My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 248: Still Safe With You
Noah’s Pov
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
I found my usual spot at the back of class, the kind of seat that lets me stay under the radar, and the empty chairs a couple of rows ahead hit me harder than I’d expected. Ethan’s desk wasn’t just empty, it felt like an intentional gap, like how your tongue keeps poking where a tooth used to be.
The desk was too neat, lacking the usual chaos of notes or random doodles about basketball plays, and when Mrs. Harlan called the roll, she hesitated just a bit too long after saying his name before moving on with a quiet, "absent due to family circumstances."
The word "tragedy" floated in whispers behind me, like a rumor everyone was itching to share.
"Did you hear about his uncle?"
"Yeah, it was suicide or some accident."
"Poor guy, he seemed so put together."
"I wonder how Ethan’s taking this, I heard Ethan and his uncle were really close."
Each mention twisted something sharp in my chest, a reminder that the golden boy who used to flash that easy smile my way was going through something I couldn’t help him with from a distance.
I kept checking my phone more than I’d like to admit, sneaking it out during independent reading and pretending to look up vocabulary. It wasn’t really obsessive...ok maybe it was, a little bit.
But just enough glances to show the concern that had settled in my stomach since the news hit. I’d type messages like,
"Hey, heard what happened.", "If you need to talk..." or "I’m here if you want company, no pressure,"
Only to delete them before hitting send. The distance between us felt like walking a tightrope over quicksand; I wasn’t sure if reaching out would bring comfort or just add to the burden, another reminder of the chaos.
That uncertainty weighed heavily on me, like wearing a sweater two sizes too small in an already warm room.
Adrien noticed, of course. He always did. We were paired up for a group discussion on symbolism in a poem that I couldn’t focus on, and instead of his usual teasing nudge or sarcastic remark about my wandering attention, he leaned in quietly after the bell rang.
"Have you heard from him?" he asked, his voice low enough not to carry. When I shook my head, a silence stretched between us, heavier than words.
There was no jealousy in his eyes, just a furrowed brow and maybe a hint of conflict, like he was weighing his own place in all this. In that moment, it made me appreciate him a bit more, his maturity shining through in a calm, unassuming way.
Later that afternoon, while I was halfway through a lukewarm sandwich in the cafeteria, the text came through. My phone buzzed against the table, and it was him.
Ethan 💖💙: You can come by if you want. I see you typing and deleting stuff.
Short and simple, missing his usual playful tone or those endless emojis he loved to send. It didn’t feel like a plea or an outpouring of emotion, just a straightforward invitation that somehow felt even more significant, like he was extending a hand but unsure if he should grasp it.
As we walked home, I told Adrien about it, the autumn leaves crunching beneath our feet in a rhythm that almost felt normal.
"I’m going to Ethan’s house," I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the flip in my stomach. He didn’t hesitate.
"I’m coming with you," he replied, not in a possessive way, but with a protective vibe that softened his insistence.
The drive to Ethan’s felt longer than usual, the quiet streets of Willow Haven winding under a sky that looked like it might rain but never quite did. When we arrived, the house seemed different, subdued in a way that went beyond the half-drawn curtains.
The big colonial-style place, usually filled with the faint hum of life, felt disrupted. A slight smell of stale coffee hung by the porch, as if someone had brewed a pot days ago and left it there, and maybe there was a trace of incense trying too hard to cover the emptiness.
Ethan’s car was the only vehicle in the driveway; his parents were still nowhere to be found, leaving him alone in that large, sterile space going through all this alone.
Ethan opened the door after my hesitant knock. He didn’t look wrecked like I’d half-expected; he just seemed tired, the kind of deep exhaustion that comes from pointless nights and mornings that blur together.
His blond hair was messy, and the sparkle in his eyes had faded to a muted glow. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and he had a slight slump that made my heart ache.
Adrien stayed back in the sitting room without needing to be told, reading the atmosphere in that way he does.
He gave me a small nod that said go ahead, then leaned against the porch railing, pretending to scroll through his phone but really listening for any odd sounds. It let Ethan and me avoid forced small talk too soon, giving us the space we needed.
Inside, the house wrapped around us like an oversized coat, the living room lights casting long shadows across furniture that hadn’t seen a change in years. I started with simple questions, not wanting to jump into the heavy stuff too quickly.
"Have you eaten anything today?" I asked softly as we sank into Ethan’s bed, the mattress sinking under us. "Or slept more than a couple of hours? Are the police still calling with updates, or has it quieted down?"
He shrugged, the motion tired. "A little. Toast this morning, I think. Sleep is... optional right now." His voice had that hollow edge, but he added a faint, self-aware twist to his mouth, like he knew how ridiculous it sounded.
The hug felt a bit awkward at first. I hesitated, unsure if crossing that invisible line was okay, but Ethan was the one who leaned in first, pulling me close until his head rested against my shoulder. The contact felt necessary, like he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed it until it was there, solid and warm.
We stayed like that for a while, the quiet stretching comfortably, and I let myself inhale the familiar scent of his hoodie mixed with whatever laundry detergent he used.
"I’m so sorry," I breathed out.
"It’s...fine, I’m just glad you’re here."
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to talk. "The...the police are already treating it like a closed case. Suicide, they say, stress from the dealerships, financial mess piling up. It’s all wrapped up neat and tidy, like a bad gift you don’t want to look at again."
He let out a hollow laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the sound echoing oddly in the empty house, and then he started talking more openly. "But it doesn’t sit right with me. Logan wasn’t... he wasn’t the type to just check out like that."
He confided something deeper then, his voice dropping as he stared at the carpet.
"I...uh, I keep feeling this anger at myself, you know? For being relieved in some twisted way. He was abusive, manipulative, had control over everything after my parents left. And now that he’s gone, part of me feels... free. Like I can finally breathe without waiting for the next explosion. But hating that part of myself makes the grief messier. I’m supposed to be devastated, right? Not sitting here wondering if this is a mercy or just another trap."
I listened, choosing my words carefully because clichés would have felt cheap at that moment.
"Complicated feelings don’t mean you’re cruel, Ethan. They make you human. The guy who raised you...kind of, put you through hell, and it’s okay to recognize the relief along with the loss. It doesn’t erase the good parts, if there were any, and it definitely doesn’t mean you’re heartless. You can feel the whole messy mix without having to pick a side."
It turned into one of those bonding moments that reminded me why we connected in the first place, where words bridged the gap our break had created and pulled us back to something real.
Our conversation shifted gradually toward the mystery as the afternoon light softened through the windows. Ethan mentioned how the police had taken Logan’s phone and laptop but didn’t seem keen on digging deeper.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, a text from Adrien checking in. Ethan caught the quick look I gave the screen, his expression shifting to understanding rather than surprise.
"So that Asshole came too." he asked softly.
I nodded, bracing myself a little, but Ethan just acknowledged me with a slow nod of his own. "Yeah, but he’s keeping his distance because he’s not sure if you’ll accept his condolences or tell him to fuck off."
Ethan chuckled.
"He saved you too," he said, his words carrying a thoughtful resignation. "Guess I owe him that much."
And I texted Adrien to come join us.
A moment later, the front door creaked open and Adrien stepped inside, his face carefully neutral as he lingered near the entrance.
I knew him well enough to see the layers underneath, the way he held back because this kind of emotion didn’t come with easy instructions, the quiet storm he kept hidden when words failed him.
