Page 84 of Don't Shoot Me Santa
“Why weird?”
“’Cause giving power to someone isdangerous.”
Kenny held him closer. “Do you feelthisis dangerous?” He kissed his neck. “Me?”
“No. Obviously not.” Aaron hesitated. Then, quieter, more broken, “The danger comes when you leave. When I’m taken out of this safe space and told to fend for myself.”
Kenny exhaled. Aaron could feel the rise and fall of his chest behind him, steady and sure. Calculating, yes, but never cold. The cogs were turning with that familiar hum of Kenny analysing not the moment, but him. Trying to find the words that would land without breaking him open too far. And Aaron braced for a throwaway promise.I’ll never leave you. I’ll always love you.
Something sweet and easy.
Something untrue.
Like what his mother used to say when she locked him in his cupboard.
But Kenny said, “Do you know why I wanted to try this?”
Aaron didn’t need to think about it. “To wear me down. Smooth my edges. Make me easier to love. Easier to… manage.”
“No.” Kenny turned his face towards him, meeting his eyes head-on. “I love you, Aaron. The way you are. Every ragged, difficult, brilliant part of you. And everything in between. I’ve never—never—felt like this about anyone. And ithurts.”
Aaron’s breath caught.
But Kenny didn’t let him look away.
“It hurts because one day you might not need me. You’ll be strong enough to stand in the world without flinching. You’re young and beautiful. And I’m…older and weathered. And if you do choose to walk on your own, I’ll be proud. But devastated. Because this… right here… this is the best I’ve ever felt in my life.”
Aaron swallowed, the words thick in his throat, and leaned back against Kenny’s shoulder. Not because he knew what to say. He didn’t. Not because it made everything better. It didn’t. But because there was something in Kenny’s voice, low and aching and raw, tugging parts of Aaron that never really stopped bracing for the next blow.
He didn’t know how to take it. How toholdit. That kind of love. The aching, terrified kind. A love that came with vulnerability. That Kenny feared an end to this, too. That belonged toother people. People who hadn’t been built in the shadow of blood and cold hands and childhoods spent watching for danger in the smiles of people who were supposed to care.
Of course heknewKenny loved him. He said it often enough. Without flinching. No hesitation. But knowing it andbelievingit were two different beasts. Aaron could repeat the words in his head, hear Kenny’s voice saying them, and still feel the quiet churn of doubt underneath. Still wonder if it was habit for Kenny. Another role he was good at. Another way he gave structure to someone else’s chaos.
Kenny had loved before. Been in relationships. Carried people. And even though he never spoke about them in any real depth, that knowledge sat in Aaron’s chest like a splinter. Proof that maybe he was the next patient on the table. The next project. That what felt world-ending to Aaron might, for Kenny, be another page in a well-thumbed chapter of knowing how to love people who were broken.
Then Kenny said, “I don’t often turn the mirror on myself. Not because I don’t know who I am. I do. I like control. Structure. Holding the threads that keep everything together. Some of that’s training. But a lot of it? That’s me. It’s always been me. And it’s true when I say you fit so easily into me, into what I want, who I am. Your thorns slot into me and I soften them.”
Aaron stilled. Caught.
For all the years he’d spent trying to be unknowable, unreadable, Kenny never stopped looking. Never stoppedknowing. And now he was doing it to himself. Turning the mirror inward. Naming the things Aaron had only ever guessed at in moments when Kenny’s hand would tighten on his wrist, or his voice would drop and Aaron would go soft without meaning to.
And it didn’t feel clinical. Or rehearsed. It felt real
“I’ve had partners who wanted that control and dominance from me. Asked for it, needed it. Others didn’t. Some found it too much. Too intense. And I understood that. But with you… it’s different. You don’t need me because you’re fragile. You’re not. You’re the strongest person I know. But you’ve spent your whole life in survival mode. Always scanning for threats. Always armoured up. Always dragging the broken bits left behind by other people’s damage.”
Kenny pulled him in tighter, warm breath filtering over Aaron’s ear.
“And I see you. The fire, the claws, the way you bare your teeth when the world leans in too close. That’s what kept you alive. It’s what made you fierce. But it also means you’ve never had a place to rest. Not in a way that felt safe.”
Aaron bit his lip, understanding more than he expected to. Almostbelieving.
“To feel safe,” Kenny said, “you have to let go of something. Not because you’re giving up. Or because you’re weak. But because real surrender is trust. And when you hand that part of yourself to me, when youchooseto, what you’rereally saying is, ‘I trust you not to break me.’ And I don’t take that lightly. Not for a second.”
He stroked his fingers down Aaron’s arms.
“And I know this scares you. The meaning. What it might say about you if someone else knew. But no one else gets to know. You can still be fierce and impossible and ‘touch me and die’ out there in the world. That’s yours. It always will be. And I love that part, too.”
He then dropped his voice to a whisper.
