Chapter Text
The show had ended a few hours ago, and the four members of boyliife were basking in its afterglow. Hollis, Conceal, Nate, and Rommulas were sprawled across two cracked leather couches in a dim studio lounge, their limbs tangled together in lazy configurations. The room hummed with the electric aftertaste of the show, the high not yet worn off. Cigarette smoke drifted upward in slow, drowsy spirals, painting ghostly patterns against the ceiling, reminiscent of winter nights and musk. The harsh LED lighting had been turned off hours ago and only a shaded lamp stood on in the corner, casting a warm, buttery pool over the mess of wires, instruments, and bodies. The studio smelled of stale smoke and sweat, and the worn scent of amplifier dust mingled with the sharper tang of adrenaline that still hadn't faded. The after show silence was a heavy, satisfied thing, thick with the kind of post-performance ache that settled deep in the chest, as if the body itself was still vibrating from the music.
Nate lay across the battered leather couch like a man who had been wrung out and left to dry.
One of his arms was draped dramatically over his eyes and the other was lazily holding a cigarette he hadn’t bothered to light. The chalky feel of the unlit cigarette felt smooth and soft between his tired fingers, his mind stuck somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His legs were touching Hollis’s, whose boots had been kicked off somewhere between the fourth round of jokes and the second glass of bourbon. Across from them, Rommulas sat perched on the arm of the opposite couch, flicking ash into an empty Red Bull can, his brows furrowed, and Conceal -half reclined, ever smug- had commandeered the broken beanbag in the corner, trailing smoke in elegant loops toward the ceiling.
“Man…” Nate groaned, his voice hoarse, rough from singing and still electric with the night. “That was such a great set. I swear, if it had gone on for ten more minutes, I would’ve blacked out.” Hollis laughed, eyes soft, basking in the compliment like a flower under a lamp. “Yeah, but it would’ve been dramatic as hell. Fall off the stage, faint in front of the crowd. Pure rockstar.”
Conceal, grinning silently, leaned forward to put out his cigarette on Rommulas’ boot with a lazy twist. Ash smeared over the leather like dust from a forgotten fireplace. Rommulas looked down at it, blinked once, and didn’t bother to react. He stretched and crossed his legs one over the other, his head leaning against the back of the couch. “Manchester was mad tonight,” He murmured, exhaling a perfectly cylindrical ring of smoke. He watched it float towards the ceiling. “That last drop in Crush had that girl in the front row crying.”
Conceal raised his eyebrows as he smirked, slowly tipping cigarette ash onto Rommulas’ polished boot. “Only one girl?”
They all laughed. It was a slow, heavy sound, the kind of laughter that came from exhaustion and comfort, like thick syrup pooling in the bottom of a glass.
Suddenly, a vibration broke through the warm haze of laughter and cigarette smoke, sharp and insistent. It trembled against the worn surface of the amplifier like a nervous heartbeat. Nate barely noticed at first. He was stretched out on the couch, still soaked in the pleasant exhaustion that follows a great show, the kind that feels heavy and sweet, like sinking softly into water. Hollis was mid-laugh, Rommulas lazily flicked ash from his boot, and Conceal lounged nearby, a slow ribbon of smoke curling from his lips. But the buzzing wouldn’t stop.
The sound was soft yet relentless, an intrusion that didn’t belong here. One by one, the others turned toward Nate, watching as he slowly lifted his hand. At first hesitant, then with an almost mechanical certainty, he reached for the phone lying on top of the speaker beside him. As he gently tapped it open, the glow of the screen lit his face with a cold, harsh light. His eyes reacted involuntarily, squinting a little. He scrolled through his notifications, his thumb trembling slightly as he opened the newest message. He read it once, then twice.
And then everything inside him seemed to freeze. The warm air around him seemed to suck him in, taking his oxygen and chilling his insides. His breath caught somewhere deep, lodged tight near his throat. His skin paled beneath the stark light, his expression shifting from relaxed contentment to something sharp and raw. His posture stiffened, his body no longer relaxed but tense and unsteady. The cigarette slipped out from his fingers, falling and landing quietly on the carpet.
Hollis’s laughter faded to silence. Rommulas and Conceal turned to stare at Nate with concern, their brows furrowed and chests tighter than before. “Nate?” Hollis said softly, voice careful and steady but threaded with concern.
No answer.
“Nate.”
Still nothing.
Nate’s brown eyes remained fixed on the floor, unblinking, and for a long moment, the entire room held its breath. Rommulas’ amusement drained quietly away. Conceal shifted closer to Nate’s couch, as if to peer into the stillness that had suddenly swallowed Nate whole. Hollis moved forward, crouching beside the sofa, reaching out to steady his friend. Slowly, Nate lifted his head and met Hollis’s eyes, a silent question shimmering there; panic, disbelief, and something that felt like grief all tangled together.
“Hey man, you okay?” Hollis asked, his hand resting on Nate’s shoulder. Without a word, Nate extended the phone towards him, his hand trembling slightly. Hollis took it from him gently, reading the message aloud in a low, hesitant voice, careful not to shatter the fragile silence that had fallen:
“Good evening Mr. Sib,
We apologize for contacting you so abruptly without prior introduction. A recent DNA screening at the St. Johns Facility has revealed a familial connection. You have a younger brother.
When questioned, he stated that he was unaware of the connection. Due to missing parental contact information, we are reaching out to you directly. To contact him, we strongly advise you to come to the facility.
Kind regards,
St. John Administration.”
The room seemed to shrink around the weight of the words, cold and thick with an unspoken gravity. Nate’s breath hitched as he spoke. “A brother?” The word was barely a whisper, fragile and uncertain, as if afraid to be true. He blinked hard, struggling to make sense of something so impossible. “I-” His voice cracked, faltering completely. His hand rose slowly to run through his hair, trembling. “I only have a sister,” he finally said, disbelief curling into the edges of his tone.
Hollis, Rommulas, and Conceal didn’t speak. What was there to say?
Nate stood up shakily, steadying himself by leaning on the armrest of the sofa. He took two steps forward, then paused as if unsure what to do with his limbs, his breath. “This… can’t be real,” he said hoarsely. “They would’ve told me. I mean, there’s no way. They -my parents- they plan their meals two weeks in advance, they color-code their calendars, they...” He trailed off. Conceal bit his lip and shifted away slightly, glancing toward Rommulas, who gave a helpless shrug.
Hollis, however, didn’t move. After a few moments of extended silence, he stepped forward, hand gentle but firm on Nate’s arm.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”
Nate blinked slowly. “Go?”
“To see him.”
Nate stared, mouth open like he might protest, but nothing came out. Hollis didn’t push. Just kept his grip light but steady, guiding him toward the door, grabbing the car keys off the table. “You two stay here,” he said to Rommulas and Conceal without turning around. “We’ll handle it.”
The door clicked softly behind them.
* * *
The car doors closed with a muffled click and the engine’s low rumble attempted to break the thick silence between the two men. Hollis slid behind the wheel of the car, knuckles tightening around it while Nate sat beside him, his fingers curled tightly in his lap, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the windshield but seeing nothing at all. As they drove, neither spoke.
The city lights blurred past, casting long streaks of orange and white over the dashboard. Hollis turned the radio volume down, casting a concerned look at Nate. Nate however, was too preoccupied with his thoughts and did not return the eye contact. His mind was in full fight or flight mode, thoughts swirling in an abyss of questions. The usual easy banter was gone, replaced by a quiet weight that hung between them like dense fog. Words felt too fragile, too heavy.
Hollis kept his hands steady on the steering wheel, his eyes watching the road but also carefully observing Nate from the corner of his vision. After a few minutes, Nate finally broke the silence, voice low and uncertain. “Do you think this could be a mistake?” He asked as he glanced sideways, eyes clouded with doubt. “I mean… DNA tests aren’t always perfect, right?”
Hollis shrugged, though his knuckles tightened briefly on the wheel. “I don’t know. Maybe. But even if it is-” He paused, searching for the right words, “-it’s better to know the answer, rather than to live with this kind of question hanging over you.” Nate’s jaw clenched, and he looked away again, lips pressed thin. The car turned off the main road onto a quieter street, the buildings growing older and more industrial, their shadows deepening as they neared their destination.
A few more minutes passed, the car wheels crunching on the road underneath, the city around them whirring into a blur of lights and smoke. Streetlights slipped past in steady intervals, casting warm pools of yellow across the hood.
The brick building loomed ahead like a forgotten relic, its brown facade cold and imposing under the flicker of malfunctioning street lamps. A greying white piping outlined the arches of the building and the edges. The building looked extremely imposing and harsh. Rusted fencing lined the perimeter, topped with coiled, barbed wire that caught the pale light like jagged silver. The building exuded a sterile chill, and the distant hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly through thick windows. Hollis parked the car near the entrance, the tires crunching softly on gravel. They sat still for a moment, neither ready to move.
“Ready?” Hollis asked gently, though the question seemed almost meaningless.
Nate gave a deep sigh and swallowed hard, nodded, and reached for the door handle.
They exited the car and walked towards the entrance of the gate, coming to a stop once they were in front of the entrance doors. From the outside, it was difficult to decipher what was inside the building as the glass doors and windows were tinted slightly opaque.
The heavy glass doors groaned as they were pushed open, ushering them into a world that felt completely alien. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit them immediately, a sharp, almost chemical tang that stung Nate’s nostrils and settled deep in his throat. It mixed with the faint, lingering odor of old linoleum and something faintly metallic, like the ghost of pipes long forgotten. The air was cool and dry, an unnatural chill that seemed to seep into the bones.
The reception area was small and bare, lit by harsh fluorescent tubes that flickered intermittently overhead, casting uneven pools of pale light and shadow. The walls were a bleak, institutional white, streaked with faint scuffs and wear. The interior was surgically clean and almost everything was minimalistic. A solitary potted tree, its leaves bare and lifeless, sat in the corner like a forgotten relic. The floor was cold linoleum, cracked in places, with a faint mark trailing from the door to the far end of the room.
Behind a pale desk sat a woman who looked as much a part of the place as the walls themselves. She was middle-aged, her skin pale and taut, with deep lines etched around her mouth and eyes, betraying years of exhaustion and routine. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled tightly back into a severe bun, wisps escaping stubbornly at the temples. She wore thin-framed glasses that perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, magnifying her sharp, scrutinizing eyes. Her expression was neutral, almost unreadable, but the faint downward curve of her lips suggested a weariness that went far beyond the long hours of the day.
She looked up as they approached, her gaze flickering briefly over Nate before settling on Hollis. “Good evening. Can I help you?” Her voice was clipped, precise, lacking any warmth.
Nate felt his throat tighten. The room pressed in on him, the starkness, the silence, the sterile smell, all wrapped around him like a cold shroud. The faint hum of the flickering lights above felt louder than it should, a persistent drone that filled the empty spaces. His fingers twitched nervously at his side. Hollis cleared his throat and spoke evenly. “We’re here to see someone.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly as she typed something into her keyboard. “Who are you here to see?” she asked, her tone slightly impatient. Hollis looked at Nate before replying to the woman. “Er.. we don’t actually know his name, but his last name is Subbiondo.” Hollis looked at the woman a little helplessly, “Um.. he should be here…” he trailed off. The clicking of the keys echoed softly in the quiet. She didn’t look up at Nate or Hollis until she was finished typing, pushing her glasses higher on her nose with a thin, disapproving sniff. “Room 403,” she said, voice flat. “Down the corridor, then to the left. His name is on the door. If it’s not the right individual, go to the Missing office.”
Hollis thanked the receptionist and looked at Nate with concern, as he hadn’t spoken for a while. As they started to walk away, Nate swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing larger with every step they took away from the desk. The coldness of the facility seeped into him, settling deep inside his chest, making each breath feel measured, deliberate. The two men walked soundlessly down the buildings’ halls. “So.. it’s like an orphanage?” Hollis asked Nate, attempting to break the silence. Nate paused momentarily then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. There was an operating table in one of the rooms we passed.” He fell silent again, fidgeting with his sleeve. “It’s probably like a hospital or something.” Hollis’ eyes widened. “Do you think he’s sick?” he asked, a note of concern in his tone. Nate shrugged weakly. “Hope not.” The corridor stretched long and narrow, walls lined with doors all identical, plain wood, each marked with a small plaque bearing a name or a number. The lights overhead flickered with a faint, uneven buzz that seemed to pulse along with Nate’s heartbeat. Every step echoed, loud and hollow, against the linoleum floor. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional, indistinct murmur of voices far down another corridor. Nate’s hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.
His mind raced, swirling with a confusing storm of emotions -fear, disbelief, curiosity, and an aching, gnawing hope that maybe, somehow, this strange and unfamiliar place might hold a piece of himself he never knew was missing.
Chapter Text
Nate and Hollis walked down the seemingly endless corridor, the muted buzz of the flickering overhead lights accompanying their footsteps. When they reached the door, Nate’s eyes caught the small, neat script beside it, a name: “Y/N.” He arched an eyebrow and let out a dry laugh. “They couldn’t have given him a more normal name?” he muttered, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy moment.
Hollis smiled, a warm glint in his eyes. “Nothing like a unique name to start a unique life,” he replied softly. The tight knot of tension in the air loosened just a fraction, but Nate’s hand trembled as he raised it and rapped gently on the door. The sound echoed faintly down the quiet hallway.
After a heartbeat, a pair of eyes appeared in the small glass window of the door.
Nate’s breath caught in his throat.
Those eyes. Soft, intense blue, like a quiet sea that stretched endlessly, fathomless and impossible to grasp, nothing like his own brown eyes, nothing like the warm, familiar brown of their parents. The door creaked open slowly, and there he was, a figure that seemed almost unreal in the sterile light.
It was just the two of them now, Nate and the brother he never knew he had, locked in a silent, astonished battle. And, behind Nate, the ever-present presence of Hollis.
Nate caught a sharp, involuntary intake of breath from behind him but didn’t turn around to look. He understood perfectly well, his brother was breathtaking.
There was a halo in the tousled hair, a subtle glow in the pale skin, catching the dim light like something not meant for this world, almost ethereal, almost too delicate for the harsh sterility surrounding them. His gaze was wide, unguarded, framed by long lashes that seemed unfair in their perfection, and the depth of his blue eyes was haunting, as if he had already witnessed too much, as if the weight of the world had settled gently in those pools of color. Bruises and cuts ran along his neck and arms, faint but visible, and Nate’s heart clenched, instinctively dismissing them even as he noted them, refusing to let them mar the image of this fragile, luminous figure.
Nate breathed in a slow, steadying breath. His voice came out low and gentle. “Hey.”
Without a conscious thought, Nate closed the distance, drawing his younger brother into a hesitant, anchoring embrace. Y/N flinched at first, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but then he relaxed, slowly folding his arms around his older brother. And yet, even in that embrace, Nate felt a surprising chill radiating from his body, cold and distant, as if he was still wrapped in invisible layers of pain.
“Hey,” Y/N said, voice low and quiet, like he’d swallowed sleep instead of rest. “You came.”
“Of course we came,” Nate answered immediately, too fast, too eager. He winced at himself. Hollis glanced over, that tiny half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d caught Nate doing something embarrassing but wasn’t going to say anything about it. Y/N looked between them with this small, uncertain curve to his lips, as if he hadn’t entirely expected either of them to show up.
Breaking the hug, Nate spoke quietly, “Let’s get you home. We can talk on the way, yeah?” Y/N nodded, a faint, almost shy smile touching the corner of his lips.
* * *
As they walked out, Nate kept trying not to stare at the walls but they were everywhere, glossy, white, too clean, too smooth, like they’d been scrubbed raw. His reflection smeared along them in ghostlike shapes as he walked. It made him uncomfortable to see himself distorted like that, stretched and narrowed, like the building wasn’t just reflecting him but correcting him. The three of them walked down the seemingly endless corridor, the muted buzz of the flickering overhead lights accompanying their footsteps.
As they passed the rooms that lined the corridors, Nate looked into them out of curiosity. The room looked worse than he remembered. Colder. Shadows hanging wrong. A single bed, sheets tucked too tight. Medical equipment packed neatly into cabinets that locked with clicks too sharp for comfort. A window that didn’t open. Walls that felt like they were listening.
Y/N tensed. Something rippled under his skin, a flicker of overwhelm, fear, memory. Nate wasn’t sure which.
As they waited and signed the paperwork to discharge Y/N, the nurse talked at them in her syrupy voice about precautions and routines and signs to look for, but the words dissolved almost immediately in Nate’s head. He was too focused on the room, the cold, the humming, the way Y/N kept rubbing his forearm like trying to warm himself through static.
***
Hollis fancied himself the responsible one, always the steady anchor, the quiet force in the chaos. He had performed that role well tonight, even felt a flicker of pride, brief and guilty. But watching them now, the fragile reunion unfolding in front of him, it all threatened to unravel, unspooling in slow, uneasy threads that he couldn’t catch, couldn’t control.
He clenched his jaw, trying to remind himself: it’s just some guy. You’ve seen plenty of attractive people before. It’s not a big deal.
He sat silently, watching the tentative reunion between Nate and this new brother. The air between them was thick with things unspoken, fragile emotions shimmering just beneath the surface. Hollis’s mind wandered, drawing blanks as he caught glimpses of their interaction. His gaze flicked away, settling instead on the road ahead, the steady rhythm of the car the only steady beat he could rely on. The drive back to the penthouse was heavy with silence. Nate and Y/N exchanged quiet words in the backseat, introductions, careful questions, the hesitant stitching together of new family threads. Hollis wanted to disappear inside himself, to retreat, to avoid the intimacy that bloomed quietly between them like a fragile, dangerous flower. He wasn’t family. Not yet, not ever, probably.
However, the mood abruptly changed when Y/N opened his pretty mouth and asked a question. ‘Do your- I mean, our parents know I exist? Did.. Did you know?’ Hollis snuck a look at Y/N in the rear view. His eyes looked open, curious, hopeful. That awful haunted look was gone, and in replacement, were two pools of silver, like pearls in the moonlight. Nate blinked. ‘Uh, I.. I don’t know if they know or not,’ He admitted, his hands fidgeting in his lap, so unlike his usual nonchalant self, ‘I didn’t know though,’ He concluded softly. Y/N nodded, the hope that had flared in his eyes previously as gone, it was back to that haunted look again.
Hollis squinted at the road. Wait a second. Last time I checked, both of Nate’s parents had brown eyes..
“Wait,” He piped up, looking at both Nate and Y/N in the rear view. “Nate, don’t both of your parents have brown eyes?”
Nate nodded slowly, looking at Hollis and back at Y/N before realization dawned onto his face. ‘Yeah.’
Y/N stared at Hollis and Nate. “Really? Oh that’s cool.’ He said, looking excited to learn more about his parents. Then his eyes widened at the implication. “Oh.”
Nate grimaced and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay, we’ll figure it out together.’ Y/N flinched again at the contact but smiled back sweetly. Hollis groaned internally. God, this was going to be difficult.
* * *
As Hollis pulled the car into the carpark, he saw that the lights in the penthouse of the apartment were still on. ‘Rommulas and Conceal still up.’ Nate remarked blankly, his brain clearly overloaded with the situation. Hollis nodded, offering a small, reassuring bump to Y/N’s shoulder before stepping out of the car. Inside the apartment, Rommulas and Conceal practically lunged toward them, surprise lighting their faces the instant they saw Y/N. Conceal’s eyebrows shot up sharply, while Rommulas nearly choked on his lollipop, eyes wide with disbelief.
'This.. Is your brother?' Hollis heard Rommulas ask Nate, "How come you've got that ugly mug then?" Hollis thought he heard Nate laugh.
Another round of introductions happened, followed by the inevitable negotiation of sleeping arrangements. They were currently staying temporarily in this hotel, and Nate and Conceal were sharing a room, while Hollis stayed in a double bed and Rommulas slept on the couch. Rommulas refused to sleep with Hollis, complaining about his tendency to change sleeping positions every five minutes. Rommulas waggled his eyebrows and murmured something about ‘I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with your brother though’ before Nate delivered a swift kick to his ribs, laughter bouncing softly around the room. Hollis thought he was the only one who saw Y/N’s face drain entirely of color, before he saw Conceal notice it too, and they exchanged glances. Huh. Strange. After a few minutes of discussion, Conceal was banished to the couch, while Nate and Rommulas shared the king, leaving Hollis and Y/N to share a bed. Nate had bubbled up some chivalrous crap about ‘not minding sleeping in the bathtub’ before Conceal threw a pillow at him.
As he brushed his teeth, Hollis tried to summon his usual nonchalant mask, the one that had saved him in so many awkward moments. But tonight it faltered. Y/N was just on the other side of the door, and the pull was undeniable. Hollis felt a rush of disgust toward himself, how could he be craving someone who had just been ripped from years of cold isolation? How could he want someone who had suffered so much? He ran a hand through his hair, refusing to look at Y/N as he passed.
By 2 a.m., the apartment had finally fallen silent. Everyone was asleep, or trying to be. Hollis lay awake, mind spinning. It wasn’t like he even liked guys that much. Sure, he’d kissed a few. But this, this was different. The feelings were unfamiliar, uncomfortable, but persistent. Maybe he was just projecting his old feelings for his ex-girlfriend, who unfortunately happened to be Nate’s older sister, onto this new, fragile boy. The tangled web of blood and loyalty tightened around his chest like a noose.
No way, he thought fiercely. I won’t risk my friendship with Nate. Not again. The memory of the mess with Chessa was fresh, still raw. He wasn’t ready for another fracture. Yet all his logic crumbled under the weight of Y/N’s presence. He could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint clean scent lingering in the air around the bed. Every small movement, every breath stirred something inside Hollis that he wasn’t ready to admit.
He scowled, turning onto his side to shut it out. Then, suddenly, those wide, curious eyes caught his in the dark. “Oh, sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice soft and hesitant. “I space out sometimes.” Heat flushed Hollis’s cheeks. He smirked despite himself. “Um,” Y/N murmured. “Are you guys, like, famous?”
Hollis raised an eyebrow, propping himself up on one elbow. “What makes you say that?” Y/N’s grin was shy but sincere. “I don’t know... you just seem famous.” Damn. Hollis replied quietly, careful not to wake anyone. “Thanks dude.”
Y/N smiled again, then turned away, eyes fluttering closed.
Hollis lay back in the dark, his breath catching in his throat. He forced himself not to think about the heat of Y/N’s body so close to his, the way moonlight traced the gentle curve of his face, or the warmth that spread when Y/N had called him cool. He sighed softly, turned away, and finally slipped into a restless, uneasy sleep, haunted by thoughts he wasn’t ready to face.
Chapter 3: Update
Chapter Text
YO WHY IS THIS FIC LOWKEY BLOWING UP
I will continue to deliver ✌️🥹❤️🩹
also ik the tags look crazy rn but i promise its for a reason lmaooo
Chapter Text
* * *
You hated it here. Every inch of it. The smell of disinfectant, sharp and chemical, clawing at the back of your throat. The incessant whirring of machines, a mechanical heartbeat that never stopped, never paused, always reminding you that the world was monitored, controlled, measured. Your body tensed before you even realized it, muscles coiling, ready to flee, ready to fight, though there was no escape this time, not really. The nurses smiled, always too sweet, too practiced, voices like knives wrapped in velvet. They had hurt you. They had always hurt you, in ways small and terrible, precise, surgical, eroding your trust one measurement, one injection, one calculated cold touch at a time.
You remembered the smell of antiseptic burning your skin, the sharp metallic tang in the air that never went away, lingering in the corners of every room like a ghost. The fluorescent lights buzzed in your skull, a constant, low-grade assault, each flicker of pale yellow a tiny stab into your head. You had learned to tune out the world, to exist in the narrow space between breathing and not breathing, between obedience and collapse, between silence and the sound of your own heart hammering like it was trying to escape.
You hated how people always assumed you was fragile, delicate, like a child, when really, you had learned to survive in ways most people couldn’t even imagine. You hated how they looked at you, pity softening their faces, thinking you broken, thinking you weak. You was discarded, yes, but that did not mean they could touch you, measure you, dictate you. And yet, they had. For years.
The touch of others, casual, friendly, even affectionate, it made you flinch. Your muscles tensed before his mind could process it. You didn’t know if it was instinct or memory, or both, but the reaction was immediate, unthinking. It was everywhere, woven into the core of you, a pattern etched in deeper than any scar, visible or invisible.
You remembered injections that burned like fire, the way the needles bit and held, the way their eyes had looked at you when you flinched, calculating, detached. You remembered procedures you didn’t understand, the sterile sheets that smelled of something chemical, sharp, like blood and bleach mixed together, and the cold, unyielding floor beneath his feet. You remembered the way silence could be worse than screams, how the absence of comfort could hammer into you louder than a thousand cries.
* * *
“Y/N.” The voice is clipped, rehearsed, almost cheerful in a way that makes your stomach twist. You stop mid-step, hands tightening at your sides. "Someone’s coming for you. They’re here to take you somewhere else. Don’t worry. Just a visit."
A visit. The word hangs in the air and makes you want to recoil. Visit. It’s never just a visit. Everyone here at this institution knew it was never just a visit. It was as much a visit as the government cared about you. It could be a transfer, a test, someone poking at the fragile layers you’ve spent years hiding. Someone examining weakness, cataloging it. You keep your face neutral, blank, practiced. Your hands flex at your sides, knuckles tightening. “How long?” you ask, voice calm, careful, as though you’re asking about the weather.
“Not long,” she says, eyes avoiding yours, the faintest flicker of pity at the corner of her mouth. “Just a few minutes. You’ll meet them. They’re… friendly.”
Friendly. The word makes you flinch again. Friendly rarely means what it claims to. You nod anyway, because survival demands it. The floor stretches in a dull, cracked pattern of tiles, every step echoing hollowly, giving you something tangible to focus on. You anchor yourself to that, to the cold, smooth linoleum beneath your shoes.
“Who are they?” you ask, voice tight, hands clenching the edge of the bed. Your eyes lock on the nurse’s face, searching for any hint of what she’ll say, trying to read her before she speaks, trying to prepare yourself.
She sighs, heavy, almost reluctant, and sets her clipboard down on the small metal table beside her. The fluorescent light overhead catches the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, the way her eyes flicker briefly to the floor, and your chest tightens further.
“Look…” she begins, her voice low, careful, as if each word might shatter something fragile, “I don’t know if you know this… but the person coming for you, the one they said would be here tonight…” She pauses, glancing away, then back at you, and you can feel the hesitation, the weight of what she’s about to say pressing against the room.
“They… they’re your brother.”
The words hit you like cold water. Your chest tightens, your stomach twists, and for a second, you can’t breathe. Your head swirls with disbelief, confusion, anger, and a strange, reluctant spark of hope. My brother?
Your mind races, trying to picture him, to imagine a connection you’ve never known, someone out there who shares your blood, your history, and maybe even understands some of the cold, sterile hell you’ve endured. The room feels smaller suddenly, walls closing in, the hum of the heater and the flickering of the lights amplifying every heartbeat, every gasp of breath.
You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, trying to anchor to something solid, something real. But everything in you wants to run, to hide, to curl up and deny it all. A part of you ,the part that’s been burned by the world, warns you to keep your walls high, to keep your distance.
And yet… the thought lingers, stubborn, impossible to ignore: my brother is out there. And he’s coming for me.
You retreat to your room as soon as the words hit, the weight of what they told you pressing down on your chest like a fist. The door closes behind you with a dull click.
The room is small, practical, but strangely comforting in its familiarity. The walls are pale, off-white, speckled with faint marks and scratches from years of occupancy. A single window is tucked into one corner, blinds drawn halfway, letting in slivers of streetlight that slice across the worn floor in thin, uneven lines. The bed is narrow, mattress thin but soft enough to sag in the middle, rumpled sheets a dull gray that smell faintly of detergent, the fabric stiff at the edges. A small dresser sits against the far wall, cluttered with a few personal items: a stack of notebooks, a pen that’s missing its cap, a chipped mug you sometimes use for coffee or tea. A faint hum of the heating vent buzzes overhead, and somewhere in the distance, the muffled thrum of traffic presses against the walls.
You sit on the edge of the bed, legs pulled close to your chest, elbows resting on your knees. Your hands are trembling, and for once, you don’t try to hide it. You let yourself feel it, the raw, jagged edges of fear, confusion, anger, and grief all tangled together inside your chest. You let your head drop into your hands, hair brushing against your knuckles.
You press your face into your knees, muffling a sob you didn’t realize had been building. Your body shakes, small and jagged at first, then harder, as if it’s trying to purge years of fear and silence in one release. The sound of your own breathing echoes in the quiet room, ragged, uneven, like it doesn’t belong to you.
Your mind loops, a spiral of thoughts and memories, accusations and questions: Why me? Why now? Will they ever care? Did they ever care?
My family. The words roll through your mind like jagged stones, heavy and sharp. The word feels foreign on your tongue, like it doesn’t belong to you, like it’s been taken and reshaped while you weren’t looking. Your parents… if they even know where you are, if they even know you exist. Did they forget you? Did they ever care enough to search? Did they ever wonder?
And now, your brother. The one person who should have been here, nearby, maybe feeling the same confusion, the same anger, the same aching emptiness you’ve carried like a second skin. Where was he all these years? Why did no one tell him? Or worse, why did they let him go without you?
You think of the nurses, the cold rooms, the endless whirring of machines, the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors that have been your world. This was my life, you realize, and it wasn’t chosen. But somewhere out there, he’s alive. He has a life you never knew, a history separate from yours, a version of family that might feel warm instead of cold.
And yet… the thought prickles with suspicion. Could he even understand? Could he care? Could you allow yourself to hope? Or will you just end up hurt, as you always have, by the people who are supposed to love you?
You clench your fists, pressing your nails into your palms. Your chest tightens. You’ve spent years convincing yourself that family is a word that doesn’t mean anything, that you are enough on your own, that surviving is all that matters. But now, my brother is coming for me, and that word, family, starts to feel dangerous again, like fire near dry grass
Then, there it is. A rumble at first, low and distant, vibrating through the walls and the floor, then sharper, closer, unmistakable: the sound of a car approaching. Your chest tightens, the familiar spike of adrenaline twisting your stomach into knots. Every instinct you’ve honed over years of cold rooms and sterile corridors screams at you to hide, to vanish, to curl up and make yourself small.
The tires crunch softly against gravel or asphalt ,or maybe it’s concrete, you can’t tell from this distance. The subtle hiss of brakes. A door opening, closing. Voices. Two of them. You freeze, muscles tight, ears straining. One voice is familiar. Not yet yours, not yet warm, but familiar. Calm, steady, almost annoyingly… reliable. The other- lighter, hesitant, carrying that… presence, that pull that makes your heart start to betray you.
You pull your knees closer, burying your face in your arms for a moment, willing yourself to stay still, invisible, even as the steps approach. The world outside your door feels impossibly close, a thin sheet separating you from a reality you’re not sure you’re ready to enter.
The floor creaks faintly as someone moves. A key turns in a lock, or maybe it’s the soft click of the elevator, settling someone on your floor. The footsteps, careful, deliberate, stop somewhere down the hall. A pause. Then, another footstep. You hear it. Hesitant. Waiting.
Your pulse hammers, the familiar icy chill crawling up your spine. You want to run. You want to hide under the bed. And yet… another part of you, the part that has been whispering, maybe, just maybe…, draws your gaze toward the door.
Nate rapped on the door gently. The sound echoed, bouncing along the walls, and your stomach coiled. The door creaked, and your eyes met Nate’s first. Warm brown eyes, hesitant, careful, but there, and steady, and somehow familiar. Something inside you loosened, just a fraction, and he realized he hadn’t even been holding his breath.
Then another man stepped into view. Oh. Calm, steady, too-observant presence, eyes flicking over you, calculating. You felt the familiar, familiar tightening of your chest, the muscle memory of years of being measured, assessed, judged. You did not like him. No. You hated the way this guy looked at you, the way his quiet, careful presence made you feel exposed, like you were weak, like he could see straight through you, see all the fractures, all the scars, all the bruises, both visible and invisible. And he’s still here, trailing behind your brother, that same careful gait, those same measured movements, the same faint, faint smile that reeks of condescension without actually saying a word. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. You want to step back, disappear into the shadows, pretend you didn’t hear the car, didn’t see the hallway open, didn’t see him following your brother like some self-appointed guardian.
Pushing him out of your peripheral vision, you stayed still. You let Nate close the distance. Nate’s hand, tentative, reaching for you, grounding you in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. You flinched ,not at Nate, not really, but out of habit, muscle memory, reflex. And then you relaxed, slowly, folding your arms around your brother, letting him anchor you, letting yourself be touched for the first time in what felt like forever.
* * *
The car hums beneath you, steady, a quiet rhythm that fills the space without demanding attention. Outside, the city blurs into streaks of orange and white, neon signs flickering faintly in the dark. Tires crunch against the asphalt as the car moves, the subtle vibration running up through the seat, under your fingers resting lightly in your lap.
Nate is beside you, hands folded, glancing at you occasionally, as if measuring whether it’s safe to speak. He leans back, and the faint creak of the seat reminds you how unfamiliar this is, being in someone else’s presence, moving through a world that hasn’t been arranged for you. Hollis drives, steady, focused, hands gripping the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. The sound of the engine, the clicks of turn signals, the faint thrum of the tires on uneven pavement, they fill the car in a way that’s almost comforting, if you focus on it. You let your gaze drift out the window instead, watching the city lights streak past, the reflection of streetlamps in the glass forming thin, golden lines that stretch and bend as the car turns corners.
You notice details: a dog barking somewhere between buildings, a neon sign buzzing faintly, a wet patch of asphalt reflecting the glow of a streetlamp like liquid metal. The motion of the car, the faint smells of the city seeping through the slightly open window, the mix of exhaust, rain-soaked concrete, and something faintly sweet from a nearby café, and fills your senses in a way that keeps your mind busy, keeps it from wandering too far. The streets grow quieter as the car leaves the main roads, buildings older, their facades rougher, paint peeling, signs faded. You watch the shadows deepen along the walls, the way streetlights cast uneven pools of yellow across the pavement. A cat darts across an alley, its eyes catching the light for a moment before it disappears again, and you let yourself follow it with your gaze, noting the small, fleeting life in the world outside.