VELVET CHAINS REVIVE

The suite was too quiet for a night so victorious.

Ayden sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, stripped down to a black tank top and loose pajama pants. Luca, barefoot and bare-chested, moved about the room in slow, deliberate motions — uncorking a bottle of wine, turning off overhead lights, playing with the dimmer until the room glowed gold and intimate.

The post-show adrenaline had burned off. Now came the part Ayden dreaded and craved most.

Stillness.

"I can't believe we did it," Luca said, handing Ayden a glass and settling beside him.

"You're still shaking," Ayden murmured, noticing the tremble in Luca's fingers as they clinked glasses.

"I always shake after," Luca admitted. "It's like... my body doesn't know if it should celebrate or collapse."

Ayden set his wine aside and took Luca's hand. "Then let it do both. With me."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Luca exhaled like someone unlocking their ribs. "You always know what to say now," he said, eyes meeting Ayden's. "When did that happen?"

Ayden smiled faintly. "When I realized I didn't want to lose you because of the things I was too afraid to say."

Luca looked away, overwhelmed. "You didn't lose me. You won me. With every word you stitched into those clothes."

Ayden pulled him in slowly, their foreheads touching, breaths syncing.

Then Luca kissed him.

Not like before—not the frantic, hungry gasps of passion that marked their earlier nights. This kiss was soft, slow, and devastatingly deep. The kind that said I see you more than I want you. The kind that made Ayden's chest hurt in the best way.

Their bodies tangled like thread—sheets falling around them like fabric from a forgotten sketch. Hands exploring with reverence, not just desire. Luca traced the scars on Ayden's back like reading Braille; Ayden kissed the tattoos on Luca's chest like scripture.

"You're not a canvas," Ayden whispered, lips grazing Luca's neck. "You're the whole painting."

Luca groaned softly, clutching Ayden's shoulders. "Say that again."

"You're the whole painting."

"God, Ayden..."

They moved together, unhurried, mapping each other again like cartographers tracing land they'd already claimed but still longed to rediscover. Heat surged, but it wasn't just lust—it was worship.

When they finally stilled, sweat-slicked and breathless, Ayden tucked his face into the crook of Luca's shoulder and stayed there. For once, he didn't worry about tomorrow.

And for the first time in years, he fell asleep easily—in someone else's arms.

---

The next morning brought noise.

Dings from phones, calls from agents, emails overflowing with offers. Fashion blogs were ablaze with praise. Interviews requested. Licensing deals proposed. Endorsements lined up.

Ayden ignored them all.

Luca, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. "We've been invited to Milan. Milan, Ayden. And Vogue Italia wants an exclusive."

Ayden, still shirtless and half-awake, sipped his coffee and leaned against the balcony door. "That's... a lot."

"Yeah," Luca said, stepping in front of him, brushing hair from Ayden's face. "It is. But we don't have to say yes to everything."

Ayden looked out at the skyline. "No... but we can't hide anymore."

"We're not hiding," Luca said, slipping his arms around Ayden's waist. "We're choosing. And I choose what feels good. What feels right. Like you. Like this."

Ayden rested his forehead against Luca's. "Even if it gets hard again?"

"It will," Luca said easily. "But I'd rather fight beside you than shine without you."

Ayden kissed him.

This time, it was a promise.

---

Later that day, Ayden scrolled through social media—something he usually avoided.

A photo had gone viral: the final runway moment, with Luca standing beside him, both dressed in the "Still Here" jackets. The caption simply read:

"Queer love stitched into art. Healing made wearable."

Comments flooded in.

> "This healed something in me I didn't know was broken."

"Not just fashion—this is poetry with fabric."

"I came out to my parents today because of this show."

Ayden's eyes blurred with unexpected tears.

He had designed for survival. For silence. For himself.

But somehow, he had created a language for the unseen.

He closed the app and turned to Luca, who was busy sketching in the corner, tongue between his teeth in deep focus.

"You changed me," Ayden said.

Luca didn't look up. "Took you this long to admit?"

Ayden chuckled. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Luca said, finally glancing at him with a grin. "We changed each other. That's what love is, right? A collaboration. Like our show. Stitch and verse. Shadow and light."

Ayden crossed the room, took Luca's sketchpad, and placed it gently on the table.

Then he kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

Because they were still here.

Still healing.

And still falling.