CHAPTER 102

CHAPTER 102
POV: Ethan

Morning comes slow in the shared house now. It used to be loud, Dominic’s coffee grinder whirring too early, Tyler humming something under his breath, the sound of conversation that came and went like sunlight through the blinds.

Now there’s only quiet. A heavy, unnatural kind of quiet.

Ethan wakes before his alarm, eyes already open. The ceiling above him looks different somehow, too white, too sharp, like even the light has learned how to flinch.

He lies there for a moment, listening. Nothing. No movement in the hall, no footsteps from the kitchen. He forces himself up anyway. Pretending helps.

When he reaches the kitchen, Dominic is already there, standing at the sink, his shoulders rigid beneath a white shirt that hasn’t been ironed. 

His hair’s still damp from the shower, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Everything about him looks the same, but the space around him feels changed unreachable.

“Morning,” Ethan says.

Dominic doesn’t look up. “Morning.” Just that. Nothing else.

Ethan pours coffee for himself and stands there awkwardly, the mug burning his palms. Dominic moves around him like a ghost, careful not to touch, careful not to meet his eyes. The quiet stretches, becomes unbearable.

“I was thinking,” Ethan starts, “we could talk….”

“I have a meeting,” Dominic cuts in. His voice isn’t cruel. It’s just tired. That’s worse.

Ethan nods, because what else can he do? “Right. Of course.”

He watches Dominic pick up his keys and jacket. For a moment, he thinks maybe Dominic will say something, anything but he just gives a small nod and leaves. 

The door shuts softly behind him, and the silence rushes back in like a tide. Tyler walks in a minute later, hair messy, T-shirt wrinkled, eyes red-rimmed from another night of not sleeping. 

He pauses when he sees Ethan, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away.

“Coffee’s fresh,” Ethan offers.

“Thanks.” Tyler’s voice is hoarse. He doesn’t move closer. He grabs a mug, pours, and stands by the counter with his back turned.

It shouldn’t feel like a battlefield, but it does. Every glance, every breath, feels like a step in a minefield they all helped build.

“Where’s Dominic?” Tyler asks finally.

“Left early.” Ethan forces a small laugh. “You can breathe again.”

Tyler doesn’t smile. “You think this is funny?”

“No.” Ethan sighs. “I think it’s pathetic.”

Tyler sets his cup down, the clink sharper than it needs to be. “You’re not wrong.”

They stand there, two people who should hate each other and somehow don’t. That might be the worst part.

Tyler rubs the back of his neck. “He won’t talk to you, will he?”

Ethan shakes his head. “Not really. He’s… polite.”

“Polite,” Tyler repeats, the word bitter. “That’s colder than anger.”

Ethan looks at him. “You’d know.”

Tyler doesn’t deny it. He stares into his coffee like it might offer a way out. “I thought I wanted to break him,” he says quietly. “Guess I broke everything instead.”

Ethan doesn’t answer. What could he say? Me too? The words feel useless.

Tyler finishes his drink, sets the mug in the sink, and leaves without another word. His footsteps fade down the hall. The door to his room closes, not loudly but final.

Ethan exhales, shoulders slumping. The house feels enormous now, even though it’s not. Every room hums with absence the kind you can’t fill with sound.

He walks through it anyway: the living room with its crooked picture frames, the couch where they used to sit too close, the table that still has a faint ring from a spilled drink no one cleaned. 

Every corner reminds him of something small and ordinary that used to matter. He ends up in the hallway outside Dominic’s room. The door is closed.

He lifts his hand, almost knocks. Doesn’t. What would he even say? I’m sorry had stopped meaning anything days ago. He drops his hand and steps back.

By evening, the rain starts again, it was light at first, then steady. The windows fog at the edges, and the world outside blurs into gray. Dominic still isn’t home. Tyler hasn’t left his room.

Ethan sits at the kitchen table, a cold dinner untouched in front of him. The clock ticks too loudly. He tries to write, to read, to do anything that feels like movement, but his thoughts just circle the same place that night, that look on Dominic’s face.

He’d thought silence would be easier than shouting. He’d been wrong. Shouting ends; silence lingers.

When the front door finally opens, he sits up too fast. Dominic steps inside, rain dripping from his coat, his hair damp again. He looks exhausted. 

His eyes flick briefly toward Ethan, a look, not a word. Then he turns away, hangs up the coat, walks toward his room.

Ethan stands. “Dom….”

Dominic stops, still facing the hallway. “Don’t.”

The word isn’t angry. It’s gentle. But it hits harder than a slap.

Ethan freezes. The apology dies in his throat.

Dominic disappears down the hall. The sound of the door closing is soft, final.

Ethan sinks back into the chair, his heart thudding slow and heavy. He wants to scream. He wants to run. Instead, he just sits there, listening to the rain and the faint hum of Tyler’s music leaking through the wall.

It feels like the house itself is holding its breath waiting for something to give, something to explode. But no one moves. No one speaks.

Later, when the lights are out and the rooms are dark, Ethan lies awake again.

He can hear everything: the wind through the half-open window, the drip of rain from the gutter, the floor creaking when someone turns over in another room.

Every sound reminds him that they’re all still here alive, existing, but not together. He thinks of Dominic’s face at the door, of Tyler’s eyes avoiding his.

He wonders when living became surviving. He wonders if they’ll ever find their way back to anything that feels like warmth.

And then, in the dark, he whispers the words he can’t say out loud not to Dominic, not to Tyler, maybe not even to himself.

“I’m still here.”

The house doesn’t answer.