The room is quiet. Unbearably quiet. A single lamp flickers in the corner, casting pale yellow light onto the damp stone walls. Caleb lies still on the mattress, the same one he's been trapped on for days now—he's not even sure how long. Time feels like it's melting, stretching endlessly like wax over an open flame.
He's alone.
Again.
He doesn't know whether to be thankful or terrified that Noah hasn't tried anything beyond the cuddles and kisses. Those moments make his skin crawl, yet they're the only moments of human touch he's had in this abyss. Still, it's the uncertainty that drives him mad. The fear of what might come next.
He doesn't remember Noah.
No matter how hard he tries, the boy's face is a blank in the dusty corridors of his mind. There's only a faint echo—a feeling, like he should remember, like something warm existed between them once. But it's been scrubbed clean, erased like the rest of the life he lost after the accident.
Does Father even know I'm gone?
He stares at the ceiling, his fists clenched into the thin blanket. Is he even looking for me? Or is he glad I'm out of the way? Less embarrassment. Less burden.
Thoughts whirl like a cyclone, tearing through whatever stability he has left.
Then—the door creaks open.
A sudden gust of air disturbs the silence. Caleb's eyes snap toward the door, muscles tensing. Noah steps inside with his usual slow, almost theatrical movements. He's wearing that same oversized hoodie—hood up, sleeves a little too long, and that unhygienic smile stretched across his face like a child bringing home a prize.
"Brother~" he calls out sweetly, lifting a plastic bag in one hand. "I brought your favorite food."
Caleb stiffens.
Noah walks over, kneels on the bed, and settles beside him as if this is the most normal thing in the world. He opens the bag, the scent of freshly cooked meat and spices wafting through the air.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asks gently. "Here, let me feed you."
He pulls out a spoon and begins to scoop some food. Caleb's body shifts ever so slightly away from him, eyes narrowing in distrust.
Noah pauses. His smile falters for just a moment before returning, more subdued this time. "Do you still think I put something in it?"
Caleb doesn't answer.
Noah sighs softly, shaking his head. "Really, Brother? After all this time, you still don't trust me?"
He raises the spoon again. "Come on. I don't want you to get sick."
Caleb hesitates, but his stomach twists with hunger. After a long pause, he finally parts his lips, letting Noah feed him. The food is warm. Real. It grounds him for a moment.
They fall into a strange rhythm. Spoon after spoon, Noah feeding, Caleb accepting. It almost feels—calm. Almost.
Then Caleb notices something.
Inside the bag, pushed near the bottom, there's something else. Plastic wrapping. Smooth, rectangular. He tilts his head slightly, trying to peer deeper.
He reaches out.
Noah reacts instantly. In a blur, he snatches the bag away. But not fast enough. A few items tumble from the open top and scatter onto the floor.
One of them lands near Caleb's hand.
A small, square packet. Shiny. Labeled.
Caleb's breath catches.
"Co...condom?" he says aloud, stunned.
The air freezes.
He looks up at Noah.
The boy's entire face has gone red—from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. His breathing grows shallow, almost ragged, and his eyes flicker between Caleb and the packet on the floor.
"B-Brother..." Noah stammers, voice high and panicked. "I can explain..."
Caleb swallows hard, every part of him suddenly aware of how small the room is, how close they are, and how he has no way out.
Noah bites his lip, shifting uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact now. "It's not what it looks like, I swear. I-I was just... I thought maybe, someday, when you remembered me, and we were happy again..."
He trails off, eyes darting to the wall as if the stone might save him from this.
Caleb remains quiet, pulse racing.
Noah slowly bends down to pick up the fallen packets, handling them like they're made of glass. His hands are trembling.
"I didn't want to scare you," he whispers. "I just... I want to be close to you. But not if you don't want it. I can wait. I've always waited!."
Caleb's lips press into a thin line, his fingers still trembling from the shock. His eyes don't waver from the scattered condoms on the floor, nor from Noah, whose face is now flushed with shame, chest rising and falling in a stuttering rhythm.
Noah opens his mouth to speak again, maybe to lie, maybe to beg.
But Caleb beats him to it.
"You're disgusting," he mutters under his breath, voice like a blade—low, flat, but sharp enough to slice.
Noah's breath catches. The words hit harder than a punch. His smile fades. He doesn't speak, doesn't move. Just stands there, frozen, like a kicked dog that didn't expect to be hurt by its master.
"Brother..."