Leigh had claimed the corner couch on instinct.
It was half habit, half calculated strategy, the position was far enough from the door to monitor who entered, yet close enough to the wall for her to fade into the background whenever she chose. Her backpack lay at her feet and her notebook was propped open on her knee, but her pen hovered uselessly over the page. She had been pretending to do homework for ten minutes and hadn't managed to write a single word.
Beau was already there.
Not near her, never near her. He had claimed the armchair across the room, one leg hooked over the side in a posture that was loose and expansive, as if the space belonged to him by default. He didn't look like a student who had been sidelined or suspended; he looked bored, like he was merely waiting for something worth the effort of engaging with. Leigh ignored him on principle.
The door burst open a minute later, and the quiet was instantly replaced by a rush of voices, laughter, and the heavy thud of bags hitting the floor. Joel and Cam led the charge, locked in the middle of a mindless argument.
"I'm telling you, you overcorrected," Cam said, tossing his bag into a corner.
Joel scoffed, unimpressed. "I didn't overcorrect. You just panic the second things don't go your way."
"Holy shit," Murphy announced cheerfully, being the first to truly sprawl into the room. "If I have to do one more endurance drill, I'm suing."
"What? You did great! You looked like you actually loved it," Sammi teased, giving Murphy's shoulder a light shove as she followed her in.
"'Loved' is a very strong word."
Murphy spotted Leigh instantly and her face lit up. She made a beeline for the couch with Sammi trailing right behind. "Leigh! You didn't even come to watch training and you still managed to steal the good seat?"
Leigh offered a small smile, shifting her notebook to make room as Murphy collapsed beside her. "I had homework. If you want the good seat, you have to get here first."
Sammi flopped onto the floor at Leigh's feet, leaning her back against the cushions. "Rude."
More people piled in, the air growing thick with the post-training buzz. Royel and Jess were arguing under their breath, Mari trailed behind them with her headphones half-off, and Ai was preoccupied, scrolling through her phone as she walked.
Royel dropped onto the arm of a chair. "Who wants to admit they almost ate shit during sparring?"
"You," Ai said without looking up. A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Owen came in last.
He still had the smile, that easy, open Owen grin that made people feel like things were fine even when they weren't, but it sat differently tonight. Like it was something he was wearing on purpose.
Leigh clocked him immediately, the half-second pause in the doorway, the way his eyes swept the room before he stepped inside. He smiled when Murphy yelled his name, lifting a hand in greeting, easy and familiar.
"Oi, Owen!" Joel called out. "Tell Cam he's wrong."
Cam scoffed. "About what?"
"Everything," Joel said cheerfully.
Owen's grin widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Statistically? Joel's probably right."
Cam flipped him off, laughing. "Dick."
Everything looked normal. The banter, the complaints, the weary comfort of the team, it all looked the way it was supposed to.
It wasn't.
Beau's attention slid onto Owen like a blade slipping between ribs.
"Owen," Beau said lightly, finally breaking his silence. "Not even going to say hi to me? Am I just not interesting enough anymore?"
A couple of people chuckled, assuming it was the usual sharp-edged banter. Owen's smile remained fixed. "You'll survive."
"Mm," Beau hummed, the sound low and contemplative. "I don't know. Feels like people are getting...selective lately."
Nelson leaned against the counter nearby, his eyes moving between the two of them with open curiosity.
"Selective how?" Jess asked, missing the subtext.
Beau shrugged, his gaze never leaving Owen's face. "You know. Choosing sides. Choosing priorities."
Leigh noticed Owen's fingers tighten briefly around the strap of his bag.
"Not everything is about you, Beau," Mari said dryly, still focused on her phone. "We literally just walked into the room."
Beau's grin grew sharper. "See? That's exactly what I mean."
Cam frowned, glancing between the two. "What's that supposed to-"
"Oh, nothing," Beau said easily. "Just interesting to see who shows up when things get complicated."
The room quieted, only a notch, but the shift was palpable. It wasn't silence, but a sudden, sharp awareness that the atmosphere had changed. Owen laughed, the sound coming a touch too quickly. "Are you reading poetry now, or...?"
"Just observation," Beau replied. "You're good at that too, aren't you? Observing. Stepping back. Letting things happen."
Leigh's pen stopped tapping against her notebook. That wasn't banter. Murphy shifted uncomfortably beside her. Sammi looked up from the floor, her brows knitting as she leaned closer to Leigh to whisper, "Is it just me, or is this...off?"
Leigh didn't answer.
Mari tried to pivot the conversation toward dinner options, and for a moment, the tension seemed to slide past. But Beau wasn't finished. A few minutes later, as the group scattered to various chairs, Beau drifted into Owen's orbit. He didn't crowd him, but he stayed just close enough to ensure he was heard.
"You good, Brown?" Beau asked casually. "You've been quiet lately."
Owen shrugged. "Have I?"
"Yeah," Beau said, his smile mimicking concern. "Just feels like you're...pulling back. Not really engaging with the team."
Nelson watched with flickering interest. Owen laughed softly, a defensive sound. "I'm standing right here, man."
Beau leaned back against a table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Physically, sure," he said lightly. "I guess not everyone handles pressure the same way."
Silence flickered, brief, but heavy. Murphy's jaw tightened, and Royel's expression darkened into a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Beau replied easily. "Just checking in. We look after our own, right?" His gaze flicked, with surgical precision, to Owen's wrist.
Owen nodded once. That was it. No explosion, no shouting match, just the sound of something quietly reordering itself in the room.
Joel hesitated, then shrugged. "Uh...okay."
Owen's smile didn't slip, but Leigh saw the microsecond where his shoulders dropped, the weight of the interaction finally hitting him. Cam caught it, too.
"What is going on between you two?" Cam asked, looking from one to the other.
Beau looked genuinely surprised. "Us?"
"You've been..." Cam gestured vaguely at the air. "Whatever this is."
Beau laughed softly. "Relax. We're just talking."
"Doesn't feel like just talking," Sammi muttered from the floor.
Beau's eyes flicked to her, briefly assessing her worth as an opponent, before dismissing her. He leaned back again. "You know, I just find it funny. People act like they're saints until they're not."
Owen went still. Murphy opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, uncertain of the ground she was standing on. Leigh felt the shift, the invisible line Beau was drawing in the sand, daring Owen to cross it.
Owen exhaled slowly. "I'm not doing this."
"Of course you aren't," Beau said lightly. "You never do."
The comment landed with a dull thud. Murphy leaned forward, her patience fraying. "Okay, seriously. Are you two good?"
Owen smiled, though it was far too quick to be real. "We're good."
Beau tilted his head. "Are we?"
The silence that followed wasn't long or dramatic, but it lasted just long enough to feel like a confession. Finally, Mari spoke up, her voice calm but firm. "Can we please talk dinner options again?"
The spell broke. People began to move, conversations restarted, and someone turned the music up to a distracting volume. Owen stepped back, creating space without making a scene. He helped Ai with something on her phone and laughed at Cam's next joke. He played the part of Owen perfectly.
But Beau didn't stop. Every subsequent comment he made landed just a little sideways. Every joke he told seemed designed to push Owen half a step lower in the pecking order. Every glance was a reminder that he was being watched.
Leigh watched it all. She watched Owen shrink without even realising he was doing it. She watched Beau expand until it felt like he owned the oxygen in the room. She watched Nelson clock the divide and silently file the information away for later.
Eventually, Owen reached for his bag. "I'm gonna eat at home," he said lightly. "See you."
"No, Owen! Seriously?" Sammi pouted.
"Yeah," Owen said, already moving toward the door. "Long day."
Beau smiled. "Some of us can handle those."
Owen didn't respond. He just left.
The door clicked shut behind him. Beau tracked the exit with open satisfaction before glancing around the room with renewed confidence. Leigh closed her notebook slowly. She had known both of them for a long time, and she knew that whatever Beau had against Owen wasn't a new development.
But whatever had changed? It had changed today. And Owen was the one paying the price for it.
***
Rory arrived home just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon.
The house presented a fa?ade of perfect normalcy, lights glowing warmly through the windows, curtains half-drawn against the evening chill, and the low, muffled drone of the television echoing through the walls. It was quiet, but it was the wrong kind of quiet. It was the heavy, pressurised silence that made Rory's shoulders knot with tension before he had even fully closed the front door.
Pete already knew. In his mind, the bruises were proof of Rory's own failures, regardless of what had actually happened. To Pete, assumption was as good as fact, and he was just biding his time until the confrontation began.
That realisation sat like lead in the pit of Rory's stomach as he stepped out of his shoes and nudged the door shut behind him. There was no comfort in the fact that the truth was out, and no safety in the lack of a surprise, there was only a different, more gruelling kind of waiting.
Images of the previous night played on a loop in his mind, unbidden and vivid. He could still hear Pete's voice, sharp and booming the moment he had seen the damage. What the hell happened to your face? He remembered the way his stomach had dropped, his brain firing in a thousand directions at once to find the safest possible lie. He remembered Liz stepping into the line of fire before he could misspeak, her hands raised, her voice a forced anchor of calm. Not tonight, Pete. He's hurt. He can shower and sleep. We'll deal with homework tomorrow.
Deal with it tomorrow.
Pete hadn't been satisfied with that. Rory had seen the resentment in the tight line of his jaw and the way his eyes had lingered on the boy for a second too long. But he had relented. For once, he had backed off.
It wasn't a pardon, it was merely a postponement.
Rory moved like a ghost down the hallway, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hoodie zipped to the chin despite the warmth of the house. Every step was measured and deliberate, a careful navigation of a minefield he had mapped by heart.
In the kitchen, Liz was busy stirring a pot on the stove. She glanced up as he entered, her expression softening into that specific, pained gentleness she reserved for when she knew he was breaking.
"Hey, honey," she said softly. "You're back."
"Yeah," Rory replied. His voice sounded steady and unremarkable. That was the goal. Normal meant safe.
She looked him over, her gaze subtle but exhaustive. She was checking the fresh bruises, the stiffness in his gait.
"You okay?" she whispered.
Rory offered a small nod. "Yeah."
It wasn't a total lie, but it was far from the whole truth.
Pete's voice suddenly drifted in from the living room, cutting through the domestic sounds of the kitchen. "He get home from school already?"
Rory's spine stiffened instantly. He didn't even wait for Liz to answer before he was bracing for the impact.
"Yeah," Liz called back. "He just walked in."
A heavy pause followed. Then, "Tell him dinner's in ten."
There was no yelling. No sharp, serrated edge to his tone. To Rory, that felt far worse than an outburst. He gave Liz a quick, tight nod and slipped past her toward the stairs. He ascended quietly, each step a conscious effort to remain silent, though the familiar creak of the wood still made his pulse jump.
At the top of the landing, he paused for a heartbeat, listening to the house breathe.
Nothing.
He entered his room and closed the door with a soft click, leaning his forehead against the wood. He took a long breath through his nose, trying to ground himself in the small, private territory of his bedroom.
Still okay. Still safe. For now.
He dropped his bag by the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floorboards. His ribs throbbed in a dull, rhythmic ache beneath the fabric of his hoodie, and his cheek pulsed every time he ground his teeth together.
Homework. It was going to happen tonight. He knew Pete wouldn't let yesterday's defiance slide, Pete never did. His anger didn't dissipate over time, it simply cooled and solidified into something heavier and more intentional.
Rory lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, tracking the sounds of the house below. He heard Liz moving plates in the kitchen, the sharp click of the TV being turned off, and then Pete's footsteps, slow, heavy, and familiar, as he paced the living room.
His chest tightened. He tried to mentally prepare for the hours ahead: Pete sitting too close, the invasive questions, the relentless "corrections," and the way his guardian's patience would evaporate as Rory struggled to focus through the pain. He knew exactly how it always ended.
Swallowing hard, Rory rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, his arms tucked close to his chest. His fingers brushed against the red band on his wrist. It was still there. It would stay there tonight, and probably tomorrow, too.
But not forever.
The thought arrived uninvited, and for the first time, it didn't spark a new wave of fear.
Karmal. The name felt heavy and complicated in his mind. It wasn't a kind place, and it certainly wasn't "safe" in the traditional sense, but it was real. It offered structure, training, and a sense of control. It was a place he could go during the day where Pete simply did not exist. It was a future that didn't have to end within the four walls of this bedroom.
He wouldn't be here forever.
The thought didn't fix the bruises or make the upcoming dinner any less terrifying, but it gave his fear a direction. It pointed forward. Tomorrow, the band would come off. Tomorrow, he would train. Tomorrow, he would be one step closer to a version of his life that didn't feel like a cage.
Rory sat up slowly, forcing his shoulders back and schooling his face into a mask of neutrality. He checked his reflection in the mirror, hoodie zipped, cap low, bruises successfully shadowed. It was good enough.
When he finally headed back downstairs, Pete was waiting by the dining table. He wasn't looming or shouting, he was just watching.
"You ready to do your homework?" Pete asked.
Rory met his gaze and nodded. "Yeah," he said. His voice didn't shake.
Pete turned toward the table, already assuming Rory would follow. And Rory did. His heart was pounding and his body was braced for the worst, but his mind was already elsewhere, counting down the hours.
He just had to get through tonight. He just had to hang on. Because somewhere beyond this house and this table, there was a door he had already opened. And one day, very soon, he wouldn't have to come back here at all.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
***
Owen arrived home early. He closed the front door more quietly than usual and toed his shoes off with careful precision, the lingering tension of the day still knotted in his muscles.
By all accounts, he should have been out with the others. Wednesday nights were usually loud, chaotic, and easy. The kind of nights spent eating takeout straight from the containers, arguing over music, or watching someone try to start a fight they had no hope of finishing. But tonight, he had slipped away without saying much of anything.
The run-in with Beau still felt like it was crawling under his skin. He couldn't shake the memory of the way Beau had smiled while twisting the knife, or how the others had laughed just enough to miss the fact that something was fundamentally wrong. Owen had simply stood there with his jaw clenched, refusing to provide the reaction Beau was fishing for while everything inside him screamed for a way out.
He stepped further into the house.
Ethan was at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, scrolling through a food delivery app on his phone. Will was sprawled across the couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, similarly occupied with digital menus. They both looked up at the same time.
Will blinked in surprise. "You're home early."
Ethan didn't comment on the time. Instead, he simply assessed the boy, noticing the rigid set of his shoulders and the uncharacteristic flatness in his eyes. It was rare these days to see Owen as anything other than sunny; at least, that had been the case before Rory had entered the picture.
"You alright?" Ethan asked.
Owen offered a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah. Just...didn't feel like staying out tonight."
It was the truth, even if it wasn't the whole of it. Will studied him for a second longer before glancing at Ethan. A silent, practiced check-in passed between the two older men.
"Did you hear?" Will asked.
Owen moved toward the kitchen table, his hand gripping the back of a chair. "Hear what?"
Ethan answered, his tone level. "Rory came back today."
The words hit Owen harder than he anticipated, a sickening drop in the pit of his stomach.
"...Back?" Owen echoed, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
"Here. To Karmal," Ethan said. "Walked in this morning."
Owen stared at him, bewildered. "But..." He stopped to swallow hard. "He said no."
He was certain of it because they had told him so. Only yesterday, Ethan had informed him and Will that Rory's refusal had felt absolute. Final.
Ethan nodded once, looking a little put out by the turn of events. "Yeah. He changed his mind."
Owen's stomach twisted into a tighter knot. After yesterday. After the street. After Beau.
"Did he..." Owen hesitated, forcing himself to find the words. "Did he take the upgrades?"
He tried to make the question sound casual, but it failed. Inside, his chest felt constricted. Those upgrades had been his one desperate attempt at fixing a situation he had helped break, his one quiet way of making amends without having to admit his failures out loud.
Ethan considered the question for a moment. "Looks like it."
Something loosened in Owen's chest before he could stop it. He hated the wave of relief that washed over him. Rory had accepted them, even if he didn't know where they had come from, and even if he never would. A small, selfish part of Owen couldn't help but wonder if that was the real reason the boy had returned.
Will shifted on the couch, breaking the silence. "You could help him with them, you know. Give him pointers. They're your upgrades, after all."
"No," Owen said immediately. The word came out far too fast.
Will raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the vehemence. "You don't think he'd want that?"
Owen shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "He wouldn't."
It wasn't because Rory wouldn't need the help, it was because Rory wouldn't want him. The silence that followed was heavy with that unspoken reality.
"I'm surprised he came back at all," Owen added quietly, "after what you told me yesterday."
Ethan exhaled a long breath through his nose. "Yeah. I know." He paused, then added after a beat, "But...looks like something happened."
Owen's head snapped up, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Something happened?"
Cold dread settled in his gut. Did Ethan know? Had Rory finally spoken up?
"What happened?" Owen asked, trying and failing to sound neutral.
Ethan shook his head, looking uncharacteristically dejected. "I don't know what. He wouldn't say."
Will snorted softly from the couch. "He never does."
"But he showed up hurt," Ethan continued. "Bruised. Claimed he slipped in the rain."
The room went deathly still. Owen didn't move, and for a moment, he didn't even breathe. Rory hadn't told anyone about Beau, not about the first time they had messed with him, and certainly not about yesterday. He had kept silent even when the truth might have served as a protection.
Just like before.
Owen's chest ached with a brutal clarity. The comparison rose uninvited, brutal in its clarity. Rory had been hurt, repeatedly, by them, and stayed quiet. Beau had barely been challenged and was already ready to burn everything down. Owen had thought loyalty meant standing by Beau. Backing him. Letting things slide because that's what friends did.
Now it just felt... wrong.
"I don't get it," Owen muttered. "Why wouldn't he tell you what happened?"
"He doesn't do that," Will explained simply.
Ethan added casually, "That's just who he is."
Neither of them looked at Owen as they spoke. They weren't defending Rory, and they weren't accusing anyone, they were simply stating facts as if they were a pattern they had already identified, a pattern Owen had completely missed.
Owen didn't answer. He stared at a fixed point on the floor, his earlier assumptions twisting into something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Maybe Rory hadn't been reckless or dramatic. Maybe he hadn't been playing a game. Maybe he had just run out of ways to survive on his own.
Will stretched, breaking the tension of the moment. "Anyway. You eating with us?"
Owen blinked, momentarily disoriented. "What?"
"Dinner," Will said. "It's Ethan's turn to cook, which means he absolutely didn't."
Ethan shot him a dry look. "We're ordering in."
Owen hesitated a second too long.
"...Owen?" Ethan prompted.
Owen snapped back to reality. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll eat."
Will grinned. "Preference?"
Owen shook his head. "Nah. Whatever's fine."
That answer made both of them pause. Owen was already turning away, heading down the hall toward his room with his shoulders slumped in a way that looked foreign on him. His door closed with a soft, final click.
In the living room, Will looked at Ethan. "Since when does he not have an opinion about food?"
Ethan frowned, his gaze lingering on the closed door. "He's thinking."
Will huffed. "That's never good."
***
Owen dropped onto his bed fully clothed, his shoes still on, staring up at the ceiling as if the flat, white expanse might finally offer the answers he lacked.
His chest felt agonisingly tight. His thoughts refused to settle, spinning in frantic, jagged loops that he couldn't switch off. In the heavy silence of the room, Owen let out a breath that shook more than he liked, a ragged, uneven sound that betrayed just how thin his composure had become.
"Fuck," he muttered into the quiet.
And there it was. The truth he hadn't wanted to look at, finally stepping out of the shadows. Suddenly, the collective weight of the last few months came crashing down on him all at once, suffocating and undeniable.
He thought about the friendship he believed he had and the blind loyalty he thought he owed. He thought about the harm he'd actively helped cause and the hollow, comfortable lies he'd used to convince himself that it wasn't actually that bad.
He'd been wrong. He had been wrong about Beau, he had been wrong about Rory, and, most painfully, he had been wrong about himself.
The realisation hit him with a new, sharper clarity: Rory had never turned him in. Not once.
Rory hadn't spoken up when he could have easily ended it. He hadn't spoken up when it would have protected him from further pain, or even when it would have simply been fair to see Owen punished. He had taken the hits and kept the secrets.
And Beau...
Beau would have done it in a heartbeat. Beau would have traded Owen's safety for a momentary advantage without a second thought.
That knowledge didn't just hurt, it was transformative. It reached deep into Owen's foundation and rearranged everything he thought he knew.
***
The next afternoon, the training room door slid shut behind Rory with a soft hiss. He stopped just inside the threshold, not because he meant to, but because his body simply hesitated, as if it weren't quite convinced this reality was real yet. The room remained unchanged: pale walls, a clean floor, and the faint, low-frequency rumble of systems behind the panels. Yet, it felt fundamentally different today. It felt quieter. More exposed.
Ethan stood near the far bench, a tablet gripped in his hand. He didn't turn immediately, a silence that told Rory more than any greeting could have. Ethan was giving him space, the way he always did, not crowding the entrance or monitoring the threshold like he was waiting for something to go wrong. He was simply present. Steady.
Rory swallowed hard and forced his feet to move. Each step pulled at his ribs, it wasn't enough to make him limp, he had learned long ago how to mask that, but it was enough to make his movements careful and restrained. He set his bag down in its usual spot against the wall and remained standing, his hands tucked deep into his sleeves.
Ethan finally looked up. For a fraction of a second, the careful mask of control he wore slipped. It wasn't a dramatic shift, just a pause that lasted a beat too long, a flicker in his eyes that went straight to the bruising on Rory's face and refused to leave.
Rory felt the gaze like a wave of heat. He instinctively angled his head away, his shoulders curling forward so the hood of his sweatshirt shadowed his jaw. He hated that Ethan could see it. Hated more that Ethan would.
"Hey," Ethan said quietly.
"Hey," Rory replied, the word tumbling out too fast, as if he'd been bracing to say it the moment he arrived.
Ethan set the tablet down on the bench instead of keeping it between them. It was a small, deliberate signal Rory recognised immediately: I'm here with you now.
"You didn't have to rush," Ethan said. "You're early."
Rory shrugged, his gaze fixed on his shoes. "Didn't have anything else to do." It wasn't a lie, just a fragment of the truth.
Ethan nodded as if that were perfectly reasonable. He didn't fill the silence or force the next step, allowing Rory to simply exist in the room for a beat longer than protocol required. "You can sit if you want," he offered.
Rory shook his head immediately. "I'm fine."
Ethan didn't challenge him, he never did. "Alright," he said instead.
Another quiet stretch settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. It was...careful.
"So," Ethan said eventually, his voice neutral but gentle. "Sullivan told me you'd decided to come back."
Rory nodded, his eyes tracking a faint scuff mark on the floor. "Yeah."
"She said it was your call."
Another nod, smaller this time. "Yes."
Ethan studied him, not with the clinical detachment of a handler checking a box, but like someone reading a person they cared about without wanting to startle them. "I'm glad you came," he said.
Rory's throat tightened unexpectedly. He hadn't realised how much those words mattered until it was already too late to stop the sudden surge of emotion. "Okay," he muttered.
Ethan's mouth curved into a slight, warm smile. "Do you want to talk first?"
Rory's shoulders went rigid. "No," he said, the word coming out too sharp. "I'm good."
Ethan absorbed the rejection without reacting. "Alright. Then let's just check in."
Rory frowned. "That is checking in."
Ethan didn't smile this time, but his voice stayed soft. "I mean with me," he clarified.
That landed harder than Rory expected. His fingers curled into the fabric at his wrists, his nails biting through the cotton into his skin. He hated this part, the way Ethan never pushed, yet somehow still saw everything.
"I just changed my mind," Rory insisted. "That's all."
Ethan studied him for a long moment. "The other day," he said slowly, "you sounded pretty sure."
Rory flinched despite himself. "I thought about it," he said quickly. "It makes sense."
"Makes sense how?"
Rory opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. His jaw worked as frustration and shame tangled together in his chest. "I don't know," he said finally. "It just does."
That was a wall. Ethan recognised it instantly, the defensive architecture Rory built when he was trying not to fall apart in front of someone. Instead of pushing, Ethan took a literal step back, not retreating, just making space.
"Okay," Ethan said. "Then we don't have to unpack that right now. But," he added gently, "I need you to hear something first."
Rory looked up, drawn in despite his defences. Ethan met his gaze with a steady, unflinching look.
"You don't owe me obedience," Ethan said. "And you don't owe Karmal proof that you're 'better.'"
Rory's chest tightened painfully. "That's not-"
Ethan held up a hand, not to stop him, but to slow the moment down. "I'm not saying that's what you're doing. I'm saying that if, at any point, this stops feeling like your choice, we stop."
Rory swallowed hard. "I know," he said quietly.
Ethan tilted his head slightly. "Do you?"
Rory didn't answer. He couldn't, not without admitting things he wasn't ready to voice. Ethan let the silence sit, then moved on.
"Before we do anything, I want to check something. I'm not asking you to explain," Ethan added quickly as Rory tensed. "Just...acknowledging. You're hurt."
Rory's shoulders drew in tight. "It's nothing," he said, the reflex as natural as breathing. "I slipped."
Ethan nodded once. He accepted the lie at face value, or at least, he chose not to challenge it. "Alright. I'm not here to debate that. But if anything pulls or spikes while we work, you tell me. We adjust. No pushing through."
"I can handle it," Rory said.
"I know," Ethan replied. "That's not what I'm worried about."
That landed with more weight than Rory was prepared for. Ethan didn't press further, instead, he shifted slightly toward the band controller before stopping. He looked back at Rory.
"This part is your call," Ethan said. "Are you ready to take it off?"
The question caught Rory off guard. It wasn't a command or a statement of what was happening next, it was an invitation.
Rory swallowed. His heart picked up speed, he nodded once.
Ethan stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "Arm?"
Rory hesitated for a heartbeat, then held it out. Ethan took his wrist gently, not with a restraining grip, but with a steadying, grounding touch. His thumb pressed lightly against Rory's pulse point, warm and solid.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," Ethan said quietly.
Rory nodded again. Ethan deactivated the band.
The release was immediate. Sensation flooded back unevenly, and Rory's breath stuttered as his body recalibrated. His fingers twitched as the power surged, wild for a split second before he forced it into a simmer. Ethan didn't let go, nor did he tighten his grip, he simply stayed there, holding Rory to the moment.
"Slow breath," Ethan murmured. "You're safe."
Rory inhaled shakily. Exhaled. Again. The power settled into a controlled buzz. Ethan slid the band free and stepped back, giving Rory space without abandoning him.
"You still with me?" Ethan asked.
Rory nodded, his eyes down. "Yeah."
"You sure?"
A beat. "Yes."
Ethan studied him a moment longer, then accepted it. "Okay. Then we'll keep this light today. Grounding. Control. No pressure."
Rory didn't argue. As they moved into position, Ethan watched him closely, the way he held himself too tight, the way his gaze stayed averted. Ethan didn't need a report to know the truth, Rory wasn't here because he felt ready. He was here because he trusted Ethan enough to stand in a room with him even when everything else was slipping away.
They moved through a familiar sequence, balance, then grip, then controlled motion. Ethan made sure it wasn't fast or hard, just deliberate. He didn't hover, he let Rory find the edges of his control, stepping in only when the boy's focus drifted.
"Slower," Ethan said once, his hand lifting in a small gesture. "You're anticipating again."
Rory adjusted, his face tense. He hated how obvious it was, how his body wanted to leap ahead of his mind. They ran a shortened agility line without hurdles or sharp turns. Rory focused entirely on the placement of his feet and the force of his momentum.
"Good," Ethan said quietly. Rory glanced at him, surprised by the praise.
They moved to grip checks, using a stress ball instead of the usual eggs. Ethan watched closely, nodding when Rory stopped himself just short of crushing the foam. "That's control," Ethan noted. "Not the strength. The pause."
Rory swallowed and nodded. After a while, Ethan checked the wall clock. "That's it," he said matter-of-factly.
Rory blinked. "That's...it?"
"For today," Ethan replied.
Rory frowned. "We didn't...you know. Fight. Or anything like that....We used to."
Ethan looked at him for a long second, a small, fond, and slightly sad smile touching his lips. "Rory," he said gently, "you're injured."
Rory scoffed. "So? I'm fine. It's not bad."
Ethan didn't argue. He just studied the boy, the tight shoulders, the way he stood as if bracing for an impact that wasn't coming. "We'll get there. When you're healed."
"That's gonna take ages," Rory muttered.
"Not as long as you think," Ethan replied. "Now that the band is off, your body will recover faster."
Rory froze. "You're...leaving it off?"
Ethan tilted his head. "If that's what you want."
The weight of the choice was unexpectedly heavy. Rory looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers and feeling the quiet ripple of power under his skin, no longer muted or restrained. "I-" He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I want that."
"Okay," Ethan said simply.
They stood in the quiet room for a beat. Ethan watched him carefully. "You don't want to end our session just yet," he observed.
Rory's head snapped up, a flicker of hope immediate and bright. Ethan smiled. "Not what you're thinking."
Rory deflated slightly. "Oh."
"But," Ethan continued, "we can do something else. The light reaction test. If you want."
Rory blinked. "The light button thing?"
Ethan nodded. Rory's face lit up without him meaning it to. "Yeah," he said, then added more quietly, "Can I?"
Ethan grinned. "I remember how much you liked it when we ran your baselines."
Rory stared at him. "You remembered that?"
Ethan shrugged. "I remember a lot."
Something warm and strange settled in Rory's chest. "Okay. Yeah. Let's do that."
As they moved toward the exit to set up the test, Ethan slowed to a stop. "Hey," he said. Rory turned. "You did good today."
It wasn't a clinical evaluation or a conditional compliment. It was just the truth. Rory's chest tightened. "Thanks."
Ethan stepped forward without ceremony and pulled him into a brief hug. Rory froze. Every instinct in him went rigid, bracing for weight, pressure, or expectation. But this was different. Ethan's arms were steady, warm, and careful. There was no squeeze meant to claim him, no grip meant to control. It was just presence.
Safe.
Rory felt it before he fully understood it. Before he could overthink the moment, he leaned in, just a little.
When Ethan stepped back, he acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He gave Rory's arm a light, easy pat. "Alright," he said briskly. "Come on. Let's see if your reaction time has improved."
Rory nodded, his cheeks warm and his chest oddly light, and the knot between his shoulders loosened. Just enough to let him breathe.
***
Later that day, Owen rolled back and forth on his board, not truly skating, just rocking rhythmically on the trucks. The wheels made a soft, repetitive sound against the concrete, providing a mechanical rhythm to focus on, something that wasn't the tension radiating from the nearby benches.
He could feel Beau looking at him.
Beau was too intelligent to stare openly, instead, his gaze was pointed and heavy, a silent pressure waiting for Owen to slip or offer up a reaction. Owen kicked off, carving a lazy, distracted loop around the edge of the grounds before slowing to a halt near the low stone wall by the path.
Every time he passed that section of the yard, the sensation intensified. Beau sat with Nelson and Jess a short distance away, close enough for his presence to feel intentional, yet far enough to maintain the pretence of a casual hang-out. While Nelson was half-listening to Jess, Beau wasn't pretending at all. He kept flicking sharp, needlesome looks in Owen's direction.
Owen kicked his board up, caught it by the nose, and dropped it back down with a loud, unnecessary crack against the pavement. He pushed off again, his jaw clamped tight. Ignore him. Don't give him the satisfaction.
"Hey."
Leigh's voice cut cleanly through the fog of his frustration. He braked too sharply, his wheels skidding with a protest of friction as he turned. Leigh stood a few steps ahead of him, with Murphy lingering just behind, her bag slung over one shoulder as she scrolled through her phone with an intensity that suggested she was listening to every word.
Leigh tilted her head, her eyes scanning his face with practiced ease. "You've been doing angry laps for a while now."
"I'm just skating," Owen muttered, looking everywhere but at her.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her tone blunt but devoid of malice.
Owen scoffed, kicking the board up into his hand again. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
Leigh didn't answer with words,she simply glanced pointedly over his shoulder toward the benches. Beau was still there. He was still watching. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Owen. "Is Beau bothering you?"
Owen stiffened. "No."
She raised a single eyebrow, the one that had successfully made him cave since they were children.
"Owen."
"He's just-" Owen cut himself off, exhaling a sharp, ragged breath. "He's being annoying. It's nothing."
Murphy finally looked up from her screen, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "It doesn't look like nothing from over here."
Owen shot her a defensive look, but realised she wasn't judging him, she was merely stating an objective fact. Leigh turned her full focus back to him. "So. What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Owen bristled.
"Mhm," Leigh hummed, unimpressed. "Then why is he acting like you kicked his dog?"
"He doesn't even have a dog," Owen replied flatly.
She met his eyes then, and the accusation vanished, replaced by a thread of genuine concern. "What happened, Owen?"
"Nothing happened," he repeated, the reflex of loyalty dying hard.
Leigh sighed softly, a sound of weary disappointment. "Okay. Then why do you look like you're waiting for the world to blow up?"
Owen opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed him. Her gaze softened just a fraction. "Do you remember when we were kids," she said, "and you'd come sit with me after training because you hated how loud everyone got?"
"That was different," Owen muttered, the memory stinging.
"Was it?" Leigh asked. "Or did you just stop letting yourself have quieter options?"
Owen's jaw clenched. "You stopped talking to me," he shot back, the old hurt surfacing. "You pulled away first."
Leigh didn't deny it. "Because you're always with Beau," she said simply. Her voice remained steady, but there was a raw honesty in it now. "And because watching you orbit him the way you do has been painful for a long time."
He looked at her. "You don't like him."
"No," Leigh said immediately. "I don't. He's a dick."
Murphy coughed, a half-laugh escaping her, but Leigh ignored her. Owen blinked, stunned by the bluntness of it.
"Whatever shit he's pulling right now? It's not you. It's him," Leigh continued, her voice even. "He's always been like this. You've just been too close to see it."
The observation landed with more force than anything Beau had done all afternoon. Owen opened his mouth, a defensive shield already forming, but then his attention snagged on movement near the training block.
Rory was walking out alongside Ethan.
Owen's breath caught in his throat. Rory's posture was looser than it had been in days, even if the physical evidence of the struggle remained. Owen clocked the marks instantly, the dark bruising along his cheek and the slight, lingering stiffness in his gait. The last time he'd seen those marks, Beau had been responsible.
Ethan walked with him for a few paces, speaking quietly. Rory nodded, listening intently. They stopped, and Ethan clapped him once on the shoulder, a light, supportive gesture, before peeling away toward the admin wing. Rory continued toward the lobby alone.
Leigh felt Owen go still beside her, and she followed his gaze. Beau noticed Rory at the exact same moment. Owen watched as Beau registered the boy's presence, he saw the way Beau's spine straightened and how his face flushed with surprise before curdling into something darker.
Rory saw him, too.
But instead of shrinking away, Rory slowed his pace with intent just enough to ensure Beau was fully locked onto him. Then, he smiled. It wasn't a wide or friendly expression; it was a small, knowing curve of his mouth that signalled, I'm still here.
Slowly, deliberately, Rory tugged his sleeve back. The red band was gone.
Owen's heart jumped into his throat. Rory didn't rush the moment, and he didn't gloat. He simply allowed Beau to see the bare skin of his wrist. He held it there for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with a casual, almost lazy flick of his hand, he flipped Beau off.
The gesture was small, precise, and absolutely devastating.
"Holy shit!" Leigh let out a soft, incredulous laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh, I love him."
Murphy grinned openly. "That was beautiful."
Owen couldn't stop himself. A grin broke across his face, wide, sharp, and fuelled by a sensation that felt dangerously like relief.
Beau surged to his feet, his face turning a humiliated shade of crimson as Nelson grabbed his arm, muttering something urgent to keep him composed. Rory didn't wait for a reaction. He simply turned and walked on, his shoulders loose and his steps sure.
Owen watched him go, feeling something inside his chest finally click into a new alignment. Leigh glanced at him, her smile softening. "See?"
Owen nodded slowly. "Yeah."
She hesitated, then jerked her chin toward the doors. "We're heading inside. You want to come?"
The invitation hung in the air, not as a challenge or a demand, but as a genuine option. A different orbit. Owen looked one last time at Beau, who was still seething, still trying to pull the world back into place around himself. Then he looked back at Leigh.
"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "Yeah, I do."
As he followed Leigh and Murphy toward the building, Owen didn't feel like he was leaving something behind. He felt like he was finally stepping out of the shadow.
Which “still here” moment landed hardest for you?
