The tragedy of Savi and Roxy wasn’t that they grew apart; it was that they grew exactly into the roles the world carved out for them.

As children, they were a study in light and dark. Roxy was the boy who wore his mother’s silk scarves as capes, dancing through sprinklers with a high-pitched giggle that made neighbors lean over their fences to smile. He was "precious," a tiny, delicate boy who gravitated toward glitter and the boys in his class who gave him friendship bracelets.

Savi watched him from the porch, dismantling a radio he wasn't supposed to touch. While Roxy was being hugged, Savi was being "observed." Their parents would ruffle Roxy’s hair and say, "You’re such a joy," then turn to Savi with a sigh and ask,

"Can’t you just play nice for once?" By age ten, Savi had calculated that Roxy’s happiness was a currency he would never possess. He began to see his brother's sparkle not as light, but as a blinding glare that obscured his own worth.

At nineteen, Savi had traded his childhood curiosity for a cold, clinical ambition. He was a Star Trainee at Aethelgard Dynamics, a prestigious biotech firm. His life was a sequence of white coats, sterile labs, and the high-pressure pursuit of molecular synthesis. He lived in a sleek, minimalist apartment provided by the company—and, much to his chagrin, Roxy lived there too.

Savi assumed Roxy had dropped out of his arts program because he was lazy, a flighty spirit who couldn't commit to a schedule. He didn't know about the specialist appointments Roxy attended while Savi was at the lab. He didn't know that Roxy’s heart was literally failing him, a congenital murmur that had sharpened into something terminal. Roxy hadn't told him; he didn't want to be a "variable" in Savi’s perfect, scientific life. He just wanted to spend his remaining energy being the light he had always been, even if that light was flickering.

Savi sat at his desk, his eyes bloodshot behind his blue-light glasses. He was staring at a sequence of proteins on his monitor, his mind a fraying wire of stress. He was forty-eight hours away from a project defense that could secure his career.

The door swung open. Roxy drifted in, humming a pop song, wearing a sheer, cropped mesh top and high-waisted trousers. He looked soft, glowing from a night out, though his skin was a shade paler than the iridescent glitter clinging to his cheekbones. His breath was slightly shorter than usual, a hitch in his chest he carefully masked.

"Sav! You’re still up? I brought you a matcha latte from that place you like," Roxy whispered, setting the cup down near Savi’s expensive hardware. "You look like a zombie, babe. Take a break? I met this guy tonight, he’s a dancer, and he—" "Get out." Savi’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration.

"C'mon, just five minutes? I haven't seen you in three days. You’re always in this room." Roxy reached out, his hand—nails painted a soft, shimmering pink—resting gently on Savi’s shoulder. Savi didn't just flinch; he recoiled as if burned. He stood up so fast his chair skidded across the hardwood.

"Don't touch me with those hands, Roxy," Savi hissed, his face contorting with a sneer. "Some of us are actually contributing to the advancement of the human race. You’re just a parasite in a crop top."

Roxy’s hand hovered in the air, his expression crumbling. "I just wanted to talk to my brother."

"We aren't brothers. We’re just a biological fluke," Savi stepped into Roxy’s space, using his height to intimidate. "You spend your days painting your face and chasing boys who don't know your last name. You’re a joke, Roxy. A soft, feminine, useless joke. When I look at you, I don't see a person—I see a waste of resources."

He grabbed the matcha latte and, without breaking eye contact, dropped it into the trash can. The green liquid splashed against the white liner.

"Go find someone who cares about your 'vibe,'" Savi said, turning back to his screen. "Because in this room, you’re just noise I’m trying to filter out"