My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 249: By The Graveside Of A Man In Hell

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I watched as Adrien stepped into the room, usually so confident, but this time, he seemed a bit tentative, like he was walking on thin ice and trying not to break it.

I was ready for tension at this point whenever they were near, maybe Ethan would make a sharp remark, or Adrien would throw in some sarcasm to defend himself...but nothing like that came. The atmosphere felt heavy, but it didn’t crack. Ethan just looked up, gave a slight nod, and that moment passed without any drama.

Thank God, because this definitely wasn’t the time for that crap.

Adrien stood a respectful distance off, hands jammed in his jacket pockets.

"How you holding up?" he asked, his voice low and steady, lacking his usual edge.

Ethan let out a short, dry laugh that had no malice in it, just deep exhaustion wrapped in irony.

"Oh, you know, just living the dream..." He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that felt heartbreakingly normal. "Seriously, though... I’m still here. That counts for something, I guess."

Adrien nodded, like he understood more than he was saying. Then he surprised both of us by continuing,

"I get it. Or at least part of it. When my mom passed away when I was twelve. Car accident, one minute she was on my case about my grades, and then..." He shifted his weight, clearly uneasy with sharing that, but he pressed on anyway.

"People told me it’d get easier with time. They lied, it just changes. It’s quieter now, but that quiet hurts in different ways."

Ethan actually looked at him then, really looked, and something in his expression softened.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For saying that. Most people just pat me on the back and tell me to stay strong. Like that fixes anything."

Adrien gave a tiny, crooked grin, usually a sign of mischief, but right now it just looked worn out. "Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to keep."

I almost laughed, because the absurdity of the moment felt so human amidst everything else. Three of us standing in this too-big bedroom, exchanging grief like it was some currency we weren’t sure how to spend.

A few days later, the funeral came, gray and damp, the kind of weather that just made everything feel heavier than it already was. The cemetery was on the edge of Willow Haven, all neat grass and tasteful headstones that tried too hard to seem peaceful.

A small crowd gathered under black umbrellas, more than I expected, but fewer than Logan would have wanted. Paparazzi hovered at the edges like vultures, sensing there might be something scandalous to capture.

Reporters crept closer with their microphones and sympathetic frowns, hoping for a quote, a breakdown, a shot of Ethan’s grief. Each time one adjusted their lens in our direction, I felt a wave of disgust churning in my stomach. This wasn’t mourning; it felt like farming for content.

Adrien stood a few steps behind me, close enough for me to sense his presence without looking. I knew he was mostly there for me, but I also caught him watching Ethan with a newfound respect that hadn’t been there before.

Ethan and Adrien’s basketball teammates dotted the crowd in dark jackets and subdued ties, looking awkward and young and out of place. A couple of them kept glancing at Ethan, as if they wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start.

The service itself was brief and oddly impersonal. The minister spoke in careful, practiced tones about "a life cut short by struggle" and "the burdens we all carry," never once mentioning Logan by name in a way that felt human.

No stories about the man who used to grill burgers poorly or who taught Ethan how to throw a perfect spiral when he was eight. Just empty platitudes about a successful local businessman, a lawyer with connections, weighed down by financial stress and personal demons.

Whispers from the crowd filled in the blanks. They spoke in hushed tones that carried anyway, more curious than sorrowful, like they were dissecting a particularly juicy episode of a true-crime podcast instead of standing at a graveside of a man that killed himself.

Ethan stood at the front through it all, straight shoulders but distant eyes, that numb look etched so deeply into his face it troubled me more than tears ever would.

Tears would’ve been loud, messy, and understandable. This quiet vacancy felt like he’d turned inward and locked the door. I stayed close without crowding him, our shoulders brushing every now and then, a silent reminder that I was still there.

When the minister finally stepped back and the small crowd began to drift toward the parking lot, Ethan turned to me, voice barely above a whisper.

"Thanks for coming," he said. The words came out fragile, as if he wasn’t sure they’d hold together long enough to reach me. "Means more than you know."

I nodded, my throat tight. "Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

Adrien hung back near the edge of the group, observing more than participating. I noticed him tracking a few faces longer than necessary, his dad Keith next to my mom, both watching Ethan with an intensity that felt off.

Keith leaned in to chat with someone I didn’t recognize, his voice too low to catch, but his jaw was tight when the word "debts" drifted in the air. My mom’s hand rested lightly on his arm, a gesture that seemed supportive but also restrained.

I tucked that away as strange but didn’t dwell on it; people grieve in different ways, I reminded myself. Maybe Keith was just processing the loss of someone he once knew in his own quiet way.

After the formal part wrapped up and people started moving toward their cars, the three of us found ourselves near the gravel path back to the lot. Ethan stared at the freshly turned earth for a long moment, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets.

"I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel," he admitted quietly. "Part of me keeps waiting for the guilt to hit harder. The rest of me just... doesn’t care as much as it should."

Adrien surprised me again. He stepped closer, voice soft in a way I hadn’t heard from him before.

"You don’t have to mourn someone who hurt you just because they’re gone. That’s not how it works. You’re allowed to feel whatever mess comes up, relief, anger, or even nothing at all and none of it makes you the bad guy." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Ethan regarded him for a long moment, then gave the smallest nod. "Yeah. Thanks. That actually... helps. More than all the ’he’s in a better place’ crap I’ve been hearing...because I know for a fact, that he’s in hell."

Adrien shrugged, the smirk returning but softer this time. "Remember I told you not to get used to it, I still don’t like your ass."

I sighed in response...of course, Adrien just had to ruin it.

We started walking toward the cars, gravel crunching beneath our feet, the damp air clinging to our clothes. I hung back a step, letting Ethan and Adrien chat quietly ahead of me nothing dramatic, just a few murmured words about anything and everything and that’s when I caught Keith’s voice wafting from a cluster of people near the wrought-iron gate.

"Some matters are resolved best when they end permanently," he said, low and contemplative to my mom, the kind of tone people use at funerals when they want to sound wise instead of shaken.

At the time, it sounded like nothing, just another adult trying to make sense of something senseless. I filed it away with the day’s unease, chalking it up to grief twisting language in strange ways.

Later on...much later, those words would take on a whole new meaning.

And my life I thought was a mess... would get even messier.