My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 40: The Morning After

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When I finally stirred awake, it was almost noon. The gray light filtering through my curtains mirrored the dull ache in my arm. It felt like my whole body had been run over—by a truck or maybe just by yesterday. Every muscle screamed in protest as I pushed myself up from bed. Memories of the game and the fight rushed back like an unwelcome movie replay. I remembered Ethan walking me home, at least to Ridge Street... Mom and Keith were out that evening, and I slipped into bed, hoping to sleep reality away.

The house was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of footsteps in the hallway. Then there was a soft knock, and Mom peeked her head in, holding a tray. "You’re awake," she said, her voice softening with relief. "Good. I brought you some tea and toast. You need to eat something."

"Mom, I’m fine," I replied, even though the sight of that warm mug reminded me I hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

She came in anyway, placing the tray on my nightstand and feeling my forehead with the back of her hand. "You scared me half to death, Noah. Running into the middle of that fight—what on earth were you thinking?"

I stared at my blanket, unable to meet her eyes. "I wasn’t thinking. I just... didn’t want Ethan or anyone else to get hurt."

She sighed, brushing my hair back like she always did when she was worried. "You’ve got a good heart, but sometimes that heart of yours makes me want to wrap you in bubble wrap."

That almost made me laugh, but it came out more as a weak smile. "I promise, no more reckless heroics," I said quietly.

She studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust me, then finally nodded. "Eat something and take your painkillers, okay? I’ll be downstairs if you need anything."

As the door clicked shut, I sank back into my pillows, the tea now forgotten on my nightstand. My phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time, vibrating against the sheets like a pesky bee. I grabbed it and saw a flood of messages—Gigi, Skylar, and what felt like half the school.

Gigi💅🏾: Boy, are you okay now?! You’re literally trending on the school page!!

Skylar💀: Do you want Gigi to come over? She’s still worried about you and she won’t stop pacing around the house.

I groaned and scrolled until a notification caught my eye: a post from the official school account. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

THE WOLVES BREAK THEIR WINNING STREAK AND THEIR TOP PLAYERS THROW HANDS!

Seriously... who comes up with these headlines?

The photo below showed a blurry snapshot of Ethan and Adrien mid-fight, coaches and teammates trying to pull them apart. My stomach twisted painfully.

Then came another message in the class group chat: Principal’s office update: Adrien Fell and Ethan Seymour are both suspended for two weeks.

I sank deeper into the blankets, staring at the ceiling as my chest tightened. Two weeks. Two weeks of fallout, whispers, and judgment.

I tossed my phone aside and covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t tell who I was more upset with—Adrien for starting it, Ethan for losing control even after apologizing like crazy yesterday, or myself for jumping in like some clueless female main character in a bad movie who’d say stuff like, "No! Stop, don’t fight! This isn’t you!"

The house was quiet again, but somehow it felt louder than ever.

I curled deeper under my blanket, trying to block out everything—the ache in my arm, the ceaseless buzzing of my phone, the thoughts spiraling in my head. Guilt pressed down on my chest like an unshakable weight. I kept replaying it all—the shouting, the flurry of fists, Ethan’s expression when I stepped in, Adrien’s furious eyes just before everything went black around the edges.

It was supposed to be just another game. How on earth did it turn into this?

I pulled the blanket tighter, inhaling the faint scent of laundry detergent and lavender, wishing it could soothe the knot twisting inside me. But then, from downstairs, a voice sliced through the silence—deep, angry, unmistakably Keith’s.

"Adrien! You humiliated this family!" His voice boomed through the house, each word heavy with disappointment and rage. I froze, my heartbeat quickening as I stared at the door. "Do you even understand what you’ve done? You can’t act like a spoiled brat just because you don’t like change!"

I heard a muffled reply—Adrien’s voice, low and defensive, though I couldn’t catch the words.

Keith’s anger only escalated. "No, don’t you dare talk back to me! I’m done with your attitude. You think you can go around throwing punches and not face consequences? You’re not a kid anymore, Adrien! If you can’t handle living with your step family, maybe you should just leave!"

My breath hitched. His words echoed harshly up the stairs, reverberating in the charged air.

"Keith, please," Mom’s voice interrupted, soft but pleading. "You’re upset, but yelling won’t solve anything. Just let him—"

"I’ve been patient long enough, Helen!" Keith shot back, cutting her off. "He’s tarnished this family’s name, embarrassed me, and now he’s hurt Noah. This isn’t how I raised him."

The scraping sound of a chair against the floor followed—a sharp, final gesture.

I found myself halfway down the stairs before I even realized I’d moved. My fingers tightened around the railing as I peeked around the corner. I caught a glimpse of Keith standing rigid in the living room, his face flushed with anger. Mom was close by, one hand pressed to her temple, while Adrien slouched on the couch, his gaze fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched.

Seeing him like that—silent and almost defeated made my chest ache more than I wanted to admit.

I didn’t belong there. Not in that moment.

I quietly backed away, my steps light against the carpet, retreating upstairs before anyone could notice. Back in my room, I shut the door softly and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.

The yelling downstairs continued in muffled bursts, rising and falling like the tide. I climbed into bed again, pulling the blanket up to my chin, wishing I could just vanish into it. The guilt, which had been gnawing at me before, settled deeper, heavier, threading itself through every breath.

Maybe this was my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten involved, things wouldn’t have spiraled this far.

I buried my face in my pillow and whispered to the empty room, "Fuck my life."