A date

The sun had dipped just past noon, casting a golden filter over the city as Catrina parked the car in front of her apartment. Elias was still quiet, staring out the window like he was somewhere far away. She didn't push him to talk—grief had its own clock—but she had plans. And sulking wasn't on the agenda.

"First things first," Catrina declared, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter. "You're going to eat like a human again, not some love-sick ghost."

Before Elias could argue, she shoved a warm bowl of pasta into his hands, along with a glass of cold juice. He didn't speak, but he ate—slowly, thoughtfully—his body finally catching up to the hunger he'd ignored for days.

"Better?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"A little," he admitted.

"Good. Because step two is where the fun begins." Her eyes gleamed.

"What now?" he asked warily.

"Glow. Up." She clapped her hands. "I'm talking skincare, a fresh haircut, cologne that smells like revenge, and clothes that scream 'you missed out.'"

Within an hour, Catrina had dragged him through her bathroom, slathered his face with masks, plucked his brows with military precision, styled his hair, and dressed him in one of her most expensive shirts that somehow looked better on him than it ever had on her past dates.

Then came the final step.

She plopped onto the couch, phone in hand, and looked at him like a sculptor admiring her masterpiece. "You need a social media account."

"I don't post stuff," Elias said.

"You do now." She smirked. "Your ex has Wi-Fi, right? Let's make him suffer."

She created a profile for him—clean, aesthetic, and elegant. She made him pose near the window, catching the afternoon light just right. One picture, two, three—some casual, some candid, some brooding.

And then she captioned the first post herself:

"Healing never looked this good."

"Catrina…" Elias started, half-laughing, half-protesting.

She winked. "Therapy comes in many forms, baby brother. Today, it's attention."

Elias stretched out on the sofa, sinking into the cushions as Catrina scrolled through the gallery on her phone.

"Oh my God," he groaned, peeking over her shoulder. "How many pictures did you take?"

Catrina didn't even flinch. "Three hundred-ish?"

"Three hundred!?" He sat up, wide-eyed. "Why so many?!"

She shrugged, completely unbothered. "You're surprisingly photogenic. It didn't take much effort. And besides," she smirked, tilting the phone toward him, "we need a full arsenal of hotness to pick from. This is about sending a message."

Elias rolled his eyes, but the faint smile playing on his lips betrayed his pride. For once, he didn't feel like a mess. He felt… visible.

As they lounged in the glow of their chaotic makeover session, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Their father entered the room, freezing when he saw them sprawled on the sofa.

"I thought you were asleep," he said flatly, eyes flicking between his polished son and his gleaming daughter.

"Well," Elias muttered, "clearly not."

Mr. Thorne stepped closer, pulling a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his coat. "I was going to give you this tomorrow, but I might as well do it now."

He handed it to Elias.

"What's this?" Elias asked, unfolding the paper.

"An address. You're going on a date."

"A what now?"

"A date," his father repeated. "With Damien. The man you're going to marry. Surely you haven't forgotten?"

Elias blinked. "Oh. So that's his name? Damien?"

Mr. Thorne gave a single nod. "Yes. Wear something proper. Though—" he looked Elias up and down "—you actually look… decent. You can wear this."

Elias was so stunned he barely registered what came next—his father calling the butler to prepare dinner and then heading upstairs without a single insult, complaint, or dismissive glance.

He stared at the staircase long after their father had disappeared.

"What just happened?" he muttered.

Catrina grinned. "I think you just got your first compliment from him."

Elias blinked. "I didn't know he was capable of those"

Catrina smacked Elias lightly on the back. "A date, huh? Must be nice! You've got a fiancé, and I don't even have a boyfriend!"

Elias raised an impeccably arched brow. "Didn't you break up with your boyfriend like, two months ago? And weren't you only dating him for three?"

Catrina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and unlike you, I don't waste years on people I can't keep. I date smart. You, on the other hand, were with that walking garbage fire for what—three years?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw the shift in Elias's face—the way his expression cracked just enough for her to see the hurt underneath.

"I was kidding!" she blurted. "Oh my God, I'm sorry. Don't cry!"

But Elias was already on his feet, storming off toward his room.

"Elias, come on!" she called, chasing after him. "Hey, at least give me my shirt back!"

"Leave me alone!" he snapped, voice cracking as he disappeared down the hall.

Catrina groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "Why do I always say the wrong thing at the worst time…"

"Sorry, please don't take it too seriously!!" Catrina said, guilt dripping from her voice as she followed Elias down the hallway.

Elias didn't stop. He kept walking toward his room, shoulders stiff, hands curled at his sides like he was holding back more than just tears.

Catrina groaned and jogged a little to catch up. "Hey! I was just messing around—you know that, right? Come on, don't be like this! I already said I'm sorry."

Elias finally stopped at his bedroom door. He didn't turn to face her, just stood there for a second, breathing in slow and deep. Then, with a small sigh, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Okay... But I'm keeping this shirt. If you let me keep it, I'll forgive you."

Catrina blinked, then let out a laugh—half-relief, half-exasperation. "Fine, fine! You win. Even if it's brand new and technically one of my favorites… you do look better in it anyway."

He smirked and turned the doorknob. "Obviously."

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorframe. "One last thing…"

He paused.

"Good night, loser."

Elias cracked a smile and replied, "Good night to you too, fashion disaster."

And with that, the door closed gently behind him, the tension finally melting into the comfort of familiar sibling teasing.