My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 58: Of Time And Space
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3rd Person’s POV
The house was too big for one person. Too clean, too polished, and too quiet. It stood like a museum of wealth, the kind of place people admired from the outside but would never feel at home in. Every surface gleamed, every picture frame hung perfectly straight, and yet there was no warmth anywhere, just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the echo of footsteps on marble floors.
Ethan dropped his duffel bag by the staircase, the sound too loud in the silence. He hated how empty the place felt, how it seemed to swallow him whole. The lights flickered against the golden accents on the walls, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about how his mother used to hum in the kitchen, how his father’s laughter once filled the hallways during dinner parties. But that was years ago, before they decided the world was more interesting than their son.
They’d left when he was fourteen, a quick announcement over brunch that they were taking a "temporary sabbatical" to travel and "find themselves." The sabbatical never ended. They called sometimes, sent gifts with shiny ribbons and meaningless cards signed Love, Mom & Dad. It was always love written in ink, never spoken aloud.
When they left, his uncle stepped in, on paper, at least. The man was charming when he needed to be, always smiling for reporters, always shaking hands at charity events. To everyone else, he was respectable, warm, dependable. But behind closed doors, Ethan knew better.
That same smile would vanish in an instant, replaced by harsh words and colder silences. He learned quickly that speaking up only made things worse, so he started pretending instead pretending he was fine, pretending nothing bothered him.
The charm came easy after that. The grin, the teasing, the lighthearted jokes that people mistook for confidence. It was armor. If he made everyone laugh, no one would see how empty it felt inside. No one would know how quiet his nights were or how the echo of that house sometimes kept him awake.
He walked past the grand piano that hadn’t been touched in years and into the kitchen, his reflection catching in the floor-to-ceiling windows. His own face stared back at him, tired eyes, bruised cheek, the faintest trace of a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like the punchline of his own joke.
"Guess it’s just you and me again," he murmured to the empty room, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off. His voice sounded foreign, almost hollow. He leaned against the counter and sighed, the weight of the night settling over him.
He didn’t like thinking about how good it had felt when Noah blushed and smiled at him, or how he’d made that emptiness fade just a little. He made him forget how lonely this house could be. And now that he wasn’t around, now that everything between them had cracked...he could feel it all over again.
The silence pressed in, heavier than ever.
The next few days blurred together in a haze of silence and restless pacing. Ethan’s phone barely left his hand every few minutes, he’d check the screen again, half-hoping for a message that wasn’t already there, half-dreading the idea of having to answer the ones that were. Noah’s texts stacked up like unspoken apologies, each one blinking back at him like a quiet accusation.
He told himself he just needed time. Space. A chance to cool off and think before saying something he couldn’t take back. But the truth was simpler and uglier. He was scared. Scared of what might come out if he stopped pretending to be fine. Scared of admitting how much Noah actually mattered more to him than he’d ever realized.
The bandages on his face itched, a dull reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he peeled them off carefully, wincing as the gauze tugged at the raw skin beneath. The bruises had started to fade, yellow and purple blooming like watercolor stains across his cheek and jaw. It wasn’t the kind of wound you could explain away with a casual laugh, though he’d tried to.
He stared at his reflection, the memory of Noah’s shocked face at the diner flashing through his mind. The way he’d reached for him when he saw the bruises. The way he’d smiled and told her they were from the fight, a half-truth that came out too easily.
The real reason sat heavier on his chest than he liked to admit. His uncle’s temper had always been unpredictable, a storm that could hit without warning. That night, it was triggered by something small, a broken glass, a careless word and Ethan had learned, yet again, that sometimes silence was safer than defiance.
He tightened a fresh bandage around his knuckles, his movements slow, deliberate. The hypocrisy of it all hit him like a punch. Here he was, furious at Noah for keeping secrets, while he was hiding bruises behind smiles and laughter. He’d convinced himself he had the right to be angry, but maybe he wasn’t any better.
He let out a sharp breath and leaned forward, resting his palms against the sink. His reflection looked back at him, tired and unguarded.
"Yeah," he muttered under his breath, voice rough. "Real honest, huh?"
The guilt sat heavy in his chest, pressing harder with every second. Noah had lied, yes, but he’d done the same, just with prettier words and a steadier smile. Maybe that was worse.
He reached for his phone again, thumb hovering over Noah’s name in his messages. The urge to type something anything was almost unbearable. He could picture his face when he read it, the way he’d smile softly when his name appeared on Ethan’s screen. But then his courage faltered, and he locked the phone again, tossing it onto the bed beside him.
"I’ll text him tomorrow," he said quietly, even though he didn’t believe it...he might get needy and text her much earlier.
When he finally looked back at the mirror, his own eyes looked different. Softer and sadder. Like he was done pretending he didn’t miss him.
