Elias’s lips traced a slow path from her jaw to the curve of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, her breath catching as warmth followed every point his mouth touched.
The baggy shirt she wore, soft, worn, too large for her frame—slipped slightly off one shoulder, exposing skin he hadn’t planned to see. His fingers brushed the edge of the fabric, not to remove it, but to feel the contrast between cloth and skin. Loose fabric, tight space.
It made everything more sensitive.
His hand slid beneath the hem, fingers brushing the bare skin of her waist. She gasped, a quiet hitch of breath that was too real to fake. But even as her body leaned in, her eyes betrayed her. Wide, anxious... and full of something he hadn’t expected.
She wasn’t just reacting to him. She was waiting... for someone else.
His lips paused against her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "You’re hoping he’ll feel this, aren’t you?" he murmured, low and flat. "That he’ll come back because of this."
She didn’t answer and her eyes stayed on him.
Daisy’s chest was still rising and falling quickly, her breath shallow as she tried to calm herself. "I’m not trying to sleep with you—"
"So how far do you plan to go?" Elias cut in, his voice sharp. The smirk he wore wasn’t amusement, it was irritation laced with something deeper. "You think it’s fair? Kissing me with your eyes full of someone else? Or is this just a test, to see if he’ll claw his way back when he feels your desperation?"
She didn’t answer right away. Her hands clutched the edge of the shirt he’d nearly pulled up, her knuckles white.
"I don’t know," she finally whispered. "But if there’s even a chance he’s still in there... I’ll do anything to reach him."
Elias’s jaw tightened. "Even if it means using me?"
Her voice faltered. "You’re him too."
He let out a humorless laugh. "No. I’m what’s left after he’s gone."
The warmth of his body, just seconds ago pressing her into the mattress, vanished like a wave receding. He sat at the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, head bowed, as if the act of touching her had drained something out of him.
"You know," he muttered, his voice flat, distant, "he was the one they loved."
His back was to her, but his shoulders tensed, just enough to show he was fighting something invisible.
"I wasn’t born out of love, Daisy." He gave a dry, humorless laugh. "I was made. Built from guilt, stitched together with silence."
She didn’t speak. She sat up slowly behind him, the oversized shirt falling back over her shoulder, her hand frozen midair like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to reach for him.
"No... no, actually—" his voice cracked softly, "I was wrong. I wasn’t born... Wasn’t created."
A pause. Then, quieter.
"I was abandoned." His head bowed lower. "The one they didn’t want. The one who was supposed to die. Just the plus one to the other one."
His fingers tightened over his knee.
"Hmm," he exhaled a bitter breath. "And now here you are, looking at me like I’m some kind of door. A secret key to the boy who didn’t want to be here anymore."
Behind him, Daisy finally lowered her hand. Her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket like she was holding on to something that might disappear too.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
He looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes weren’t angry, just tired. Like whatever held him together was starting to split at the seams.
"I mean..." His voice was hoarse, "he didn’t want to be me anymore."
"So he left. Buried me. Shut me up like some mistake he couldn’t fix."
His lips twitched, not in a smile, just muscle memory from someone who used to laugh more than cry. "I wasn’t created. I was what he threw away."
Then, quieter, almost to himself, "I was the one everyone blamed, a mistake? Too loud, too much, always in the wrong place. The extra. The shadow. The wrong one, who was left behind."
He stood suddenly, too fast for her to stop him. The mattress barely had time to breathe without his weight.
She stayed still, frozen.
He didn’t look at her again. Just crossed the room and shut the bathroom door behind him.
And for a long, aching hour, nothing moved.
She sat there, still. Her hand was still curled in the blanket like her body hadn’t gotten the message to every word.
’What did he mean... the one he abandoned?’
Her mind looped around the words, trying to land somewhere solid. But it kept slipping, too many layers, too many cracks between what he said and what he meant.
He spoke like someone left behind. But also like someone who’d been blamed for staying.
’Had Theo abandoned... himself?’
Her stomach tightened.
’Was Elias just what Theo left behind so he could survive?’
She closed her eyes. Not to cry but to breathe. But the air felt heavier than before, thick and unmoving, as if it carried the weight of every word he hadn’t said aloud. The room felt suffocating now, like Elias’s pain had soaked into the walls, staining them invisible.
When the bathroom door finally opened, she looked up instinctively.
But he didn’t look back.
He stepped out in fresh clothes, simple, casual, like he was heading out for a walk. His damp hair clung to his neck, his face unreadable, expression blank.
"Where are you going?" Daisy stood, her voice shaky as she hurried after him. Her hand reached out, grazing the edge of his sleeve. "Elias—wait—"
He didn’t answer and didn’t even slow down.
Opening the door, he stepped out.
"Elias!" she called again, already halfway after him, her bare feet cold against the hallway floor.
She caught up just as he reached the stairs, her fingers brushing his arm.
But then, a cheerful voice cut through the quiet morning, "Good morning, you two..."
Elias’s eyes flicked up. He tilted his head slightly toward the voice, lips curling into a smile.
"Good morning, Mom," he said.
And right at that second, Evelyn froze.
Because that smile was the kind of smile Theo left behind ten years ago.