I can feel the weight of it the moment I walk into the nursing home. It's the same smell—stale air mixed with disinfectant and the faint scent of something floral. The kind of smell that clings to the walls, the carpet, even the people. It hits me like a punch to the gut every time I visit, but today it's heavier. Thicker. Like the air's pressing down on me, trying to crush the breath out of my lungs.

Clara gives me a look, one that says everything I need to know before she even opens her mouth.

"She's had a rough morning," she says, her voice soft, like she's trying not to shatter the fragile quiet of the place. "You might want to prepare yourself."

I nod, but the truth is, I've been preparing for this for years. Ever since she was placed here. It doesn't make it easier, though. Knowing it's coming doesn't mean shit when you're staring it in the face.

I sign in and make my way down the hall. The walls are a faded, tired shade of beige, decorated with generic paintings that are supposed to be calming. They don't calm me. They never have. I've memorized every step, every crack in the linoleum, every creak of the floor under my boots. It's a walk that feels like it takes forever, and not long enough.

When I push open the door to my mom's room, it's like time stops for a second. She's there, lying in bed. But today... today's different. She's awake, but barely. Her eyes are open, but they're unfocused, staring at the ceiling like she's trying to see something that isn't there.

"Mom?" My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, strained and too quiet. I clear my throat and try again. "Hey, Mom. It's me, Elias."

There's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, just a shadow of it, before it's gone. She doesn't respond, just lies there, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The oxygen tank hums softly beside her, a constant reminder of how fragile she is now. How close she is to slipping away.

I pull up a chair next to her bed. I reach out and take her hand, careful not to squeeze too hard. "Mom, I... I've got something to tell you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've met someone. Her name's Valarie. And, uh, I think I'm in love with her."

The words hang in the air between us, and for a moment, I feel like an idiot for saying them out loud. But then again, who else am I supposed to tell? My mom is the only family I have left. Even if she can't respond, I need to say it. I need her to know.

"She's amazing, Mom," I continue, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. "She's smart, funny, and she's got this way of looking at me that makes me feel like I'm worth something. Like I'm not just some screw-up."

I can feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. I'm not going to cry. Not here, not now. My mom's been through enough. She doesn't need to see me fall apart, too.

"I never thought I'd find someone like her," I admit, my voice cracking. "And the crazy thing is, I think she loves me too."

Sitting there, holding my mother's frail hand, my thoughts drift to Valarie. I'm ready to tell her I love her, I've known it for a while now. But something's been holding me back. Maybe it's because I know this isn't just about me. Declan loves her too—I can see it in the way he looks at her, the way he talks about her. As far as I know, he hasn't said it yet either. Part of me wonders if we should tell her together. It sounds crazy when I think about it, but nothing about this relationship is conventional, and I think that's what makes it work for us.

But love isn't just about the words. It's about the conversations that come after—the future, the "what ifs," the plans. With love comes bigger conversations, and I know we're due for some of those. We haven't even talked to Adrian yet, and we're supposed to in a couple of days. How's that going to change things? Will it throw off the balance we've found, or will it add something we didn't even know we needed?

I like how things are now, how our dynamic has settled into something that feels right. I love Valarie, and hell, I even love Declan in the way a brother would. It's strange because I grew up an only child, always flying solo. But Declan? He's the kind of brother I imagine I would have had. We're almost complete opposites—where I'm impulsive, he's steady; where I'm loud, he's calm—but that's why it works. We complement each other, balance each other out.

I glance down at my mother's hand, feeling the weight of everything. The past, the present, the future—it's all tangled up together, and it's a lot to carry. But for once, I don't feel like I'm carrying it alone.

After a few hours of sitting with my mom, the quiet between us broken only by the soft hum of the oxygen tank, I know it's time to go. I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back in a few days, Mom," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "Maybe I'll even bring Valarie with me."

***

I open the front door, and there's Declan, standing on my porch. He's holding a six-pack of beer, and I can't help but smirk. Typical Declan, always prepared.

"Hey," I greet him, stepping aside so he can come in. "Thanks for coming over."

"No problem," he replies, stepping into the house and giving the place a once-over. "Nice place you've got here, man."

I glance around at the familiar surroundings—nothing fancy, but it's home. "Thanks. I try to keep it in decent shape."

We move into the living room, and Declan pops open two of the beers. He hands me one as we sit down, and I don't waste any time getting to the point.

"So, I've been thinking," I start, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, the beer hanging loosely from my hand. "I love Valarie. And I think you do too."

Declan's eyes meet mine, and he nods, no hesitation. "Yeah. I do."

There's a weight to those words, a kind of gravity that hangs between us. It's one thing to feel it, but saying it out loud, admitting it to someone else—it makes it more real. More serious.

"I've been thinking we should plan something," I continue, my mind already racing with ideas. "Something to tell her. To let her know how we feel. Give her a night she won't forget."

Declan takes a sip of his beer, his brow furrowing in thought. "Yeah, I like that. We should make it special. Something that shows her how much she means to us."

We bounce ideas back and forth, trying to figure out the best way to do this.

"What about a weekend getaway?" I suggest. "We could rent a cabin or something, take her away from everything for a couple of days. Just us, nature, and no distractions."

Declan nods slowly. "That could work. I really liked our last trip. Maybe somewhere near a lake. She loves being by the water."

"Exactly," I agree, feeling the excitement build. "We could spend the day out on the lake, then cook her a nice dinner, and after that... well, after that we tell her."

Declan chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You're thinking big, huh?"

"Why not? She deserves it."

"True," he agrees, taking another sip. "But we need to make sure it's more than just a romantic getaway. We need to make sure she knows that this is serious. That we're in this for the long haul."

I nod, the weight of what we're planning sinking in. This isn't just about telling Valarie we love her. It's about showing her that we're committed, that this isn't just a fling. It's real, and we want her to know it.

We settle on the idea of the getaway, but we'll add some personal touches—a letter from each of us, telling her how we feel, maybe even a piece of jewelry, something she can keep with her to remind her of that night. It's all about making her feel special, about making sure she knows how much she means to us.

Once we've hashed out the details, the conversation shifts. I lean back on the couch, letting out a breath I was holding. "There's something else I've been thinking about."

Declan raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"It's about Adrian," I say, my tone more serious now. "I'm a little worried about him, about how he's going to fit into all of this."

Declan nods, clearly having had the same thoughts. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that too. I'm worried that adding him into the mix might mess up what we have."

"Exactly," I agree, glad we're on the same page. "It's not that I don't like the guy. I just don't know how he's going to fit into our dynamic, you know? And Valarie... well, she seems to like him, but I don't want this to become too complicated. What if he's not on the same page as us?"

Declan takes a moment to think, his eyes narrowing in thought. "We need to talk to him. See where his head's at. Make sure he understands what this is—what we're building with Valarie."

I nod, knowing he's right. "And if he's not? If he's not on the same page?"

Declan looks me dead in the eye. "Then we have to make a decision. Either he gets on board, or he doesn't. But we can't let him come in and ruin what we have."

The words are harsh, but there's truth in them. We've worked too hard to build this relationship with Valarie, and we can't let it fall apart because someone else comes into the picture.

"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to reassure myself as much as Declan. "We'll talk to him, see where he stands, and go from there."

"Yeah," Declan agrees, leaning back and taking a long sip of his beer. "We'll figure it out."

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us lost in our thoughts. It's a lot to take in, a lot to consider. But I know one thing for sure—I'm not going to let anything come between me, Declan, and Valarie. Not if I can help it.