The fire had burned very low by the time they finished sorting the last box.
Papers covered the coffee table in careful stacks—bank records, emails, old photographs, handwritten notes from people Julian’s father had once destroyed. Julian sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing his eyes. Sebastian watched him from the couch, the orange glow of the dying fire painting soft shadows across Julian’s face.
“You should get some sleep,” Sebastian said quietly.
Julian shook his head. “Not yet.”
He looked smaller in the firelight, shoulders curved like the weight of ten years had finally settled on them. Sebastian slid off the couch and sat beside him on the rug, their knees touching.
“Talk to me,” Sebastian said, the same words he’d used that morning. This time they felt heavier.
Julian stare
