The moment he sent the message — I'm in — the silence that followed was deafening.
It felt sacred somehow, like an unspoken truth had been set loose into the world. A decision. A crack in the wall he'd built around himself.
And through that crack… something warm slipped in.
Zeke sat there, phone still in his hand, the screen slowly dimming to black. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Part of him waited for the world to collapse — to scream that he wasn't allowed to want something better, that he had no right to even try.
But nothing came.
Just the quiet. And a strange calm that felt almost foreign.
The days that followed passed in a haze.
He went through the motions — chores, dinner, the usual yelling from down the hall — but inside, something had shifted. Or maybe something buried had stirred. Zeke drifted through the hours like a ghost. As if watching his own life through a fogged window.
Like he was already gone, and no one had noticed.
Yet… he smiled more.
Moved quicker.
He cleaned the kitchen before his mum could shout. Helped Amy braid her hair without being asked. Laughed — actually laughed — at one of his brothers' dumb YouTube pranks, something he hadn't done in months.
No one commented.
His mum gave him a long look over dinner, like she sensed the change but couldn't be bothered to ask.
His dad didn't even look up from his phone.
Maybe they were too used to chaos to question it. Or maybe… they'd just stopped expecting anything from him a long time ago.
Packing felt surreal.
There wasn't much to take — just some clothes, a battered notebook he used to sketch in, the old hoodie Ethan had given him after the gym incident, and a photo.
One of the only pictures they had of all of them together.
Zeke sat on the edge of his bed, the photo in hand, the packed bag zipped at his feet.
In the photo, he held Sam and Eli on either side, their faces smeared with cake. Amy clung to his leg mid-laugh. He stared at it, the edges worn soft from time.
And for the first time since hitting send, doubt slipped in.
What if they needed him?
What if this was selfish?
A soft knock broke the silence.
Too gentle to be anyone but Amy.
"Come in," Zeke said.
She peeked in, still wearing that same oversized hoodie that had once been his. "You're leaving, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Tomorrow morning."
Amy walked in without another word, climbed onto the bed beside him, and stared down at the photo in his hands.
"I heard Mum yelling about your train ticket," she mumbled. "Said you were running away."
His jaw clenched, but he didn't answer.
Amy turned to look at him, her eyes glossy and rimmed red. "Are you?"
The question hit harder than it should have. It landed somewhere deep — where the guilt curled up and waited for moments like this.
He wanted to say no. He wanted to say it wasn't that simple. That every step away from this house felt like both salvation and betrayal.
Zeke swallowed, his voice soft. "I'm not running. I'm chasing something."
She didn't fully understand — how could she? — but she nodded anyway. That was enough.
A few seconds later, Sam and Eli appeared in the doorway. One held a crumpled juice box; the other dragged a toy lightsaber along the floor, its plastic tip worn from battles only they could see. They hesitated, eyes bouncing from the bag to Zeke, as if trying to make sense of what it meant.
"You better come back with powers," Eli muttered, attempting to sound tough. He didn't meet Zeke's gaze.
"Real ones," Sam added. "Like the kind on shows where they blow up cities and fly around the world."
Zeke's chest tightened with a swell of emotion — fierce, protective, aching.
He laughed, a warm sound tinged with something fragile, then opened his arms and pulled them all close. The hug was tight, like he was trying to hold time still. Like he was afraid that letting go would make it all real.
Their small bodies pressed against his, their warmth anchoring him in a way nothing else could.
"I'll come back," he whispered, voice thick with feeling. "I promise. Stronger than ever. For you guys."
Amy pulled back just enough to put on her best angry face, her little brows furrowed.
"You better not forget us."
Zeke met her gaze, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Never could," he said, voice firm. "You're one of the few reasons I'm doing this. All of you."
She blinked, looking away quickly. But she stayed. They all did.
They didn't ask more questions. Didn't say goodbye.
They just curled up beside him — one by one — arms wrapped around his waist, heads resting against his side, his chest, his lap. The way they trusted him without needing words made something inside him crack open and spill light.
Long after their breathing softened into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Their trust, quiet, unspoken, absolute — settled on his shoulders like a crown... and a weight. This was what he was protecting. This was what made leaving so unbearable — and so necessary.
Zeke remained where he was.
He didn't move.
Didn't dare.
He memorized the weight of their limbs against him, the rise and fall of their chests, the way their fingers clutched the hem of his shirt even in sleep, afraid he would vanish.
Sam, who once cried for an hour when Zeke got a cut. Eli, who still snuck into his room after nightmares, always pretending it was "just to check on him." And Amy, who held onto him like a lifeline, the one who would be taking his place once he leaves.
He etched the moment into his mind — every detail, every breath — because he knew he'd need it where he was going.
One last night where it felt like maybe, just maybe, he still belonged here...
Even as the future quietly pulled him away.