Gabriel and Daniel made their way to school in silence. Gabriel pedaled without thinking, muscle memory taking over as they cut through the quiet streets. Both brothers were deep in their own thoughts.
Gabriel kept replaying Jai-Lee's text from earlier that morning over and over. She usually waited for him at the school gate—they always walked in together. But today?
Don't wait for me. I'll see you inside.
No smiley. No reason. Just that.
Meanwhile, Daniel sat on the back pegs, gripping the seatpost tightly, stealing glances at his brother's back. He could feel something was off. Gabriel hadn't said a single word since they left the house, and the silence was starting to wear on him.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and mustered up the courage to speak. "Gabe?"
"What, now?" came Gabriel's blunt response.
Daniel flinched slightly at the tone, but didn't push back.
Gabriel was in that phase of his life where just being the older brother felt like a punishment to him. It wasn't that he hated Daniel— because he didn't. But the way their parents acted like he was responsible for him 24/7? , his own personal security , it wore on Gabriel and got old pretty fast.
Like just because he came out a few years earlier, he had to be Daniel's shadow everywhere he went, he went to go follow him , he went to the shop follow him , he went to basketball, follow him. It was like the older brother who becomes the other parent because the other parent wasn't there to do their part.
Over time, that pressure had turned into something heavier, it weighed on him , pressed down like an invisible weight refusing to let up. Like a quiet frustration that never really left. It settled deep in his gut and waited —always there , always waiting to bubble up when he was tired, stressed, or just fed up.
Daniel hesitated. "Do you think Mom was right? You think Dad's actually coming back once he finishes this project this time?"
Gabriel let out a low, dry chuckle. "You're actually serious?"
"I mean… yeah. Be real with me."
Gabriel exhaled through his nose, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "Alright. You want the truth? He's always been this way. You were just young to remember all of it."
Daniel stayed quiet, waiting.
"Every time he starts something new, it's the same old thing, followed by the same old excuses. He promises he'll be around more after it's done. Says it's just temporary. But then he finishes and jumps straight into another one, like we didn't even matter. New goal. New deadline. Same excuses. And each time, Mom buys his excuses and his puppy dog eyes, sad .. i know. She keeps telling us it's almost over." Gabriel paused.
"But it never is."
Daniel frowned. "He had a project before this one?"
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. You were still in diapers. It was some energy thing—don't ask me the details. He was obsessed with it. Barely came home. Six nights out of seven, he was in the lab. One night, I stayed up waiting for him. Wanted to hang out, just me and him. He walked in, half-asleep, dropped on the couch. I thought that was it—we'd watch something, maybe talk."
He tightened his grip on the handlebars.
"But like ten minutes later, his phone rang. Work. He got up and left. Didn't even notice I was still awake."
Daniel didn't say anything. Gabriel could hear his brother breathing behind him, quiet and steady.
"He promised me a trip," Gabriel added after a moment. "Said when the project was done, we'd go away. Somewhere fun. I believed him. I even picked out a place—printed pictures, circled dates. But the project failed. He moved on. When I brought it up, he just said, 'Next year.' That was eight years ago."
Gabriel's voice dropped slightly. "That's when I knew. He's not too tired for work. He's just too tired for us."
Daniel's face fell. "But he promised to take me to the fair on my birthday."
Gabriel glanced back at him, then looked forward again. He felt a strange mix of pity and amusement. That line—he promised—it hit different when you were still young enough to believe it meant something.
He didn't want to crush Daniel, but he also didn't want him walking into the same wall over and over again like he did.
"Maybe he will," Gabriel said. "Maybe he won't. Just… try not to get your hopes up too high."
Daniel looked down at his sneakers. "Yeah."
"If he doesn't come," Gabriel added, "we'll go anyway. Just you and me."
They didn't talk after that.
The silence between them wasn't the same as before, though. It wasn't awkward. It was heavier—filled with the weight of truths that were hard to swallow, especially when you were twelve and still waiting for your dad to show up. As they continued to cycle they passed a row of shuttered shops, and the school finally came into view: jesvelt High — the tall gray building standing like a concrete box with blue trim, banners about attendance and upcoming exams flapping weakly in the wind. The parking lot was already filling up. Kids stood in loose circles near the entrance, talking loud, laughing too hard, pretending like everything was fine.
Gabriel rolled to the bike rack and kicked the stand down. He locked it up while Daniel hopped off.
Daniel adjusted his backpack straps, but he still looked like something had been taken out of him. Not just the fair — something deeper. Something you only lose once.
Gabriel watched him for a second, then reached out and messed up his hair.
"Hey," he said.
Daniel looked up.
"If he doesn't come through, we're still going to the fair. Just me and you, alright?"
Daniel nodded slowly. "Alright."
Then he turned and walked toward the school entrance, head down, footsteps just a little slower than usual.
Gabriel stayed by the bike rack for a moment longer, watching the doors swing shut behind his brother.
He knew how this would play out. Another birthday. Another broken promise. Another lie patched up with cake and balloons and "maybe next time."
But not this year.
This year, he'd be there. Even if no one else showed up.