The evening air was soft against Christopher's skin as he sat on the balcony of his apartment, one hand resting loosely on the railing.
The city below moved as it always did
—
cars passing, distant voices blending into a quiet hum
—
but up here, everything felt still.
For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe.
And then, like it always did… his thoughts drifted back to Jackson.
The way he looked at him.
The way he said his name.
The way things had started to feel… different.
Christopher exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around the cold metal of the railing.
Something had changed.
He just didn't know when.
His phone rang.
The sound broke through the silence, sharp and sudden.
He glanced at the screen.
Mom.
Christopher hesitated for a second before answering.
"Hello?" Her voice came quickly, almost too quickly.
"Christopher, sweetheart, can you come over for dinner tonight?" He blinked, a little caught off guard.
"Tonight?" "Yes, I—I haven't seen you in a while," she said, her tone light but slightly rushed.
Christopher looked back out at the fading sky.
"…Okay. I'll come."
The house felt the same.
And yet… not.
As Christopher stepped inside, a strange stillness settled over him.
The air felt heavier somehow, like something unseen was pressing down on the walls.
He barely had time to take a few steps in before his phone rang again.
Mom.
A small frown formed on his face as he answered.
"Mom?" "Christopher, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice more distant this time.
"Something came up
—
I had to leave suddenly.
It's an emergency."
His grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"…You left?" "Yes, but Oliver is home.
You can have dinner with him, alright?" There was a pause.
Christopher's chest felt… tight. "I'll be back later," she added quickly, before the call ended.
Silence.
Too much of it.
Christopher slowly lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Something about this didn't feel right.
He turned toward the hallway.
"I should just leave," he muttered under his breath.
He took a step toward the door
—
—
and then he heard it.
The soft, deliberate sound of a door opening behind him.
Christopher froze.
Footsteps followed.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Like whoever it was already knew he was there.
A voice, smooth and familiar, broke the silence.
"Good evening…" Christopher's breath caught slightly as he turned.
Oliver stood there, leaning casually against the doorway, his expression relaxed—almost warm.
But his eyes… They were watching him too closely.
"…little brother."