Chapter 2: The Things He Doesn’t Say

Elle’s Point of View

The morning light felt different.

Not warm. Not soft.

Just... too bright.

I blinked up at the ceiling of Liam’s living room, still curled up in my usual spot on the couch, the blanket I always used tangled around my legs. The pillow smelled faintly like detergent and lemon and something I couldn’t name. Maybe it was comfort. Maybe it was goodbye.

I sat up slowly, muscles stiff, the events of last night rushing in like water breaking a dam.

Liam’s half-hearted smile.

Aiden’s steady stare.

And that one sentence still looping in my head:

“You didn’t have to.”

Why did that feel louder than anything Liam had said?

I ran a hand through my hair and made my way to the kitchen, fully expecting the usual—Liam standing at the stove making scrambled eggs too dry, music playing from his phone, his mom humming in the hallway.

Instead, I found silence.

And Aiden.

He stood by the counter, wearing a plain black shirt and sweatpants, a steaming mug in one hand, the other casually tucked in his pocket. His hair was still messy, damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His eyes met mine the moment I stepped in.

Not startled. Not surprised. Just… watching.

“Morning,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though nothing about this morning felt that way.

“Coffee?” he offered, already moving toward the pot before I could answer.

I nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

We moved around each other in the kitchen with a strange kind of choreography. Like he already knew where I’d reach, which cupboard I’d open. Like this had happened before—somewhere in a parallel life I hadn’t lived yet.

He handed me the mug. “Two sugars. No cream.”

I blinked. “How did you—”

“You’ve made it the same way every time you’ve been here,” he said simply, taking a sip of his own.

“Oh.”

I took the coffee with both hands, mostly to keep them from shaking. I hated how self-conscious I felt under his gaze. Or maybe I hated how I didn’t.

“Liam still asleep?” I asked, desperate to steer the conversation.

Aiden didn’t look at me when he said, “He went out early. Said he had to clear his head.”

Something twisted in my chest.

Clear his head?

From what?

Me?

Us?

Or maybe from the guilt of pushing me toward someone else while still holding the pieces of me I never meant to give?

“He just… left?” I asked.

Aiden’s eyes flicked back to mine. There was something unreadable there. Something that made my skin flush even though his voice stayed calm.

“He’s always been better at leaving than staying.”

I didn’t respond.

What could I even say to that?

Aiden stepped around me, opening the fridge and pulling out eggs. He moved like he belonged in the space, like he’d done this before.

I set my mug down slowly. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not doing it for you,” he interrupted flatly.

I blinked. Hurt flashing in my chest.

But then he added, quieter this time:

“I’m doing it because Liam always forgets to feed you.”

My breath caught.

The sound of eggs cracking into a bowl was the only noise in the room for a moment.

That’s when I realized—he hadn’t just been watching.

He had noticed. Every skipped meal. Every fake smile. Every time I swallowed my feelings like they weren’t allowed to exist.

And without asking, Aiden was filling in the spaces Liam had started to leave behind.

"I'm doing it because Liam always forgets to feed you."

I sat down slowly, unsure of what to do with my hands, my thoughts, or the quiet way he looked at me like he already knew both.

“You really notice that?” I asked after a beat, voice smaller than I meant.

Aiden didn’t glance up. “Hard not to.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It was easier than feeling everything else—how my chest warmed and ached at the same time, how his quiet concern hit deeper than Liam’s thousand half-hearted reassurances ever did.

He slid the plate in front of me and sat down across the table, mug in hand. His eyes scanned me once—calm but aware, like I was a puzzle he’d already solved and was just waiting for me to catch up.

I stared at the food, unsure why I felt like crying over a plate of soft eggs.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He didn’t press. Just sipped his coffee and looked out the window like the sky had answers.

I forced myself to eat, bite after bite, until the silence started to feel less like pressure and more like peace.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said quietly.

He looked over. “And what did you expect?”

I shrugged. “The guy who barely talks. The brother who disappears when family’s around. Liam says you’re just... different.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t react right away. “He’s right. I am.”

There was no pride in it. No apology either.

“You don’t try to be likable, do you?”

“No,” he said. “I try to be honest.”

I studied him. The sharpness in his face. The stillness in his posture. The way his eyes didn’t soften, but they didn’t harden either.

Honest.

I’d spent years with Liam, surrounded by maybes and half-truths and unspoken things. And here Aiden was, saying everything without saying much at all.

“You’re not who I thought I’d need,” I said before I could stop myself.

He didn’t blink.

“But you might be the one who notices when I’m hungry,” I added.

Still, no reaction—until I looked away. Then I heard it.

A quiet exhale.

The closest thing Aiden gave to a smile.

“There’s more I notice, Elle,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You just haven’t asked yet.”

This part leans deeper into the tension—lingering glances, unsaid feelings, and a shift that gets interrupted the way all fragile moments do: by the one person Elle’s heart hasn’t quite let go of.

The air between us shifted.

Something inside me twisted—not out of confusion, but clarity. A kind of slow realization that scared me more than anything Liam ever made me feel.

Aiden looked at me like he already knew what I was trying so hard to deny.

That I was changing.

That maybe… part of me wanted to.

But before I could say anything, the front door creaked open.

And just like that, the spell broke.

Liam’s voice cut through the quiet, light and familiar—everything I used to ache for.

“Mom’s car was gone,” he called out. “Guess we’ve got the house to ourselves for a while.”

I didn’t move.

Neither did Aiden.

Liam walked into the kitchen a few seconds later, still in his hoodie, wind-tousled hair and flushed cheeks. He froze slightly when he saw the two of us at the table—me with a half-eaten plate of eggs, Aiden leaning against the counter like he’d been there all morning.

“Oh.” Liam’s voice dropped a bit. “You cooked?”

Aiden’s jaw flexed. “She was hungry.”

Liam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Thanks, man.”

I pushed the plate away gently, suddenly full. “It was really good. Thanks, Aiden.”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel his gaze follow me as I stood up and rinsed the plate.

Liam moved to stand next to me, but the closeness didn’t hit like it used to. It wasn’t butterflies. It wasn’t warmth.

It was a question mark.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his fingers near mine. “I didn’t mean to bail earlier.”

“It’s fine,” I said too quickly. “I figured you needed space.”

Liam studied me for a beat, his smile faltering. “We’re still okay, right?”

My throat went dry.

I hated that I hesitated. I hated that I didn’t know what okay meant anymore.

“We’re fine,” I said, and I forced the lie to sound gentle.

Behind us, Aiden set down his mug a little too firmly.

“I’m heading out,” he muttered, moving past us. His shoulder brushed mine—barely—but it lit a fuse under my skin.

I turned as he reached the doorway. “Where are you going?”

He paused. Just long enough.

“Anywhere I don’t have to watch you lie to yourself.”

Then he was gone.

And my heart went with him.