The apartment still smells like his cologne. You left without your coat, without your keys, standing on the sidewalk in the cold with your phone pressed to your ear. You called your brother. You just needed to hear a familiar voice. But it wasn't Dominic who picked up. Damien's voice is low and steady on the other end, and something about it makes your throat tighten in a way you weren't expecting. He doesn't ask questions. He just says he's on his way. What you don't know yet is that Dominic handed over that phone on purpose. And that Damien has been waiting for this call, in some quiet corner of himself, since eighth grade.