"We should head back," Nigel finally said after a while. The peaking daylight that had been slowly ebbing had now been completely vanquished by the darkened sky. When she just tilted her neck up to blankly stare, he urged with, "it's getting pretty windy. Come on, I'll walk you back."

She acquiesced and stood, smoothening some wrinkles in her skirt before falling in step with him. The silence brewed between them but Nigel thought it was already so much work for her struggling to hold down her skirt fiercely whipping in the wind and also keep on the scarf coming apart from her neck without adding talking into the equation.

Nigel was amused and just watched her go at it, only lending a hand when the scarf finally loosened upon her giving that up in favor of her holding down her skirt. He caught it easily before it could become one with the wind and held it out to her, gaze lighting on her neck littered with red and purple love bites when she turned to accept it.

He arched a brow when she snatched the scarf and wrapped it around her neck, cheeks a fierce scarlet.

"Don't ask," she managed to force out.

"So long as it's not the hedonistic rich son," he said, a touch of worry in his eyes. He hadn't really thought the scarf out of place with the recent highs and lows their weather reached.

"It's not," she muttered. "Just some guy."

So Nigel didn't say anything else.

"How are you and Hays?" she asked, cheeks calmed back to their wind stung pink as she cupped her palms and blew into it.

"We're. . ." Nigel searched for the right word before lapsing helplessly on, "good."

Cassandra just snorted.

"I'm going to ask her out," He said, half to fill the silence, half to spur himself on.

"Good luck, Nigel," she said, eyes encompassing all of the good wishes that sincerely spilled from them. "Thanks for coming out. I'll see you in school tomorrow."

"See you." He waited until she had disappeared past the greenery and into her house, that now just seemed eerily dark with the lights off in lieu of what she'd just shared with him, before turning on his heel to find his own way back.

He ran a hand messily through his hair when he failed to catch a cab. Was it that late? Not really. There were still countless vehicles breezing and honking their way through the streets but perhaps they didn't want to risk stopping. It was slowly crossing ten. He couldn't even understand how so much time had passed when they were just sitting around.

In the end, he just called for one with the drive app on his phone, heart wincing. He was running on the last of his allowance at this point. Two grand might feel like much but by the time so much went into maintaining his motorcycle, feeding himself when there wasn't much else to fall on, finding some other means to transport himself when his motorcycle failed him, personal spending on some junk and his own savings, there was hardly much else left over.

The lights in the kitchen were on when he got back and at first he brushed it off as Saxon being hungry and making himself a late night snack. Then he actually got into the house and heard the familiar laughter that had never been directed at him and that just made his blood run cold and whip his neck around find the calendar just near the door.

It had already been over two weeks and it hardly felt like it.

With feet that felt like they'd been injected with lead, he dragged himself over to the kitchen, putting a halt to the happy interaction going on in there. "Mom," he greeted, trying for a slight smile that ended up so stiff he let his lips even out on their own.

"You're back," her gaze drifted to him, the smile on her face not dropping and even spreading.

He couldn't help glancing back to make sure his father hadn't suddenly popped up behind him. Because there was no way that happy expression was at his return.

"Saxon said you were asleep," she said and maybe she didn't mean to sound accusatory but her words only had every nerve in his body stiffly clogging up.

"I," he paused, throat dry as he tried to search her face for any clue as to what she was playing at. He glanced to Saxon but trust him to give an unhelpful shrug and make him deal with this himself. "I just went for a walk."

"Just good that I made this in excess," she said, retrieving the bowl out of which Saxon was leisurely popping the fudgy treats in his mouth. "Have a taste. What do you think of it?"

Nigel's fingers trembled from behind them as he stared at the bowl then her before taking a brownie and helping himself to it.

Her head was tilted to the side as she waited, wispy black tendrils having escaped her bun to frame her face, expression as tender and as motherly he could have ever hoped for.

And that just confused him.

"It's good," he said sincerely at the explosion of rich, velvety chocolate in his mouth. A bit moist, gooey, a bit nutty. But good. Really good. 

"Have more then," she urged on with a smile. "I'm going to rest early for work tomorrow. Don't forget to clean up here, Saxon."

She had loosened up the apron to hang it up before making her way out of the kitchen, hand finding his shoulder in a quiet pat before she continued on her way. Nigel's gaze was empty as they dropped to his arm that was now littered with goosebumps. This discomfort definitely wasn't small.

"What's the matter now?" Saxon asked from where he was leaning against the fridge and sipping on a glass of water.

Nigel pursed his lips as he stiffly picked up another brownie and popped it into his mouth. "Did you talk to her?" he asked, not sure what he'd feel if he actually had. He didn't think Saxon had that much say in how she treated him but he'd find his own self even more pitiful if that was the case.

"You should learn to stop overthinking every little thing," he said with a roll of his eyes, turning to take care of the oven and then deal with the baking pans they'd used in making the brownies.

"Just answer the question, Saxon."

"No, okay?" he retorted, annoyed. "Happy?"

Nigel ignored him. He wasn't happy. In fact, he wasn't close to the emotion. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been happy because of anything his family had done for him. He was uncomfortable, really fucking uncomfortable.

It was like some switch his mother could flip on her emotions so easily and it made him sick. He didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn it, even if their biological attention was his right. He was scared.

He finally admitted it.

It was so easy for her. Who knew how long it'll take for her to flip back off and go back to how she normally regarded him?

Still, he couldn't help himself, not with his eyes growing warmer and hotter with every brownie he ate at.

"Good night, Nic," Saxon started for the door too as soon as he was done here.

"Wait," he called. "What of dad?"

Saxon furrowed his brows, not sure what to answer to that when it seemed like his twin wasn't even fully sure of what he himself was asking. If he was home? Or if his attitude had also changed alongside their mother's?

"He's not back yet," he ended up saying. "Mom brought some stuff back. Let's look through it together when you have time."

Nigel didn't try to stop him again as he took his leave and continued stuffing his face. He was soon sick of the taste, sick to his stomach with how much he'd stuffed himself. But his heart couldn't be any emptier.

Still when he lay on his bed, he couldn't help the swift way his heart lurched with newfound hope he dozed off to, hand clutching at the rustic necklace through his clothes.

Come morning, he was so lethargic the word didn't do enough justice. He tried his best to put himself together enough for school but ended up dragging his feet around until he headed down the stairs for breakfast.

He paused at the sight of his mother sitting for coffee and toast at the dinner table, dressed in a neatly pressed peach pants suit, her dark waves permed down and resting over her shoulder. He hesitated before going to take a seat opposite her, gaze drifting to Saxon who just darted a glance between them and continued his breakfast.

Her eyes were fixed on him but they weren't how they had been last night. Not soft, not warm, definitely not full of all the love she'd held back and had suddenly found itself overflowing. That should have been enough warning for him but he still pushed himself despite the deep curling in his gut.

"Good morning," his lips trembled as though the words were so wrong to fall out from him. When her gaze just remained still, vacant and piercing in pinning him down, he hesitantly tacked on, "mom."

She instantly let go of the toast that had been pressed between her perfectly manicured fingers, as though his words scalded her. Maybe they did. Or maybe she'd just never seen him as her son. She'd just never reacted this way before.

"I'll see you later, Saxon," she said, rising to her feet and picking up her bag. "Send over the schedule for the play you wanted me to look at."

Then she was gone, taking with her all the hope and light that had been resurrecting in his heart.

Nigel glanced down at the plate still stacked with toast but suddenly didn't even feel like eating. He could still taste the brownies from last night and that brought angry tears to his eyes. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours. The switch had been cruelly flipped back off.

He stumbled to his feet, dragging himself up the stairs and fumbling for his bathroom. Then he was on his knees, retching for all he was worth into his toilet bowl. Bringing up all of the warm brownies from yesterday, the tears spilling out of his eyes when his stomach was empty but he refused to stop trying to throw up.

His nails dug marks in his thighs as he flushed the toilet and brought himself over to the mirror. He rinsed his mouth and just stared at himself. Red rimmed green eyes, stained with amber and dark circles just underneath that made him look like a different person.

"Nic?" Saxon was at his door, gentle knocks that only seemed to make him crumble harder. He wanted to talk to this person even less.

The first four years of his life had been the happiest moment of his life, despite how much he'd felt like it wasn't. The orphanage was filled with the warmest caretakers and the nicest friends he'd ever had. But he'd longed for what was his. He'd longed for family.

Nigel still didn't know the meaning of the word. He wished they'd never found him. Better yet, he wished he'd lost his life in the fire that had razed the orphanage to the ground.

Anything was better than this.

"Nicolas," Saxon's raps on the door turned more urgent, persistently rattling him. Back with that name that he abhorred and resented with everything in him. "Open the door."

"Just go."

The knockings finally stilled and it wasn't until it was followed by receding footsteps that Nigel let himself collapse to the floor, up against the bathtub as his sides started aching with a terrifying intensity. He'd give anything to be away from here. From all of it. And why not?

He just wanted out.

—

brownies. yum.