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Luca did not knock with fear.

His hand rose, hovering for a moment in front of the white-painted wood of 3B, and then came down with three sharp knocks. Not the hesitant ones of someone hoping they won't open, but those of someone demanding an answer. The sound echoed in the empty corridor, too loud, almost violent. Luca didn't pull his hand away. He left it there, an inch from the door, his fist still clenched and his pulse throbbing with a blood that was no longer his alone.

He waited. He counted the seconds. One, two, three. His heartbeat pounded in his temples, in his fingers, in a low spot in his belly that wasn't fear but something more ancient: willpower. The will not to turn back, not to shrink, not to accept that the other would disappear behind a silence built with other people's bricks.

In the fifth second, she heard footsteps. Light, uncertain, as if the person walking hadn't slept in days. The sound of the lock turning, slow, reluctant. And then the door opened.

Ethan was there.

Luca's insomnia-ridden face was a territory he didn't recognize. Purple circles under his eyes that looked like ink, the skin stretched too thin over his cheekbones, a stubble that covered his jaw in uneven patches. He wore a wrinkled, old black T-shirt, too large for the sculpted torso it hid, and gray sweatpants. But it was his eyes that struck Luca. Those dull, opaque green eyes that looked at him with a mixture of shock and terror. As if Luca were a ghost, or as if he were a reality too solid to be borne.

"Luca…" The voice came out broken, worn out.

Luca didn't wait. He didn't ask permission. He didn't just observe. He crossed the threshold with a decisive stride, pushing Ethan back and closing the door behind him with a thud that sealed off the outside world.

"I don't want to be another secret of yours," she said.

The sentence came out softly, but with a clarity that cut through the air. Luca looked Ethan in the eye, and his voice didn't waver. "And I don't want to be the only one who happens at night within these walls."

Ethan took a step back. The back of his leg hit the edge of the couch, and he had to stop. He remained there, wedged between the couch and Luca's presence, his hands rising and falling to his sides, unable to find a place.

"Luca, I..."

"No." Luca interrupted him. Not angrily, but with a firmness that brooked no deviation. "You don't have to explain where you've been. You don't have to justify your silence. But you have to tell me just one thing." He took a step forward. They were now less than a foot away. Luca smelled Ethan's scent, no longer sandalwood, but something rawer, more human, more tired. "Do you want me to stay or do you want me to go? And if I want to stay, you have to stop hiding behind a wall I didn't build."

The statement was simple, architectural. Luca pronounced it as he would draw a line on a drawing: essential, indispensable, bearing the weight of the entire structure. He wanted to build something, not just occupy a space. He wanted a shared project, not a midnight invasion.

Ethan closed his eyes. His eyelids slowly lowered, and beneath them Luca saw his skin, muscles, and jaw trembling. When he opened them again, something had collapsed. The defense, the shell, the invisible wall he had carried with him for weeks, months, perhaps years.

"Sit down," Ethan said. His voice was a whisper.

Luca didn't move. "No. Tell me standing up. Look at me."

Ethan looked at him. And the collapse was complete.

"His name is Marco," he said. The name came out like a heavy stone, falling after being held in his throat for too long. "It was... two years. Two years of no longer knowing where I ended and where he began. He told me what to wear, who to talk to, when to come home. And when I tried to stop..." Ethan trailed off. His right hand rose tremblingly and rested on his forehead, covering his eyes. "He started showing up. Everywhere. At work, at the gym, downstairs. Texts, phone calls, nights when he'd knock on my door until dawn."

Luca felt his blood run cold. He thought about the phone call the morning after their first night, the nameless number, the shadow that had crossed Ethan's face.

"When I came here," Ethan continued, his voice cracking, "I chose 3B because it was empty. Because the building was anonymous. Because I didn't expect…" He paused. His hand dropped from his face, and his green eyes, now bright, stared at Luca. "I didn't expect to find someone looking over the wall. Someone listening. And when I saw you, in the elevator, with that bag full of rulers and that face of someone who measures everything… I was scared. Because I knew you could see. And I didn't want to be seen anymore."

The silence that followed was dense, almost solid. Luca felt each word settle within him like sediment, layer upon layer, building an understanding that was not only intellectual but physical. He felt the weight of Ethan's fear, the exhaustion, the loneliness of someone who has built a fortress to protect himself and then found himself imprisoned within.

He took a step forward. Then another. Until he was close enough to hear Ethan's labored breathing, see the pulse in his temple, and feel the heat radiating from his tired body.

"I see," said Luca. "And I'm not afraid of what I see."

Ethan trembled. A visible tremor, starting from his shoulders and moving down his arms, all the way to his fingers. "I'm afraid to touch you," he whispered. "I'm afraid that if I let go, if I believe this is real... he'll come back. And he'll destroy everything."

"He's not here," Luca replied. "I'm here. And you're here. And this door"—he gestured toward the newly closed wood—"is thinner than any wall he's ever built. But only if we open it together."

Ethan looked at him. And for the first time, Luca saw something new in those green eyes. Not the provocation of the observer, not the ferocity of desire, not the fear of the persecuted. But a plea. A silent, desperate question, that needed no words.

"Touch me," Ethan said. His voice was faint. "Please. Touch me like that night. Like when I was... yours."

Luca didn't answer. He acted.

She cupped Ethan's face with both hands. Her fingers closed over his stubbled cheeks, her thumb brushing his cheekbone, her palms feeling the warmth of his skin. And she kissed him.

It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was a kiss that felt like a declaration, a conquest, a promise. Luca's lips closed over Ethan's with a force that brooked no retreat, his tongue entering, demanding, wiping away every trace of fear. Ethan moaned against his mouth, a broken sound that was also prayer, also thanksgiving, also surrender.

Luca's hands dropped. They grabbed Ethan's crumpled T-shirt and lifted it over his head, throwing it somewhere in the living room. His bare torso appeared, marked, vulnerable. Luca saw the scratches from that night, now faded, and new marks, bruises on his ribs, a small graze on his side. He didn't ask. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to erase, cover, replace.

He pushed Ethan toward the couch. The other fell to a sitting position, his eyes wide, his breathing labored. Luca knelt before him, his hands resting on his bare knees, opening them, inviting. Then his fingers dug into his sweatpants, pulling them down with a decisive movement, and Ethan was exposed, naked, completely in Luca's hands.

"You're mine," Luca said. Not as a cruel assertion of possession, but as a declaration of protection. "And no one touches you. No one takes you. No one builds walls around you."

Ethan nodded. His head falling back, his neck exposed, his hands gripping the arms of the couch. "Take me," he whispered. "Please. Take me and don't let go."

Luca obeyed. But differently than that night. Not with the frenzy of their first encounter, nor with the exploratory curiosity of the shower. With a deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness that seemed to rebuild every millimeter of lost trust. His mouth descended to Ethan's neck, nibbling, sucking, leaving red marks to replace the purple bruises. His hands explored his torso, every muscle, every prominence, every area where the skin grew thin and sensitive.

When he took Ethan between his lips, the other screamed. A sound that wasn't muffled, wasn't masked, but that filled the living room with a freedom that tasted like liberation. Ethan's hands rose, buried themselves in Luca's hair, but not to guide him. To anchor himself. To keep from being swept away.

Luca moved his head to a rhythm he dictated, he imposed, he constructed. Every movement was a response to the silence of those days, to every unexplained phone call, to every unnamed fear. And when he felt Ethan close, very close, he stopped. He pulled away. He looked the other in the eye.

"Not yet," he said.

Ethan looked at him with a desperate, pleading look. "Luca... please..."

"Not yet," Luca repeated. "You first. Me first. Together."

He stood up. He undressed with quick, decisive movements, never taking his eyes off Ethan. And once he was naked, he climbed onto the couch, on top of Ethan, his knees resting on either side of his hips. He took Ethan's face in his hands and kissed him again, while Ethan's fingers, trembling, uncertain, then increasingly firm, explored Luca's body, his back, his hips, his erect penis pressing against his belly.

"Guide me," Ethan whispered. "I don't know anymore... I've forgotten how to trust."

"I'll remember you," Luca replied.

And he drove. With his hand, he cupped Ethan's penis and guided it toward him. With a slow, controlled movement, he lowered himself. The entrance was smooth, trembling, a surrender that seemed to last an eternity. Ethan sank into the chair, his head throwing back, his hands digging into Luca's hips with a force that left imprints.

"Look at me," Luca ordered.

Ethan opened his eyes. Their gazes met, and Luca saw in those green eyes, now bright, now finally present, all the fear, all the desire, all the gratitude of a man brought home after being lost.

Luca moved. Slowly, with a rhythm that seemed to memorize every moment, every breath, every heartbeat. Every push was a response, every withdrawal a promise, every new entry a reconstruction. Ethan's hands rose, grasped Luca's face, and pulled him down, toward his chest, toward his neck.

"Finally," Ethan murmured, repeating the word that had become their mantra. But this time with a different tone. Not as an end, but as a beginning. "Finally, you're here. Really. Inside. And I... I can breathe."

Luca felt Ethan's breath rush against his skin, warm, deep, liberated. And he continued to move, the rhythm accelerating, building, carrying them both toward an edge that was no longer a precipice but a promise.

When they came, it was together. Not perfectly synchronized, but in a wave that spread from one to the other, bouncing, amplifying. Luca buried his face in Ethan's neck, biting, sucking, leaving a mark that wouldn't fade for days. Ethan screamed, a sound that wasn't muffled, not masked, but that filled 3B with absolute freedom.

They fell onto the couch together. Luca remained on top of Ethan, his breathing slowing, his heart calming against Ethan's chest. Ethan didn't let go. His arms closed around Luca's back with a strength that felt of desperation, of need, of recognition.

"Don't go," Ethan whispered.

"I'm not going," Luca replied.

«Stay.»

"Rest."

And they remained like that. In the living room of 3B, sweat cooling on their skin, afternoon light slanting through the window, the closed door protecting their space. The invisible wall hadn't fallen completely. Luca could still feel it there, in the shadows of Ethan's eyes, in the pauses in his breathing. But it had been chipped away. It had been pierced. And for the first time, light was coming in from the other side.

Ethan shifted beneath him. He raised a hand, placed it on Luca's cheek, and looked at him with a look Luca had never seen before. Not provocation, not fear, not ferocity. But something new, fragile, terribly real.

"Thanks," said Ethan.

Luca didn't respond. He simply kissed the palm of that hand and then lay down beside him, his head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat returning to normal. And outside, in the hallway, the building continued its life. But for them, in that moment, the world was only that sofa, only that breath, only that remainder pronounced like a vow.