"You're disgusting."
The words fall from Caleb's lips like a blade—cold, final, unforgiving. They slice through the thick air of the dim room, hanging between them like an executioner's axe.
Noah freezes.
The smile that had once brightened his boyish features flickers, then dies completely. His lips part, but no sound comes out. For a moment, he just stands there, still as a statue, with wide, damp eyes that blink slowly—trying to understand.
"I…" he croaks.
Then his knees buckle.
He falls to the floor with a soft thump, as if the weight of those words was too much. Kneeling in front of Caleb, his hands clutch at the edge of the bed, desperate for grounding, desperate for forgiveness that isn't there.
"Don't hate me," he whispers.
The boy who once smiled like the sun now cries like a child who's lost it. His voice cracks, his shoulders tremble violently, and tears stream freely down his cheeks.
"Please, brother… please… don't hate me."
He bows his head low, forehead nearly touching Caleb's legs. His sobs are loud and messy, too raw to be anything but real. He murmurs more things—"I didn't mean to," "You're all I had," "Don't leave me"—a chaotic, emotional chant.
Caleb doesn't say a word. His lips press into a thin, stiff line. His body is still, but not out of mercy—out of numbness. The sight before him is unbearable. And yet, he doesn't move. Not to comfort. Not to condemn.
Eventually, Noah pulls himself away. He doesn't rise, just crawls backward until his back hits the wall. His breath is ragged. His hands wipe uselessly at his tear-stained face.
"I'll leave…" he mumbles, voice hoarse and broken. "I won't bother you anymore… I promise…"
He stumbles out of the room, the door locking shut behind him.
---
Caleb lies on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room is silent. Too silent.
Noah hasn't returned.
No food. No voice. No sound of that familiar creaking door. Just the faint hum of electricity and the occasional buzz of something outside.
He should feel peace.
But all he feels is emptiness.
Noah's cries still echo in his head. The image of him breaking down plays on a loop. Caleb doesn't know why it's bothering him so much. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it's confusion. Or maybe—
He meant it.
With a sigh, Caleb sits up and looks around. His eyes land on something unusual—something poking out beneath the frame of the bed.
He leans forward and pulls it out.
A set of keys.
There's a small piece of folded paper tucked under the keyring. He opens it. The writing is messy, scribbled in shaky pencil:
I trust you, brother.
Caleb stares at the note for a long time. Trust? After all of that? After what he said?
His fingers close around the keys. They're cold. Real.
He could leave now.
But he doesn't move.
His mind replays Noah's breakdown again. The crying. The desperate look in his eyes. And then—those words:
Something stirs.
A flash—a younger version of himself laughing in a sunlit courtyard. A soccer ball. A boy watching from the gate, dirt on his cheeks, holding a melting candy bar with both hands. That same boy running up and hugging his waist.
"Noah…?"
Just the whisper of the name makes his chest tighten.
---
That Night
The door creaks open.
Caleb doesn't flinch. He's seated on the bed, back straight, legs crossed. Waiting.
Noah enters slowly, wearing his usual oversized hoodie. He looks… disheveled. Tired. A plastic bag dangles from his hand.
He pauses as soon as he sees Caleb.
His eyes widen.
"You… didn't leave?" he asks, voice soft, cautious.
Caleb looks up. "You're late. I'm hungry."
The simplest words—and yet, they strike Noah like a lightning bolt. The bag almost slips from his hand.
"You stayed…" he breathes. "I thought… I was sure you'd leave."
"I thought about it," Caleb says casually, his voice unreadable.
Noah sets the bag down gently, as if afraid the moment will break. "I just… I didn't want to scare you more. I wanted to give you time…"
"You've been avoiding me," Caleb says plainly.
Noah's eyes flick to the side. "I thought you needed space. After what I did. What I said. I… I didn't know if you'd ever want to see me again."
"Sit."
Noah's breath catches. "Are you sure?"
"Before I change my mind."
He nods quickly and shuffles over, sitting beside Caleb on the bed like a guilty schoolboy. He keeps his hands in his lap, eyes glued to the floor.
Caleb watches him.
"Do you still hate me, brother?" Noah asks quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Caleb exhales through his nose. "You kept me locked here. Killed people. Cut off their legs. What do you expect me to feel?"
Noah flinches like he's been slapped. He stares down at his trembling hands.
"I just wanted to fix you," he murmurs. "You used to run like a bird. You were the only person who ever smiled at me. I ruined you. I know that. I was angry… confused… I thought if I could fix what I broke, you'd forgive me."
"And?"
"I was wrong."
Noah's voice is barely a whisper now. "I thought if I could find you the perfect legs, you'd smile again. That you'd remember me. That maybe, just maybe, you'd still love me."
Caleb doesn't reply.
Noah slowly reaches out, his hand resting on Caleb's leg. It's light—like a touch made of apology.
"You still can't remember me?" he asks. "That pathetic boy from the orphanage?"
Caleb blinks.
More flashes—images buried deep.
Noah waiting at the gates every Sunday. The sweets. The way he'd cling to his arm like a shadow. The quiet sobs the day Caleb stopped coming.
"I… remember something," Caleb says at last. "Bits and pieces."
"That's enough," Noah whispers. "Even pieces of you… are enough for me."
And Caleb doesn't pull away.
But he doesn't reach back either.
Not yet.
The room is quiet, save for the rustle of the plastic bag as Noah finally opens it, hands still shaking. He offers food without words. Caleb accepts it.
Not because he forgives him.
But because this twisted story… isn't over yet.