My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

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Waking up the next morning, I immediately felt that familiar knot of guilt in my stomach, even before I had rolled out of bed. Gigi’s name had been sitting unread in my messages for days, those little blue bubbles I’d opened, half-written replies I never sent.

I had told myself it was valid because Ethan needed me, the investigation was spiraling, and everything felt too big and urgent to stop for normal friend stuff.

But the reality was harsher: I had been a terrible friend, too caught up in my own mess to even check if she was doing okay. I wished she’d understand. I hoped she wouldn’t hate me for it. Mostly, I just wanted her to pick up when I called.

Sitting on the edge of my bed in sweatpants and an old hoodie, I pressed my phone to my ear as it rang straight to voicemail for the third time.

Her cheerful outgoing message played, "Hey, it’s Gigi, leave a message or don’t, but if you don’t I’ll assume you’re dead and start planning your funeral playlist"

And I winced at how normal it sounded, so untouched by the chaos I’d found myself in. When the beep came, I hesitated and then spoke quietly.

"Hey. It’s me. I realize I’ve been ghosting everyone, including you, and I’m really sorry. Disappearing wasn’t my intention. Things have been... a lot. But that’s no excuse. So, maybe call me back when you can? Or text. Or just show up at my house with snacks and tell me I’m the worst. Whatever. I miss you."

I hung up, staring at the screen for another thirty seconds as if it might magically light up with her name. Finally, I tossed the phone onto the comforter.

The house felt too quiet and too big, the kind of quiet where every thought echoed louder. I had invited Ethan over today mostly because I couldn’t stand the thought of him rattling around alone in that big, empty house any longer, and also because I needed the noise...his noise, Adrien’s noise, anything to drown out the guilt and the waiting.

By early afternoon, the three of us were sprawled across the media room at Oakfield, the massive sectional couch swallowing us up while sunlight streamed through the tall windows, turning the hardwood floors golden.

Ethan had claimed the middle cushion as if it were his birthright, legs stretched out and one arm casually draped over the backrest.