Chapter Text
Aaron
The sound of Exy shoes squeaking against the floor is almost relaxing. A constant, familiar background noise. Aaron moves across the court without thinking too much, every motion born of habit more than real focus. Andrew is a few meters behind him, silent as always, and Neil is running forward with that damn conviction he’s had for months now. He’s even vice-captain now.
"Cover the left wing, Minyard!" Wymack yells from the sidelines, but Aaron doesn’t answer. He does it, shifts over, but says nothing. Kevin mutters something he doesn’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. The court is a stage, and everyone is just playing their parts.
Neil laughs at something Nicky says during a break. Andrew has that hint of a smile only Neil can get out of him, and Aaron hates it. Hates everything about Neil. Whatever disgusting, exclusive thing he and his brother have.
"You in or what?" Kevin plants himself in front of him, gaze full of irritation. "You’re sleepwalking, for fuck’s sake."
Aaron ignores him and turns away. "I’m fine."
"Doesn’t look like it."
"Not your problem."
The day goes on. Drills, strategies, corrections. With every step, every play, Aaron feels the distance growing. No one notices. Not even Katelyn, who gives him a tired smile from the bleachers while flipping through her notes. He gives her the smallest of nods. He doesn’t feel like talking. Not even to her.
The shower runs, steam clinging to his skin. Aaron stays under the water longer than necessary, listening to the voices outside. Andrew and Neil are discussing something, low voices, conspiratorial. The sound grates on him, irritates a part of him he can’t scratch. It makes him want to kill them.
When he comes out, Andrew is already dressed in his usual black tracksuit, towel-drying his hair, and Neil is pulling on a Fox hoodie. He glances at Aaron, and for a second Aaron thinks he’s going to speak to him. But he doesn’t. He just smiles—barely—and turns back to Andrew.
“Going to Bee today?” Neil asks.
“Yeah.”
Aaron scoffs quietly. "Lucky me, huh?" he says, dryly, and Nicky gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.
"Love the enthusiasm, Aaron," Nicky comments, sarcastic. "Want me to come too, so I can pretend to be the spiritual mediator between you and your evil twin?"
Aaron doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t feel like it.
Classes. Anatomy, a statistics seminar on hospital incidents. The usual. Katelyn texts him twice, and he replies with a thumbs-up and a “later.” It’s not entirely true. He doesn’t know if he wants to see her. They only have one class together today.
He makes it just in time to slide into the passenger seat. The Maserati engine is already roaring.
He bets if he’d been one more minute late, Andrew would’ve left without him.
All Dobson’s fault, moving the fucking meeting to the afternoon.
The room is the same as always: cozy, too warm, with those pillows no one dares touch. No one except Andrew, obviously.
Betsy looks at them like she already knows everything, and maybe she does. Or maybe she’s just that good at pretending.
“Do we want to start with you today, Aaron?” she asks calmly.
He crosses his arms. “There’s nothing to say.”
“There’s always something to say.”
Andrew stares at the floor. Silent. Present. Infuriating.
Aaron clenches his jaw. “No. There isn’t.”
Betsy leans forward slightly. “Last time, you implied you were feeling left out. Do we want to pick up from there?”
“Left out of what?”
“Of the bond your brother has built with Neil.”
A dry laugh escapes his lips. “Josten has nothing to do with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Andrew says nothing, but Aaron feels his gaze. Or maybe he imagines it. Maybe he hopes for it. He can’t fucking stand it—not when he looks at him like that. With disgust.
When they leave Betsy’s office, Andrew keeps up his selective mutism. Doesn’t look at him. Walks beside him like they hadn’t just spent an hour in thick, toxic silence.
Aaron follows him down the hallway, one step behind. Andrew leads them to the parking lot where, of course, uninvited and unsurprisingly, Neil appears—waiting, sitting on the hood of the car.
Aaron has to pretend he doesn’t remember it was Josten who bought the Maserati. With bloodstained money.
He gets up the moment he sees them, and the look he gives Andrew is anything but casual. Intimate. Protective. Steady.
“Ready?” Neil says.
Andrew nods and turns without even glancing at Aaron. He tosses the keys to Neil—but not before brushing their shoulders—and takes the passenger seat.
Andrew cranks the music up. No one will talk on the short drive.
Unspoken rule: Aaron will have to shut the hell up during the ride.
Aaron stays still for a moment. Hands in his pockets. Stomach twisted.
It’s not jealousy, he tells himself. It’s not that.
It’s anger. It’s exhaustion. It’s the feeling of always being second-best—even to the one person who was supposed to see him first. Who was supposed to know him first.
What a pathetic joke of fate.
Katelyn texts him again, but Aaron reads the message and leaves it there. Part of him knows he’s hurting her, knows he’s digging a hole under his own feet, but it’s too late—or too much effort—to stop. He thinks he still loves her, but she can’t give him what he needs. Not in the same way.
“You froze up again today,” Nicky says when he runs into him by the shared kitchen. He pours a glass of water and gives Aaron a look of thinly veiled concern. “You’ve got that face that says, ‘I’m about to destroy everything with a passive-aggressive comment and then pretend I didn’t.’”
Aaron rolls his eyes. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re always tired. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh,” Nicky says, unconvinced. “You’re starting to look like one of those cats that stare into nothing for hours. You’re getting creepily similar to Andrew.”
Aaron doesn’t reply. He forgets sometimes how sharp Nicky is beneath all the noise and theatrics.
“Did Andrew do something to you?”
“No.”
“Neil?”
“When doesn’t that little mafia shit do something?”
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
Aaron presses his lips together. “Goodnight, Nicky.”
He’s already walking away when he hears the reply, whispered: “Something’s brewing. I can feel it.”
The light on the nightstand is dim. On the bed, the anatomy books lie open but ignored. Aaron stares at the ceiling.
It’s not just anger.
Not just envy.
It's sticky . Roote.
A question he can’t shake off:
Why the fuck Josten?
Why is he the one who gets close, breaks down walls, gets accepted in a way Aaron never has?
He’s known Andrew longer than that useless Josten ever has. They shared a fucking womb. He’s supposed to be the only one Andrew trusts. Not someone else. Not a stranger with a stupid, scarred face and a past full of secrets and mafia bullshit.
The thought follows him even as he closes his eyes.
And in that space between sleep and waking, he imagines what would happen if Andrew were forced to see him.
Just him.
Without Neil.
Without anyone else to cling to.
Just the two of them.
Like it’s supposed to be.
Classes don’t help. Katelyn tries to talk to him—she really does. But Aaron brushes her off with empty smiles and flimsy excuses. There are too many thoughts, too much rage boiling inside him with nowhere to go.
One day, while walking alone with a coffee through the lower levels of campus, he sees it.
A closed door in an unused section of the Fox Tower he’s never really explored. Old. Peeling. The handle rusted.
He walks in, almost without thinking.
The air is thick with dust and abandonment. It’s an old storage room, probably part of the original building, left to rot after the renovations. Bare walls, high windows with clouded glass, empty shelves.
But it’s quiet.
Isolated.
There’s a faint echo.
Aaron sits on the ground in the damp dark.
And thinks: No one would come here.
I could bring him here. We could finally be alone.
He doesn’t decide it.
The thought just forms—like a wound opening from the inside.
And instead of pushing it away…
He accepts it.
Kevin throws himself at the ball with a kind of zeal that irritates Aaron. Still, he catches it. Reflexes. No thinking. Nicky yells something, but Aaron doesn’t listen.
Andrew is in goal. Neil’s nearby. They move in sync, coordinating like it’s effortless—something natural.
Aaron wants to break that in half.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
How dare he act like Andrew is his?
The resentment becomes obsessive. It eats him from the inside out.
“Aaron!”
It’s Wymack’s voice. Sharp. Cutting.
“If you’re just here to wear out the floor, go home.”
Aaron glares at him, jaw tight. “I’m playing.”
“You’re marking like shit. Your man’s gotten past you three times.”
“Ask the mafia brat if it was him fucking up.”
He says it without thinking—but the venom lands.
His mark wasn’t even Josten.
Neil raises an eyebrow. “I’m doing my job, Minyard.”
“Good. Then do it away from my brother.”
The whole court freezes.
Literally.
Andrew stares at him. Stone still. No smirk. No mask. Just pure, complete indifference.
Neil looks at him, eyebrows damn near in his hairline, but says nothing.
Aaron turns and walks off the court.
It was supposed to be just lunch.
A fucking boring lunch, but they were his aunt and uncle, and he’d never had real issues with them.
Of course Josten had to be there.
Day wasn’t enough for the dumb performance his brother insisted on putting up. Now the pathological liar had to force himself into that too.
The memory is blurry. At some point, everything starts to blur. He can’t remember what his aunt said, or what he ate.
Just thinking about it now, everything he swallowed tastes like cardboard.
But what he does remember—perfectly—is the exact moment Josten grabbed him and dragged him upstairs.
The door bursting open.
Blood and skin.
More skin than he’d ever seen in three years of sharing a house with his brother.
He froze.
He’d never seen Andrew naked. Even with court-mandated meds, Andrew had never lost that extreme sense of modesty about his body.
Then—a dark thought crossed Aaron’s mind.
A huge man was hurting his brother.
He couldn’t allow that.
He couldn’t let someone else touch Andrew like that.
After Neil’s new racquet had been used to smash in the skull of the man Aaron would later learn was named Drake, Aaron had felt wired—thrilled, even a little scared—by the attention Andrew gave him after.
For once, Andrew had seen him.
But that fucking Josten had to interfere.
And soon enough, Aaron was shut out again.
When Andrew came back in January, it was like he was unreachable all over again.
More than ever.
Aaron keeps checking the room.
No one uses it.
No one’s ever mentioned it.
An abandoned space, with crumbling plaster and stale air. But there’s a high, narrow window. No cameras.
He doesn’t need much.
A fake message from Coach.
An excuse to talk in private.
Just Andrew. No one else.
Aaron has it all planned.
He knows how long it takes Andrew to answer a message.
Knows exactly how long it takes him to get dressed.
It’s not hard.
Aaron gets there first.
Sets up the chairs.
The thermos is full—extra ingredient included. One cup would’ve been enough. But Aaron has learned not to leave things to chance.
Just in case.
A message goes out:
The coach wants to see you. He sent me the coordinates. Says it’s important—some bureaucratic issue. Something about your contract.
Andrew reads it. Doesn’t reply.
But Aaron knows he’ll come.
Knows that somewhere in that twisted brain of his, Andrew respects Wymack.
He only has to wait 20 minutes.
The door opens.
Andrew walks in.
And behind him… Neil.
Then Kevin.
And Nicky.
All together.
Aaron freezes.
This wasn’t the plan.
They weren’t supposed to be here.
They weren’t invited.
They’re not part of this.
Andrew looks around, already suspicious.
Neil narrows his eyes.
Kevin speaks first.
“What the fuck is this place?”
Aaron plays it off. Perfectly.
“Wymack said to wait here.”
“Why?” Neil asks.
“How the fuck should I know? He said he needed to talk to Andrew about something.”
“And why are you here?”
Aaron wants to rip Josten’s head off.
The tension in the room is like a blade.
Nicky walks over to the thermos.
“This for us?”
Aaron swallows. “Yeah. For you.”
It takes only minutes.
Less than eight.
Neil drops first.
Eyes heavy, breath uneven. He clutches a chair, panic plain in those pale blue eyes.
Kevin stumbles against the wall, startled.
Nicky tries to get up—but stumbles.
Andrew hasn’t drunk anything.
He’s watching Neil.
His shoulders are tight.
His whole body tensing.
He turns toward Aaron, already scowling. Accusing.
He wants answers.
But it’s too late.
Aaron lunges—
Slams the racquet handle into his brother’s head.
The one he had hidden under the table.
Not too hard.
Just enough.
Less force than he’d used with Drake.
He made sure to hit the same temple.
He needed to replace that scar with one of his own.
With Andrew down, he could move on to the next phase of the plan.
The duct tape is thick.
It wraps around wrists and ankles, binding bodies to chairs, to exposed pipes. Aaron made sure there wouldn’t be any permanent damage.
Not to these idiots.
Not when this stupid sport is the only thing keeping his med school future alive.
Andrew’s the first to wake up.
A flicker of fear passes through his hazel eyes—almost identical to Aaron’s.
His gaze shoots to Neil immediately.
Always that fucking Josten.
Like they’ve got some built-in compass to find each other.
And Aaron has never—never—seen anything like that in his brother’s eyes:
Real fear.
He wants to kick him for it.
Because he knows—he’s sure—that that asshole isn’t afraid for himself.
He’s afraid for Neil.
The others wake up one by one.
Groggy. Disoriented.
Kevin kicks at the floor.
Neil growls behind the tape, already searching for a way out.
Aaron made sure he wouldn’t find one.
Nicky is crying.
Aaron watches them.
But he only speaks to one.
"I asked for just you. But you can't even fucking give me that, can you?"
ANDREW
The first thing Andrew hears is the silence.
One of those heavy, dirty silences. Not the kind full of understanding and unspoken things because they didn’t need to be said.
This isn’t the silence he’s used to sharing with his rabbit.
Then comes the pain. Light but insistent. His head hurts, his forehead.
His damned brain supplies the information immediately, the memories.
The same spot where Drake had managed to hit him the last time they met — it throbs and bleeds.
Right after, the pressure. Wrists pulled back. Tape, probably industrial.
Taste of glue in his mouth, tape over his lips. Ankles bound. Shoulders starting to ache.
He’s about to panic before he realizes he’s still fully clothed.
He opens his eyes.
The room is dark. The walls dirty, old, cracked. It smells of damp concrete and something more familiar. Shadows and monsters hidden behind closed doors of every foster house.
Neil. Kevin. Nicky. All tied up like him. No one speaks. They can’t.
Then he sees him.
Aaron.
Untouched.
Standing, motionless, hands in his pockets. Staring straight at him.
Andrew stares back.
His heart doesn’t speed up. His breathing doesn’t change.
But something in his chest cracks, silently. An imperceptible fissure, just born.
Aaron speaks. “I only wanted you. The rest is your fault.”
Andrew doesn’t answer. He can’t — but even if his mouth wasn’t taped shut, he doubts he would.
It doesn’t matter. Aaron doesn’t want an answer. He wants attention.
And for the first time in his life, Andrew understands — he feels it in his bones — that Aaron is looking at him the way others have looked at him before.
Men with fake smiles, cold hands, promises that stank of poison and pain.
Andrew knows that look.
He can’t be wrong.
And yet he was. He’s been wrong. He’d never seen it before.
He’d never looked for it. He’d felt safe.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Aaron moves closer, slowly. No hurry.
“You don’t understand,” he says, almost calm. “It’s not what you think.”
Andrew watches him, cold.
His brother has no idea what he’s thinking.
He’d like to say something. But he has no voice. Maybe for the first time he doesn’t know what to say.
Aaron keeps talking.
He walks between them, between the tied-up bodies, but doesn’t look at anyone else.
“They’re an accident. An inconvenience,” he murmurs, pointing at Neil, then Nicky, then Kevin. “You’re not.”
Andrew stiffens. In his head, thoughts begin to slide like an avalanche.
Why didn’t I see it?
He’s spent his entire life analyzing body language, tone of voice, hidden intentions.
He’s learned to anticipate, to read danger before it happens.
He pushed and pressed Wymack for months when he was first recruited.
Gave the older man every chance. Slept in his house drunk, high, manic.
He had to be sure the coach wasn’t a danger to his family. To Aaron.
After everything he’d done to protect him from Drake, he couldn’t afford to be negligent.
And yet here he is. Tied up. Bleeding. Locked in a room. With Aaron standing in front of him.
Aaron.
The twin brother he’d promised to protect — and still does even after their deal was dissolved.
The brother he kept out of that house.
The one he swore not to touch, not to let go, even after he’d freed himself.
And now Aaron is looking at him the way Drake did.
And Steven.
And Samuel.
And so many others.
A memory surfaces, violent and alive.
Drake.
Thanksgiving.
The bed, the pillow he was pinned to. Blood. Pain. The whispered words in his ear, Drake’s hot breath on the back of his neck.
The sound of the racquet.
Andrew hadn’t understood in that moment. The concussion, the shock, the pain and the meds made him slow. And then he was just… surprised.
That it was Aaron hitting. That it was for him.
But now, now that he sees him like this, he wonders if that gesture was ever really for him.
Or if it was just the beginning.
The first act of a script Aaron hadn’t yet had the courage to read.
A muffled sound distracts him. Neil moving, struggling against the bindings. Kevin cursing, incomprehensible and unheard. Nicky sobbing softly, almost as if he doesn’t want Aaron to hear.
Andrew looks at them, one by one.
They’re in danger. All of them. And he can do nothing.
The anger rises. Not the usual kind he directs at his brother.
He doesn’t think he has a brother anymore.
This is real anger. The kind he used against the bastards who attacked Nicky.
The kind he used to get Neil back.
The kind he used to survive.
Aaron speaks again. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But maybe it’s better. This way you understand. This way everyone understands.”
Andrew doesn’t look away.
His eyes are meant to cut like a blade.
Aaron sees it. And laughs.
Softly. A sound Andrew has never heard from his brother.
“You don’t like it, do you?” he murmurs. “Not having control. Being seen. Really seen. As you are. Without your knives. Without Neil to protect you. Without your fucking indifference toward anyone not named Josten.”
Andrew moves. A centimeter. Unlike the others, he’s not tied to anything solid.
Aaron steps closer.
“And you know what’s the best part? That you didn’t get any of it. I’ve been watching you for years, Andrew. Since we shared a room. Since I realized you weren’t sleeping because Mom crammed two beds into one tiny room and my presence made you tremble at night. You’re not special. You’re not untouchable. You’re just… mine.”
The words bounce off the room.
Cold. Slimy. Sick.
And in that moment, Andrew is afraid.
Afraid of what he’s done. Unforgivable.
He missed something. Missed a sign. A bell. A silent scream.
And now three other people — three innocent people — are tied up in a room with a predator. With his brother.
And the worst part is that, for a moment, he wonders if it’s his fault too.
There’s something in the way Aaron looks at him that Andrew can’t ignore anymore.
It’s a hunger — but not for control. Not for power.
It’s personal. Twisted.
And Andrew knows it. He’s seen it on too many faces.
Faces that taught him what it means to be property, to be forced into silence.
To be a thing instead of a person.
And now that face is his.
An identical copy.
Right in front of him.
Aaron.
He’s going to be sick.
Andrew clenches his jaw. The tape over his mouth scratches his skin.
He won’t give Aaron the satisfaction of seeing through him — not if he can help it.
But Aaron seems tired of the silence.
He bends down. He’s right there. Eyes locked with eyes.
Then, without a word, he grabs the edge of the tape with two fingers and rips it off in one sharp pull.
Andrew doesn’t react. He doesn’t cough, doesn’t flinch.
The only change is in the way he looks at him. One degree colder.
Aaron smiles faintly.
“I needed to hear you.”
Andrew lets him boil in the silence for ten, twelve seconds.
Then he speaks, voice rough.
“And you’ve always had a fucked-up way of asking for things.”
Aaron looks at him like it’s a compliment. Like they’re talking at home, or in the dorm, or in real life. As if this is real life.
“Did you ever wonder,” Aaron murmurs, “if we’d grown up together… what we could’ve been?”
Andrew tilts his head slightly.
“Two fucked-up people instead of one.”
Aaron laughs softly. But it’s not amused. It’s… tired. “You don’t understand. Not yet.”
“You’re wrong,” Andrew replies. “I understand all too well.”
Andrew’s voice is calm. Flat. As always.
But every word is a cold, precise cut.
“You want to know, Aaron? You want to know what I thought when I met you at thirteen?”
Aaron raises an eyebrow, curious.
Andrew goes on. “I thought you were too skinny. Too shy. That you’d never survive on your own.
I thought maybe, just maybe, I could do it for you. I had to. One of us had to and it was already too late for me.
And then, when I moved in with you, I realized you weren’t just weak. You were stupid and angry.”
Aaron clenches his jaw.
“And you know why I had you switch places with me when I killed Tilda?”
The question falls like a knife.
Aaron doesn’t answer.
Andrew does it for him.
“Because I wasn’t supposed to survive the crash.
You would’ve been free. Away from every bad influence around you.
You could’ve saved yourself.”
Silence.
Then Aaron whispers: “You didn’t kill enough.”
Neil moves. A soft sound, a sharp scrape. Andrew hears him stretching his neck, rubbing his face against his hoodie sleeve.
He’s working at the tape.
Don’t be an idiot, Andrew thinks without looking at him.
But he doesn’t let himself get distracted. His eyes are still on Aaron.
“Tell me,” Andrew says quietly, “what do you think you’re going to get out of all this.”
Aaron crouches, finally. They’re almost at the same level now.
Eyes locked only on Andrew.
“I don’t want a confession. I don’t want revenge. I just want… truth.”
Andrew stares at him. “Your truth is a hallucination.”
“And yours is a lie,” Aaron snaps back, sharp as a blade. “It has been since you chose Neil.”
There it is. The core.
“You can’t love someone who doesn’t understand. Who isn’t real. Who has no real connection to you.”
Andrew looks at him with empty eyes. “And you think you have the right to be my consolation prize for this fucked-up life?”
Aaron hits him.
A slap, sudden. Sharp. Humiliating.
Aaron watches him as if he’s looking for a sign. A reaction. Something.
And Andrew gives him only one line.
“You’re pathetic.”
Neil frees himself.
The tape slips off his mouth. A cough. The sound of a breath forcefully taken back.
Aaron turns, annoyed.
Neil speaks. His voice low, hoarse, but clear.
“If you think Andrew will follow you, you’re dreaming. If you think you’re the one who understands him... then you’re dumber than you look.”
Aaron stiffens.
“You’re just a copy. A shadow.” Neil smiles, venomous. “The original chose to be better than you will ever be.”
Andrew stays silent.
But inside, something stirs.
Not because of Neil’s words. He knows those.
But because Aaron is listening.
And he’s not stopping.
Aaron turns to him again.
“You’ve looked into the eyes of every man who hurt you,” he says quietly. “And today, you’re looking at me. Isn’t that ironic?”
Andrew doesn’t move. But inside, he feels another crack. A crack so deep he doesn’t know if it can ever be repaired.
Because Aaron is right.
He looked at him. And didn’t see.
He never really wanted to see.
Since he was a kid, he always wanted a brother. Someone to grow up with and share with.
Then came the fathers and adoptive brothers, and Andrew didn’t want anything anymore.
But Aaron was different, right?
He was his blood.
He would never be like them.
But now they’re here.
Aaron stands up. “Are you scared?”
Andrew looks at him, unfazed. “No. But you are.”
Aaron stiffens, struck.
“You’re terrified,” Andrew continues, his voice low and cutting. “Because even if you tie me up, even if you lock me in a room with your monsters, you’re the only one who’s never really learned what it means to survive.
You’ve always hidden behind me. And now... there’s no more wall.”
Silence.
Aaron moves closer, until he’s almost touching his face.
“You’re wrong,” he murmurs. “I am the wall.”
AARON
Neil’s voice fills the room as if it’s too big for his body.
It’s not the first time Aaron hates him.
But it’s the first time he hates him like this. Like he really wants to kill him.
Not for what he says.
Not for his confidence, or his morally superior asshole attitude.
But for the way Andrew listens to him. The way his shoulders relax while he listens to that stupid bastard.
His brother’s gaze, even now that he’s tied up, is always on Neil.
There’s no anger, no fear, no real worry.
Only that usual, constant attention Andrew has only for him.
And Neil knows it.
“You won’t do it,” he says. His voice is rough but steady. “You’re pushing him, but Andrew won’t give in. Not even if you scream and stomp your feet, not even if you threaten him.”
Aaron watches how Neil moves. He’s freed himself from the gag, and now he seems in control of the room, like just talking could flip everything.
Like his words are stronger than anything else—but this isn’t a press conference. This is Aaron’s creation. A brotherly moment.
Aaron stares at him, then ignores him.
He turns back to Andrew.
Still there. Motionless. Looking at him with that calm that always annoyed him. Even managing to ignore that he’s the one tied up and lying on the floor.
Aaron kneels down, grinding his teeth.
They’re just centimeters apart. “Talk to me,” he whispers.
Andrew looks at him. Silent. That icy silence that, once, Aaron mistook for strength.
Now he understands it was only defense.
Because he’s scared. Finally, Andrew is the one who’s scared. Not the other way around anymore. Never again the other way around.
“You’re really doing it,” Andrew says. His voice flat, neutral. “You decided no one can have me but you. Like I’m something to own.”
Aaron lets out a smile.
“You’re mine. Haven’t you realized it yet?”
Andrew doesn’t answer right away. But his eyes narrow. A crack.
Aaron sees it.
He feels it.
And inside him something comes alive. A slow, burning euphoria, like alcohol on an empty stomach.
It’s triumph.
Because for the first time, Andrew is not impenetrable.
For the first time, Aaron feels fear slipping under his brother’s skin.
And God, it’s alive. Beautiful.
Neil continues.
“Feeling strong now?” he asks. “You finally found someone to break who won’t break you back?
Andrew’s not like you. He’d never do something like that to you. He’s not a monster. Unlike you.”
Aaron slowly stands up. Finally turns to Neil.
“Why not?” he asks calmly. “Why did he choose you? You like to think you’re special, right? But he’s like me. He comes from the same black hole. And you know what things born in the dark do, Neil? They find each other.”
Neil shakes his head. “You’re not looking for him. You’re destroying him. You’ll destroy him, Aaron!” he yells desperately, his voice breaking with pain.
Aaron smiles, but he’s tired. “Only if he tells me no.”
Neil’s eyes narrow. “What if he does?”
Aaron looks at him with an almost cruel sincerity. “Andrew never says no when he thinks the other needs it. When he thinks I need it.”
And in that moment, the room falls completely silent.
Andrew stares.
Aaron looks at him, and reads knowledge in his eyes.
Andrew knows it’s true.
Aaron kneels again. Fingers brush his brother’s cheek.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t look away.
For a moment, Aaron thinks all he’d have to do is ask.
That Andrew wouldn’t say a word. Wouldn’t say no.
And the thought devastates him.
Excites him.
Destroys him.
But Neil doesn’t stop.
“You’re using him against himself,” he says. “You’re forcing him to be a victim again. You want to break him to own him. If you do… if you force him… You’ll lose everything.”
Aaron turns around. Slowly.
“The victim here is you, Neil. You’re not even the reason. You’re just the interference.”
Neil laughs, bitter. “I’m the only one who truly loves him.”
And Aaron stiffens.
Love.
That word.
His mind flashes back to Andrew, fifteen years old, covered in blood, in a hospital bed with tubes attached while the police told him his mother was dead.
Aaron sitting on the chair next to the bed, watching him breathe only thanks to oxygen.
Waiting for Andrew to wake up.
Andrew came back. Andrew protected. Andrew never asked for anything in return. Aaron realized it late. After Drake. Brothers protect each other with blood, no matter the cost.
And when Aaron tried to get close...
Neil was already there.
Aaron looks at Neil as if he could erase him with his mind.
“You changed him,” he says softly. “You took away what made him mine.”
Neil challenges him with his eyes. “He was never yours. I just accepted something you never would.”
Aaron clenches his fists.
“You don’t understand. He’s not free. He’s yours.”
Then he turns to Andrew. Eyes fixed. Words slow.
“And I don’t want you to be his.”
Neil laughs, something scornful and painful. “God. You’re fucked, fuck. He’s your brother!”
Andrew stays still.
But his gaze is different now. Darker, from awareness.
He’s understanding.
Aaron knows it. He feels it.
“Make him say no, Neil,” he whispers. “Let’s see if he can.”
Neil stiffens.
Andrew doesn’t speak.
“Make him say he owes me nothing. Make him say he would never choose me, in any world, in any life.”
Andrew stares at him, eyes wide open but silent.
Aaron lets himself fall back, sitting. His head rests against the wall. His breathing is heavy. His heart is in his throat. The adrenaline still runs, thin, electric.
This moment. This silence.
It’s everything he’s wanted for years.
The fear that lives in his brother. The reality he can’t hide.
The possibility.
He doesn’t need to touch him. Not yet.
It’s enough to watch.
Neil’s words drown in the sound of his own breathing.
But Aaron isn’t listening anymore.
Not really.
The only sound that matters is the blood in his ears. The thin, electric buzz that starts in his throat and ends at his fingertips.
Andrew is still there, tied up.
Still silent.
Still motionless.
And Aaron is standing in front of him.
Waiting. Teetering.
“Talk,” he whispers. His voice trembles — not from fear, but from pure tension. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you’re not mine.”
Andrew looks at him, eyes tired.
And then finally speaks.
“No.”
One word. Nothing more. But it weighs like a boulder.
Aaron doesn’t react right away.
As if he hasn’t understood.
As if his brain needs a second to register.
Andrew goes on.
His voice calm. Steady. With steel underneath.
“You never had me. Not like that. And for everything else… you chose not to believe me about Tilda. You offered me a deal and then you broke it. You forced me to choose only because you already had the cheerleader. You chose everything else, when for years I chose only you.
As my brother.”
Silence.
“You can’t come now and ask for what you never really wanted.”
Aaron feels a void open in his stomach. It’s like a blade of ice shoved sideways.
“No,” he says, but it’s only an echo of the rejection he’s just received.
Andrew looks at him again. And this time… there’s pity in his eyes.
“You don’t want me,” he says. “You want control. You’re falling apart. You’re having a breakdown and you want someone to belong to you.
And I can’t be that person.
Not for you.”
Aaron steps forward. “You’re lying.”
“No.”
Again. The same answer.
And this time… the crack splits wide open.
Aaron feels rage rising like a black wave. His body moves before his thoughts.
The first punch is sharp, violent, across Andrew’s jaw.
A dull sound, flesh on flesh.
Andrew doesn’t groan.
Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t react. He can’t.
The second blow lands lower. A tear of pure frustration.
Aaron no longer sees, no longer thinks.
Neil’s voice behind him is just noise.
“Stop!”
Aaron hits again.
“You can’t tell me no!”
A punch.
“You’re mine!”
Another.
“I’ve always looked for you even when you told me to fuck off in that first letter!”
A harder blow. The sound of the tape straining under the violence.
Andrew tries to stay silent, doesn’t always manage because of the force of the blows.
Blood appears at the corner of his mouth. A thin, red, living line.
Neil screams.
“STOP! Aaron! Leave him alone!”
Nicky is crying. Kevin swears, twists. But they’re still tied up.
Aaron is trembling.
His breathing is broken. His hands covered in scratches and blood. His knuckles hurt.
And Andrew is still looking at him. Now there’s something Aaron can’t read.
Compassion? Contempt?
No. It’s worse.
Resignation.
As if Andrew already knows exactly where all this will end… and has already accepted he won’t be saved.
He’s expendable. He always is, to protect the others.
Aaron staggers backward.
His heart hammers.
His head pounds.
Andrew is in front of him.
Tied up, beaten, broken but unbent.
And Aaron…
Aaron feels something dark rising from his stomach.
No longer rage. But a devouring need.
A conviction.
He has to have him.
Even if it’s the last thing he ever does.
___________
He blocks everyone else from his mind. He wishes Nicky weren't here. Maybe not even Kevin.
At least then no one would believe any of this if he ever left these walls.
He approaches Andrew. He lunges at him and kicks him twice in the stomach, with all his strength.
In return, he receives a dry sound, more like an exhalation than a scream, as if he were gasping for air and finding only pain.
Aaron isn't surprised. He's a medical student, he knows. Those who are punched in the stomach usually can't scream out loud. The diaphragm closes, and the air is expelled abruptly, often without a voice.
He takes advantage of his brother's attempts to curl up and beats him until his belly is pressed against the cold floor.
He straddles him, feeling the sensation of his hips brushing against his firm ass.
There are too many layers of clothing separating them. Aaron wastes no time, roughly peeling off his black sweatpants. His brother tries to wriggle free. He presses himself against the floor to escape Aaron's hand, which slides under his boxers.
He caresses him ass. First, a light, testing pressure. Then, more aggressive. Quick fingers push and press into places he's never been able to touch.
Andrew's breath comes out in a dirty moan, unsure whether to cry or scream.
It makes Aaron incredibly horny.
He pulls down his pants, just enough to free his cock. He can't remember ever being this hard.
Beneath him, Andrew whimpers something unintelligible. He growls, a dry heave stuck in his throat.
caresses him ass once more, all the way to his hole. It's tight, even when he tries to push a finger in, his legs closed and taped together making it all the more appealing.
Aaron takes his cock and quickly massages himself, aligning the tip with his brother's asshole and pushing.
He pushes harder when he meets resistance.
A muffled moan pushes from Andrew's chest and throat, along with the panic.
His brother is stiff and trembling under his hands.
He needs to align himself again. He's learning. He's never done this before.
He grabs Andrew's hips and pulls them towards him, his fingers tightening in the flesh until they leave bruises that will last a long time.
He thrusts, hard and brutal, until he feels himself sucked into the searing, intoxicating heat.
Beneath him, Andrew gasps.
Not a cry, but something deeper. A low, piercing sound, as if the pain were speaking for him.
He enjoys that sound. A melody he created.
He wastes no more time.
He fucks his brother as if the alternative were death.
All the anger, the desperation. He finally has everything he's been denied.
He's starting to believe his brother is even crying.
He didn't cry with Drake. With Drake, Andrew laughed.
A pang of jealousy drives him to pull his cock out and thrust with merciless rage.
Andrew's sobs are like fuel.
Dirty, animalistic sounds. No dignity, just pure instinct.
In his head, only the smacking sound of skin against skin.
The sounds of his own pleasure.
And Andrew's raw, uncontrolled gasps.
__________
Neil yells again, “NO! AARON, STOP! I BEG YOU!”
He’s almost free. The ties around his wrists are giving way.
“YOU’RE SICK! THIS IS NOT WHO YOU ARE!”
But Aaron doesn’t listen.
“I beg you, stop. Let him go…”
He doesn’t hear anything anymore.
Neither shame, nor voice, nor heartbeats.
Only the sound of Andrew’s breath.
Broken. But still there.
Alive. And his.
And for Aaron, it’s the only thing that matters.
MATT
The Maserati is still there.
Matt stares at the car, then looks up at the sky above the parking lot, the evening lights beginning to go out one by one.
“I’m still here,” he says quietly. It’s not a certainty, but an urging.
Behind him, Dan does a half‑turn on herself, frustrated.
“This is the fourth time we’ve checked the main building. There’s no trace of anyone. No sound, no movement, nothing.”
Renee, silent by the door, looks toward the dorms. “The rooms are empty. All the phones are out of service.”
Matt runs a hand over his face. His fingers tremble slightly.
Andrew, Neil, Kevin, Nicky.
Gone.
As strange as that is, as crazy as that sounds… they’re not the type to vanish into thin air.
And Kevin would never skip a practice, let alone two.
“Are we sure this isn’t some fucked‑up joke?” Dan asks, trying to breathe slowly.
No one answers. The truth is that if it were a joke, Kevin wouldn’t have gone. Not at the cost of Exy.
They spread out again. Pairs, then one alone.
Matt takes the old wing, the unused labs, the abandoned classrooms.
Then, as he passes through a dark corridor, a thought seeps into his mind.
A boy — what was his name? Jeremiah? — an older student in his statistics course. One evening, after a party, he had told him that before the renovation, there was a basement level in the Fox Tower used for parties. It was isolated from the rest of the building, and secluded enough for… whatever. Then a water leak shut it down. Maybe we should think about reopening it.
Matt stops.
He turns.
He looks at the wall in front of him.
Nothing special.
An old metal door barred by a security beam now rusted.
The boiler room, he thought.
But now…
He grabs his phone. “Dan? I found something. A locked door, on the north side of the old wing. I’m going to check it.”
His heart accelerates.
The corridor is deserted, cold. The air smells of damp and dust.
With a shoulder, the beam gives way. The door opens slowly.
Inside is darkness.
But not entirely.
A faint light seeps from under a second door, at the bottom of a stairwell.
Matt goes down.
His steps are heavy, his breath shorter.
The walls are gray, bare. The plaster crumbles under his fingers.
The silence… is too complete. He feels like he’s in a shitty horror movie.
He approaches the door. He doesn’t know what to expect. He hopes to find them there. To hear them laughing, joking, maybe even fighting over something silly.
He hopes it’s all a misunderstanding.
That the big “if” is just paranoia.
He rests his hand on the handle. Locked. But not with a key.
He takes a breath.
And opens.
The light is weak. Flickering.
Matt enters.
And freezes.
He can’t even breathe.
The first faces he sees are Kevin and Nicky. Tied. On the floor.
Nicky’s face is streaked with tears. Kevin’s face is swollen, bloodshot eyes, his mouth still taped shut. He thrashes the moment he sees Matt.
Then Neil.
He too is tied. But without a gag.
His face red, neck taut, he’s screaming something Matt can’t understand.
And finally, in the center, there’s Andrew.
Lying. Motionless.
Above him, Aaron.
Matt can’t register all the details. Not yet.
Only that Andrew’s face is battered. His hands bound. His shirt torn.
Aaron is over him, eyes vacant, smeared with blood that doesn’t seem his.
Time stops.
Neil screams something, but Matt can’t hear the words.
Just the sound of panic. Terror.
And Aaron turns.
He looks.
His face twisted by something no longer human. Something broken long ago. Without anyone noticing in time.
“You shouldn’t have found us,” he says. His voice calm. Almost tired.
Matt doesn’t know what to say.
For the first time in years, he is afraid of one of his teammates who isn’t Andrew.
“Aaron… what the fuck are you doing?” The question comes out with effort.
But Aaron smiles. A smile that is no longer his.
“I’m taking what’s mine.”