"You know, hope is a mistake. If you can't fix what's broken, you'll, uh... you'll go insane." - Max Rockatansky, Mad Max: Fury Road

When I woke up to someone knocking on my door that morning, I had a pretty good idea of who it would be.

So it's safe to say I was surprised when I saw Grant Cutkosky standing on the other side.

I paused, door halfway open, eyes wide in surprise. My hair was a mess, I was in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a sweater and Grant was grinning at me. I was aware of how messy I looked (I had just woken up) but Grant didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, Emmy," he said, smile finally fading a bit when he looked me over, "Did I just wake you up? Shit, I'm sorry - "

"It's fine," I said, cutting Grant's apology short. I backed away from the door and pushed it open, waving one hand to beckon him in, "Griffin does this kind of stuff all the time, so I'm kind of used to it."

Grant walked in slowly, hand lingering on the door for a minute before he gently pushed it slow. While Grant and Griffin were so similar looking in their physical appearance, they differentiated greatly in the way they carried themselves. Grant was gentle and hesitant, eyes darting around my apartment before he carefully sat in a chair by the couch. Griffin, on the other hand, would've came in and threw himself into the nearest seat, lacking all of the carefulness that Grant had.

I walked into the kitchen and headed straight over to the coffee pot, wasting no time in setting it up and pulling out an extra mug for Grant. I turned around and held the mug up and pointed to the coffee pot, which resulted in another big grin on Grant's part and a nod.

"I actually came over to talk to Griffin, but he wasn't home. Probably at work," Grant said, standing up from the chair and walking into the kitchen. Grant leaned against the wall and ran his fingers through his light hair, "He told me that he took you with him to talk to the officer."

The memory from two days ago hit me full-force, resurfacing everything that had happened. I remembered being shocked when I realized where Griffin took us, and then being absolutely horrified when Ruslan told us everything he knew about the case. I tried to forget what Ruslan said, but his words stuck with me.

"Griff told me it was a bust and that you guys didn't get anything," Grant added, and I had to fight off the look of complete surprise that threatened to overtake my features, "I'm just sorry that he took you with him."

Griffin didn't tell Grant what Officer Ruslan had told us - not about their mother knowing the killer, or her not screaming or fighting back. As dangerous as it was for Griffin to try and handle the case on his own, I respected that he kept that dark information from his brother. Grant didn't seem to be able to handle intense things like Griffin could.

I pulled the coffee pot away from the machine and poured myself a cup before handing it over to Grant, "It's fine. Nothing happened, so it's totally fine."

Grant didn't look convinced, but he shrugged lightly and poured himself coffee, denying my offer of cream or sugar. We lapsed into silence; the two of us just stood in the kitchen, drinking our coffee, occupied with our own thoughts.

I was surprised that Griffin wasn't home. Usually whenever I was home, Griffin always was, too. I really couldn't think of many times when I noticed Griffin being gone, but that was because he always popped back into my life. With the amount of time I spent with Griffin, it was actually easy to forget he even had a job.

Grant took a sip of his coffee and sighed, blue eyes locked on the wall. There was an air of innocence around Grant, making him seem years younger than he actually was. While Griffin handled himself confidently and assuredly, promising that he was capable to take care of himself, Grant just didn't. He seemed lost and confused, constantly looking for someone to assure him.

Or maybe I was just putting too much of what I learned from psychology into my every day life.

"I'm just worried about my brother," Grant admitted, long, slim fingers tightening around the mug, knuckles going white, "Griffin won't talk to me about anything. It's worrying, you know?"

I understood that one-hundred percent. I wasn't even related to Griffin and I was worried about him, so I couldn't imagine how it felt for Grant.

"I understand," I promised, putting my mug down and hoping up onto the counter. I crossed my ankles and breathed out deeply, thinking of something - anything - that could assure Grant, "He's just really stressed out. Between the stuff that's been happening at his apartment and thinking someone broke in - "

"What?"

I frowned and quirked an eyebrow, "What?" I asked, pausing when I realized where Grant had cut me off, "The stuff that happened in Griffin's apartment?"

"That," Grant said, putting his mug down and lacing his fingers together, leaning forward, "and someone breaking into his apartment? What are you talking about, Emmy?"

If Griffin hadn't told Grant about the strange things happening in his apartment and the fact that he thought someone broke in, then there was a reason. There was a reason that Griffin kept Grant in the dark - probably to try and keep him from worrying. If I went behind Griffin's back and told his brother, he would freak out.

"Emmy, please. I'm getting worried."

I let out a deep breath and told Grant, knowing that it was better for him to know than be left in the dark.

I told Grant about the oven being left on and how the whole building had been evacuated when the candle in Griffin's apartment caught fire. I told him how all that had made his brother more paranoid, solidifying Griffin's thoughts that someone had broken into his apartment. I told him everything that happened, a feeling of guilt twisting its way through my stomach. Did I really have the right to tell Grant all of this, when Griffin clearly had kept it a secret for a reason?

The more I said, the more I remembered why I thought Griffin was being ridiculous about the whole thing. When I told Grant about Griffin saying he didn't have any candles and about how he thought someone broke in and put a candle that, I felt my own face flame in embarrassment.

I did keep one thing silent, though. I didn't tell Grant that it seemed like the hinges on the door had been broken from the inside. That was one thing I couldn't figure out - the hinges had been broken in Griffin's mother's case, too, and it was terrifying to think that the same thing happened to Griffin's door. So when Grant asked me if anything else in the apartment seemed to be changed or messed with, I kept my mouth closed.

"But these can just be accidents, can't they?" Grant asked, a deep frown etching its way onto his lips. Grant furrowed his eyebrows, confusion clear on his face, "A lit candle and leaving the oven on... Those things can just happen."

"I know," I agreed, because everything Grant was saying were things I had already thought about, "but they really freaked Griffin out."

While I thought that everything in Griffin's apartment could definitely just be mere accidents, Grant seemed like he was more trying to convince himself that they could be accidents. He kept repeating that those kind of things could happen; that no one was going after Griffin. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do.

"I mean, Griff's always been like this," Grant continued, pushing himself off the wall and taking long-legged strides across the kitchen, tugging on the bottom of his t-shirt, "He always reads too much into things and scares himself."

That was new. I figured Griffin was getting so freaked out about everything happening because of the return of his mom's murder weapon. I never imagined that Griffin had always been like this - looking too much into things and freaking himself out. I pictured a ten year-old Griffin, stuck awake at night, wondering if every creak on the floorboards was his mom's killer come back to get him.

Grant paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath, "I don't know why he does it, but he does. It's like Griffin has to punish himself. Nothing can ever just be a coincidence."

Grant, at that point, seemed like he forgot I was even in the same room as him. Grant was pacing back and forth, mumbling things to himself that sounded like assurances that Griffin was fine. I just hoped off the counter and took a few steps forward, gently calling Grant's name to knock him out of his revere.

"Oh, Emmy, I'm sorry," Grant apologized, stopping his pacing abruptly and turning to face me, "I just came to visit and see how you are. I didn't mean to burden you with all of this. I'm sorry. I really just came to see you, honestly."

I smiled at that, suddenly remembering the last time I saw Grant, "Oh shit, I totally forgot! How are you from the accident?"

Grant frowned, eyebrows furrowing. He paused for a few seconds before his eyes lit in understanding, "The car accident. I'm better... Fine, actually, thank you. I can't say the same for my car."

Grant's lips twitched up into a small smile and I sent one back at him, glad to hear that he was okay. There was something about Grant where you just didn't want to see him hurt. He was so polite and sweet, that the thought of him being hurt was almost painful to think about. There was just an urge to make sure he was okay.

I looked up at the clock and cursed, seeing how it was a half-hour past eight. I had a class at nine-fifteen and if I didn't start getting ready as soon as possible, I would be late. And my philosophy professor really didn't take lightly to students showing up late - no matter the reason. (I was sure she'd laugh at me if I told her I got caught up talking to my neighbor's brother about a murder case and paranoia).

"I have a class in a little bit and I really have to get ready," I said, already grabbing my bag from its position by the couch and checking to make sure I had my books, "It was really good to see you, though, Grant. I appreciate you coming by."

Grant nodded, picking up his coffee mug and putting it into the sink. He smiled at me, "It was good to see you, too. Thanks for keeping an eye on Griffin, it really does mean a lot to me."

"No problem!" I said, grabbing the laundry basket filled with clean clothes off the living room table and picking out a pair of jeans, "Griffin's usually here when I come back from afternoon classes, in case you were wondering."

Grant thanked me again and pulled open the door, walking halfway out before poking his head back in, "I know it's all probably coincidences and accidents, but just... Be careful, Emmy."

Before I could respond, Grant shut the door gently.

idk I just love Grant so much, like he's genuinely a good guy and I just really liked writing this chapter lol. we're almost at 1k votes, too, and almost 400 comments!! that's insane! just remember to keep voting and commenting, thank you so much!

love you guys :-)