Nyx

I walked down the narrow cobblestone street, my boots tapping against the uneven pavement, the gusts of wind tearing through the alleyway like some twisted whisper. Bavaria, with its grandeur of snow-covered mountains, dense forests, and quaint villages, always held an eerie kind of beauty in winter. But tonight, the streets were suffocated by a haze—thin fog curling its way through the chilled air, swallowing up everything in sight.

The frigid wind cut through my coat, biting at the exposed skin of my face. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat, the fabric soft but thick enough to shield me from the cold. I pulled it tighter around me, the warmth of my body trapped within the folds, though it never seemed to be enough. The chill always seeped in, much like the memories I kept locked inside—cold and unforgiving.

The street was nearly empty, the shadows playing tricks as the faint yellow glow from the streetlights flickered against the mist. Only the sound of my breath and the soft rhythm of my steps broke the silence. I wasn’t in any hurry. The world around me was hazy, disjointed—a blur of muted colors and shapes. Yet in my mind, I was sharper than ever, every instinct alert, scanning for danger, waiting for something to shift in the air.

I was used to this—walking through life like a ghost. Detached. Invisible to most. But still… my chest tightened, and something gnawed at the pit of my stomach. Like I was being watched.

But then again, it was always my instinct—always there, lurking in the corners of my mind like an unwelcome guest. My thoughts were a chaotic maze, twisting and turning, looping in on themselves until I was left dizzy and disoriented. My own ability to overthink, to analyze and overanalyze, crept up on me like shadows I could never quite escape. It was both a blessing and a curse, leaving me adrift in my own head, teetering between clarity and confusion.

I slowed my breathing, pulling in deep, measured gulps of the icy night air. Each inhale stung, the cold pressing against my lungs, grounding me in the present. My boots scuffed softly against the cobblestones as I turned the corner into an even narrower alley, the walls on either side pressing closer, as if the city itself conspired to suffocate me. The path I chose deliberately to reach my destination earlier. As I made out of the alleyway, I breath out a sign.

Ahead, the sight of lined rowhouses emerged through the hazy fog. They stood tall and proud, each one pressed against the next, like soldiers on parade. The buildings were old, their facades worn from years of braving Bavarian winters. Shuttered windows stared blankly at the street, framed by chipping paint and warped wooden frames.

Small flower boxes sat on the sills, long abandoned, with dead vines trailing like skeletal fingers over the edges. The bricks, some moss-covered and others cracked, held a certain charm despite their tired appearance. They told stories of time, of families who once filled these walls with laughter or secrets, of lives lived and forgotten.

As I approached the third house, the familiar nameplate came into view: Jonathan Rossi À404. The bold letters gleamed faintly in the dim streetlight, though their shine did nothing to dull the weight they carried. That name—it churned in my stomach, a twisting knot of nausea and unease. Memories rose unbidden, swirling and thick, but I pushed them down, forcing my steps forward.

I reached for the gate, the wrought iron cold beneath my fingers. The creak of the hinges seemed louder in the stillness of the night as I slipped inside, closing it behind me with a deliberate click. My shoulders sagged, a deep sigh escaping my lips as I leaned against the gate for a moment, pressing it shut with more force than necessary.

I bit my lip, a nervous habit I hadn’t been able to shake, and inhaled deeply. The scent of damp earth and old wood filled my senses, familiar and grounding. My gaze lifted to the front door—a weathered slab of oak painted in a once-vibrant shade of blue. Now, the color had faded, the years etched into its surface in the form of scratches and peeling paint. It stood there like a sentinel, stoic and enduring, carrying the weight of the past.

With a sigh, I pressed the doorbell, the sound echoing faintly through the stillness of the night. I shifted on my feet, my fingers tugging at the sleeves of my coat as a wave of nervous anticipation washed over me. The sound of hurried footsteps slapping against the floor inside reached my ears, quick and light, growing louder as they approached. I bit down on my lip, trying to steady my breathing, my heart thudding softly in my chest.

The door creaked open, and I exhaled a breath of relief—though not entirely. Standing there was my younger brother, Alex, his dark brown eyes meeting mine, warm yet inquisitive. His gaze lingered for a moment, as if trying to read me, his expression a mix of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite place. His hair, a slightly grown-out blond mullet, framed his face with an effortlessly tousled charm, giving him a look that was both boyish and charismatic. His features had matured since the last time I saw him: high cheekbones softened by the curve of his jawline, a slightly upturned nose, and a faint hint of stubble along his chin that made him look older than his years. But his smile small and easy was still the same, the kind that lit up his entire face and felt like home.

He was dressed casually, in a baggy grey sweatshirt that hung loosely on his broad shoulders, paired with black joggers that pooled slightly around his ankles. The outfit looked comfortable, relaxed, as if he’d been lounging around the house. His socks were mismatched—one navy and the other striped—which made me grin internally. Typical Alex.

A small smile tugged at my lips, hesitant yet genuine. "Hey, Alex," I greeted softly, my voice carrying the weight of time and distance.

Before I could say another word, he closed the gap between us, wrapping me in a tight hug. The force of it caught me off guard, and I stumbled back a step, laughing as I tried to regain my balance. His arms were strong, grounding, the kind of hug that reminded me of who he was—unwavering, loyal, and unapologetically affectionate, even if he rarely showed it to anyone else.

"Nyx," he murmured, his voice muffled against my shoulder. I felt his grip tighten as if he was afraid to let go, and my grin softened into something deeper, something that reached into the parts of me I kept hidden.

"Missed me, huh?" I teased lightly, though my voice wavered just enough to betray the emotions swelling inside me.

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on my shoulders as he studied my face, his brows furrowing. "You’ve been gone too long," he said quietly, his tone a mixture of concern and reproach.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yeah, I know," I admitted, my smile faltering for just a moment. "But I’m here now."

And for now, that had to be enough.

"Wouldn’t you invite me inside?" I teased, raising an eyebrow as Alex blinked, startled out of his thoughts.

“Oh, right,” he said, nodding quickly before stepping aside to make way. He gestured with an arm, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

I stepped past him, my boots clicking softly against the wooden floor as I entered. The warmth of the house hit me instantly, a stark contrast to the icy bite of the night outside. My heart thudded in my chest as my eyes roamed over the familiar space. It was the same as I remembered, but at the same time, it felt... different, smaller almost. The living room was cozy, with a worn but inviting brown leather couch sitting in the center, flanked by matching armchairs. A coffee table, slightly scuffed at the edges, held an assortment of books and magazines, haphazardly stacked. The floor was covered by a patterned rug that had seen better days, its once vibrant colors now faded.

The walls, painted a soft cream, were adorned with framed photographs—snapshots of life before everything changed. My eyes lingered on one near the mantel, a picture of Alex and me as kids. He was grinning wide, his arm slung over my shoulder, while I held up a melting popsicle, laughing at the camera. The sight made my chest ache, a pang of nostalgia mixed with longing for a time that felt a lifetime away.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, before lowering onto the couch. It creaked slightly under my weight, the leather cold against the backs of my legs. I sank into it, exhaling slowly as the tension in my shoulders began to ease. Alex closed the door behind me, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing softly in the room. He hesitated for a moment before walking over, his footsteps muffled against the rug. Without a word, he settled beside me, his body sinking into the cushions.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was something deeper there, an undercurrent of concern he didn’t quite manage to mask.

I glanced at him, studying his face. The years had softened his boyish features, but they’d also sharpened something in his eyes—a kind of weariness, a quiet strength. He was no longer the carefree kid who used to laugh at everything. Time had shaped him into someone more grounded, someone I could still count on, even after all this time. My throat tightened as memories of the past flickered through my mind, of all the times he’d stood by me, shielded me when no one else did.

I chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “I feel like a guest,” I said, shaking my head.

Alex frowned, his lips twitching upward into a faint, almost reluctant smile. “It’s your home, Nyx,” he said firmly, his voice carrying a certainty that made my chest tighten. He glanced toward the hallway, his gaze lingering on a closed door at the end. He bit his lip, hesitating before speaking again. “Mom’s sleeping. Do you want to wake her?”

My heart clenched at his words, my eyes flicking to the door. It stood there, silent and unmoving, yet it felt like it was breathing, like it held the weight of all the things left unsaid. I bit my lip hard, forcing the sudden lump in my throat back down.

“N-no,” I said quickly, my voice cracking slightly. I cleared my throat and tried again, forcing a weak smile. “No need. I’ll see her another time. I’ll… be around.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me, his expression unreadable. “You’re not staying with us?” he asked, his tone flat, though there was a faint edge of disappointment beneath it.

I shook my head, leaning back against the couch and letting my gaze drift to the ceiling. The faint lines of the wood grain above blurred as I blinked away the emotions threatening to surface. “I’ll stay in my apartment,” I said firmly, though the words felt heavier than they should.

“Nyx…” Alex’s voice was quiet, almost pleading, but I shook my head again, cutting him off.

“It’s better this way,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t look at him, couldn’t. The last thing I wanted was to see the hurt in his eyes, to face the unspoken questions he didn’t dare ask.

Because the truth was, I didn’t know how to answer them. Not yet.

“As you please,” Alex said with a shrug, though his voice held a faint edge, one I couldn’t quite ignore. His eyes flicked to mine briefly, as if gauging my reaction, before he settled back against the couch.

I studied him for a moment, his face illuminated softly by the warm glow of the overhead light. There was something in his expression—a mix of resignation and acceptance—but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by the familiar ease he always carried. I grinned, trying to ease the tension lingering between us. “How’s everything here?” I asked, tilting my head. “You still on the basketball team?”

His expression shifted instantly, the faint tension in his shoulders melting away. His eyes lit up, the corners crinkling with excitement. It was a spark I hadn’t seen in him in a while, and it made me smile despite myself.

“Still on the team?” he repeated, feigning offense. “I’m the captain now,” he added, his voice filled with pride as he straightened his posture.

“Captain, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s impressive, Alex.”

He grinned, clearly pleased, and I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for him. Despite everything life had thrown at us, he had found something that made him happy, something he was passionate about. I remembered our last phone call a few weeks ago when he had excitedly told me about a big game his team had won against a rival school. Basketball wasn’t just a sport to Alex—it was an escape, a way for him to channel all the energy and emotions he kept bottled up.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. “It’s been great. The guys on the team are awesome, and we’ve been crushing it this season. Coach says we might even have a shot at regionals if we keep this up.” His words tumbled out quickly, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

“That’s amazing,” I said genuinely, my grin widening. “I knew you had it in you.”

He waved a hand dismissively, though the pride in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s not just me. The whole team’s been putting in the work. But yeah, it feels good.”

He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say more, before his grin turned slightly mischievous. “Oh, and the girls,” he added with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe how many of them try to get my number after games. It’s ridiculous.”

I laughed, leaning back against the couch. “Oh, I believe it. You’ve got that whole ‘athletic charm’ thing going on now. I’m sure they’re all over you.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was clearly enjoying the attention. “It’s not like I even care about that,” he said, though the way he smirked suggested otherwise. “Most of them just want to say they’re dating the captain, you know? It’s not real.”

I nodded, watching him as he spoke. There was a lightness to him, a joy that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was like the weight of the world didn’t press down on his shoulders the same way it did on mine. Basketball had given him an outlet, a sense of purpose, and I was grateful for that.

“So, the captain of the team,” I said, teasingly drawing out the words. “Guess that means you’re officially cooler than me now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve always been cooler than you,” he shot back, his grin wide.

I smiled, the banter between us easing some of the heaviness in my chest. For a moment, it felt like old times, like we were just siblings talking about school and sports and life, with no shadows hanging over us. But even as I laughed along with him, a part of me couldn’t shake the lingering thought that this moment, this ease, might not last.

I sighed again, my gaze drifting back to the closed door at the end of the hallway. It loomed there, silent and unmoving, yet it felt alive, as though it held all the words I couldn’t bring myself to say. The weight in my chest grew heavier as I bit my lip, the metallic taste grounding me for a fleeting moment.

“How’s Mom?” I asked finally, my voice quieter than I intended. I hadn’t asked about her on the phone, not once during the sporadic calls Alex and I managed over the past weeks. The truth was, I had avoided it. Avoided the truth.

Alex stiffened beside me, his shoulders shrinking as though the question physically weighed on him. He sighed, a deep, weary sound that spoke volumes. When he turned to look at me, his dark brown eyes were shadowed with sorrow, his usual spark dimmed.

“Just like she was when you left,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before adding, “Maybe worse.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I sat there, frozen, my breath caught in my throat as the guilt I had tried so hard to bury clawed its way to the surface.

“She’s… a drunkard now,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “No longer in her senses. Always drinking or…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as he clenched his fists. “Or weeping at night.”

The image his words painted was unbearable. My mother, once vibrant and full of life, reduced to this—a shadow of the woman I remembered. My chest tightened painfully, guilt rushing through me like a tidal wave. It was suffocating.

I had left them. Left her. Left Alex. I had walked away when they needed me most, and for what? To escape my own chaos? To shield myself from the storm? My mind raced, the memories of that time blurring together in a haze of pain and confusion. Everything had spiraled so quickly back then, a whirlwind of decisions and consequences that had left no room for clarity. I wasn’t in my right mind—I knew that. But knowing didn’t make the guilt any less crushing.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words barely audible. I wasn’t even sure if Alex heard me, and a part of me hoped he didn’t. Because what good was an apology now? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo the pain I had caused, wouldn’t erase the nights Alex had spent holding everything together while I wasn’t there.

I swallowed hard, the taste of regret bitter on my tongue. “I shouldn’t have left,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “I—” My words faltered, and I looked away, unable to meet Alex’s gaze. “I was a coward.”

It was the truth, one I had avoided facing for far too long. I had run—run from the chaos, from the pain, from the responsibility. And in doing so, I had left Alex to pick up the pieces, to shoulder the burden I should have shared. He was just a kid, and yet he had been forced to grow up too fast because of me. Because I was too weak to stay.

“I wasn’t in my right mind either,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Everything… everything was a mess. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t think straight. I—” I broke off, shaking my head as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving. I thought I was better off away from you and Mom. But now…”

My voice trailed off, the words tangling in my throat. What was the point of saying all this now? It wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t undo the damage I had done.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper. I finally mustered the courage to look at him, my vision blurred by unshed tears. He was staring at me, his expression a mixture of sadness and something else—something I couldn’t quite place.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. Then, he reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“I get it, Nyx,” he said softly. “You were going through your own stuff. I just…” He paused, exhaling deeply. “I just wish you didn’t feel like you had to deal with it alone.”

His words hit me like a second wave, and I felt my defenses crumble. I nodded, swallowing hard as I blinked back the tears threatening to spill. I couldn’t change the past, but maybe—just maybe—I could start making things right.

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