Archive of Our Own

Nikolai didn’t know what to think of it.

He didn’t know—or more like didn’t want to—believe it. None of it. It had all happened so fast; there hadn’t even been time to question it, to pull it apart, to start with the what-ifs.  

There weren’t supposed to be any questions anyway. It was supposed to be okay, like it had always been. 

Brandon was supposed to come back. 

He always did. Even if they argued. Even when they hadn’t seen each other for weeks. Brandon always came back—to the penthouse, to Nikolai, to them. 

Now though, Nikolai realized it wasn’t okay. He didn’t know if it would ever be okay again. It simply couldn’t. 

The words were still ringing inside his ears, inside his head—and he wished they weren’t real. A fragment of his imagination. A bad joke. Something he would wake up from, annoyed and relieved, reaching for Bran only to find him warm and alive beside him.

But there was no waking up from this. 

And now, as he sat there on the cold hospital floor, he realized he would never be the same person again. Brandon was gone, forever, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“We tried everything we could,” the doctor had said with a quiet voice, his eyes heavy with the knowledge that he couldn’t save a patient. 

The sentence had ended there. No I’m sorry that meant anything. No words that could fill the space Brandon had left behind.

Just an ending. 

Time since then had become something distant, warped—stretching and collapsing all at once. He was still on that floor, even minutes, hours after they got the news. Nikolai didn’t know what was happening around him anymore. It felt like the world had moved on without asking him, like everything kept going when it should have stopped. 

It should have stopped. 

He heard screams, he heard cries, but none of it made him move. Because Bran was still here somewhere. Maybe not his living body, but his soul had to be wandering around somewhere. 

Lost and waiting.

And Nikolai didn’t want to leave him here. All alone, with no one by his side. 

His fingers curled slightly against the cold tiles. 

He wanted to run into the OR where Bran probably still laid, pull him into his arms and make sure he wasn’t really gone. That this was all some horrible mistake; something they would fix if he just got there in time. 

He had been too late. 

The thought slipped in quietly, but it stayed. If he hadn’t provoked Grace, if he hadn’t been so naive to give her his number, if he never opened that video—Bran would still be here. 

So many ifs, but there’s nothing he could change about it now. His lotus flower’s heart had stopped beating.

He couldn’t be gone. He promised—he promised he would get better. And now here Nikolai was, alone, with a broken promise.

Or maybe it wasn’t Brandon who had broken it. 

Maybe it had been him all along. Nikolai’s breath hitched, sharp and uneven.

A hand gripped his shoulders at some point, voices reached him, blurred and distant, but all he wanted was Brandon. 

His baby. 

His home.

But when the realization finally sank in—that Brandon wasn’t going to magically appear in front of him—the tears came. Heavy sobs tore out of him, ripping through his chest like something inside him was breaking apart. Tears and screams, raw and uncontrollable, dragged out of him without permission.

At some point, he felt arms being wrapped around him. His mother. 

He didn’t want his mother. 

He wanted Brandon. 

Her scent was wrong, her soft figure, and soft hands were wrong. Everything felt wrong, because it wasn’t him. 

Because it would never be him again.

“It’s okay, Niko. I’m here,” his mother whispered, her own voice shaky. 

Nikolai shook his head weakly, the movement barely there. Nothing was okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again. How couldn’t they understand that? How could the world still exist when Brandon didn’t?

His hands clenched into the fabric of his own shirt, like he could hold himself together if he just tried hard enough.

There was no Nikolai without Brandon. 

There was nothing. 

And from the moment the words had left the doctor’s mouth, Nikolai had no doubt. He was going to follow. He was going to get home to his lotus flower, one way or another. 

He just needed some time—time to say goodbye to everyone and make sure they knew it wasn’t going to be their fault. 

He didn’t want them to feel guilty, didn’t want them to think it was something they could have prevented, because it wasn’t. There wasn’t anything that they could do to stop it. Nikolai would be a lifeless shell for the rest of his life if he didn’t follow.

He would wither away, in agony and grief. He wouldn’t be able to eat, sleep, or breathe. Not without his lotus flower. 

All he knew was he had to be practical about it. He cannot, under any circumstances, leave any signs. This had to be quick and easy; something they couldn’t stop. 

So that’s what he did. He started planning. 

The funeral was a week away. It was his deadline, the date where he, hopefully, would already be reunited with his baby. 

The first step into the penthouse after everything crushed him. 

He was everywhere. 

In the kitchen, with his herbal tea bags sitting on the counter. In the bathroom, with his shampoo placed in the shower. And of course, in the bedroom—their bedroom. 

His smell clung onto the sheets, a few of his clothes still hanging in the closet. And it cut off all the air in Niko’s throat. 

With shaky steps, he laid down on their bed, pulling Bran’s favorite pillow into his arms and taking a deep breath as he held it to his face. 

Brandon, his lotus flower, his everything. 

He was surrounded by him, yet completely alone. The tears fell, and he couldn’t stop them; he didn’t want to stop them. “My baby,” he whispered into the quietness of the room, hoping for a reply, for anything.

Nothing came. Only the echoes of his cries filling the quietness. 

He laid his hand on his chest, over the lotus flower inked into his skin. A proof of his unconditional, unfading love. His fingers pressed into his heart, searching for something that could keep him grounded. 

“Wait for me, baby,” he whispered, closing his eyes, simply breathing. 

There wasn’t any reason to be sad, Niko told himself. He would be joining him in a few days. But in the here and now, he couldn’t make himself believe it.

They were supposed to take over the world. Bran was supposed to make it big in the art scene and fascinate everyone with his paintings. 

They were supposed to travel the world—feel the summer breeze in Italy and visit Niko’s extended family in the States.  

They were supposed to get married, find and build a home, maybe adopt a few kids if Bran wanted to. 

Now there was nothing. None of it would ever happen, at least not in this lifetime. 

Nikolai had wanted it so badly. He wanted to show everyone his beautiful lotus flower, brag about him to his family and friends. 

Now all he could do was find the courage to say goodbye. 

He started with letters. 

The first one was for his dear mother. The woman that raised him and embraced his chaotic self. The woman who was always worried when he was on one of his highs, but still loved him in her own quiet ways. 

The second one was for his father. His first best friend and the man who always accepted him exactly as he was. He never told Niko to change, but instead taught him to be confident in being different from everybody else. 

Nikolai didn’t have many wishes in life, but he hoped his family would grant him this one wish—being buried with his Bran. So that’s what he wrote into his dad’s letter. He knew he would do anything to make it happen. 

The next one was for his sisters. Mia and Maya—the best sisters he could’ve imagined to have in this lifetime. He thanked them for all the years they had shared, for a childhood and teenage years filled with laughter and love. 

And the next one… might have hurt the most. 

Jeremy.

His platonic soulmate. 

He had been there when Niko started questioning everything, when he wasn’t sure if he liked guys too. Jeremy had said he'd love him regardless, and he had meant it. 

Nikolai didn’t know where he would be without him. Jeremy had been there when he came out and he had been there to listen—always. 

Back when this whole thing started between him and Bran, Nikolai had wanted to tell him so badly. He had wanted to hear his opinion, to know if he thought it was a good idea to get into something messy with Landon King’s twin brother. 

He regretted it now—not telling him. 

Because now there would never be that moment; his best friend and the love of his life meeting each other properly. At least not in the way of Bran being Niko’s lover.

Never a first impression.

Never a conversation.

Only an ending. 

Jeremy was going to say goodbye to Bran before he even got to properly meet him. And at the same time he was going to say goodbye to Niko as well, even if he didn’t know that yet. 

And that might hurt the most. 

He knew Jeremy was going to break once he found out. But this was the price he had to pay, and he would, effortlessly even. 

He didn’t care about it being selfish, because these doubts had no place in his mind. Nothing mattered other than seeing Bran again. 

Niko knew he had a strong family with strong-willed minds; they would get over it eventually—hopefully. Sure, it would take time and a lot of pain and grief, but they will make it out of that hole; Niko was sure of it. 

Because if he let himself believe otherwise—if he allowed even the smallest thought that they wouldn’t be okay, that he would leave behind something irreparable—then everything would fall apart. Then this plan, this fragile, desperate thing he was clinging to, would crack beneath him. 

And he couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not when Brandon was waiting. 

The letters piled up slowly on the vanity in the corner of the bedroom. The vanity where Bran dried his hair and opened up about his sexuality for the first time. Each one was folded with trembling hands, each one sealed with a finality that made his chest tighten. 

He placed them carefully, almost neatly in that overly organized way Bran used to do, as if order could make any of this feel less catastrophic. As if control could replace what he had lost. 

The last envelope stayed blank for a long time. 

Nikolai sat there, staring at it, the pen resting between his fingers. His leg bounced restlessly, an old habit he couldn’t seem to shake, especially now. The silence in the penthouse pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating. 

This one mattered the most. More than all the others combined. 

“Hey, baby…” he started out softly, the words barely audible even to himself. His voice cracked almost immediately, forcing him to stop. He swallowed hard, dragging a hand over his face. 

How were you supposed to write to someone who was gone? 

How were you supposed to say goodbye… when goodbye wasn’t what you wanted? 

The pen hovered over the paper, unmoving. “I’m coming,” he tried again, a whisper this time. “Just… wait a little longer, okay?” 

A tear dropped onto the page, smudging the paper before he had even written anything. Frustration flared—sharp and sudden. He wiped at his face aggressively, like he could erase the grief along with the tears. “No,” he muttered under his breath. “No, don’t do this now…”

He needed to be clear. He needed to finish this. For Bran; always for Bran. 

Taking a shaky breath, he forced himself to start writing. 

My lotus flower,

The words blurred almost instantly, but he kept going anyway. 

I don’t know how to exist in a world where you don’t. 

His hand trembled, the letters uneven, messier than anything he had written before. 

They keep telling me it’ll get better, that time will fix it. But they don’t understand. They don’t understand that you were my time. You were my everything. 

His chest ached, each breath shallow and unsteady. 

I tried to be strong like you would’ve wanted. I really did. But I’m so tired, baby. I’m so tired of breathing without you. 

The pen pressed harder into the paper, leaving faint indents beneath the ink. 

So I’m coming home. 

The sentence sat there, stark and undeniable. For a moment, everything in him stilled. Then– a sound. It was soft and subtle, almost nothing. Nikolai froze; his head lifted slowly, eyes darting toward the doorway. 

It was silent. 

His heart started pounding, sudden and violent against his ribs. “...Bran?” he whispered, the name fragile, hopeful in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be since the hospital. 

Nothing answered. 

But he swore he had heard something. The air felt different—thicker somehow, charged. His pulse roared in his ears as he pushed himself up from the chair, the letter forgotten on the desk. 

“Brandon?” louder this time, desperate. He took a step forward, then another. The hallway stretched out in front of him, dimly lit, familiar in a way that now felt almost foreign. 

Empty. The penthouse was empty, of course it was. 

A shaky laugh broke from his lips, hollow and wrong. “Yeah,” he murmured to himself, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, of course…” 

What had he expected? That Bran would just… appear? That this was all some kind of cruel misunderstanding? 

The hope collapsed as quickly as it had come, leaving something sharper in its wake. Something that twisted deep in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He staggered back slightly, gripping the edge of the wall for support. 

“Get it together,” he whispered harshly. “Just finish it. Finish everything.” Because that was the plan. That was the only thing left. 

But when he turned back toward the bedroom, toward the vanity where the letter waited, his gaze caught on something. Their bed. More specifically, the pillow in the center. Bran’s pillow. 

It wasn’t where he had left it. Or had he? He didn’t know, because at this point, time was just a concept, it was nothing relevant. Nikolai stilled anyway, his breath catching mid-inhale. 

He liked to remember that he had left it slightly angled, the corner hanging just off the edge like it always did when Bran tossed it aside in his sleep. Now it sat perfectly centered, neat and undisturbed. 

His heart began to race again, something uneasy creeping up his spine. “That’s not…” he muttered, barely forming the words. 

A draft brushed faintly against his skin. The window—it was closed. He knew it was closed. But slowly, so slowly, it creaked open. 

Just a fraction, just enough to let the night air slip inside. Nikolai didn’t move and didn’t breathe. And then there was a voice. So soft and familiar, right behind him. 

“...Niko.” 

It was him, his lotus flower. 

It sounded like him—soft, warm, threaded with that quiet fondness that always slipped into his voice when he said his name. For one impossible, fragile second, hope surged so violently through Nikolai’s chest it hurt. 

He turned, too fast and desperate. “Bran–” 

No one was there. The word died on his lips. The room stood still, unchanged, empty in that suffocating, undeniable way reality had. The faint hum of the city below filtered through the barely open window. 

And there was nothing, no one. 

Nikolai’s chest rose sharply as he dragged in a breath, then another, uneven and shallow. His eyes darted around, searching—pleading—for something, anything that would prove he hadn’t imagined it. That it wasn’t from the lack of sleep. 

But there was nothing to find, just like before. 

His shoulders sagged, the brief, flickering light inside him collapsing into something darker, heavier. A shaky exhale left him, almost a laugh, but not quite. 

Because grief did that, didn’t it? 

It twisted things. Made you hear what wasn’t there. Made you want it so badly that your mind filled in the silence for you. 

His gaze drifted back to the bed, to the pillow. For a moment he just stood there, staring at it like it might explain itself. 

He reached the bed and sat down carefully, his hand hovering over the pillow before finally pressing into it. It was still so soft. It still carried Brandon’s scent, though he knew it would fade eventually. 

Everything did. Everything about him was going to fade. 

“You’re not here,” he said, quietly, the words finally settling into something real. Something solid and unavoidable. His fingers curled into the fabric. “I know that.” 

The room didn’t answer. Nikolai swallowed hard, his throat tight, raw from everything he had already cried out. His eyes burned again, but the tears came slower now, quieter. Less violent, somehow worse. 

“I just–” his voice cracked, and he had to stop, pressing his lips together before trying again. “I just wanted to hear you one more time.” 

Maybe it was pointless, talking to an empty room, but maybe it wasn’t. He liked to believe his lotus flower was with him right now, in this room, in this penthouse that they had made into their safe space. 

A tear slipped down his cheek, then another, but he didn’t break this time. He didn’t shatter like he had on the hospital floor. Slowly, he laid back on the bed, pulling the pillow against his chest again, holding it tighter than ever. Like if he let go, even this, this small, fading piece, would disappear too. 

“I’m still coming,” he murmured into the fabric, quieter now. It wasn’t frantic or desperate in the same sharp way as before. It was simply more tiring. “I meant it.” 

Something about that moment—about hearing a voice that wasn’t real, but so near—felt like it wasn’t going to be so bad. Dying. It felt like the final invitation he needed. Like Bran was calling for him, already waiting on the other side. 

“Just wait for me, okay?” he whispered, softer now. 

The next few days passed in a blur that felt almost rehearsed. As if Nikolai had stepped into a role and simply followed it until it was time. 

He ate when he had to, just enough for no one to worry too much. He answered questions with small nods, quiet words, distant smiles that never reached his eyes. He let people hug him, let them hold his hand and let them believe he was still there. 

But he wasn’t, not really. 

The evening he chose to say goodbye felt… ordinary. Painfully so. The sky outside was dimming into soft shades of blue and gray, the city lights beginning to flicker on one by one. The world kept moving—cars passing, people laughing somewhere far away. It was life continuing in a way that felt almost offensive. 

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. How dare everyone to laugh and have fun when his lotus flower was fucking gone. How dare they have the time of their lives while Niko was dying a little more each day. 

Nikolai stood outside his parents’ house for a long moment before knocking, memorizing the shape of it and recalling the childhood he had spent here. He was a happy kid, not missing one thing. 

His hand hovered mid-air. It’s just one knock, that’s all it would take. After this… there was no undoing anything. This would be the last time stepping foot into this house. 

A small breath left him, and then he knocked. The door opened almost instantly and his mother stood there, eyes already red. “Niko…” she breathed, like she had been holding it in all day. 

This time, when she pulled him into a hug, it wasn’t just relief. It was mourning because he knew in that moment that he was going to miss her hugs and the warmth that she carried. 

He felt it in the way her hands clutched the back of his shirt, tighter than before. Like she wasn’t only holding onto him, but to something else she hadn’t even gotten the chance to know properly. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered against him. It wasn’t meant directly for him, but for Brandon. Because she never got to meet his beautiful soul. 

Nikolai’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly. “Me too.” 

Inside, the atmosphere was subdued. No one rushed him this time and no one forced smiles. There were no attempts to pretend things were normal. 

They all knew, obviously. 

His father stood by the window, staring out for a moment before turning when Nikolai stepped in. There was something heavier in his expression than before, something more careful. 

“I wish we had met him properly,” he said after a moment. It was simple and honest, and it was too late. In a way, he did get to know him. He met Landon a few weeks ago when everything went to shit with his sisters. 

His dad might know what Bran looked like, but he’ll never really know him. Nikolai nodded faintly. “You would’ve liked him.” 

“I think I already do,” his father replied quietly. And that might have almost broken him. 

Mia and Maya didn’t say anything at first. They just hugged him one after the other, slow and lingering. Maya might have not been in contact with him, but she still felt the grief around here. 

Mia was different. She was close with Bran in a way that did both of them good. They have started to become really good friends, and yes, Niko might have acted like it bothered him, but in reality it didn’t. He was glad his sister had finally found someone that understood her without needing words. 

And he was glad that person turned out to be his lotus flower. Because even if he didn’t show it openly, he needed her in his own way as well. 

Looking at her made Niko’s chest tighten even more. She wiped her eyes every few seconds while her lips were pressed together like she was trying to hold everything in at the same time, but failing. 

“He was my best friend,” she whispered, her voice wavering. Nikolai let out a shaky breath before he hugged her again, pulling her into his chest- “I know,” is all he could answer. 

Silence followed, but no one tried to fill it. It was impossible. 

Jeremy stood a little apart, watching and processing. He had come with Niko to the states, not wanting to leave him alone. 

He had always been quick, sharp, someone who noticed what others didn’t. And now, there was something unsettled in his gaze. Something that hadn’t quite clicked into place until now. 

Until this.

When Nikolai finally looked at him, really looked, Jeremy’s expression shifted. “You loved him,” he said. It wasn’t a question or any disbelief in it. It was a clear realization. 

Nikolai didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, “Yes, I did.”

Jeremy exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. “You didn’t tell me. Not once.” There wasn’t a hint of accusation in it, like he understood, and that made it worse. Because Jeremy was supposed to be mad at him. 

“I wanted to,” Nikolai admitted. His voice was softer than it had been all evening. “So many times.” Every time he went back from the penthouse, every time he saw his lotus flower outside, he wanted to tell him. 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

Because it was complicated. Because it was messy. Because it involved people they shouldn’t have been involved with. Because it felt fragile. Because he thought there would be time. 

Nikolai swallowed. “I thought I’d have more of it,” he said. That answer settled heavily between them. Jeremy nodded once, like he understood more than Nikolai had actually said. 

“Come,” he added after a moment, gesturing toward the hallway. “Walk with me.” 

They stepped outside, the evening air cool and quiet. For a while, neither of them spoke. There were footsteps, there were the sounds of their breaths leaving their lungs and the weight of everything sitting heavy in everyone’s bodies. 

Jeremy was the one who broke the silence. “What was he like?” 

The question was simple, but at the same time it wasn’t. The question was short, but it was loaded with so much meaning. What was he like? 

Nikolai let out a breath, almost like a laugh, but more fragile. “He was…” he paused, searching for the words. “He was calm. You would’ve hated that at first.” 

Jeremy huffed faintly. “I don’t hate calm.” 

“You do when it makes you feel seen,” Nikolai replied, glancing at him briefly. 

That earned him a small, sad smile. “Okay, fair.” 

Nikolai looked ahead again. “He painted all the time,” he continued. “Like—constantly. Even when he didn’t have the energy for it. Said it was the only way he could get things out of his head without them… swallowing him.” 

Jeremy listened quietly. 

“He drank this awful herbal tea,” Niko added, a faint crease forming between his brows. “I swear it tasted like grass, but he loved it. Said it helped him think.” 

Jeremy let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Sounds pretentious.”

“He was pretentious,” Nikolai said, and for a second, just a second, there was something almost warm in his voice. 

Then it faded again. “But he was… gentle,” he added, quieter now. “With me. Always.” His voice dipped lower. “He never made me feel like I was too much.” 

Jeremy's breath seemed to slow, but Nikolai didn’t stop talking. “I didn’t have to be anything different around him. No pretending. No holding back.” His throat tightened. “He just took me as I was.” 

“And he loved me anyway,” he added after a second. 

Jeremy looked at him then. And whatever he saw there made something in his expression shift; something heavier and more concerned taking place. 

“Niko…” 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin it,” Nikolai said quickly, like the words had been waiting. “It felt like if I said it out loud, if I let too many people in, something would go wrong and he would run.”

His voice cracked slightly. “And I guess I was right.” 

“No,” Jeremy said immediately, firm. “Don’t do that.” 

Nikolai shook his head faintly. “It doesn’t matter.” Because I’m going to follow him.

“It does,” Jeremy insisted, stepping in front of him now. “You don’t get to turn this into something you caused.” 

But what if he hadn’t let that piece of trash woman that assaulted Bran get into his way? What if he hadn’t opened that fucking video that destroyed everything. He doesn’t know. 

Nikolai’s gaze dropped and for a moment he didn’t respond. “He was everything to me, Jer.” The words landed differently. 

Jeremy’s jaw tightened slightly. “I can see that,” he said quietly. Silence stretched between them again, but this time it was heavier. Normally, Niko would rattle Jer’s ear off, talking about the most random topic ever, but not this time. 

Jeremy studied him for a few more seconds as if he found something he wasn’t supposed to find. “You’re scaring me,” he admitted carefully. 

Nikolai looked up. “What?” 

“You’re talking like…” Jeremy hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like there’s nothing left for you here.” 

There it was, a little too close to the truth. Nikolai forced a small, tired smile. “I’m just grieving.” 

“No,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “I know you. This isn’t just grief.” Jeremy takes a short pause. “Talk to me,” he added, softer now. “Don’t shut me out now. Not after everything.” 

And for a second, just for a second, Nikolai wavered. The crack widened. Jeremy was right there, close enough to reach, close enough to stop him if he knew. And that was exactly the problem. He couldn’t know. 

Nikolai stepped forward, pulling him into a hug before he could say anything else. The hug was tight, firm and final. “I’m okay,” he murmured against his shoulder. A lie. Jeremy didn’t hug him back immediately—as if he already knew, and he didn’t want it to be true. 

Then, slowly, he did. “I don’t believe you,” he said quietly. 

Nikolai closed his eyes, breathing him in for the last time. “I should go,” he said. Because if he stayed, he wouldn’t know if he could still go through with it. There was no chance he could stay, because a life without his lotus flower would be a miserable life. 

Jeremy frowned, not wanting to let go. “Already?” 

Nikolai breathed out heavily before answering, “Yeah.” 

“...Text me when you get home.” 

Nikolai nodded, because that was all he could do without completely breaking down in front of his best friend. “I will,” he replied. And this time, the lie felt heavier than all the others combined. There wasn’t going to be a message. Not later, and not ever again. 

As Nikolai left for the airport to fly back to the island, somewhere deep down, a part of him knew. Jeremy would be the one who never forgave him for it. But that’s what Niko had to accept, and so had Jeremy. 

The penthouse was quiet when he returned. There still wasn’t Bran greeting him with a needy kiss, or sleeping on the sofa. It was quietness that greeted him. It wasn’t the hollow kind that he had to return to only hours after his death was declared. This one felt settled and final. 

Nikolai closed the door behind him gently, the soft click echoing more than it should have. For a moment, he stood there with his hand still resting on the handle, eyes lowered, breathing slow and even. 

No shaking, no hesitation. 

“I’m home,” he murmured into the silence. The words didn’t hurt this time, because he was finally coming home. 

He moved slowly through the space, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. The kitchen came first. His fingers brushed over the counter, pausing where the box of herbal tea still sat. 

He picked it up, turning it slightly in his hands, a faint, almost invisible smile touching his lips. Maybe Bran was drinking tea right now wherever he was. Nikolai would soon find out. 

“You had terrible taste, baby,” he whispered softly. He set it back exactly where it had been. 

The living room was next. The sofa still held the slight dip from where Bran used to sit, legs stretched out, sketchbook balanced on his knees. Nikolai could almost see him there—head tilted down, pencil moving, completely lost in his own world. 

“Show me when you’re done,” he had said once. 

“I’m not done,” Brandon had replied without looking, a stern look on his face. 

“You’re never done.” 

“Perfection takes time, Niko,” he had answered cheekily, rolling his eyes softly. 

He also remembered coming home to find him deeply asleep, the TV on with one of those Agatha Christie adaptations. He remembered how he sat down next to him, laying his head on his thigh to brush through his lotus flower’s soft hair. 

Nikolai exhaled slowly, the memories settling over him like something warm instead of sharp. Then he moved on. 

The hallway. The walls still lined with pieces Brandon had insisted on hanging; they made the once cold place more homey and welcoming. Nikolai loved every single one of them. 

“It makes it feel alive,” Brandon had argued, looking at one of the mountain pictures he had painted the night before. 

Nikolai hadn’t really understood it then—art being something foreign to him. He did now. His fingers traced the edge of one frame as he passed. “It does,” he murmured. 

This hallway also carried the echoes of moments that were theirs alone—when neither of them cared enough to make it to the bedroom. He remembered how his lotus flower had his legs wrapped around his waist, his back to the wall, head thrown back. Good times. 

The bathroom was next. Stepping into it, he didn’t really know what to think of it. This place felt like a revelation all over again. When Niko had finally ripped the bandaid off and Brandon bared his soul to him. 

But it wasn’t all bad either. Because Bran had let a piece of himself free in here as well. Nikolai had made love to him against the counter. Nikolai got under the shower with him here, taking care of him in all the right ways. 

And then he went to the bedroom. It was last, of course it was. 

He paused at the doorway, taking it in—every detail, every corner, every shadow that had once held something more. 

Then he stepped inside. The bed was untouched from a few days ago. The sheets slightly wrinkled, the pillow still resting where he had left it. 

Nikolai walked to the vanity first. The letters were all there, waiting to be read. He picked them up, one by one, glancing at the names written on each envelope. His mother. His father. Mia. Maya. Jeremy. 

His fingers lingered on that last one just a second longer. Then he set them down again, carefully, right in the center of the vanity. 

They were easy to find and easy to understand. Nikolai wasn’t a poet, never was, but he poured his heart into every word. A quiet breath left him. “That’s done.” 

No second-guessing, no lingering doubt. 

He turned toward the bed, looking at the container which was placed on the nightstand. His death wasn’t going to be painful or some big event. It was going to be easy and quick, getting him to his baby as fast as possible. 

He didn’t want his mother, his father, his sisters to find him in a blood bath either. 

Nikolai glanced once more at the letters on the vanity. That was everything. There was nothing left tying him here.

He picked up the container, not counting the pills as he poured them into his hand. A second later they found themselves in his mouth, washing them down with a few sips of water. 

He sat down on the edge first, his gaze drifting over the room one last time. There was no rush in him, no urgency, just a quiet need to take it all in. 

To remember it exactly like this. The way the city lights spilled through the window. The faint hum of life far below. The stillness of a space that had once been filled with laughter, arguments, soft voices in the middle of the night. 

“...I’m coming,” he said softly. 

He laid back slowly, pulling Brandon’s pillow into his arms, holding it against his chest like he always had. His fingers curled into the fabric, grounding himself in the last piece of him that remained. 

His eyes closed. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

In.

Out.

In. 

Out. 

His body relaxed into the mattress, tension slipping away bit by bit, like he was finally allowing himself to rest after something long and exhausting. 

“You better be there,” he murmured faintly. Then, softer, “...because I kept my promise.” I can’t live without you. 

The silence didn’t answer, but it didn’t need to. 

Nikolai’s grip loosened slightly, his breathing slowing, evening out into something quieter, something distant. There was no fear in him, no regret. Only the quiet, unwavering belief that this was the way back. 

Back to him. 

Back to his lotus flower. 

His last breath left him gently; like a sigh. And the penthouse, once filled with life, settled into stillness once more. 

The day of the funeral was a peaceful, sunny day. 

The kind of day that didn’t make sense for such a tragedy. The sky was clear, soft blue stretching endlessly above, the warmth of the sun settling gently over everything as if nothing had changed. As if the world hadn’t lost something irreplaceable. 

People dressed in black stood gathered, their voices quiet, their grief heavy and shared. Flowers surrounded the casket—white lilies, roses, things Brandon would’ve probably called overdone with that small, amused smile of his. 

Nikolai’s letters were found. 

They were read. 

And somewhere in between the quiet sobs and trembling hands, the truth of everything he had carried alone finally settled into the hearts of the people he left behind. 

Jeremy didn’t say much. 

He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the ground, as if looking anywhere else would make it real in a way he couldn’t survive. But he knew it was going to happen—he had felt it that day. 

Mia cried openly. Maya held onto her, even as her own shoulders shook. Their parents stood close together, grief sitting heavy between them, one loss layered painfully over another. 

Two boys.

Gone too soon. 

And somewhere far away from all of it, or maybe not far at all, Nikolai opened his eyes. 

There was no pain—no tightness in his chest, no weight pressing down on him. All there was, was quietness and softness. 

“Niko.” 

The voice was familiar, warm and so fucking real. Nikolai’s breath caught. Slowly, almost afraid it would disappear if he moved too fast, he turned. And there he was. 

Brandon.

He wasn’t the version that Niko had seen the last time. He wasn’t pale or bleeding. He was still and alive in a way that felt impossible. 

For a second, Nikolai just stared. Like his mind couldn’t catch up, like it was trying to protect him from hoping again. 

“Bran?” His voice barely made it out. 

Brandon smiled, soft and gentle. The same way he always did when Nikolai got overwhelmed, when everything felt too much. 

“I told you I’d wait.” 

That was it. That was all it took. 

The distance between them closed in a second, like it had never existed at all. Nikolai crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around him, holding on like he was afraid he’d disappear again. 

But he didn’t. He was warm and solid in his arms. 

Nikolai let out a broken sound, something between a sob and a laugh, burying his face into Brandon’s shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered, like he still couldn’t believe it. 

And for the first time since the hospital—since everything—Nikolai felt whole again. No emptiness, no grief. Just him and his lotus flower. 

Far away, under the quiet sun, the world said goodbye to them. But somewhere beyond it, or maybe just beyond understanding, two souls had finally found their way back to each other.