My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 251: Of Egos and Egg rolls

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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.

Adrien sat on the opposite end, knees pulled up, pretending to scroll his phone but really watching us both with that sharp, quiet focus he always seemed to have.

I was cross-legged on the floor between them, back against the couch, trying to mediate what had started as a casual chat about the case and quickly turned into petty bickering that would’ve been funny if I hadn’t felt so worn out.

Ethan waved his hand dramatically. "I’m telling you, the handwriting thing is the key. If someone forged that note, they must have seen his writing before, close access, probably someone he did business with regularly. We start with the dealership records and cross-reference signatures—"

Adrien snorted without looking up from his screen. "Brilliant plan, Sherlock. Except the police still have the dealership records, and they closed the case in forty-eight hours. You really think they’re gonna hand over sensitive financial documents to three teenagers just because you asked nicely?"

Ethan turned to him with an exaggerated look of patience. "I’m not asking them. I’m saying we look at public filings, old contracts, anything with his signature that’s already out there. You know, actual detective work instead of just waiting for the killer to magically confess over Sunday brunch."

Adrien finally looked over, eyebrow raised.

Ethan laughed, short and incredulous. "A bullet to the head in a motel room isn’t ’reckless.’ That’s execution-style, that’s personal."

They kept going like that, voices rising and falling, each convinced the other was missing something obvious while missing half of it themselves. I tried to interject.

"Guys, maybe we can just list out the suspects instead of—" but they steamrolled right over me, talking past each other until my patience finally snapped like an old rubber band. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"Both of you shut the actual fuck up!"

The room fell instantly, blissfully silent.

Ethan blinked at me, mouth half-open mid-sentence. Adrien’s eyebrows shot up. I rubbed my temples, feeling suddenly drained.

"God," I muttered. "Both of you. I invited you here to hang out, not to stage a debate club death match over who gets to be the smartest in the room. Can we just... not?"

More silence. Then Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly. "Want a drink? There’s soda in the fridge. Or... water. Or whatever."

Adrien thought about it for a second, then gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Sure. Soda’s fine."

Ethan stood, stretched, and went towards the kitchen. When he returned, he handed Adrien a can without ceremony, cracked his own open, and dropped back onto the couch. They didn’t say thank you. They didn’t need to. It was the tiniest truce in the history of truces, but it felt like a step forward.

Later, we ended up eating Chinese takeout straight from the cartons because Adrien had flatly refused the chef’s salmon and roasted veggies ("I’m not eating food that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread").

We sat on the floor around the coffee table, chopsticks clacking together, sauce dripping onto napkins we’d laid out like makeshift placemats.

Egg rolls went around. Fried rice got contested. Ethan accidentally flicked a piece of broccoli at Adrien, who retaliated by balancing a potsticker on Ethan’s head until it slid off and landed in his lap.

I watched them, two guys who still mostly couldn’t stand each other—trading jabs and sharing food like they’d done it a million times before, and something warm and unexpected settled in my chest.

This... this felt right to me.

The mood shifted when Keith and Mom walked in from whatever late-afternoon meeting they’d been at. They paused in the doorway, smiles already forming, but those smiles looked a bit too polished, a little too bright.

"Ethan," Mom said warmly, stepping forward. "What a nice surprise. We didn’t know you were coming over."

Keith nodded beside her, hands in his pockets. "Good to see you, son. How have you been holding up?"

Ethan straightened up slightly, polite reflex kicking in.

"I’ve been better," he replied honestly, "but Noah and...Adrien have been keeping me sane. Honestly, I’d be climbing the walls without them."

Keith’s gaze flicked between us three. "So you’ve been spending a lot of time together lately?"

Ethan hesitated, then shrugged. "I guess? Yeah."

I frowned at the question, it felt oddly specific...but before I could say anything, Mom was already ushering me toward the armchair. "Noah, sweetheart, come sit. Have some tea. Your boyfriend is welcome here as long as he needs."

Ethan gave a small, charming, slightly nervous laugh. "Actually... Noah and I aren’t really a thing anymore. We’re on a break. Or... were. I don’t know. It’s complicated."

Mom’s eyes widened. "You broke up?"

I stiffened. "We were on a break," I interjected, my voice flatter than I intended.

She went quiet, her mouth parting like she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. The silence stretched long enough to feel uncomfortable.

Then she recovered, offering Ethan a cup of tea with a gentle smile. "Well. Tea, then. You stay as long as you like."

Ethan stayed until early evening, sipping tea and making small talk with my mom while I lingered nearby, trying not to read too much into how Keith kept glancing at his watch.

When it was finally time for Ethan to leave, I walked him out to his car, the night air crisp and faintly smelling of pine from the woods behind the house.

At the driver’s side door, he turned to me, his expression softer than it had been all day. "Thanks for today. Really."

I stepped closer and pulled him into a hug, my arms tight around his shoulders. "I’ll see you at the Snow Ball tomorrow?"

He hugged me back just as tightly. "Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it."

When we pulled apart, he smirked, that familiar spark returning to his eyes. "You know you’re going to look breathtaking, right?"

Heat rushed to my face before I could stop it. "Shut up."

He laughed quietly, got into the truck, and drove off, the taillights fading down the long driveway. I stood there a moment longer, arms wrapped around myself against the chill, smiling despite everything.

Tomorrow was the Snow Ball. Tomorrow we’d dance and pretend the world wasn’t falling apart.