CHAPTER 104

CHAPTER 104
POV: Ethan
The mornings hurt the most.
They used to mean warmth, the smell of coffee, Dominic’s quiet humming as he read the paper, sunlight crawling lazily across the floor. Now they’re cold and still, heavy with everything that isn’t said.
Ethan stands at the sink, staring at the same cup of coffee he hasn’t touched. His reflection in the window looks foreign, tired eyes, lips pressed tight, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a storm that never stops coming.
He hears Tyler in the living room, flipping through channels. The TV hums, low and restless. It’s background noise, but it grates on his nerves.
He shouldn’t feel like this. Not after what happened. Not after the choice he made or didn’t make, depending on how he looks at it.
He should hate Tyler. Sometimes he almost does.
But then there are moments, split seconds when he catches Tyler’s face in profile, calm and unreadable, and something inside him stirs in a way that terrifies him.
Because Tyler doesn’t look guilty. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t avoid him and that calm indifference burns more than any cruelty could. When Dominic walks in, the air shifts. It always does.
He greets them both quietly, his voice smooth but weary. He’s dressed for work, tie already knotted, a faint shadow under his eyes. The kind of exhaustion that isn’t about sleep.
Ethan forces a smile. “Morning.”
Dominic nods. “Morning.”
Tyler doesn’t look up from the couch. “Morning, boss,” he says lazily, the nickname carrying its usual trace of mockery.
Dominic ignores it but Ethan doesn’t miss the faint tightening of his jaw.
Ethan busies himself with cleaning a counter that’s already spotless. Anything to avoid their eyes. Anything to make the silence shorter.
Dominic takes his coffee, sets his briefcase by the door, and glances at Ethan. “You’ll be home later tonight?”
“Yeah,” Ethan answers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It sounds like a lie, even to him.
Dominic hesitates as if wanting to say something more but instead just nods and leaves. The door clicks shut behind him and then it’s just Ethan and Tyler again.
Tyler turns down the TV volume but doesn’t look at him. “You ever gonna stop pretending I’m not here?”
Ethan’s grip tightens on the rag he’s holding. “I’m not pretending.”
Tyler smirks, eyes still on the screen. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Ethan drops the rag, his pulse jumping. “What do you want from me?”
Tyler finally looks up. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
Tyler shrugs. “Then maybe I’m tired of telling the truth.”
The line is flippant, careless but something about the way he says it makes Ethan’s stomach twist. He wants to yell, to tell him he’s the reason everything’s broken, but the words won’t come. Because some part of him knows it’s not that simple.
“I can’t do this,” Ethan mutters, turning away.
Tyler leans back, voice softer now. “Then stop.”
Ethan freezes. “Stop what?”
“Feeling guilty.”
The words are a whisper, but they hit like a slap.
He turns, and Tyler’s gaze is steady, too steady. The kind that doesn’t waver even when it should.
Ethan’s throat tightens. “You think this is easy for me?”
Tyler’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I think you keep trying to make it harder.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was what happened,” Tyler says quietly. “But you didn’t stop it, did you?”
The silence that follows is unbearable. Ethan’s chest feels too tight. He hates the truth in Tyler’s tone, hates how it coils through him like smoke.
He wants to scream. To confess. To run. Instead, he whispers, “You make it sound like it didn’t mean anything.”
Tyler’s expression doesn’t change. “Did it?”
The question lands between them like glass shattering.
Ethan can’t answer not because he doesn’t know, but because he does. It didn’t mean love. It meant escape. A way to feel something, anything, when everything else was numb.
He swallows hard, shaking his head. “You don’t get to act like you’re the victim.”
Tyler laughs, a hollow sound that makes Ethan flinch. “Who said I was?”
He stands, brushing past him, the faint scent of smoke and rain trailing behind. “Relax. You’ll get to go back to being the good one soon enough.”
“Tyler….”
But the name hangs in the air as he walks away, door slamming down the hall.
Ethan exhales shakily, pressing his palms against the counter to keep from shaking. He tells himself he hates him. That he’s angry. That he’ll never forgive him.
And yet, when he hears Tyler’s footsteps fade, what he feels isn’t relief. It’s loss.
That night, Dominic sits beside him on the couch. The TV is on, but neither of them are really watching. The quiet stretches thin between them.
Ethan studies the flickering light on Dominic’s face, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint twitch of his fingers when he’s thinking too hard.
He looks older lately. Not physically, but in the way he carries himself careful and restrained, like he’s walking through a room filled with ghosts.
“Dom,” Ethan says softly. “Are you okay?”
Dominic’s eyes stay on the screen. “You’ve been asking me that a lot.”
“Because you’ve been distant.”
A pause. Then, “You’ve been distant first.”
The words sting more than they should. Ethan looks down, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” Dominic says. And then, quieter: “So am I.”
For a fleeting second, Ethan wants to tell him everything, the guilt, the confusion, the way Tyler’s presence feels like both gravity and poison. 
But the words dissolve before they reach his mouth. What could he say that wouldn’t destroy what little remains?
Instead, he nods, whispering, “I know.”
Dominic leans back, sighs. “We’ll figure it out.”
The words sound kind, but not convincing. And Ethan realizes, with a kind of hollow ache, that Dominic doesn’t even know what needs figuring out.
He watches him get up and head toward the bedroom, the echo of his footsteps steady and patient. He waits until the door closes before pressing a hand over his face.
He doesn’t cry, not because he’s strong, but because he’s too tired.
Somewhere down the hall, he hears a faint noise from Tyler’s room maybe laughter, maybe a door creaking open. He doesn’t move toward it this time. 
He just sits there in the half-dark, staring at the empty space between two closed doors. Hatred would be easier. Hatred would mean he’d stopped caring.
But the truth is uglier. He doesn’t hate Tyler. He just can’t stop being drawn to the very thing that’s destroying him.

Chapter 105