Control

32 - Guard Dog Off Duty

a/n - guys the love you've given this story over the past few days is insane!!! Thank you all so much. I wanted to say that I'll try and update at least once a week if not more frequently, but now that I work full-time, it may be a bit slower at times. The patreon is always 2-3 chapters ahead if not more, and right now I'm cooking up Chapter 35 for them, and it is INSANE! Sneak peak for those who are thinking of subscribing...There's a steamy scene that involves Ellie............and Alexander.............and maybe even......Enzo. AH ALRIGHT hope to see you guys soon!!!

My hand is still tangled with Alexander's when we step off the elevator, like neither of us remembered to let go.

I think I want this feeling forever. Just... warm fingers, easy grip, like it's normal to be walking through a very expensive hallway with a man who makes my heart act like it's trying to win a race.

I'm still smiling. I can't help it. My face is stuck.

The takeout bag swings a little from my other hand, paper warm and greasy at the bottom, the scent of soy and garlic escaping every time it crinkles.

Chinese takeout. Alexander's favorite. And yes, I stole a dumpling on the walk back. I did it with full confidence, too, like I was raised in a pack of raccoons. Alexander didn't even call me out. He just looked at me with that calm little smile like he was keeping a list titled Ellie's Crimes and my name was at the top.

The hallway is plush and quiet, carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps. The air is cool and faintly scented—something clean and expensive, like citrus and linen. Our shadows stretch long on the walls, pulled by the soft lighting like taffy.

We get to the door. Alexander opens it one-handed without breaking our handhold, like he's done this a thousand times and I'm the only variable that makes it feel different.

I'm already halfway inside before I remember I'm supposed to act normal in other people's homes.

The penthouse is dim and calm, lit mostly by the city glow spilling through the windows in wide silver-blue rectangles. A single lamp near the couch is on, low and amber, turning the marble and glass into something warmer, softer—less showroom, more lived-in.

It smells like polished stone and citrus cleaner... and then underneath that, the sweet, fried edge of earlier food. The air is warm on my cheeks, like the apartment has been holding onto heat for us.

And then I see the couch. I stop so fast my body does that tiny forward sway like my brain hit a wall and my feet didn't get the memo.

Eddie is sprawled across the cushions, absolutely knocked out. Not "gently asleep." Not "dozing." Full-on, power-off, unplugged.

His face is smooshed into the back pillow, mouth slightly open, eyelashes too long, one knee drawn up, the other leg flung out like he fell asleep mid-thought. His dinosaur is hugged to his chest with both arms like it's keeping him from floating away.

And he's wearing Enzo's sweatshirt.

The collar is too wide, slipping off one shoulder to show a strip of tan skin, no doubt from our frequent walks to his school. The sleeves are swallowed past his hands, bunched up so his fingers barely peek out at the cuffs. The hem hits his thighs, riding up in the back where he's curled, so you can see the waistband of his pajama pants and—of course—only one sock.

The other sock is missing, because Eddie treats socks like they're his god-given quest to lose them.

My brain takes a long, happy pause. And then my eyes slide down.

Enzo is asleep too.

He's on the floor right next to the couch, leaned back against it like he picked the spot by instinct and then stopped moving. One arm is bent over his knee, the other stretched out along the carpet, fingers loose and unguarded. A throw blanket is draped over his legs in a crooked, half-committed way—covering his thighs, slipping off one hip—like someone tried to tuck him in and got distracted by the concept of effort. I can almost see Vince doing it with an irritated little exhale, the kind of care that pretends it isn't care.