Page 7 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

Kenny knew all that. Yet he was still mad at him for doing it.

And having Taylor there? Well, that was Aaron taking things a step further, moving from subtle manipulation to overt psychological sabotage. Deliberately positioning Taylor to answer the door, barely dressed, was a blatant act of territorial display. Aaron’s way of asserting his autonomy and control over a relationship that existed in the grey, undefined shadows. Classic Freudian defiance. By engaging in a dangerous mix of psychological projection and boundary testing, he was eliciting a warfare most would consider masochistic. Self-sabotage disguised as flirtation and rebellion.

Kenny wasn’t certain he had the emotional fortitude to resist it.

Because Aaron wasn’t merely battling for affection. It was a desperate attempt to feel seen, to feel important, to subvert the invisible power dynamics between them. A psychological paradox: Aaron craved Kenny’s attention while also testing the resolve of their roles, oscillating between rebellion and longing.

Experience told Kenny that as soon as Aaron won, he’d bore of the game.

Ofhim.

That alone fuelled Kenny to keep up their boundaries. Because the thought of Aaron not wanting him anymore tore deeper than Kenny not allowing himself to have him at all. Not to mention how keeping a barrier between them was the right and noble thing to do forAaron.

“So maybe we knock this on the head,” Aaron said, eyes down. “It’s killing us both.”

“You need to keep going.”

“I’ll learn to drive.”

“And how will you afford that?”

“My local authority pay for me to have lessonsanddo the test. Perks of being a poor little care kid.”

“Then the car?Insurance?” Kenny was clutching at straws. And Aaron.

“I’ll get Taylor to take me.”

“I thought he was starting his placement this year.”

Aaron slammed his head back on the seat rest. “Then I’ll catch a fucking bus.”

“Will you?” Kenny peered back.

Aaron closed his eyes. “How long can you keep pretending?”

Kenny opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Because Aaron was right, and they both knew it. Every part of their arrangement, every car ride, every hour spent together, blurred lines he shouldn’t have crossed, yet couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t keep holding this together without breaking something, orsomeone, in the process.

Kenny left the conversation there to navigate the winding lanes to the out-of-town therapy centre he’d been taking Aaron to for his weekly sessions for months. Complex trauma like Aaron’s required more than sporadic or cursory sessions. It needed a process of gradual unpacking. A layered journey addressing deeply rooted issues that wouldn’t unravel or fix in a matter of months, years even.

Aaron’s psyche bore scars of complex developmental trauma. Patterns of attachment disruption, parental betrayal, and early exposure to emotional and psychological harm that shaped his worldview. Such profound early wounds resulted in distorted core beliefs. Deep-seated convictions about self-worth, safety, and trust affected all his relationships and interactions, consciously or unconsciously. Therapy wasn’t just about curing Aaron; it was a long-term strategy to help him learn to self-regulate, to reframe, and eventually to trust.

So yes, Aaron needed to keep coming. Not because there was a simple solution, but because the path to healing was long, iterative, and essential. But that was the psychologist in him.

The selfish man in him just wanted to keep seeing him.

Alone.

Like this.

Kenny parked, lifting the handbrake and as Aaron moved to open the door, Kenny reached out, grabbing his arm before he could slip away. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

Aaron paused, hand still on the door handle, turning back to him. “For what?”

Kenny searched for words that felt wholly inadequate. “A lot of things,” he said, voice strained. “Let’s start with barging in on you and your boyfriend.”

“What else?”

Kenny swallowed hard, heart pounding at having to utter the truth. “For being jealous.”

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