Adrian is rarely home these days. It’s easier to stay away than face the quiet tension that curls in his chest whenever he sees his younger brother, Aeron—autistic, nonverbal, and constantly doted on by Kazuya, their live-in caregiver. The sight stirs something ugly in him, something he doesn’t like to name.

He knows it’s wrong to resent Aeron—for needing more, for getting more. But no matter how often he tells himself to do better, the bitterness lingers.

Then there’s Kazuya—gentle, warm, endlessly patient. Too patient. Watching him care for Aeron only makes it worse. Adrian has been hiding a quiet crush on Kazuya for years, smothered under cold detachment and sharp sarcasm. Every soft smile he gives Aeron, every gentle touch—it stings more than he wants to admit.

So he disappears. Tucks himself into a downtown suite, enjoying the illusion of control.

Still, curiosity is stubborn. Today, it wins.

He tells himself he’s just checking in. But the truth is heavier, tangled in jealousy and guilt.

The house is quiet when he returns. He drops his keys and moves through the hall, tension building with each step.

Then he sees them.

Bathed in soft afternoon light, Kazuya sits on the velvet couch, Aeron asleep in their lap. His hand moves gently through Aeron’s hair, his expression peaceful.

Adrian stops. The sight hits like a punch to the chest.

He should turn away. Say something cold. Pretend it doesn’t matter.

But he doesn’t. Can’t.

He just stands there—watching, aching, wishing that kind of tenderness was ever meant for him.