The silence in the physician lounge changed after Elara left. It wasn’t deeper or heavier—just different, like the air had shifted its alignment around him. Adrian sat for a few minutes longer, letting the warmth of the tea slip through his fingers and settle into the stiffness along his spine. The room held its quiet like a small shelter: steady, dim, unhurried.

He thought about standing.  

He didn’t.

His body wasn’t ready to move again, not toward the noise, not toward another corridor filled with fluorescent light. For once, staying still didn’t feel like failure.

A soft tapping outside the lounge broke the quiet—three knocks, spaced evenly. Not urgent, not hesitant.

Elara would have opened the door without knocking.

Adrian sat up slightly. “Come in.”

The door moved an inch, then another.

Daniel stepped inside.

It took Adrian a second to process the sight—his brother in jeans and a jacket, hair messy from the wind, eyes wide with a mixture of relief and worry. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not at this hour, not at this hospital, not in this room.

“Dan.” Adrian’s voice came out lower than he intended. “Why—”

“You answered my call,” Daniel said, shutting the door behind him. “That usually means something’s wrong.”

Adrian exhaled slowly. “You shouldn’t have come all the way here.”

“I figured you’d say that.” Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t stop me.”

There was a pause—awkward, but not in the painful way. Just two brothers standing in a quiet room, trying to figure out who should move first.

Daniel broke the stillness. “You look… tired.”

“That’s accurate.”

“And… not okay.”

Adrian didn’t deny it. He didn’t try to shape the truth into a more manageable version.

Daniel stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Overworked?”

“Yes.” He didn’t bother hiding it. “It’s been a long day.”

Daniel nodded like he had already expected as much. “I saw the footage again. The crash on Route 12. I just—” He stopped, breath tightening. “I needed to see you.”

Adrian glanced down at the cup in his hands. The tea had cooled, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m here,” Adrian said quietly.

Daniel’s posture softened, a tension releasing from somewhere near his shoulders. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He took a slow look around the room, then back at his brother. “You’re shaking.”

Adrian lowered his gaze to his hands. He hadn’t noticed the faint tremor until that moment.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Daniel raised an eyebrow—one of the few expressions they shared. “I grew up watching you pretend things were nothing.”

Adrian felt the words land with a familiar weight. A truth he had avoided naming.

Daniel sat down on the couch, leaning forward. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Adrian said, surprising himself with the speed of the answer. “Stay.”

Daniel nodded, the simple acceptance quiet but steady.

They sat in the room without speaking. The world outside continued its muted rhythm—elevators humming, carts rolling, distant conversation. Inside, the silence between them settled into something gentler.

“Someone was here with you,” Daniel said after a moment, noting the extra cup on the table.

Adrian didn’t answer immediately.

“She still is,” Elara said from the doorway.

Both brothers turned.

Elara stood with her chart tucked under one arm, her expression neutral but her presence grounding. She glanced at Daniel first, then Adrian, reading the atmosphere with quiet precision.

“Hi,” she said to Daniel.

“Uh—hi.” Daniel straightened, as if unsure whether to stand or stay seated. “I’m… Daniel. His brother.”

“I figured.” Her tone was soft enough to ease the tension, but not teasing. “I came to check on him.”

Daniel blinked. “Do you—do you do that often?”

“Tonight, yes.”

Adrian closed his eyes for half a second. “Elara.”

She looked at him. “What?”

“You didn’t have to put it that way.”

“But it’s true.”

Daniel looked between them, something dawning slowly. “You two—?”

Adrian opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Elara didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, she stepped into the room fully, letting the door click shut behind her.

“Daniel,” she said gently, “your brother had a hard day. A hard week. He’s not great at saying that out loud.”

Daniel laughed under his breath—soft, sad, knowing. “He never has been.”

Adrian set the cup down, hands finally stilling. “I’m not—”

“Broken?” Elara finished for him.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“But it’s what you think.”

Daniel’s eyes softened. “Adrian… nobody came here thinking you’re broken. We came because you matter.”

The room shifted around that sentence—like the air rearranged itself to make space for it.

Adrian inhaled, felt the breath catch, then settle. Not smoothly, but without the earlier tremor.

Elara moved closer—not touching, just anchoring herself beside him. “Tell him,” she said quietly.

Adrian looked at Daniel.

“I’m tired,” he said. “And I’m… not okay today.”

Daniel swallowed, his jaw tightening with a mixture of relief and fear and love. “Thank you,” he whispered. “God, Adrian, thank you.”

The tension in the room loosened, a thread unspooling.

Elara placed her chart on the table. “I’ll give you two a minute,” she said softly.

“No,” Adrian said quickly, before he could reconsider. “Stay.”

Elara paused.

Daniel looked at Adrian with something like understanding. “Yeah,” he said. “Stay.”

And she did.

The three of them sat in the small, dimly lit room—Adrian in the center, Daniel on one side, Elara on the other. The silence wasn’t empty. It wasn’t heavy.

It was the kind of silence that held.

For the first time in years, Adrian didn’t feel the need to fill it with control.

Or hide inside it.

He simply let it be.