My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

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I was sitting cross-legged on Ethan’s living room floor that Saturday afternoon, surrounded by a bit of disarray that comes after police have gone through someone’s life.

There were cardboard boxes with evidence tape still hanging on the sides, manila envelopes stamped with official seals, and a few plastic bags containing personal items that looked oddly small and sad without their context.

The three of us, Ethan, Adrien, and I...had somehow turned this whole mess into a strange, subdued version of show-and-tell, passing things around like we were archaeologists digging through the remnants of someone else’s mistakes.

It felt oddly domestic, almost comforting in its ridiculousness. Sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds, casting lazy golden bars across the hardwood floor, catching dust motes that floated like tiny planets.

Ethan had pulled out an old throw blanket to sit on because the floor was chilly, and somehow that simple act made everything feel less sterile. We weren’t grieving in a dramatic way; we were just... sorting. Opening envelopes, unfolding papers, making quiet comments about utility bills and dealership receipts like we were helping a friend move, not going through the aftermath of a death.

Adrien was the first to find something that actually made us stop. He pulled out a battered metal trophy from one of the deeper boxes, the kind schools give out for participation rather than excellence.

The little gold-plated figure on top was caught mid-jump, basketball tucked under one arm, and the plaque read, "Most Improved Player, Willow Haven Youth League, Age 10." Ethan’s name was etched into it in slightly crooked letters.

Adrien held it up like it was buried treasure, an eyebrow raised in perfect mockery. "Well, look at this. Little Ethan Seymour, already on his way to becoming a Golden boy. Did they give you a participation ribbon too, or was the trophy enough for your ego?"

Ethan snatched it from him with feigned indignation, though his mouth twitched upward.

"Shut up, Asshole. I earned that. Coach said I went from ’can’t dribble without tripping’ to ’almost tolerable.’ High praise."

I couldn’t help but laugh, surprised at how genuine it felt after so many heavy days. "You still have the trophy. That’s cute."