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Chapter Text

For Brandon King, coming back to the family house always brought certain memories with it. Their monthly meet-up to spend a few days together as a family had never felt stranger or more uncomfortable than it did now. It had been three months since Brandon King nearly took his life in their family’s home. He hadn’t been here since the incident, so stepping into the house felt heavier than expected. 

Nothing had changed physically—the rooms were the same, the color of the walls and the paintings hanging on them. The family pictures stood exactly where they always had. But everything felt different–like he no longer fit in his own home. It wasn’t the place where he was currently living and hadn’t been for a long time, but this house was supposed to be a safe space for him. Now, it felt haunted by shadows of his past.

Nikolai was at his side, hand at the small of his back, grounding him silently. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to be here without him, the love of his life. But he knew as much that being here wasn’t only hard on him but on Niko as well. Nikolai had told him how powerless he felt holding a motionless, unresponsive Brandon in his arms. It felt as if time had stopped. 

After Brandon woke up in the hospital, they couldn’t stay away from each other for even a few seconds. Being with each other, touching each other was necessary to get through the first weeks after everything. Back at the penthouse, Nikolai had cared for him as if he were sacred. He showered with him, cooked for him (even though he was a terrible cook), and massaged him every night. And most tenderly, he cleaned and kissed the scar on his neck every day, whispering soft words into the quiet of their shared space.

You’re so loved. You're the strongest person I know. I can’t live without you. I’m so glad you came back to me. I love you, my lotus flower.

Before they entered the house, Nikolai squeezed Bran’s waist and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, baby. We can do this together.” The smell of Astrid’s cooking wafted through the hall as they closed the door behind them – comforting but strangely suffocating. Bran’s heart rate spiked as his parents rounded the corner and walked toward them. 

Astrid pulled him into a long, almost crushing hug–too long, too careful. She didn’t let go until he did. “You look good, sweetheart,” she said, but her eyes lingered, as if she’s searching his face for cracks. Levi was quieter, placing a hand on Bran’s shoulder. His restraint felt like walking on eggshells—Bran wished he would just act normal. 

Astrid’s hug was warm, but suffocating in its carefulness. Levi’s hand on his shoulder was steady, but restrained. Brandon wanted them to hold him the way they always had, not as if he might shatter into pieces if they gripped too tightly. He wanted normal, but normal seemed out of reach now.

Brandon loved his parents. His mother, the woman who taught him how magical it felt to put color on a canvas. If home was a person, it would be her. His father, his safe person that made him fall in love with cooking. The man he always strived to be one day. And together, his parents showed him what true love looks like. Two people so in love with one another, creating a family they always wanted. 

He loved his parents with everything he had, but telling them the secret he carried with him for eight years was impossible. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his parents. It was the fear of their reaction. Fear of what they would do if they found out their life-long friend assaulted their son. What if they didn’t believe him? What if they thought he was lying or overreacting? In reality, his parents would never think that, but his brain loved to play tricks on him. Grace made sure to manipulate the 15-year-old Brandon into thinking it was all his fault, his doing. 

But after the truth came out, after he talked with his parents about the last eight years in that hospital room, all he felt was freedom. They had held each other, they had cried together. But sometimes the guilt still creeped in. He felt it right now, standing in the hallway of his childhood home with his parents in front of him. 

As Brando stepped back and Astrid went to hug Nikolai, Glyndon and Landon made their way toward them. Glyndon ran straight to him, wrapping him in a quick hug and kissing his cheek. “Finally, the other twin graces us with his presence.” But halfway through she hesitated, her tone softening. Of course Brandon noticed immediately. Glyn had never once hesitated before – she teased him relentlessly, made fun of him in front of the family, filled the air with laughter. This careful, muted Glyndon was new. And it really fucking stung.

Landon stayed back until the others started moving to the living area, leaving only them in the hallway. Nikolai hesitated before leaving them, but Landon’s glare and Bran’s soft nod made him go. Landon went straight for it, pulling his brother into his chest. The hug was rough, as if he were trying to squeeze life into his brother. “I’m glad you’re here, Bran,” he said, stepping away from him and also making his way to the living room. 

Brandon was glued to the floor. This was supposed to be a nice family reunion after all the shit that happened a few months ago. But why did it feel so suffocating and… wrong?

Landon was never someone to show emotions openly. He was also never someone to initiate physical touch with anyone other than his girlfriend, Mia. Everything–everyone–felt different around him, and it made Brandon King feel terrible.

Seated in the big living area, Brandon tried his best to enjoy this, being with his family. But every smile felt off, like there was a pause before each word his parents and siblings spoke to him. He picked up on tiny things: His mother gently correcting him when he said “I’m fine.” His father watching him drink water like he’s making sure he eats and drinks enough. Glyndon catching herself before teasing him the way she normally would. All of it felt like pity. It fed his guilt. I broke this. I broke us. 

Conversation circled, shallow and polite, but Bran felt every pause like a bruise. They were all trying – he knew that – but the effort was louder than the words themselves. Laughter had an edge, silences stretched too long. He couldn’t tell if they were protecting him or themselves. Maybe both.

The only one keeping him from breaking down in the middle of the room, was Niko. He was sitting next to him, always keeping an arm around his waist, squeezing every once and a while to remind him he’s here to support him. To love him. To be there for him. Nikolai held conversations with Astrid and Levi, answering all the questions they were too scared to ask Brandon. He didn’t mind that Niko was kind of a bridge between him and his parents, he only wished they would loosen up with time. 

The dining room was warm, golden with a chandelier and pictures framing the walls. But for Bran, it felt like a stage. Everyone was sitting too straight, eyes flicking to him a little too often. He pushed food around his plate, acutely aware of how heavy the silence felt between bursts of forced conversation. “I made your favorite, sweetheart—lemon chicken. You used to eat three plates of this.” Bran forced a smile. “It’s great, Mom.” He wanted to tell her he remembered. That lemon chicken used to mean comfort after long days at school, late-night art projects, or heartbreaks. But right now, the food on his plate tasted like pressure. He took two bites and then stopped, appetite gone. Astrid noticed and gently nudged the bowl of vegetables closer. 

A little while later she asked, “Are you still seeing Dr. Warren twice a week? Is it helping?” The table went still. Bran flushed and nodded quickly. “Yeah. It’s fine.” Dr. Warren was the psychologist who talked to him while he stayed at the hospital for a few days. He felt very comfortable with him and therefore decided to continue his sessions with him and not somebody else. 

Talking to someone professional for the first time in his life was very scary. Telling a stranger everything that happened to him, how he felt, how he reacted was foreign to him. He was scared of being judged, terrified of not getting along with his psychologist. But thankfully he was proven differently. He helped Brandon turn the emotions he had carried for years into words. He helped Brandon understand that it wasn’t his fault. That he’s a survivor. 

Levi continued to be quiet and observant. He didn’t ask many questions, but Bran felt his eyes linger whenever he took a sip of water or put his fork down. At one point, Levi cleared his throat and said softly, “You look healthier, son.” It was supposed to be a compliment, but to Brandon it felt like a reminder that he looked broken before. He was a broken image to his parents and siblings. But never to Niko, he thought to himself. He clung to this thought, his hand moving toward Nikolai’s thigh to squeeze him and have something to hold onto, to steady him. 

Glyndon tried to be normal but stayed hesitant with her words. Her voice was soft as she murmured, “... I missed you, Bran. All of us did.” The shift made him wince–he wanted playful Glyn, not the careful one. He wanted his sister back who always talked and nagged about her boyfriend. Killian did this, and Killian did that. But instead, he got insecure Glyndon, a sister who had to watch her words around him apparently. 

“Bran missed you too. He’s been talking about seeing all of you again for a while now,” Nikolai answered for Brandon who was still stuck in his thoughts. In situations like this, he was so fucking grateful for his boyfriend. When Niko reached over to refill Bran’s glass, Landon cut in sharply, “He doesn’t need you to babysit him.” Nikolai glared back at Landon, not answering him though. In the next second, Lan does the exact same thing – piling food onto Brandon’s plate. “Eat, Bran. You need it.” 

His chest was tight. He felt guilty—he knew they were trying, but it felt like pity, not family. Stop treating me like I’m fragile, he nearly blurted out at one point. But with time the conversation turned to something neutral. Glyn talked about her new art project, Levi mentioned some things of his business. Everyone relaxed slightly, laughter even filled the room. For a second, it felt normal again. 

Then, his own mother broke the silence, “We’re just so glad to have you home, Brandon. You scared us.” The laughter died. Forks paused mid-air. Bran’s throat closed up. Niko, sensing it, placed his own hand under the table on Brandon’s knee, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of his jeans. It was subtle, but grounding – a reminder that even here, even when Bran felt like a stranger at his own family’s table, he wasn’t alone.

Landon shot Nikolai a glare, but he didn’t care. He knew his lotus flower needed him at this moment. Bran pushed his plate away, standing up. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just rest a little upstairs,” he said, not looking at his family but feeling their intense stares. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to stay a little longer?” Astrid protests gently, but he insists. Nikolai excuses himself as well, following Bran upstairs. Dinner ended in an awkward silence that left Bran aching inside. 

As Brandon enters his old bedroom, he immediately sits down on the bed, closing his eyes and letting the moment wash over him. It was exactly as he had left it-–the same paintings on the walls, books stacked on the shelves, his bed neatly made by his mother. But standing here now, after everything that’s happened, it felt alien. Like the room belonged to someone he didn’t know anymore. 

He runs a hand through his hair, muttering, “This doesn’t even feel like my room anymore.” Nikolai sat down next to him but didn’t press right away. His presence, as always, was grounding – large but steady. Eventually he lay a hand over Bran’s fidgeting ones. “Talk to me, lotus flower.” 

Brandon let out a shaky sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Every time they look at me, it’s like they’re waiting for me to fall apart.” His voice cracks, “I hate it. I hate being… this thing they have to protect. I ruined everything. The way they look at me, the way they talk to me. Nothing feels the same anymore.” He curled in on himself, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. 

Nikolai gently pulled Bran’s hands away from his face. “You didn’t ruin anything. They love you, Bran. That’s all this is.” Brandon shook his head, “If this is love, why does it feel like pity?” Niko kissed his hands softly. “It’s not pity. It’s fear. They almost lost you. That doesn’t go away in a few months. You think you broke them, but they’re just trying to hold on tighter.” 

Brandon knew Niko was right—they were as scared as Nikolai had been back then. But still, he wished his family members would just act normal again. Was it always going to be like this from now on? Brandon didn’t have an answer to that, and neither did Nikolai. 

Niko stretched out on the bed and pulled Bran down with him until his cheek rested against Nikolai’s chest. He stroked his baby’s hair slowly. “You’re here. With me. That’s all that matters. You’re not fragile, lotus flower. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.” Bran could feel the tears filling his eyes. “I don’t feel strong,” he whispered against his shirt. Niko kissed his temple, “That’s okay. I’ll feel strong for both of us.”

They lay there in silence, just breathing together. The house was quiet outside their door, but in here, the air felt different – softer, safer. Bran pressed his cheek into the fabric of Niko’s shirt and breathed him in. He smelled like home—warm skin, faint cologne, and the comfort of someone who wasn’t afraid to hold him too tight. For the first time since stepping into the house, Brandon felt like he could finally exhale. 

Chapter Text

Brandon was too quiet. Landon could tell from the moment he walked into the kitchen that morning. His twin was sitting at the table, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate like a kid who didn’t want vegetables, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear. 

Everyone else tiptoed around it – Mom fussing, Dad pretending not to watch, Glyndon making soft jokes that didn’t land. But Landon saw it. He always saw it. They were treating Bran like he was glass, like if they breathed too loud he’d crack. And maybe he would. But Landon hated it. Bran wasn’t glass. He was his twin, his other half, and he’d always been stronger than people thought. 

And Nikolai – don’t even get him started. The bastard sat right next to Bran, his hand brushing against his back every so often, thumb tracing circles into the fabric of his shirt like some kind of anchor. Bran leaned into it too, like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

The whole room was walking on eggshells.

Landon shoved another forkful of food into his mouth and chewed hard, glaring at them all. It pissed him off. Brandon wasn’t fragile porcelain that would shatter the second someone raised their voice. But Landon couldn’t say that. Not with Bran sitting there, pale and distant, pushing food around like the weight of every stare in the room was crushing him.

Astrid finally broke the silence. “Did you sleep okay, sweetheart?” Her voice was soft, too soft. Landon’s grip tightened on his fork. Bran nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Fine” His tone was flat. Bran’s fork froze midair. His jaw clenched. 

Nikolai, of course, was the one to step in. “He’s really fine, Astrid.” His voice was calm, low, controlled. Too controlled. Bran’s shoulders loosened a fraction, leaning into Niko like he was the only safe place in the room. 

Landon’s blood boiled. He wanted to snap that his brother didn’t need a damn babysitter, that Nikolai didn’t know him the way he did. But the words stuck in his throat because, deep down, he knew the truth – Bran trusted him. Trusted him enough to lean, to breathe, to rest. And Landon hated how much relief that gave him.

He tried to focus on the sound of forks and muted laughter around the table, but all he could think about was how different everything had become. His brother sat only a few feet away, yet somehow felt miles from reach. He looked… better, maybe, but not whole. And Landon hated himself for noticing.

When he first found out about Brandon and Nikolai dating, all he felt was rage. Not because of his brother’s sexuality – never because of that – but because his twin hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him. What had made his brother so scared that he wouldn’t be able to tell him? Why did Glyndon know but he didn’t? Did Bran hate him so much? 

But then he found out about the other big thing—the secret his twin had carried for eight fucking years. The secret that ate him up from the inside and left behind only a shell. The secret that nearly made him lose his other half. 

Every day. He thought about it every day, had nightmares about it more times than he could count. He dreamed of what life would be like without Bran. Dreadful. Unlivable. That’s what life would be like. A life he couldn’t imagine surviving. And every single day, Landon wished he could torture and kill Grace all over again – the monster who destroyed his brother when he was only fifteen. She took something from him that day that he’d never gotten back. Her death was too quick and not hurtful enough. But he knew he would meet her again in the afterlife someday and do it all over again. 

When Brandon told him in the hospital that he had never resented him – that he could only keep living because Lan had stayed his carefree self – something broke inside him. Since that night eight years ago, Landon thought his brother hated him. When Bran knocked on his door that night, crying and breaking down in his arms, he held him as if his life depended on it. 

Landon had never known what sympathy felt like or what a normal person was supposed to do to comfort someone crying. But he knew one thing – he would burn the world down to find out who had done this to his brother. But all he could do at that moment was hold him. Hold him until his cries softened and sleep took over. After that day, though, everything changed. Their dynamic, their bond. Brandon wanted separate rooms, he wanted space – he wanted to be alone. 

He remembered the night when they were fifteen as if it was engraved into his brain. Bran had stumbled into his room after midnight, red-eyed and shaking, refusing to say what was wrong. Landon had been half-asleep, irritated at first, but the moment he saw his brother’s face, irritation vanished. Bran didn’t cry often, but that night his shoulders trembled as if he couldn’t hold it all in.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Bran asked quietly, almost breaking. Landon didn’t ask questions at first – he just shoved the blankets aside. Bran crawled in, curling into his side like when they were little kids sneaking into each other’s beds during thunderstorms. 

Landon lay stiff at first, awkward in the silence, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t good at comfort, wasn’t good at words. But instinct took over – he slung an arm around Bran’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Bran didn’t resist. He buried his face in Landon’s shirt, his breath hitching like he was trying not to sob.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Bran’s shaky breathing and the thud of Landon’s heart pounding against his ribs. Finally, Bran whispered so quietly it barely reached his ears, “Don’t tell Mom and Dad. Please.” Landon had swallowed hard, throat tight. “I won’t,” he promised. He didn’t know what he was protecting his brother from, but he knew in that moment he would die before letting anyone hurt him. 

He’d asked his brother who was behind all of this, making him cry in the middle of the night. Bran said it was because of the stress at school, but Landon didn’t believe him one bit. 

He’d stayed awake the whole night, eyes wide open, while Bran drifted to sleep against him. Landon had stared at the ceiling, fists clenched, hating himself for not knowing what was wrong, for not being able to fix it. 

The memory haunted him now. Because looking back, he knew exactly what had been wrong. He knew what Bran had been too scared to say out loud. And he hated himself more than anything for not seeing it then.

Landon didn’t get it at the time. He didn’t get it for the past eight years, not until he knew the truth of what happened back then. So hearing that he was the reason Bran had kept going made him feel guilty and ecstatic all at once. 

Guilty that his own twin brother had been right beside him all those fucking years, and he hadn’t noticed how bad it had gotten. So bad to the point of hurting himself. Landon could count on one hand how many times he’d cried in his life. Seeing Bran’s scars on his wrist for the first time didn’t only make him cry but also brought him to his knees. He felt so fucking guilty for not confronting him all those years. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen the signs—he had, clear as day. But he thought confronting him about it would only make the situation worse. 

It turned out confrontation was exactly what Bran needed – the push to finally step over the edge, to spill everything and come clean. And God, did he hate that it was Nikolai Sokolov who achieved that. That Nikolai was the person who made Bran crawl out of his shell. And it only took him a few months, while Landon had tried for the last eight damn years. 

But he also felt ecstatic. For a long time, he thought he’d lost his brother all together. But finding out he was the reason that Bran kept moving forward each day filled his usually empty heart with something warm; something close to hope. And when he finally hugged his brother again – really hugged him, for the first time in eight years – it felt fucking amazing. 

The memory left a hollow echo in his chest. That hug had felt like a promise – that they’d never drift apart again. But sitting at the same dinner table tonight, surrounded by forced smiles and unspoken words, Landon couldn’t help but feel that promise slipping through his fingers.

He stood after dinner, needing air, and found himself wandering the upstairs hallway. The walls were lined with family photos – birthdays, graduations, holidays – snapshots of a time before everything broke. His eyes stopped on one of them: two sixteen-year-olds with identical smiles, arms slung around each other, paint splattered across their shirts from one of Bran’s “brilliant” art ideas. His throat tightened. 

Landon leaned against the doorframe of the guest room later that night, arms crossed, the same way he used to guard Bran’s door when they were kids. The house was quiet except for faint murmurs from Astrid and Levi downstairs. 

He could see them – Bran and Nikolai – through the half-open door. His brother was curled on the bed, head resting on Niko’s chest, their fingers loosely intertwined. It should have comforted him, knowing Bran wasn’t alone, but it only made the ache worse. 

Bran’s face, softened in sleep, looked so much like that fifteen-year-old version again – fragile and too young for the kind of pain he’d carried. Landon’s jaw tightened. He’d spent so many nights standing like this, listening for his brother’s breathing through the wall, making sure he was still there. Old habits die hard. 

He thought about that night all those years ago – Bran crawling into his bed, asking him not to tell their parents. He’d promised to protect him back then, but he hadn’t known from what. Now he did, and the knowledge still burned like acid under his skin. 

Nikolai shifted slightly, brushing his fingers through Bran’s hair. The small, steady gesture made something inside Landon ease. Maybe he didn’t have to keep guard anymore. Maybe someone else could. 

Still, he whispered under his breath, so low no one would ever hear it, “Sleep easy, Bran. I’m still here.” 

Then he closed the door quietly and walked away. 

Back in his own room, he lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. How had he not noticed his brother was dating his rival all along? He thought back to the boxing matches, when Nikolai sometimes seemed to ogle his twin in a way that wasn’t exactly normal. He hadn’t thought much of it then; he assumed it was to rile him up more than his presence already did. But then again, these stares meant more. They were heated and electric. And now, it all made sense. 

Landon still couldn’t decide how he felt toward the man. Some days it was gratitude, others it was rage. Gratitude, because Nikolai had somehow pulled Bran back from the edge no one else could. Not even Landon himself. Not their friends or family members. Rage, because why him? Why did it take a stranger – no, a Sokolov of all people – to reach his brother when he, Landon, had been right there the whole damn time?

He’d spent years trying to protect Bran, to understand him. He was his twin after all – the one who should’ve seen through the fake smiles, the “I’m fine’s”, the silence. But it was Nikolai who saw through the armor in a matter of months. Nikolai who got to hold him when he broke. Nikolai who knew what words to say when Landon’s own mouth turned useless. 

He hated that. He hated that Bran trusted someone else that deeply. That Nikolai now had a place in his brother’s world where he used to be. It wasn’t jealousy in the romantic sense-–it was something rawer. It was losing his person to someone else.

But then he’d see the way Bran looked at Niko – calm, grounded, alive – and all that anger melted into something else. Something heavy and humbling. He couldn’t hate the man who made his brother breathe again. He could just… wish it had been him. 

Landon turned onto his side, jaw tight. He knew, logically, that Nikolai wasn’t the enemy. Bran loved him, and that should’ve been enough. It was enough, on most days. But tonight, lying in this house filled with ghosts, all Landon could think about was how much he resented the fact that Nikolai was good for him. 

And that scared him; because maybe for the first time in his life, Landon realized he wasn’t the strongest person in his brother’s world anymore. 

The floor creaked outside his room. At first, Landon thought it was Levi doing his usual rounds – checking doors, turning off lights – but then there was a soft knock. Two short taps.

“I’m not asleep,” Landon said gruffly. The door opened a crack, and Nikolai stepped inside, the hallway light framing him. He wasn’t dressed for bed – still in his dark pants and a rumpled shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair a little mussed. Of course he looked composed, even at midnight.

“Can I come in?” Nikolai asked quietly. Landon shrugged. “You’re already halfway there.” Niko stepped in, closing the door behind him. For a while, neither said anything. The silence stretched, thick with all the things they’d never said. Finally, Nikolai leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Landon from across the room. 

“You don’t have to like me,” he said. “But I’m not your enemy.” Landon barked out a humorless laugh. “That what you tell yourself when you’re sleeping in my brother’s bed?” Nikolai didn’t rise to it. “That what you tell yourself when you can’t even look him in the eye?” The air went razor-sharp between them. Landon sat up, eyes narrowing. “You think you know him better than I do?” 

“No,” Nikolai said, and his tone softened. “I just think I see the parts you’re too afraid to look at.” Landon’s chest burned. “Don’t talk like you’re some savior. You showed up after everything went to hell. You didn’t have to watch him fade for years. You didn’t have to–” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to wonder if your brother ever wanted to be here.” 

Nikolai pushed off the wall, walking closer. His voice was calm but not cold. “You’re right. I didn’t. I came in when it was already bad. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t watched him fight his way back. You think I don’t know what it costs him to wake up some mornings? You think I don't lie awake wondering if he’s okay? You and I, we love him differently, but it’s the same kind of terrifying.”

Landon looked down, jaw clenching. The anger was still there, but underneath it was exhaustion. And something else – the faintest hint of understanding. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “He’s my brother. My twin. He’s half of me.”

“I know,” Nikolai said softly. “That’s why I’m here. Because I love that half just as much as you do. I’m not trying to take your place, Landon. I’m just… trying to make sure there’s still a part of him left for you to love. 

For the first time, Landon didn’t have a comeback. He just sat there, staring at Nikolai – this man he’d hated, resented, envied. And all he could think was that Bran had chosen well.

Nikolai gave a small nod, stepping back toward the door. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” 

“Nikolai,” Landon said before he could leave. The other man paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You hurt him, and I’ll end you. You know that, right?” Niko’s mouth twitched – almost a smile, but not quite. “I’d expect nothing less.” The door closed softly, leaving Landon alone again. But this time, his chest felt lighter. For the first time in months, the world didn’t feel quite as red. 

…

Landon didn’t sleep. Not really. He must’ve dozed off at some point because the next thing he knew, pale light was bleeding through the curtains. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that came right before everything woke up. 

He got up and padded down the hallway, stopping outside Brandon’s door. He stood there for a full minute, debating whether to knock. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say – or if Bran even wanted to see him. But before he could turn away, the door opened. 

Brandon stood there, hair messy, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked softly. Landon shook his head. “No.” It was nothing but the truth. “Come in,” Bran said, stepping aside. The room still looked like it belonged to Brandon – sketches pinned to the walls, half-empty paint tubes on the desk, the faint smell of turpentine in the air. Bran sat cross-legged on the bed, motioning for Landon to sit across from him. 

For a moment, neither spoke. It wasn’t awkward silence – just heavy, full of things unsaid. Finally, Bran sighed. “You don’t have to look at me like I’m going to break.” Landon blinked. “I wasn’t–” His brother shook his head. “You were. You all were. Mom, Dad, Glyn… even you.” Landon let out a shaky breath. “Can you blame us?” His voice cracked. “You scared the hell out of us, Bran. You scared me. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know how to look at you without remembering–” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. 

Brandon’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I know. I scared myself too.” He stared down at his hands, twisting the edges of his sleeve. “But you don’t have to be scared of how you talk to me. I’m still me, Lan. I’m still your brother. I don’t need to be protected from my own life.” 

Landon’s throat worked. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for not seeing it? You were right there. Right fucking there, and I–” He stopped, pressing his palms to his face. “I should’ve done more.” 

“You did what you could,” Bran said softly. “You kept being you. The stupid, loud, annoying twin who never shut up. That’s what kept me going.” Landon looked up at him, eyes shining. “You told me that before… but I didn’t believe you.” 

“Then believe me now.” Bran’s tone firmed, though his lips trembled. “You’re not supposed to fix me. You just have to be here. That’s enough.” Landon huffed a laugh, the kind that came right before a cry. “You sound like him.”

“Nikolai?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess he’s good for you,” he admitted, gritting his teeth. “He is,” Bran said quietly. “But so are you. Just… in a different way.” They sat there for a moment – two halves of the same whole, bruised but still breathing. Then, without saying anything else, Brandon leaned forward and took Lan’s hand into his. It was an old twin habit, something they used to do as kids when words didn’t work. 

Landon’s voice came out low. “I’m sorry, Bran. For everything I didn’t see. For not being there.” And he was sorry, he really was. “You were always there,” Bran whispered back. “Even when I didn’t want you to be.” They stayed like that – silent and connected – until the morning sun filled the room. 

And for the first time in a long time, Landon didn’t feel like he was walking on broken glass around his brother. 

Chapter Text

Brandon sat quietly for a while after Landon left the room. The house had fallen still once more. When the bathroom door opened and Nikolai stepped out, hair damp and towel slung low around his hips, Bran finally exhaled. 

Nikolai immediately caught his eyes. “You okay, lotus flower?” His voice was soft – tired but gentle, the way it always was after a few long days. Bran nodded faintly, even though his throat felt tight. “Yeah. I, um… I talked to Lan,” Brandon said, making Nikolai pause mid-step. “And?”

Bran’s lips twitched into the smallest, shaky smile. “It was… good. Weirdly good. We actually talked.” He laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. “He told me he doesn’t hate you, by the wax. That’s probably the biggest miracle of all.” Nikolai smirked, climbing into bed beside him, needing some more morning cuddles that were stolen from him by a certain someone. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Brandon turned to him, brushing his fingers through Niko’s still damp hair. “He just… he needed to say things out loud. We both did,” he said, his voice faltering. “It felt like the first real talk we’ve had in years.” Nikolai leaned in, pressing a kiss to Bran’s temple. “Good. I’m proud of you.” 

They didn’t talk much after. The silence was warm, full. Nikolai lay back against the pillows and pulled Bran against his chest. Brandon curled into him easily, head under Niko’s chin, their legs tangled. “Later,” Nikolai murmured after a while, “we’ll face them all together. No pretending, no walking on eggshells. Just you, me, and your loud family.” 

Bran smiled into his skin. “That sounds terrifying,” he mumbles against Niko’s chest. “Maybe,” Nikolai said, kissing the top of his head, “but it’s about time.” Bran’s voice was a whisper by then. “Stay with me.”

“Always, lotus flower.”

…

By the time they came downstairs, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread filled the air. Morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, warming the wooden floors. For a moment, it almost felt normal again. 

Levi was at the stove, humming softly as he flipped pancakes. Astrid sat by the table, already half-buried behind one of her books. Glyndon’s laughter floated the living room, the sound light and familiar – too familiar for how heavy Bran’s chest felt. 

Yes, he had talked with his brother just a few hours ago, but he still needed to talk with his family. He needed them to know that he wasn’t broken or fragile, he was Brandon King, and he was a survivor.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Astrid said, voice bright but careful, as if one wrong word could shatter him. “Did you sleep well?” No, he didn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. It would only worsen her worries. “Yeah,” Bran said quietly, sliding into a chair beside Niko. “Better than I expected.” 

He might not have slept well, but he still felt somewhat comfortable. How could he not – with Niko’s warmth still lingering against his skin – but the tension in the air was undeniable. He could feel every pair of eyes on him, silently measuring, waiting, hoping. Even the clink of Levi’s coffee spoon sounded too deliberate. 

Niko reached under the table, his fingers brushing over Bran’s thigh, grounding and quiet, enough to steady his breathing. Bran forced himself to smile, to act normal. He even cracked a small joke when Glyndon burned her toast. But the moment he laughed, Astrid’s expression softened again, and it hit him like a punch – even his laughter was treated like something fragile. 

It was useless at this point. He tried, he really did, but even a Brandon King couldn’t carry his mask forever. He slumped over the table, his elbows digging into the dark wood, his head in his hands. He exhaled loudly, feeling Nikolai’s hand squeeze his thigh. He could feel the stares, but really didn’t care anymore. 

“We were thinking of visiting the lake later,” Niko tried to lighten the mood with small talk, but no one picked it up. The pleasant atmosphere from a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by thick tension. 

Astrid cleared her throat, “Are you sure you’re up for it, Bran?” What a simple but yet loaded question. “Yeah, no need to push yourself,” Glyndon added softly. That line stung. It was meant to be gentle, but it was so much more. “He’s fine, stop treating him like a porcelain doll,” Landon tried to help. 

Another loud exhale. He was going to snap soon, he could feel it. 

The air seemed to thicken around them. “Are you really okay, sweetheart–” Astrid asked worriedly. “He’s fine for fucks sake,” Landon snapped before his mother could finish. “Landon,” Levi warned quietly. “This isn’t–” 

“No, let him talk,” Bran cut in, voice sharp but shaking. “Let’s all talk about what a fucking mess I am, right?” There it was; he’d said it. “Brandon,” Astrid’s voice broke, too soft. “Stop saying my name like it’s going to break me,” he said, louder this time. “I’m here. I’m not–” Dead. He wasn’t dead. He was here and he was more alive than ever. “We’re just worried, that’s all–” 

“Worried?” Bran laughed, short and hollow. “No, you’re terrified. Every time I blink, you hold your breath. Every time I stand up, you watch me like I’m going to disappear.” The words tumbled out of him. “That’s not fair,” Glyndon said, her eyes glassy. “We just–” 

“I know,” he interrupted again, his breathing uneven now. “You’re scared. But I can’t live like this. I can’t keep being the thing you tiptoe around. I know what happened was fucking torture for all of you. I wish I could erase that video out of everyone’s minds, but I can’t, and you also can’t. It happened, but it’s over.” 

“Bran–” Astrid tried, but he shook his head. “No, Mom. You don’t get it. Every time I walk into a room, you stop talking. You all go quiet like I’m a ghost walking through the fucking house. You don’t ask how I am– you ask if I’m okay, like I’m one wrong word away from shattering again.”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “You think I don’t notice? The way you look at me when I laugh, like you’re relieved I still can. Or when I eat, like you’re checking I’m still alive. You’re suffocating me with kindness, and it’s killing me.” 

Levi tried to interject, “Son, that’s not what–” 

“It is!” Bran shouted, louder than he intended. The sound bounced off the walls, raw and trembling. “You all treat me like I’m fragile, but I’m not! I’m fucking exhausted, not fragile. I’m trying, every damn day, to feel normal again, but how can I when you keep reminding me I’m not?”

“Glyndon’s eyes were already wet, her voice barely a whisper. “We’re not trying to remind you, Bran. We’re just… scared.” 

“I know you’re scared!” His chest heaved, his fists shook. “You almost lost me, I get it. But you can’t keep holding your breath around me. I came back, okay? I’m still here.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m right fucking here.” 

The silence that followed was heavy, full of the things they didn’t know how to say. Astrid’s hand covered her mouth; Levi looked down at the table. Landon’s jaw tightened, but his eyes shimmered. 

“You think I don’t hate myself enough?” Bran’s voice softened, breaking. “I already wake up every morning wondering if I ruined this family. If every laugh, every smile is just an act to make me feel better. I don’t need protection–I need my family back.” 

Nikolai’s hand found his again, grounding him. He didn’t speak; he didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to keep Bran from collapsing under the weight of his own words. “You didn’t ruin anything,” Astrid whispered finally, her voice trembling. “You scared us. That’s all. We’re just trying to make sure we never have to live through that again.”

Brandon laughed, quiet and broken. “You can’t control that, Mom. You can’t fix me with soft voices and careful smiles.” He looked around the table, eyes red and glistening. “I just need you to treat me like me again. Not the boy who almost–” His voice faltered, the words choking him. “Just your son. Just Bran.”

And then he stopped talking. The tears came silently this time, rolling down his face as he sank back into his chair. Nikolai shifted closer, his arm going around his shoulders, pulling him in. The room was silent except for Bran’s ragged breaths. 

Astrid was the first to move. Her chair scraped quietly against the floor as she stood, the sound too loud in the stillness. She walked around the table, hesitant at first, then more quickly, until she stood beside her son. 

“Sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice shaking. When she reached out, her hands trembled – as if she was afraid he’d flinch away. But when her fingers brushed his cheek, Bran didn’t move. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and that was all it took. The apology broke something in him. He folded into her, the kind of hug that wasn’t graceful or quiet, but desperate. His hands fisted in her shirt; hers cradled the back of his head like he was still her little boy. “I’m so sorry, baby. We didn’t mean to make you feel this way.” 

Levi rose next, moving around the table to rest a steady hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “She’s right, son. We just… didn’t know how to be around you after.” His voice cracked, barely audible. “We were scared we’d say the wrong thing. We didn’t want to lose you again. It was the worst moment of our lives, seeing Nikolai carry you of that room–” 

Glyndon was crying openly now, tears streaming down her cheeks. She came around the other side of the table and wrapped her arms around both of them, her voice a broken whisper against Bran’s ear. “You never broke us, Bran. We just forgot how to breathe without you.” It wasn’t elegant or poetic – it was a tangle of arms and shaking shoulders, tears staining shirts and soft apologies muffled into skin. But it was real. It was family.

Nikolai stayed where he was at first, watching, a lump in his throat so tight it hurt. His hands twitched – wanting to reach, to hold, to protect – but this was theirs. This was his lotus flower and the people who’d loved him long before he did. And yet, when Bran turned slightly, eyes wet and red but open, and reached out a hand toward him, Niko crossed the room without hesitation. 

He came to stand behind Bran and slipped his arms around him from behind, completing the circle. Astrid looked up at him through tears and whispered, “Thank you.” He only shook his head, voice rough when he said, “He did this on his own.” His hands slid up to Bran’s chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his palm. “I’m just proud of him.” 

Bran’s hand found his, holding tight. His breathing slowed as the chaos turned into quiet sniffles and small, shaky laughs. Glyndon cracked a weak smile through her tears. Landon muttered something about everyone needing tissues. Astrid laughed wetly at that, wiping her cheeks.

It wasn’t perfect. It never would be. But it was the first time since everything that they all breathed together – the same air, the same moment, without fear holding it hostage.

Nikolai leaned down, brushing his lips against Bran’s temple and whispering so only he could hear, “See, lotus flower? You didn’t break anything. You just brought the pieces back together.” Bran turned his head just enough to catch Niko’s gaze, eyes still shining. “No,” he whispered back. “We did.” 

And for the first time in months, his smile didn’t feel borrowed. 

The rest of the morning passed in a fragile, gentle calm. No one said much after that – words weren’t really needed anymore. The tension that had weighed on the house for months finally loosened, replaced by something gentler, quieter. The air smelled like coffee and lemon from the kitchen, sunlight spilling through the windows like forgiveness.

Brandon felt wrung out but lighter somehow, as if a knot that had been tightening his chest since that night finally came undone. His parents had retreated to the garden, Glyndon curled on the couch with her sketchbook, and Landon – for once – hadn’t followed him when he said he wanted to lie down. 

When he reached the room, Nikolai was already there, leaning against the window frame, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up when Bran entered, his expression soft in a way that made something ache deep in his chest. Without a word, Niko opened his arms. 

Bran went to him immediately, sinking into the embrace like gravity had finally found him again. They stood like that for a long time, no words, no explanations – just the quiet beat of Niko’s heart under Bran’s ear. “You did so fucking good, lotus flower,” Nikolai murmured finally, pressing his lips to Bran’s hair. “I’ve never been prouder of you.” 

Brandon’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t think I could,” he whispered. “Not without you.” Nikolai shook his head. “You could’ve. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.” He tilted his chin, brushing his lips against Bran’s temple. “Come here, let me take care of you now.”

Nikolai kissed his neck tenderly as he put his hands found Brandon’s thighs, lifting him with effortless strength. Bran wrapped his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, their bodies fitting together in the most familiar way. Nikolai's lips trailed up the curve of his throat as he carried him toward the bed, setting him down carefully on the soft duvet. 

He undressed Bran teasingly, reverently, taking his time and kissing all over his strong, beautiful body. When nothing was left between them, Niko leaned over his lotus flower and looked him deeply in the eyes. He could get lost in them every single time, every day. Nikolai couldn’t help but chuckle. “What’s so funny?” Bran asked softly, pushing Niko’s hair back. “Just thinking about how fucking in love I am with you, baby.” 

Brandon’s breath hitched. He heard those words often, but they never failed to undo him. They had feelings and emotions for each other that neither could put into words. “I love you, too,” he whispered, pulling Niko into a kiss that was all warmth and promise. “Make love to me.” Nikolai groaned above him, completely overwhelmed by the presence of Brandon King. 

He pushed them upward on the bed so Bran could lay his head on the soft pillows. He wanted his lotus flower to be melting into the bed and giving himself up to the pleasure. Brandon spread his legs, making space for Nikolai who immediately took his place between them – where he belonged.

He pushed his tongue into Bran’s mouth as he grabbed the lube from underneath one of the pillows. As he pressed the first finger against Brandon’s hole, he moaned out loud, spreading his legs even more. He pushed the finger in and Bran gripped the sheets beneath him. Nikolai started kissing down his neck again, ending at one of his nipples. As he pushed a second finger inside, he started licking and biting at the hardened bud. 

Brandon was completely gone already. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, letting go of all the weight. Everything was already too much and not enough at the same time. The fingers inside him, massaging his walls and brushing against that magic place every stroke. The biting and kissing and licking that was happening on his chest and neck, driving him quickly to the edge. 

He grabbed Nikolai by the hair, pulling him off his body for a moment. They were equally out of breath, exhaling and inhaling heavily. Niko’s gaze was hooded and intense. “I’m ready, Niko,” he whispered into their shared space. Nikolai kissed him one more time, then pressed their foreheads together as he pushed his cock inside Bran’s heat. “Look at me, lotus flower. I need you to see how loved you are.” 

Brandon moaned as Niko’s hips pushed against his ass, their eyes locked together. “You always make me feel like I’m whole again,” he said as Nikolai started a slow, sensual rhythm. He nearly pulled out completely and then pushed back inside with more force each time. 

“Niko…” he breathed the name more than said it. “I know,” Nikolai murmured against his skin, the words lost between breaths. “Don’t–stop–” Niko shook his head, a soft smile gracing his lips as he whispered, “Never.” 

The air between them thickened, heavy with everything they said and didn’t say. Brandon’s pulse tripped, every inhale shared. Nikolai’s touch was both a promise and question, steadying and unravelling him all at once. His piercing dragged deliciously against his inner walls, making him see more than stars. And Nikolai knew exactly what he was doing. 

He spent the last year learning all the things that made his lotus flower’s eyes roll back. There was no inch of untouched or unkissed skin. And there was no better feeling in the world than bringing his Bran to the brink of pleasure, day after day, night after night. 

Nikolai bit his neck, pulling another moan out of his baby, and pushed himself up, leaning back on his feet. He continued to push his hips up and looked down at his lotus flower. God, he was so fucking gone for this man. He was so beautiful, laying there all spread out on the bed, gripping the sheets and his head thrown back with his eyes closed. Nikolai grabbed his right leg, lifting it onto his shoulder, which made him slide in just so much deeper. 

“Fuck–Niko–” Brandon opened his eyes slightly, looking down at where their bodies met. Nikolai followed and fucking hell, he could come right this second. “Right there?” He asked cheekily. His lotus flower was not in the state to answer verbally, only managing a moan and a nod. “I’ve got you, baby. Just let go.” He kept a steady pace, pushing into his lover again and again. 

Their mouths found each other, the kiss starting slow, then deepening as every wall between them dissolved. Words scattered into half-breaths, into touches that said more than language ever could. And after a particularly hard stroke, Brandon let go, groaning against Niko’s mouth as he melted into the mattress. 

Nikolai followed immediately, emptying himself inside his lotus flower. “Don’t let go,” Bran murmured between breaths. “I couldn’t if I tried,” Niko replied, his voice breaking softly against his skin. 

The world around them softened – time, sound, thought – all of it fading until there was only the quiet pulse of their breathing. When the intensity finally ebbed, they stayed wrapped around each other, foreheads touching, skin damp and warm. For a long while, neither spoke. Nikolai traced lazy patterns on Bran’s shoulder, grounding him with every slow movement. “You okay, lotus flower?” he murmured finally. 

Brandon nodded against his chest, the motion small and tired. “Yeah… I think so. It’s like I can breathe again.” His voice was raw, but softer now, calmer. Niko pressed a kiss into his hair. “You did so good, baby. You’re here. You’re safe.” Bran smiled faintly, his fingers drawing idle circles on Nikolai’s chest. “You always say that.” 

“Because it’s true every time,” Niko whispered. The silence stretched again, this time comfortable. Brandon curled closer, eyes fluttering shut. His hand came to rest on the spot over Nikolai’s heart. “It’s slower now,” he mumbled. “What is?” he asked curiously. “Your heartbeat. It’s always so fast when you worry about me.” Nikolai huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his thumb along Bran’s jaw. “You calm me down, lotus flower.” 

The weight of the night settled over them like a blanket. The storm downstairs – the words, the tears, the guilt – felt distant now. In its place, something steadier bloomed. Not the desperate kind of love that comes from fear, but the quiet one that grows after it. 

Brandon tilted his head up just enough to meet Niko’s eyes again. “Thank you for not giving up on me.” Nikolai leaned down, kissing him softly. “There was never a version of my life where I would.” 

When he finally drifted off, his breath deep and even against Niko’s skin, Nikolai held him tighter. The world outside could wait. For now, there was only this; two hearts beating in rhythm, and the soft promise that no matter how dark it got, they’d always find their way back to each other. 

…

Morning light slipped through the curtains, spilling soft gold across the bed. The world outside was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes only after a storm. Brandon stirred first, his body warm and pliant against Nikolai’s. For a moment, he just breathed – slow, steady and alive. The weight in his chest that had followed him for months was lighter now, almost unnoticeable.

Downstairs, he could already hear faint movement – his mother’s voice, Glyndon’s laughter, even Landon’s low murmur. The sound no longer made his stomach twist. It felt like something different this time. Familiar. Safe.

Nikolai’s hand brushed over his side, bringing him back to the moment. “You ready to face them?” he murmured against Bran’s neck. Brandon smiled softly, eyes still closed. “Yeah. I think I am.” 

He didn’t know if things would ever go back to the way they used to be–maybe they weren’t meant to. Maybe healing wasn’t about erasing the cracks, but learning to live with them. He’d spent so long being afraid of what his family saw when they looked at him. But now, he realized, maybe they weren’t walking on eggshells because he was broken – maybe they were just scared to lose him again.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel fragile. He just felt human. Loved. Alive.

As Nikolai pressed one last kiss to his temple and they got up to face the morning together, Brandon glanced once at the sunlight spilling across the sheets and thought – maybe this is what healing really looks like.