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Elvis had always seemed untouchable, handsome, collected, the kind of boy who never flinched no matter how loud the
world got. But Eli knew better. Beneath the sharp smiles and charming eyes, Elvis carried scars no one else cared to see. Eli, gentle and endlessly patient, had his own shadows too, sleepless nights haunted by memories he never spoke of.
They found each other in the quiet corners, where words felt too heavy and silence felt like safety. On rainy nights, Eli would sit beside Elvis on the cold steps of the old library, neither of them speaking until Elvis finally whispered the truths he kept locked away. And Eli, with a voice soft as dawn, would answer, "You don't have to be strong with me." It wasn't easy, two broken boys trying trying to hold each other together. There were arguments, tears, days when Elvis pulled away, convinced he was too much to love.
But Eli always came back, not with promises of fixing him, but with the quiet certainty that love didn't need perfection.
And slowly, Elvis began to believe him. In the dark, when Elvis's hands trembled, Eli would hold them steady. In the light, when Eli's voice faltered, Elvis would speak for him.
Their love was fragile, imperfect, stitched together with pain and tenderness-but it was real. And in a world that had hurt them
both, they became each other's healing.
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