My brother's best friend

Chapter 2:Waking up

Leah stirred under the warmth of her blanket, the faint sound of rain tapping against her window pulling her from a restless sleep. She blinked groggily at the soft gray light seeping through the curtains. It was one of those mornings when the world felt muffled, as though it had chosen to exist at a lower volume. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the quiet.

But her mind was anything but quiet. Ethan had crept into her thoughts again, like he had almost every morning since they met. She could still see the way he’d looked at her yesterday at the station, his hazel eyes full of questions he didn’t ask.

Leah pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet, a jolt of reality pulling her out of her reverie. She had promised herself she wouldn’t get caught up in someone else’s life again—not after everything that had happened with Dylan. She wasn’t ready to open up to anyone, not yet.

But Ethan was different.

She shook the thought away, tugging a sweater over her head before heading to the kitchen. The small apartment she had rented above the town’s bakery smelled faintly of fresh bread, the scent mingling with the steam from her coffee as she poured herself a cup. It was a good place—quiet, with no memories attached. That’s what she needed right now. A place where she could just be.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, surprised to see Ethan’s name flash across it.

Morning. Meet me at the café?

Leah hesitated, staring at the message. She hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon, not after the way they had left things yesterday. She could still feel the weight of his hand on hers, the warmth of it, before he had pulled away, shutting her out just like she had expected.

But then again, here he was, reaching out.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Leah typed a quick reply.

Be there in 15.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Leah stepped outside, her boots splashing in the shallow puddles that dotted the cobblestone streets. The café wasn’t far, just a few blocks from her apartment, and as she approached, she could see Ethan through the window, sitting at their usual table in the corner. His guitar was propped up beside him, like always.

Leah pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming softly. Ethan looked up as she walked in, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Hey,” he said, standing as she approached.

“Hey,” Leah replied, feeling an unexpected flutter in her chest as she slid into the seat across from him. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

Ethan shrugged, a casualness in his posture that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Figured I owed you a coffee after yesterday.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t owe me anything, Ethan.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the cup in his hands. Leah could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed absentmindedly against the ceramic. There was something on his mind, something he wasn’t saying.

She waited, giving him the space to speak, but when he didn’t, she leaned forward slightly. “You okay?”

Ethan looked up, meeting her eyes. For a moment, Leah thought he might open up, but then he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He paused, as if deciding how much to tell her. “About how it’s easier to leave than to stay.”

Leah’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that feeling all too well.

“You’re still thinking about leaving?” she asked, her voice softer now, careful not to push too hard.

Ethan shrugged again, but this time it felt more like a defense mechanism than nonchalance. “I don’t know. I’ve never really stayed in one place for long.”

Leah studied him, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. She wanted to ask why—why he felt the need to keep moving, to never let anyone get close. But she also knew that if she pushed him too hard, he would retreat. Just like she had done so many times before.

Instead, she reached for her cup, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I get it. Staying isn’t easy. It makes you vulnerable.”

Ethan looked at her, something shifting in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s it.”

Leah set her cup down, the familiar weight of her own vulnerability settling between them. She could feel the conversation teetering on the edge of something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But before she could say anything else, Ethan spoke again.

“You don’t seem like the type who stays either.”

Leah smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not. But I’m trying to change that.”

Ethan’s eyes searched hers, as if he were trying to understand something about her that she hadn’t yet shared. “Why?”

Leah hesitated. She hadn’t expected to be asked that question, especially not by someone like Ethan. But there was something in his gaze, something open, that made her feel like maybe she could trust him with the truth.

“Because running gets exhausting,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “And at some point, you realize that no matter where you go, you’re still carrying the same weight.”

Ethan was quiet, his expression thoughtful. He nodded slowly, as if her words resonated with something inside him. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the café filling the space between them. Leah watched as Ethan’s fingers absently traced the edge of his cup, a small frown creasing his forehead. She could tell he was still holding back, still carrying something he wasn’t ready to share.

But then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze.

“I don’t know how to stay,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Leah’s heart softened at the confession. She understood that fear—the fear of staying, of letting someone in, of being hurt again. She had lived it for years. But she also knew that if they didn’t try, they would never know what could be.

“Maybe you don’t have to know right now,” she said gently. “Maybe you just need to give it a chance.”

Ethan looked at her, the vulnerability still there, but now mixed with something else—hope, maybe. Or at least the beginnings of it.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice soft.

Leah smiled, reaching across the table to place her hand on his. For a moment, he tensed, but then his fingers relaxed, intertwining with hers. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something—something fragile, but real.

They sat like that for a while, neither of them saying anything, both of them knowing that whatever this was, it was worth holding on to.

And for the first time in a long time, Leah felt like maybe, just maybe, she had found a reason to stay.