Chapter 16

The house was too quiet.

Luke and Ashton sat on the couch, the TV on, but neither of them really watching. The dull glow flickered across their faces, casting long shadows against the walls.

The low hum of the television was the only sound, but it wasn't enough to fill the space.

The silence pressed in.

Luke barely registered when Ashton's phone buzzed. He glanced up, watching as Ashton hesitated before answering.

His voice was clipped when he spoke. "Yeah?"

His mother's voice was just as distant. "We'll be out of town for at least a week. Maybe more, depending on how negotiations go."

Of course. Just like always.

Ashton didn't bother with a real response. A hum, then a click as the call ended. He stared at the phone in his hand before setting it down, face unreadable.

Luke shifted in his seat, the weight of the day pressing down on him. "It's getting late. We should go to bed."

Ashton blinked at him. "It's not late—"

But then his gaze caught on the window. The night stretched endless and vast, the moon hanging high and cold. Time had slipped away.

He exhaled. "Yeah. We should go."

Luke pushed himself up, his limbs heavy. He made it to the stairs before realizing Ashton wasn't following.

"Ashton?"

"In the kitchen."

Luke turned, padding quietly down the hall. When he stepped into the kitchen, he found Ashton standing in front of an open cupboard, staring inside like he'd forgotten why he even opened it.

"What are you doing?"

Ashton's fingers hovered over a box of granola bars before he let his hand drop. "Just trying to find a midnight snack."

Luke leaned against the doorway. "Did you find anything?"

Ashton let out a humorless chuckle. "No." He closed the cupboard with a soft click. "Let's go."

Luke didn't question it, just turned back toward the stairs. Ashton followed a moment later, his footsteps unusually light.

At the top of the stairs, they mumbled their goodnights before slipping into their respective rooms.

Luke curled into a ball beneath the blankets, his breath shaky as silent tears traced down his face.

Unbeknownst to Luke, if he had glanced back toward the stove, he would have noticed --

A single knife missing from the set. 

Sunday passed in a blur of silence.

The house, though massive, felt suffocating. The air was thick with everything left unsaid, emotions pressing down like a weight neither of them could shake.

Luke barely left the room Ashton had given him. He lay curled under the covers, staring at the ceiling, his mind cycling through every version of his father's voice.

The slap. The words. You don't need me.

It should've been rage that burned in his chest.

Hatred.

But there was nothing.

Just hollowness.

He had never felt so untethered before—like a balloon someone had let go, drifting further and further away from anything that used to feel like home.

But this wasn't home. It never would be.

His stomach twisted, empty, but the thought of eating made him sick.

Maybe he should get up.

Maybe he should go downstairs. But what would he even do? Talk to Ashton? Pretend they weren't both drowning?

No. So he stayed, listening to the quiet hum of the house, feeling the hours stretch endlessly ahead.

His hands trembled as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. No texts. No calls. His father had meant every word.

He was truly alone. 

Ashton wasn't doing much better. He hadn't slept, just sat in bed staring at his phone. Scrolling through the wreckage of his reputation, through messages he didn't have the energy to respond to. 

"Monster."

"Always knew he was bad news."

"Finally, the truth is out."

The worst part wasn't the comments. It wasn't the betrayal of people he thought were his friends.

It was the helplessness.

He didn't do it.

Yet, none of it mattered.

His parents had called earlier, their voices distant as they explained they'd be gone for at least a week, maybe more. Negotiations were taking longer than expected.

"Take care of yourself," they had said before hanging up. He almost laughed.

Take care of himself?

He barely knew how to exist right now.

He exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. He needed to move. To do something. But when he pulled open his door, the hallway was empty.

Luke's door remained shut.

Ashton stared at it for a moment, debating whether to knock.

Hey, you alive?

No. That was dumb.

If Luke wanted space, Ashton would give it to him. Ashton sighed, turning away back to his room.

Every so often, he'd find himself looking at the stolen knife hidden beneath his mattress, the sharp edge glinting under the dim light.

He didn't even know why he took it.

Maybe for control.

Maybe for nothing.

Maybe just because it was there.