The sun peeked through the small window of our rented room, casting soft, golden light on the walls. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, the stiffness of sleep still lingering in my body. Elliot was already up, sitting on the edge of his bed, lacing his boots with quick, familiar movements.
"You're up early," I said, my voice groggy from sleep.
Elliot glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips. "Someone's gotta get the day started. Can't let you sleep your life away."
I groaned, flopping back on the bed. "Five more minutes..."
"Nope. We've got work to do. The bakery won't run itself," he said, tossing a pillow at me. "Get up or I'm throwing cold water on you."
I caught the pillow and sat up, shaking my head. "Fine, fine. I'm up."
Elliot chuckled, standing and grabbing his coat. "See? That wasn't so hard. Let's get to it."
From the moment we woke up, I could tell Elliot was acting like his old self again—smiling, cracking jokes, and carrying on like nothing had ever happened. It was like he'd flipped a switch overnight, as if that moment of fear, that haunted look in his eyes, had never existed.
As we got to the bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread filled the air. Lena greeted us with her usual warm smile, her apron dusted with flour. "Morning, boys. Ready for another day?"
Elliot grinned and gave her a mock salute. "Always ready, boss," he said, his voice light, almost too casual as if nothing weighed on his mind.
I followed behind, my steps slower, more hesitant. I noticed Lena's eyes flicker between us, her smile faltering just slightly. It was subtle—someone who didn't know her well might not have noticed—but I caught the slight furrow of her brow as she wiped her hands on a cloth.
While Elliot went to the back to grab some supplies, Lena leaned in closer, her voice low, just above a whisper. "Billy, is everything alright with Elliot? He seems... off."
I froze, the question hanging in the air between us. My eyes darted toward the back where Elliot had disappeared. He had been pretending everything was fine for days, but I knew better. He was good at putting on a front, at making people laugh and deflecting with jokes, but there was something... hollow about it. A kind of emptiness that gnawed at me every time I saw that forced grin.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "He's acting like nothing's wrong, but... I don't know, Lena. Something feels off." My voice was quieter than I intended, the worry creeping in even as I spoke.
Lena's frown deepened, her eyes softening with concern. She glanced back, ensuring Elliot was still out of earshot before speaking again. "He's a tough one, but everyone has their breaking point." She paused, her gaze locking onto mine. "Sometimes the strongest people hide the deepest pain. Just keep an eye on him, alright? Don't let him shut you out."
Her words hit harder than I expected. I nodded, though it did nothing to ease the growing knot of worry tightening in my chest. Elliot had always been the one who held us together, who took on the weight of every burden without complaint. But now, it felt like he was slipping away, piece by piece.
"I'll try," I mumbled, unsure if that was enough.
Lena gave me a soft smile, though the concern in her eyes lingered. She reached out, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You boys have been through a lot. Just remember, it's okay to lean on each other."
By midday, we were at the lemonade stand, the sun beating down on us as we served the usual crowd. The air was thick with the buzz of voices, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout from the street. Elliot was in his element—or at least, that's what it looked like on the surface. He moved with his usual energy, flashing easy grins at customers, cracking jokes that had people laughing, and working the stand with the kind of charm that always made business boom. We were making good money—more than we ever thought possible when we first started—but none of it seemed to matter today.
There was this hollow feeling gnawing at me, a sense of unease that wouldn't let go. No matter how many smiles Elliot put on or how normal he acted, I couldn't shake the memory of that moment a few days ago—when I saw something crack in him. His eyes, wide with fear, the way his whole body tensed up, like he was reliving something terrible. I had tried to ask him about it, tried to figure out what had him so rattled, but every time I got close, he'd dodge the conversation. A joke here, a teasing remark there—anything to throw me off the scent. And it worked, at least on the surface. But beneath it all, I knew something was wrong.
I handed a cup of lemonade to a customer, my hands working on autopilot as my mind raced. I glanced over at Elliot. He caught my eye and gave me a wink, but it didn't feel like him—not really. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and the gesture felt more like a reflex than anything genuine. It was as if he was going through the motions, putting on a show for everyone around him, but underneath it... something was broken.
The tension inside me kept building, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Why wouldn't he talk to me? We were supposed to be a team, brothers. Yet here we were, standing side by side, and I felt like we were miles apart.
"Next!" Elliot called, tossing a cup of lemonade to a customer with that easy, charismatic smile. The crowd loved him. They always did. But I couldn't focus on that. All I could think about was that look in his eyes from days ago—the look of someone haunted by something they couldn't escape.
I wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and demand that he stop pretending everything was fine. That he stopped pretending like the weight of the world wasn't crushing him. But every time I tried, he slipped away, retreating behind that wall he'd built around himself.
"Another cup, Billy?" Elliot's voice snapped me back to the moment. He was looking at me, holding out an empty pitcher. His smile was still there, but I saw it now—the strain in his eyes, the tiredness lurking just beneath his mask.
"Yeah," I muttered, grabbing the pitcher and turning to refill it. My hands were shaking slightly, and I clenched my jaw, trying to steady them. The lemonade stand had been our way out—our way of making something better for ourselves—but now it felt like just another wall between us.
As the afternoon dragged on, the pit in my stomach only grew. I couldn't stop replaying the moment in my head—Elliot's sudden shift, the terror he tried so hard to hide. And the worst part? He wouldn't let me in. Every time I got close, he'd throw up his defenses, and I was left standing there, feeling helpless.
I handed another cup to a customer, barely hearing their thanks as they walked away. Elliot was at the other end of the stand, laughing with a group of teenagers who had stopped by. I watched him, the way he smiled and joked, but it all felt so far away.
When evening came, we headed to the tavern for our last shift of the day. The place was packed, as usual. Elliot slipped into his role easily, serving drinks and laughing with the regulars. At one point, I saw him talking to a group of mercenaries, laughing along as he filled their mugs.
"Good crowd tonight, huh?" Jorin's voice startled me from my thoughts.
"Yeah," I muttered, glancing over at Elliot, who seemed to be joking with one of the mercenaries. But my focus kept shifting back to him, my frustration growing by the minute.
Jorin raised an eyebrow, noticing where my attention was. "You look like you've got something on your mind, kid."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It's Elliot. He's acting like everything's fine, but... I know it's not. He won't talk to me about it."
Jorin looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing over at Elliot. "Give him time. He's got a lot going on up there," he said, tapping his head. "Sometimes it's hard to open up, even to those closest to you."
I frowned, feeling the weight of Jorin's words. "But we're supposed to be like brothers... he should be able to tell me if something's wrong."
Jorin patted my back with a knowing smile. "He'll talk when he's ready. Just be there for him when he does."
I nodded, though Jorin's words didn't ease the frustration building inside me.
After we finished for the night and were heading home from the tavern, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Elliot!" I shouted, my voice cracking with frustration. He just kept walking like he didn't hear me. That made something snap inside me. "Elliot, stop ignoring me! You can't keep pretending everything's fine!"
He paused but didn't turn around. His silhouette, bathed in the dim streetlight, seemed so small yet... distant.
"Just talk to me!" I shouted again, my voice louder this time. "We're like brothers, aren't we? You're not alone in this! Why won't you let me in? Why do you always have to keep everything bottled up?"
Elliot stood there, his back to me, unmoving. The longer he stayed silent, the angrier I got. My chest was tight, and I could feel the heat rising up my neck.
"You think you're so tough, don't you? You think you're protecting everyone by keeping everything to yourself, but all you're doing is pushing me away! We've been through hell together, and now you won't even look me in the eye! You're selfish, Elliot! You're a selfish coward who's too scared to face the truth!"
The words came out harsher than I intended, but I didn't care. I was hurt, and I wanted him to feel it too. But instead of reacting, instead of saying something back, Elliot finally turned to face me—and what I saw chilled me to the bone.
His face was shrouded in darkness, his eyes empty, his expression cold. It wasn't the Elliot I knew.
"Shut up, Billy," he said, his voice low and harsh, a tone I had never heard from him before. "You think you understand? You think you know what I've been through?" His eyes flashed with something I couldn't name—anger, pain, something deeper.
"You're just a kid who doesn't get it. You never have. And you never will."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of me. My throat tightened, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
I took a shaky step back, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought we were... I thought we were family."
Elliot's gaze was still cold, his voice cutting. "Family? You wouldn't understand what family means if it hit you in the face."
That broke me. Tears spilled over before I could stop them, and without another word, I turned and ran, my feet pounding against the cobblestones as I vanished into the alleyways. Behind me, Elliot stood frozen, his head bowed low. Maybe I should have looked back, seen the way his silent tears fell, like a statue caught in the rain—crumbling, yet unable to move.