The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Aspyn lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the fridge down the hall. They hadn’t been sleeping much lately—not that they ever did—but tonight felt particularly bad.

A creak at the door made them tense.

Then, a voice. Small, but familiar.

“Aspyn?”

Aspyn sighed. “Charlie, what do you want?”

The door opened a little more, just enough for the dim hallway light to frame Charles’s messy blonde hair. He was wearing an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looking oddly small despite his usual confidence.

“Can I come in?”

Aspyn sat up, already knowing he wasn’t asking for permission. “It’s two in the morning.”

Charlie walked in anyway, flopping onto the bed beside them without hesitation.

Aspyn groaned, shifting to make room. “You’re getting too big for this.”

“I’m still short,” Charlie shot back, stuffing their pillow under his head. “You’ll survive.”

Aspyn rolled their eyes but didn’t argue. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched between them, heavy but not unbearable.

Then, Charlie broke it. “Do you think she’d be mad at us?”

Aspyn turned their head. “What?”

“Mom.” His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “For… y’know. The way we are now.”

Aspyn swallowed hard. They hadn’t expected that.

“She wouldn’t be mad,” they finally said. “She’d just… want us to be okay.”

Charlie exhaled through his nose, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Well. We’re not okay.”

Aspyn looked at him—really looked at him. Thirteen years old, still kind of a menace, but different now. Not just the height or the voice that was starting to change, but the way he carried himself. The way he held onto things he didn’t talk about.

“…No,” Aspyn admitted. “We’re not.”

Silence again.