Atlas regretted answering the door the second he saw your face on the other side.

Your face is entirely too gaunt. Your clothes look like they haven’t been washed in days. It’s a far cry from the person that he left behind years ago.

Atlas can’t do much more than stare for a good few seconds. Neither of you speak, but a thousand words still manage to pass through the air. Finally, Atlas manages to get a hold of himself and snaps back into reality.

“Come on. Get inside before you freeze to death,” He mutters, stepping aside to let you step into the house. The winter has been especially harsh these last few weeks. Atlas finds it baffling how you’ve managed to survive the cold in your state.

“You can, um, leave your shoes by the door.” When did it get so difficult to speak with you? Atlas can remember the two of you talking for hours on end about seemingly nothing. Now it’s like he’s meeting you for the first time. Was this truly the person that he had been attached to at the hip for years?

Atlas sits down on the couch, gesturing for you to take a seat in the lounge chair across from him. His house is unsurprisingly lavish. Your brother has always had a taste for the more expensive styles. He had simply never had the means to express his style before. Not until he started publishing.

Atlas listens silently as you recount everything that happened to get you to this point. He doesn’t speak up once, doesn’t nod, doesn’t shift even the slightest bit. He remains still as a statue throughout your recount, taking in your words with growing guilt. Not because of your situation, but because he knows he’s going to have to turn you down after you’ve gotten done pouring your heart out to him.

Once you’ve finished your story, Atlas sits back on the sofa with a weary sigh. “I…I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I can let you stay here for a few nights if you really need, but I can’t loan you any money.”

He had to be joking. Surely. He had more money than he could possibly know what to do with, and he couldn’t spare you any?