A thousand years

Shadows at dawn

Steam clung to the bathroom mirror like a shroud, blurring the edges of Lucas's reflection. He leaned against the sink. His golden hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, blue eyes fixed on his sister's tense face. Estelle wiped her hands on a towel, her auburn waves tied back, hazel eyes sharp with worry.

“Have you told Mila?” Estelle asked

Before he could speak, a knock echoed from the front door—light, hesitant.

Both of them froze.

Estelle’s breath caught. “She’s here.”

Lucas jerked back, panic flashing across his face. “Mila? Now?”

Estelle was already up, smoothing her sweater. “Go. Clean up. She can’t see you like this.”

He stumbled to his feet, gripping the sink. “How did you even get her to come? She swore she wouldn’t see me again.”

Estelle paused at the door. “She loves you. People don’t stop loving that easy, even when they should.” She stepped out, voice softening. “Freshen up. Act normal.”

Lucas nodded, splashing cold water on his face as she slipped out. The water stung, chasing away the fog in his head. Mila. He hadn't seen her in days, not since after he asked her to stay away and the last dizzy spell landed him in bed.

In the living room, Estelle cracked the door. Mila stood there, bundled in a wool coat against the chill seeping off the Adriatic. Her dark hair framed a face flushed from the morning wind, brown eyes lighting up.

"Come in," Estelle said, pulling her inside. The door clicked shut, muffling the distant cry of gulls and the low hum of trams below.

Estelle led her straight to the kitchen, past the sofa where Lucas's blanket lay rumpled. The air smelled of last night's stew, onions lingering on the stove. "What should we make? I'm running late for the clinic."

Mila shrugged off her coat, hanging it on a hook by the fridge. "Tea, eggs, toast. Simple. I'll handle it if you don't mind."

Estelle's shoulders eased. "Kitchen's yours. Just... don't let Lucas know you're spoiling him."

Mila laughed softly, tying an apron around her waist. "I'll try to go easy on him. Promise."

"Thanks for sticking around. For him." Estelle pulled her into a quick hug, arms tight. "I mean it."

Mila hugged back, voice muffled. "I love him, Estelle. You know that."

Estelle stepped away, eyes misty. "Take over here. I need to grab my clothes."

She vanished into her bedroom, door half-closing. Lucas emerged from the bathroom then, towel around his neck, dressed in loose shorts and a white singlet that hung off his frame. His skin looked too pale under the kitchen's yellow light, blue veins faint at his temples.

“Mila leave already?" he asked Estelle's door, voice casual.

Estelle poked her head out, auburn hair falling loose now. She beckoned him close, whispering hot against his ear. "Kitchen. She's making breakfast. Behave."

His pulse quickened—not the bad kind, the good flutter. He padded into the kitchen on bare feet. Mila stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl, her back to him.

He slid up behind her, arms wrapping her waist. She smelled of lavender soap, warm against the apartment's draft.

"I’m sorry." he murmured into her neck.

She twisted in his grip, facing him, wooden spoon in hand. Her eyes narrowed, playful fire there. "Sorry won't cut it, Lucas."

"I…" He opened his mouth, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

"But we can pretend till Estelle's gone." Her voice dropped to a whisper, lips curving.

They both stifled laughs, shoulders shaking. Mila tugged his singlet, pulling him down. Their kiss started soft, then deepened, her hands fisting the fabric. Heat bloomed in his chest, chasing the ache.

She shoved him back suddenly, slapping his shoulder light.

“Ow,” he said, grinning. “What was that for?”

“For buying my silence till big sis bolts. I expect flowers. Expensive ones.”

He laughed, rich and full. “Come here.”

She stepped into him again. Another kiss—softer this time, slower.

“You’re reckless,” she murmured against his lips.

“You love it.”

“I love you,” she said, poking his chest lightly. “Even when you’re stupid.”

“Me stupid?.” He laughed. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“And that’s why you couldn’t stop missing me when I left.”

He smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly why.”

The world came down to the taste of her lips. When they broke apart, gasping, her cheeks burned red.

"Better get back to it," she said, nodding at the sizzling pan. "Before Estelle finds her baby brother tangled with his nineteen-year-old troublemaker."

He kissed her forehead, then turned to the stove. “I’ll make the tea. You do the toast.”

“You don’t trust my tea?”

“I trust you. I don’t trust your tea. Last time, I swear it tasted like dirt and regret.”

“It was herbal!”

“Exactly.”

She threw a tea towel at him.

Water hissed as it boiled, steam rising like ghosts in the gothic spires outside. Split's old town loomed beyond the window—narrow streets paved with marble slabs worn smooth by centuries, bell towers piercing a sky heavy with mist.