---
Some memories don't just fade. They hit you in color — louder than real life, sharper than pain.
Elias knew he was dreaming. The ache in his chest was gone. The air was warmer, lighter. Like summer in Gran's backyard, the place he hadn't seen in years.
The screen door creaked open behind him.
"Gremlin," a voice teased, soft but familiar. "Don't think I didn't catch you stealing cookies before dinner."
Elias spun around.
There he was.
Noah Vale — twenty-two, golden skin with freckles sprinkled across his nose, curls pulled back with a red bandana, sleeves rolled up like he was ready for a fight or just a damn lemonade stand. His smile was crooked, lazy, but his eyes? Those eyes held storms.
"Noah?" Elias said, barely a whisper.
Noah didn't seem to hear him.
"You wanna get yelled at again?" Noah nudged Elias like he was a little brother. "Gran already thinks I'm spoiling you with too much sugar. Like your metabolism ain't cheating or something."
Gran. Evelyn Vale, apron stained, voice already halfway through a scold.
"Noah, if he ruins his dinner—"
"I got this, Gran," Noah said, hands up like a guilty kid. "If I'm going down, I'm taking your meatloaf with me."
"Blasphemy!" Gran laughed, but her eyes softened.
And behind her, quiet and steady, was Gerald Vale — always watching, always there, a gentle hand on Elias's shoulder that used to mean the world.
The backyard smelled like lemon trees, tomato vines, and freshly cut grass. The old tire swing creaked softly in the breeze.
Peace.
Too much peace.
Noah sat down on the porch steps, patting the spot beside him.
"Sit. We got fifteen minutes before they drag us inside for grace."
Elias didn't say no. He sat down, feeling small and big all at once. Like a kid trapped in time.
Noah handed him a glass of lemonade and just watched him drink.
Then, soft as a secret, he said, "Ever think about leaving this place?"
Elias blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There's more out there," Noah said, eyes far away. "Places where people like us don't have to hide. Don't have to pretend."
"People like us?"
Noah laughed. "Yeah. The ones who don't fit into those neat little boxes Gran talks about. You'll see. One day, this house will feel like a cage."
Elias frowned. "I like it here."
"No you don't," Noah said with a smirk. "That's the sad part."
The screen door slammed behind them. "Dinner in ten!" Gran's voice rang out.
Noah stood up, brushing off his jeans.
"Hey," he said, locking eyes with Elias. "You know I love you, right?"
"Yeah," Elias said, soft.
"But not like a brother."
Those words hit like a fist. Echoing inside, bouncing around memories that refused to settle.
Noah ruffled his hair. "Forget I said that."
"I won't," Elias whispered.
Noah looked away, jaw tight. "People are watching me. I don't know how much time I've got left here. But if I disappear, you stay with Gran and Gerald. You act like none of this ever happened. You survive, Elias. Promise me."
"I don't want you to go," Elias said, voice breaking.
Noah leaned close, kissed his forehead.
"I know. Sometimes you don't get to choose. Sometimes surviving means being left behind."
And then —
The dream shattered. The warm light faded. Noah's face flickered like a broken video.
"You're stronger than I ever was," came the last whisper.
---
Elias woke up with a start. A harsh beep pierced the silence. His heart pounded like a drum, lungs gasping for air.
The hospital ceiling stared down cold and white.
He was alone.
Until the door creaked.
Damien stood there. Black clothes, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"You're being discharged," he said flat. "I'll take you home."
No "Are you okay?" No "How do you feel?"
Just that.
Elias sat up, voice shaky. "Did something—?"
"Get dressed," Damien cut him off. "Nurse will bring your stuff."
---
The car ride was a cold silence.
Elias stole glances at Damien. His hands gripped the wheel white-knuckled. No music. No words.
He tried. "Is Cassian —?"
"getting better," Damien snapped. "Go kiss him and find out yourself."
Elias flinched. "You saw?"
No answer.
---
Back at the apartment, Elias's stomach flipped.
The door swung open to chaos. Glass shattered everywhere. Bookshelves tipped over. The coffee table cracked down the middle. Curtains torn.
Something dark stained the rug — wine? Blood? He couldn't tell.
Damien dropped the keys on the counter.
"Clean it."
"What?"
"Your mess now."
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?" Damien laughed, bitter and sharp. "You think kissing Cassian in a hospital bed while I'm ripping myself apart is fair?"
"It wasn't like that!" Elias's voice cracked. "I didn't mean—he just woke up, and I was happy…"
"And so you kissed him," Damien's eyes burned. "Like you kissed me before. Convenient."
"You said I wasn't yours," Elias whispered.
Damien moved fast — not to hit, but too close. Breath hot on Elias's cheek.
"You don't get to decide what's mine."
Elias shook. Damien pulled back, colder now.
"Clean it. Every inch. Then we'll talk about loyalty."
---
Later, Elias knelt, hands shaking, picking up broken shards.
A photo frame lay face-down. He flipped it over — Noah's smile caught in the glass, half shattered.
Tears blurred his vision.
"What would you do, Noah? What do I do now?"
No answer.
Just silence.
Then, his phone buzzed.
Blocked number.
He hesitated.
A deep, distorted voice whispered:
"He knows. They all know. Run, Elias. He can't protect you anymore."
Click.
Elias stared at the screen, numb.
Outside, thunder rolled.