บททั้งหมดของ Betrayal Between the vows : บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 59

Lucas sat at his small desk by the window, pencil tucked behind one ear, a blank sheet of paper in front of him. The city outside moved like background noise soft engines, far-off voices, a siren in the distance that never really screamed. Elias leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “You’ve been sitting there for half an hour,” he said. “I know.” Elias walked closer. “Are you writing something?” “I’m trying to,” Lucas said, still staring at the blank page. “But every word feels like it has too much weight lately.” Elias gently pulled the pencil from behind Lucas’s ear. “Then don’t write for the world.” Lucas looked up. “Write for us,” Elias said. Later, they sat on the floor with mismatched mugs of tea. Lucas handed Elias a small notebook. “What’s this?” Elias asked. “My old therapy notes,” Lucas replied. “From right after you left.” Elias froze. “You sure you want me to read this?” “No,” Lucas said honestly. “But I want you to know me. Even the cracked pieces.”

The morning light pushed through the blinds in narrow golden strips, painting lines across the kitchen counter. The coffee maker sputtered and hissed its way through its routine, filling the quiet with a sound that was both ordinary and strangely comforting. Lucas poured two mugs, sliding one across the table to Elias, who was slouched in his chair, hair messy, still half-dreaming. “You ever going to start sleeping like a normal person?” Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow. Elias blinked at his cup as if it had appeared out of nowhere. “Define normal.” Lucas sat down opposite him. “Sleeping through the night without getting up three times. To write in your notebook. Or rearrange the kitchen drawers.” Elias lifted the mug, sniffed the steam, and smirked faintly. “I like small order. It calms the noise in my head.” Lucas didn’t argue. He knew what it was like to need anchors something to touch, something to fix, just to remind yourself the world wasn’t unraveling. Some people needed

Rain tapped gently against the window that morning. Not loud enough to distract, not heavy enough to demand notice just soft, steady, and patient, the way memories sometimes returned. Lucas sat on the floor with his legs crossed, surrounded by little piles of paper old receipts, grocery lists, letters folded and unfolded until the creases wore thin. His hands moved slowly, as if every scrap of paper had weight. Elias was behind him, stretched across the couch, a book open in his lap. He’d been “reading” the same page for half an hour. His eyes moved, but they weren’t absorbing anything. His thoughts were somewhere else just like Lucas’s. “You ever think about how we started?” Lucas asked. His voice wasn’t more than a murmur, but it filled the quiet space between them. Elias looked up, brows lifting slightly. “All the time.” Lucas held up a crumpled movie ticket, the ink faded but still legible. “This was the night you told me you liked my hands.” Elias’s mouth curved into a gri

Lucas woke to a sound he hadn’t heard in years Elias humming in the kitchen. It wasn’t a song with words. Just a gentle tune, something that seemed to spill out without thought, like it had always lived in his chest. Lucas stayed still in bed for a moment, letting it fill the quiet. The air felt calm. Like nothing needed fixing. Like love, if given the space, could simply stay. Elias was frying eggs when Lucas shuffled in, hair a mess and eyes half-shut. “You’re up early,” Lucas muttered, rubbing his face. “You slept through two alarms,” Elias replied, smirking as he flipped the pan. Lucas yawned. “Maybe my body finally trusts this place again.” Elias slid a plate across the counter. “Then let’s feed that trust.” Lucas squinted at him. “You’re strangely poetic for a man who’s burned more toast than anyone I’ve ever met.” Elias lifted the bread triumphantly. “Didn’t burn it this time. Look at me personal growth.” Lucas chuckled, taking a seat. “Small wins.” They ate quiet

The power returned just before sunrise. One soft click, and the fridge began to hum again. Lights blinked back on. The heater coughed awake. Lucas stirred in bed, eyes still closed. Elias lay beside him, already awake, watching the ceiling like it had something to say. “You feel that?” Lucas mumbled. Elias nodded. “Everything turned back on.” Lucas shifted under the blanket. “I liked the quiet, though.” “Me too,” Elias whispered. “We needed it.” Lucas opened his eyes slowly. “You think we’re different now?” Elias looked over at him. “No. I think we’re more honest now.” Lucas smiled softly. “Honest’s a good start.” Later, Lucas was folding laundry when he found one of Elias’s old sweaters. The blue one. The one Lucas used to steal just to sleep in when Elias traveled. He held it up, turning it in his hands. “You were always too small for that one,” Elias said, entering the room with two mugs. Lucas smirked. “Didn’t stop me.” “You looked like a kid in it.” Lucas shrugg