My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

The words hung between us like smoke from a fire I’d just started, thick and suffocating, impossible to blow away. Ethan paused, his hand halfway to his mouth, the pepperoni pizza slice drooping slightly, cheese stretching in a thin, reluctant strand. His beautiful blue eyes, usually so warm and easy to read, widened for just a moment before something clicked shut behind them, like a light going off in a room where I’d always felt welcome.

"A break?" he echoed, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it, almost cautious, as if saying it too loudly could cause it to shatter. He lowered the pizza back onto the paper plate, wiping his fingers slowly on a napkin, even though there was hardly any grease on them. "Noah... what do you mean by that?"

My throat felt raw, like I’d swallowed sand. I focused on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, tracing its pattern with my eyes because meeting his gaze felt impossible. The pizza place buzzed with warmth and laughter from nearby families, the clatter of trays, the hiss of the soda machine—but everything felt muted, like I was underwater, and he was on the surface.

"I mean..." I began, then hesitated, forcing myself to breathe. "I need some time. Space. To sort things out."

The words felt bitter and wrong, but they were the closest I could get to the truth without completely breaking apart. I couldn’t tell him how my heart raced whenever Adrien walked in, couldn’t admit I’d been pretending not to notice how my eyes followed him when I thought no one was watching. Ethan didn’t deserve that kind of honesty—not when I barely understood it myself.

He leaned back against the red vinyl booth, the playful light that had been in his eyes when he first sat down now completely vanished. His basketball jersey was still damp from practice, hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way that used to make my stomach flip. Now it just made my chest ache.

"Figure things out," he repeated, nodding slowly like he was testing the phrase. "Okay. So... is this about the party? What happened that night?"

His voice remained even, but I could hear the strain beneath it—he was working hard to keep it steady.

I shook my head too quickly. "No, not exactly."

That wasn’t a lie, and we both knew it. But the party had been the crack that widened into this chasm, the moment I realized I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. But I couldn’t say that either.

Ethan’s gaze searched my face, gentle and thorough, the same way he looked at me when I was upset about a bad grade or a fight with my mom—like he genuinely believed he could fix whatever was bothering me if he just tried hard enough. That look made everything worse.

"Noah," he said softly, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. His palm was warm and familiar, calloused from hours on the court. "Talk to me. Please. Whatever it is, we can work through it together. We always have."