chapter twelve

Xander’s POV

The sound of the blender pulled me out of sleep.

It came in short bursts, like someone was holding the button down too softly. I blinked against the soft morning light creeping through the curtains, the unfamiliar ache in my chest making it hard to breathe. I turned to the side, stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then slowly sat up.

The couch creaked in the living room. That meant he was awake. Again. That rat, what's his deal, really?

I ran a hand through my hair and climbed out of bed. The air in the apartment was cold, the kind that clung to your skin no matter how many layers you wore. I pulled on a hoodie, stepped into my slippers, and quietly opened my bedroom door.

The hallway stretched like a tunnel.

At the far end, the kitchen light was on. Asher stood near the counter, pouring something into a glass. He didn’t see me at first. His head was down, his hair messy and damp from the shower, his posture tired. A laptop was open next to him, showing half-typed work emails and edits on some drafts. Even here, in sweatpants and a hoodie, he still looked... composed.

When he finally turned and noticed me in the hallway, his eyes met mine for the briefest second.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice raising an octave.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I was trying to be cold. But because I didn’t trust my voice.

He looked away quickly, like he regretted saying anything at all. Then he took his glass and sat on the couch, curling one leg under him and returning to his laptop as if I had never walked into the room.

I moved to the kitchen without saying anything. The silence between us wasn’t thick—it was sharp. Every movement he made felt loud. Every breath I took felt out of place.

I grabbed a mug and reached for the coffee tin.

Then I hesitated.

I stared at the second mug beside the kettle. Then quietly placed it back on the shelf.

The day moved in a crawl. Sophia bugged me about coming over but I told her to stay the fuck away from my apartment. I didn't need her to babysit me.

While I thought I had dealt with that, Dr Max called to check in on me. He rambled on about how I needed to come for an MRI scan. I agreed so he would stop bugging the fuck out of me.

He stayed on the couch most of the time, working. I stayed in my room. When I did come out, it was for water or to stretch my legs. Every so often, I’d catch him glancing toward the hallway like he was waiting for a ghost to pass through.

At lunch, we somehow ended up in the kitchen at the same time.

I was pulling the sandwich press from the shelf. He was reaching for the bread. Our hands brushed.

He flinched.

Not dramatically. Just enough for me to notice.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

I moved to the side, gave him space, and continued preparing mine without another word. We made lunch together like two strangers sharing a kitchen in an Airbnb.

No eye contact.

No conversation.

When I finished making my sandwich, I sat at the dining table.

A few minutes later, he did the same.

We ate facing opposite walls. The sandwich tasted like rotten wood in my mouth. I thought of tossing it and just ordering Pizza but I felt full already.

When his phone rang, he excused himself like this was a business meeting and walked to the bedroom with his laptop tucked under his arm.

Late afternoon came with rain.

Not the loud, violent kind. Just the quiet drizzle that tapped softly against the windows. I sat in my room, staring out through the half-open blinds. The city looked gray and muted. I couldn't remember if I had eaten breakfast.

Maybe I had.

Maybe not.

The sound of laughter floated down the hallway.

Not loud. Not forced. Disturbingly calm.

Asher’s voice.

I stood without thinking, opened my door slightly. From this angle, I could see part of the living room. He was still on a video call, probably with someone from the magazine. His face lit up in that way it used to when he was talking about ideas. His head tilted back when he laughed.

My chest tightened.

I hadn’t seen that expression since before I remembered everything.

And now that I had... it felt distant. Like it belonged to a life I wasn’t part of anymore.

I closed my door quietly and sat back on my bed.

That night, I stayed up staring at the ceiling.

I couldn’t sleep. I took some sleeping pills but that didn't exactly help. I hated that I was made to process these emotions coursing through me like a fast acting poison.

The apartment had gone quiet again. No calls. No work. Just silence.

Then I heard it.

A sound from the living room.

A sniff.

A shuffle.

A muffled breath.

I sat up, barely breathing.

It was him.

He was crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just... quiet.

Like he was trying not to let the world hear.

I stood up, stepped into the hallway.

He didn’t see me.

He was curled up on the couch again, face buried into a pillow, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. The blanket draped across his body like armor. His laptop was shut. His phone was on the floor beside him, the screen dim.

I watched him for a few seconds.

Then walked back into my room.

Closed the door.

Sat on the floor beside it.

I wanted to knock. I wanted to walk out and say something—anything. But I didn’t.

Because I knew I’d only make it worse.

Instead, I sat there in the dark, my back against the door, listening to the sound of Asher breaking in silence.