I stand in the doorway, watching them on the sofa. Eliot has Hardison pinned gently against the cushions, their lips moving together in a rhythm that's become familiar over the years we've been together. My throat feels tight as I take in the scene—the way Eliot's hands cradle the back of Hardison's neck, the soft sounds they make, the obvious affection in their movements.

Part of me wants to melt into the shadows, to watch without being seen, but they've grown too attuned to my presence. Hardison's eyes flutter open first, noticing me immediately. His lips curl into a smile even as Eliot continues kissing his neck.

"Hey, baby," he says, his voice warm and inviting.

Eliot looks up, his expression softening when he sees me. "C'mon in," he says, not stopping the gentle movement of his hands against Hardison's skin.

I linger in the doorway, uncertain. My body feels like it's humming with conflicting signals—drawn to them, yet hesitant to join. The familiar panic rises in my chest, the need to maintain control over my reactions and sensations.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

Eliot pushes himself up slightly, keeping one hand on Hardison's chest. "You're never an interruption, Parker." His eyes search mine. "You wanna join, or... watch?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibility. This is the moment where everything could change—where I might finally find the courage to articulate what I truly need.