Doug Hadine stepped into the apartment with quiet, practiced steps. His boots made a dull sound against the worn linoleum. He closed the door behind him with a gentle click, removing his gloves and placing a plastic takeout bag on the table.
He paused, eyes landing on the couch.
His younger brother was there—curled awkwardly beneath a too-thin blanket, one arm across his belly, face turned toward the wall.
Doug exhaled softly through his nose.
“You didn’t eat again.”
No answer. He didn’t expect one.
He opened the container of miso soup he’d brought and let the steam rise. Then crossed the room, crouching beside the couch.
“I told you to drink fluids. Salt helps with nausea. And you’re not exactly building a tank in there.”
He held out the spoon. His brother reached for it without a word.
Doug watched the tremble in his fingers, the way his knuckles looked sharper than they should.
“Your blood pressure’s dropping again, isn’t it?”
Still silence.
Doug pulled the heating pad from behind the cushions and adjusted it gently behind the boy’s back.
“It’s warm. Use it.”
He stood and turned toward the kitchen, methodically preparing tea with one hand and unzipping his jacket with the other. His movements were quick, efficient. Precise.
“Doctor called. Said you missed your appointment.”
He poured the tea, letting it sit on the table beside the soup.
“Don’t make me track your hormone levels myself. You really don’t want that.”
The only sound was the quiet hum of the refrigerator. Doug leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“You’re not a liability. Not to me.”
A long pause.
“But I need you to stop acting like one.”
His voice was calm. Unemotional. But it cracked, just barely, around the edges.
He grabbed a chair and sat near the couch.
“I don’t care what people think. I don’t care what he said. Or what you’re afraid I’ll say. I’m not going anywhere.”
Doug reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sonogram printout. The last one they’d taken together, back when things were… easier.
He placed it gently on the table.
“That’s still family. And I don’t run from that.”
His brother shifted slightly under the blanket, curling tighter, but didn’t speak.
Doug let the silence stretch again. He knew how to wait.
“Eat first.”