He sat up, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. "Time to shine," he muttered like a pet talk to himself, then smiled at the sound of shuffling feet down the hallway.

Damian’s footsteps were always the same. Careful. Intentional. Like he was stepping through a world made of glass. Rein slipped into his hoodie and padded down to the kitchen. 

When he stepped into the kitchen, the lights were already on. Damian was seated at the table with his laptop open, typing something furiously into one of his spreadsheets. His headphones were around his neck, music leaking out faintly some instrumental jazz loop on repeat.

"Hey," Rein said softly.

Damian didn’t look up. But after a second, he paused his typing. "Morning."

Rein smiled. There it was, the voice that always sounded a little too precise, a little too clipped, like he’d memorized it from a manual. Damian’s autism wasn’t the kind people wrote inspiration stories about. It made him rigid and anxious, easily overwhelmed by noise or touch. But he was also brilliant. And he tried. So damn hard. Rein loved him to the moon and back. 

Rein padded over and set two slices of bread in the toaster. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine. I had a dream about the vacuum again."

Rein chuckled. "That’s a new one."

"Not really. It was the third time this month."

Rein glanced over. Damian’s face was unreadable, focused entirely on whatever formula he was inputting. He always acted like dreams didn’t mean anything, but Rein had a feeling they did. Everything did, with Damian.

"Want to talk about it?" Rein asked gently.

"No. Just a dream."

Rein didn’t push. Instead, he slid a plate in front of Damian with toast and a smear of jam. Damian blinked down at it like he didn’t expect it to be there. Then nodded once, a little stiffly.

"Thanks."

Their morning routine was always quiet. Safe. Until it wasn’t.

"Rein," Damian said suddenly, when Rein had just sat down with his own toast.

He looked up. "Yeah?"

Damian’s hands were flat on the table. His eyes twitched once toward Rein’s shoulder. He never liked direct eye contact, but when something was bothering him, he’d fixate on a point just beside someone. "You’re not feeling sick, are you?"

Rein paused, frowned. "No. Why?"

"I had a dream you disappeared."

A chill crept under Rein’s skin. "It was just a dream."

"Not that kind of dream."

They stared at each other. Damian’s lips were pressed into a thin line now, fingers twitching with the need to type or stim or do anything except sit still. But he didn’t move. His stillness was the worst part.

"I’m not going anywhere," Rein said firmly.

"You don’t know that."

There it was, the fear. The old fear. It was always between them, never spoken aloud but always present. Rein had been fourteen when their parents vanished. One day they were on a weekend drive; the next, their car was found at the edge of a ravine, empty. No crash. No footprints. No bodies.

Just gone.

And then it had been just them. Damian at sixteen, barely holding himself together, suddenly expected to raise a grieving brother. The courts wanted to split them up at first. Foster care. Institutions. But Damian had fought-screamed, really-until someone relented.

He became Rein’s guardian. And he never let go.

"I’ll be fine," Rein said quietly. "I promise."

Damian stared hard at the wall, then returned to his laptop. "Don’t make promises about things you can’t control."

Rein sighed. "Damian,"

He blinked rapidly, once, twice. "I don’t like dreams like that."

Finally, Rein stepped around the counter and wrapped his arms around Damian’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. His brother flinched a little, touch wasn’t always easy but he didn’t pull away.

"I’m not going anywhere," Rein said softly. "I promise."

"You can’t promise that,” Damian said. "But I appreciate the lie."

Rein laughed. "I’m serious! You’re stuck with me, Damin."

Damian gave him a faint smile and pointed at the now abandoned toasted bread and Jam. "Then eat something. You’re too skinny."

"Rude," Rein muttered, returning to his toasted bread and jam. "You should be glad you have a skinny brother. Easier to carry around when I faint dramatically."

"You’ve never fainted," Damian replied.

"Not yet."

They went through the morning motions like a quiet dance. Rein packed his backpack with habitual speed, grabbed his earbuds, and slipped out the door with a wave.

Their neighborhood was all peeling fences and overgrown lawns, but Rein loved it anyway. It was full of good people who kept to themselves — no nosy neighbors asking questions, no one prying into their missing parents or wondering how Damian managed to keep guardianship.

The walk to school was short. Rein liked walking. It gave him time to think, or not think. Sometimes, he imagined a life where things had gone differently. Not better, he loves his life with his brother. Just… different.

He wasn’t popular at school, but he wasn’t bullied either. Just invisible, the kind of kid teachers liked because he didn’t cause problems, the kind classmates forgot existed five minutes after he left a room. It didn’t bother him. Not really.

His day passed in a rhythm of almosts. Almost spoken to. Almost noticed. Almost remembered.

In math, the teacher called roll and skipped over his name before doubling back. "Oh, Rein. Present?"

"Yeah," he said, lifting his hand halfway before dropping it again.

In English, he got a 100% on the pop quiz. No one noticed. In the cafeteria, he sat alone but near enough to a group of theater kids that he could hear their jokes and laugh quietly without needing to join.

He liked being on the edge of things.

By the time the final bell rang, Rein felt the soft relief of another day survived.

Outside, clouds rolled over the afternoon sun. Rain again, probably.

He walked home the long way, cutting through the park. He passed by two kids feeding pigeons and an older man playing chess with himself on a weather-worn bench. The world always felt quieter when it wasn’t full of people trying to be loud.

Home was still and warm. Damian had drawn every curtain and turned on every lamp, like he was trying to chase out shadows before they came. He always did that. 

"You’re home early," he said from the couch, where he sat surrounded by open books and half-solved puzzles. "I calculated you'd be home at 4:12."

"It’s 4:09. I walk fast."

"You take detours."

"I like the park,"Rein said, dropping his backpack and flopping next to him. "Guess what? I was almost picked for lab partners today."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"Someone walked in late and snagged the seat next to me. So close."

"That’s what you get for liking the edge of things," Damian muttered.

Rein smiled. "Yeah. Guess so."

Damian looked at him for a long moment, then said quietly, "You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?"

Rein blinked. "Of course."

"You wouldn’t just disappear like in the dream."

"I already told you. I’m not going anywhere."

Damian nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. He reached for a pen and started doodling in the margins of a crossword puzzle.

Rein leaned back and closed his eyes.