Josh is standing in front of me.

At least that's what my brain thinks, for a split second, before it corrects itself and the image morphs back into reality.

But this guy looks incredibly like him. He has the same square-edged jaw, thick brows, dark eyes—except with slightly softer features and a head of red hair in the place of sandy brown. There's too much similarity for this to be a coincidence.

"Oh," he says. The surprise in his voice comes from more than just the unexpected collision. "I, uh... I recognize you. Morgan, right?"

I'm paralyzed; only my eyes manage to sweep over him while every other muscle stays locked in place. Even his voice sounds familiar: slightly quieter and softer than Josh's but with that same gravelly feel. It takes me back to a weird place, a kind of in-between flashback where memory and reality blend together until I'm not sure I've got a grip on either. But eventually the image of Josh fades, my rapid heartbeat slows, and I compose myself.

"Yeah." The word quivers, so I clear my throat. "That's me."

"I'm Elliot. Josh's brother," he says. "I've heard about you, obviously... but we haven't met."

It hits me then: the sudden realization that I've seen him before. Not up close, not in the context of formal introductions—but across the stuffy chapel packed with people wanting to give Josh one last send-off. It had been mostly full of Davidson students, a sea of green polos and school colors, plus his patchwork family of foster parents and siblings old and new. I knew I had a right to be there, was expected to be there, but it didn't stop me feeling hopelessly out of place. When I glanced over my shoulder to scan the crowd, my eyes had caught on the guy hovering at the side of the room, as if strategically placed for a hasty exit. He'd been fiddling with the tie on his too-big suit, the front of his hair damp with sweat. The resemblance was unmissable—and when he sensed me staring, the sudden eye contact jolted me to life.

I thought maybe he'd catch me once the service was over, to introduce himself now that Josh wasn't around to do it. But I didn't see him for the rest of the day. Once the curtains closed on the coffin, it was like he vanished into thin air. I remember wishing I could've done the same thing.

"Oh," I say, crashing back into the present moment. "Right."

"Are you okay?"

I'm no longer crying, but I know the evidence lingers on my red-rimmed eyes and stained cheeks. With that and my dramatic exit from the student center, it doesn't take a genius to work out I've had better days.

Seriously, what is it with me and bumping into Kelleys while in floods of tears?

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Don't worry about it."

He raises an eyebrow. "Without wanting to intrude... I, uh, am kind of worried."

"You've just met me."

He peers at me curiously from behind thick-framed glasses. "And that means I can't be worried about you?"

"Yes," I say. Then, "No. I don't know. I'm just... this isn't really a good time, okay?"

"And I totally understand," he says, raising both hands in defence. "Believe me, I've had enough of those days. But, for the record, I've also found that closing myself off rarely makes me feel any better. That usually happens when I get it off my chest and talk to somebody. So, I guess... bear that in mind?"

I'm the one staring at him now. I can't work him out—and for some reason that irks me. "Are you saying you're the one I should talk to?"

"Oh, no," he says quickly, looking a little flustered. "That wasn't what I was going for. I meant anyone... friends, family, whatever. Not me. Unless the person you want to talk to is me. Then... well, I guess I'm all ears."

A pause, in which I continue staring. "Do you know you talk a lot?"

"I've been told." He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. "Happens when I'm nervous. And, well... I figured we'd bump into each other on campus eventually, but I didn't think it would be this soon."

I'm about to ask how he knows I'm back, that this is the semester I finally found the strength to return—but then I realize he probably doesn't know I ever left. With Josh gone, there's not a single link between us anymore.

In a weird way, it feels almost freeing.

"I didn't even think about the fact you might be here," I admit. "Josh mentioned you got accepted, but, well... that was a long time ago now."

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It was."

A loaded silence settles, weighed down by all the things we could but don't dare to say. And yet the world carries on around us, unaffected: hurried students brush past, late for their next class; couples stroll leisurely, hand in hand; Hanna remains typing away in the student center. To all these people, Josh is just a sad story they scroll past on their social media feed before carrying on as normal. And I envy them so much it hurts.

I have to ask Elliot. His expression gives nothing away, but the pressure of this conversation is unbearable when I'm not sure what rests on it. I have no other choice.

"Did you, uh... see the article?"

He could be unaware, blissfully ignorant of this university's wrecking ball of a magazine, living up to Hanna's wish for it to make people feel uncomfortable. But then his face clouds over, and I know that's not the case.

"Yeah, I did."

I swallow. "I guess it's kind of impossible not to. Seems like everybody's talking about it."

He nods and shifts uncomfortably on his feet. When he speaks, it comes out much quieter than before. "Maybe it's my imagination, but I swear, it also feels like I've got dozens of eyes on me. I don't even think they know I'm his brother. I guess it's the resemblance that makes them look twice, but still. It's not exactly the warmest welcome."

"Everyone keeps looking at me, too," I tell him—and maybe Elliot's onto something, because it does feel better to say it aloud. "They don't have to say it. I know what they're thinking. They're wondering if he did it to me, too."

For the first time, I can read him perfectly; I know the same question is on his mind. But thankfully he senses it's not the time. "Hey," he says instead, "you're on a meal plan, right?"

"What?"

"Are you on a meal plan?" he repeats, like this will counteract the completely random question. "Do you get dinner on campus?"

"Yeah," I say slowly. "Why?"

"Me too. Maybe we could eat together one evening, catch up a little. I don't know about you, but it feels a little weird to be strangers when there's so much connecting us. What do you think?"

The automatic rejection is on the tip of my tongue, where it's been settled for the last six months. I don't usually hesitate. But something in Elliot's earnest expression and unexpected offer makes me do just that.

If I could use anything right now, a friend is pretty high on the list.

"Yeah," I say. "Okay."

"I'll give you my number," he tells me, digging in his pocket for his phone. "We'll set something up. I know it's happening in kind of weird circumstances, but still... it's good to finally meet you, Morgan."

He smiles warmly, and I find the corners of my lips curling to match. "Yeah. You, too."

We exchange numbers; it feels weird to see his name directly beside Josh's in my contact list, but it also helps to make it feel a little less empty. There's a faint stab of guilt for even thinking like that, but I manage to push it away successfully enough. I know Josh would want me to have someone to talk to—even if that person does happen to be his brother.

"I have a class to get to," Elliot says, slipping his phone away and adjusting the backpack slung over his shoulder. "Probably shouldn't be late in my first week. But I'll see you around?"

I nod. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Cool," he says. Then, as he turns on his heel to head in the opposite direction: "See you later, Morgan."

"See you later."

I watch the back of his plaid shirt as he goes, though only for a few seconds; it doesn't take long for him to round the corner and disappear behind one of the buildings. And just like that, I'm alone once more. With no classes left for the rest of the day—and no desire to stay on campus any longer than necessary—there's nothing left for me to do except resume the walk home.

And I do, letting my steps fall back into place where they left off, as if this encounter never happened at all.

The only thing that's changed is that I'm no longer crying.

--------------------------------

Question of the chapter: what are your first impressions of Elliot? Do you like him, or because of his association with Josh do you think he's not to be trusted?

Let's talk below!

- Leigh