms, Zenix took his legs, and they carried him to the bed like he weighed nothing at all. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, the old springs groaning, and Ender ended up on his back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling, his glasses still askew on his face.
"Let me see you." Gene reached out, gently removing the glasses, setting them on the nightstand. "There. That's better."
Ender's eyes were so blue. Muted, like the sky before a storm, and so full of tears that they looked like glass.
"I'm going to take your clothes off." Zenix's hands moved to the hem of Ender's shirt. "Is that okay?"
A nod. Barely. But it was there.
The shirt came off first. Then the jeans. Then the boxers, until Ender was bare on the mattress, his pale skin glowing in the dim light, every freckle and scar on display.
Gene's breath caught.
He'd seen Ender naked before. He'd had him against walls, on floors, bent over furniture. But he'd never just looked.
Now he looked.
The freckles dusted across Ender's shoulders like constellations. The scars—some old, some new—mapped a history Gene didn't know, a life before them that had left its marks on this body. The soft curve of his stomach. The sharp jut of his hipbones. The way his hands were clenched at his sides, like he was bracing for impact.
"Look at you." Gene's voice was barely a whisper. He reached out, fingertips brushing Ender's collarbone. "Look at you."
"I'm not—" Ender's voice broke again. "I'm not pretty. I'm not—"
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Gene leaned down, pressing his lips to the scar on Ender's shoulder—a small, circular mark, like a cigarette burn. "Every single part of you."
"I—"
"Shut up." Zenix's voice was gentle but firm. He'd settled between Ender's legs, his hands on Ender's thighs, his eyes fixed on the kid's face. "Just shut up and let us show you."
And then he lowered his head.
Ender gasped. His hips jerked, his hands flying to Zenix's hair on instinct, fingers tangling in the shaggy black strands.
"Zenix—"
"I said shut up." Zenix's voice vibrated against Ender's skin. "You don't get to talk right now. You just get to feel."
Gene watched. His own cock was hard, straining against his jeans, but he ignored it. This wasn't about him. This was about Ender, about the way his back arched off the mattress, about the little whimpers escaping his throat, about the tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes.
"Beautiful." Gene leaned down, his mouth brushing Ender's ear. "You're so beautiful like this. Every sound you make is beautiful."
"I'm not—" Ender's breath hitched. "I'm not—"
"You are." Gene's hand moved to Ender's chest, fingers tracing patterns on his skin. "Every freckle. Every scar. Every inch of you. Perfect."
Zenix hummed in agreement, the vibration making Ender cry out. His mouth was wet and hot and relentless, his tongue doing things that made Ender's thoughts scatter like startled birds.
"I used to watch you." Gene's voice was low, rough. "Before. In the library. On campus. I used to watch you and think about what you'd look like like this. What sounds you'd make. And every time, you were better than I imagined."
"You—" Ender's voice was wrecked. "You watched me?"
"Every day." Gene's thumb brushed over Ender's nipple, making him shudder. "Zenix too. We'd sit in the back of the lecture hall and just—look at you. The way you'd chew on your pen. The way your hair would fall in your face. The way you'd blush when anyone talked to you."
"We were obsessed." Zenix pulled back just long enough to speak, his lips red and slick, his eyes wild. "Still are. Get used to it."
"I don't—" Ender's voice cracked. "I don't understand—"
"I know." Gene pressed another kiss to his ear. "That's okay. You don't have to understand. You just have to let us love you."
The word hung in the air like a live thing.
Love.
Ender's eyes went wide. His breath stopped. His whole body went still.
Zenix noticed. Of course he noticed. He pulled back, his hand wrapping around Ender's dick, stroking slowly, deliberately.
"You heard him." His voice was soft but certain. "We love you. Every part of you. Even the parts you hate."
"I—" Ender's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't—"
"You don't have to say it back." Gene's hand cupped Ender's face, turning it toward him. "Not yet. You just have to hear it."
"I hear it." The words came out broken, but they came out. "I hear it."
"Good." Gene smiled—a real smile, soft and warm in a way he never let anyone else see. "Now let Zenix finish what he started."
Zenix didn't need to be told twice. His mouth was back on Ender in an instant, his tongue swirling, his hand working in tandem. He was relentless, single-minded, determined to drag every sound, every tremor, every desperate little moan from Ender's throat.
And Ender gave them all.
"Please." His voice was a sob. "Please, I can't—I'm going to—"
"Then come." Gene's voice was in his ear, warm and rough. "Come for us, beautiful. Show us how good it feels."
"I—"
"Now."
Ender shattered.
His back arched off the mattress. His hands fisted in the sheets. His mouth opened on a broken cry, Gene's name and Zenix's tangling together like they were one word, one thing, one person.
It went on forever. Or maybe just a minute. Time had stopped meaning anything. All that existed was the wave of pleasure crashing through him, the feeling of Zenix's mouth still on him, working him through it, the sound of Gene's voice murmuring soft, filthy praise against his ear.
"So good. So beautiful. Our perfect boy."
When it was over, Ender collapsed. His body went limp, his eyes fluttered closed, his breath came in ragged, hitching gasps.
The tears came again.
But quiet this time. Softer. Like something releasing instead of something breaking.
"Hey." Zenix crawled up the bed, settling on one side of him. "Hey, look at me."
Ender shook his head. "I'm—"
"You're not hiding." Gene was on his other side, his hand gentle on Ender's jaw. "Not anymore. Look at us."
Ender opened his eyes.
They were both there. Gene on his left, Zenix on his right. Watching him with an intensity that should have been terrifying.
It wasn't.
It was the opposite.
"I'm sorry." Ender's voice wobbled. "I didn't mean to—I just—some days I can't—"
"You don't have to explain." Zenix brushed a strand of hair from Ender's forehead. "We get it."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Gene's hand found Ender's, their fingers lacing together. "We do. We've both got our own shit. The kind that doesn't go away just because someone wants you."
"But you don't—you don't get like this."
Gene laughed. Actually laughed. "You think I don't wake up some mornings and wonder why the fuck you'd want me? You think I don't look at my scars and my ink and wonder when you're going to realize I'm not good enough for you?"
"You—" Ender's eyes went wide. "But you're—"
"I'm what?" Gene's smile was sad. "Old? Scarred? Mean?"
"I was going to say beautiful."
The words hung there for a long moment. Then something shifted in Gene's face—something soft and cracked and almost painful.
"See?" His voice was rough. "That's why. That's exactly why."
Zenix's arm wrapped around Ender's waist, pulling him close. Gene's hand was still in his, warm and solid.
"Next time you feel like this," Zenix murmured against his hair, "you tell us. You don't hide in corners and cry alone. You don't wait for us to find you."
"I don't want to be a burden—"
"You're not." Gene's voice was fierce. "You're the reason we come home. You're the reason we do the things we do. You're not a burden. You're everything."
Ender's breath hitched. His eyes burned. But this time, the tears didn't come.
This time, he just closed his eyes and let himself be held.
"I love you."
The words escaped before he could stop them. Before he could hide them. Before he could convince himself they were too much, too soon, too dangerous.
The silence that followed was the longest of his life.
But then—
"We know." Zenix's lips pressed to his temple. "We've known for weeks."
"We love you too." Gene's voice was warm. Certain. "We've loved you since before you even knew our names."
Ender didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to breathe. Didn't know how to do anything except lie there, sandwiched between them, on a mattress that smelled like smoke and sweat and something that might have been hope.
"I don't deserve you." He whispered it into the dark. "Either of you."
"Shut up." Zenix's voice was gentle. "Don't make me say it again."
"Say what?"
"That you're wrong." Zenix's hand found his again, squeezing. "You're wrong. And you're stuck with us."
"Stuck with us." Gene echoed. "Forever."
Ender closed his eyes.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn't want to run.
"Okay."
"Okay?" Zenix's voice was sharp. "Just okay?"
"No." Ender shook his head, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not okay. Everything."
It was what he'd said in the study room. A promise. A surrender. A beginning.
And they heard it.
They held him tighter, their breaths evening out, their bodies warm around him. Cars passed by outside. Neon flickered through the grimy windows. Somewhere, a neighbor's dog barked.
And Ender slept.
When morning came, he'd wake up still between them. Still held. Still theirs.
And for once, he wouldn't run.
He'd stay.
For once, he'd let himself believe he deserved to.