"It doesn't justify what you did."
Aiden exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of everything unsaid. "Maybe not," he muttered, his voice low. "But at least it's fair. More than I can say for you."
His words landed heavy—barbed, deliberate, cruel.
He didn't stop.
"You call me cruel, Elliott? Fine. I won't deny it. I am cruel. I am a monster. But at least I don't pretend to be righteous while letting poison fester in the shadows. At least when I strike, I do it in the open, where everyone can see me."
Elliott flinched as if physically struck. His eyes searched Aiden's face—his furious eyes, his sharp tone—and something in him broke. The room was thick with tension, every breath tight and shallow. For a moment, a silence reigned, stretched taut like wire between them.
Then Elliott spoke. His voice was small, raw, more to himself than to Aiden.
"...Where did I go wrong with you?"
The words landed like a slap.
Unlike Aiden's, they weren't sharp-edged or shouted. There was no glare behind them. No anger. Just quiet devastation. Quiet disappointment. And somehow, that hurt more.
Aiden's breath caught in his throat. His chest felt like it was caving in.
"Went wrong with me?" he echoed, incredulous, his voice rising. "Where did you go wrong with me?!"
The dam broke. The words spilled out fast, heated, unstoppable.
"Go wrong with what, Elliott? In raising me? You never raised me, Elliott! You never raised me—not like a son, not like a brother. You kept me. Like some stray you couldn't bear to throw away. Was I ever anything more to you? More than a pity project or some twisted atonement for sins you're too much of a coward to admit even happened?!"
Elliott's eyes welled with tears. His whole frame trembled. And yet, he still reached forward, grabbing Aiden's shoulders with shaking hands, as if trying to physically hold together something rapidly shattering between them.
"Aiden—Aiden—no, no," he gasped. "I know I'm not just. I know I'm not fair, damn it. I know I failed you. But—don't you, for even a moment, dare pretend you were just a pity project to me!"
His voice cracked, thick with grief. "I never wanted this for us. All this arguing. All this distance. All these lies. I never—" He broke off with a choked sob, tears slipping freely down his cheeks.
His heartbreak was loud in the silence.
It should have calmed Aiden.
But it didn't.
His chest hurt. It ached to see Elliott cry like that—but his thoughts were clouded, his own emotions tangled and boiling, and in that moment, Elliott's tears didn't feel like sorrow. They felt like judgement. Like disappointment. Like rejection.
And that only made him spiral further.
"Oh, so now you're disappointed?" Aiden snarled. "You're disappointed in me for hiding my actions?"
His voice rose—uncontrolled, furious. Elliott's hands dropped from his shoulders, startled, but Aiden didn't let go. Now his hands were on Elliott's arms, gripping too tight, shaking.
Elliott stood frozen under his touch.
"You're the one who taught me to lie!" Aiden screamed. "You taught me how to bury things! Even if you didn't mean to—you showed me how! You've been pretending all your life, Elliott, so don't act surprised I picked up on it!"
The words tumbled out faster than his mind could keep up.
"And then you have the gall to say you never wanted this for me? That you didn't want me to become this? Then what, Elliott? What did you want from me?"
His voice was frayed now, shredded by screaming. He sounded hysterical—desperate.
"What was I supposed to be to you? A ward? A duty? Some convenient guilt-salve so you could sleep at night?"
Elliott flinched again. His breath hitched audibly. His face was wet with tears, and his voice trembled as he whispered:
"...You know that's not true."
"Do I?!" Aiden thundered. "Do I know that?! Then say it. Say it to my face! Tell me it wasn't pity. Tell me it wasn't guilt. And don't give me that tired excuse about not wanting to marry and needing an heir."
His voice dropped to a bitter snarl.
"No one needs a fucking heir at seventeen, Elliott. That's bullshit. And I'm done pretending it ever made sense."
"I—" Elliott choked, trying to speak. He couldn't. His voice failed him.
"You can't," Aiden spat. "You can't say it because you know I'm right. That's all there ever was between us, wasn't it?"
"Don't say that," Elliott whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please... don't say that, Aiden. It wasn't—it wasn't just that. And it's definitely not about that now. You have to believe me, please—"
But Aiden was far past hearing.
His pulse pounded in his ears. His vision swam. The rage had twisted itself into something sharp and cold and impossible to hold back.
"You know what the worst part is?" he said quietly now—his voice barely audible, breathless from fury. "I would've been fine."
Elliott froze.
"I would've been fine if that was all you gave me," Aiden continued, almost conversational in his numbness. "If you kept me at arm's length. If I was just your duty. I would've accepted that."
He leaned forward. Their faces were inches apart now. His voice cracked.
"But you let me in. You let me close. You let me breathe beside you. You let me hope."
Aiden's gaze burned into him.
"You're the one who made me want more," he whispered. "You knew what I was to you. And still—you made me love you."
Silence.
A breath.
Elliott went utterly still.
The weight of that last word echoed between them like a thunderclap.
Love.
Not duty. Not family. Not gratitude.
Love.
It took a second—just a second—for Aiden to realize what he'd said. The moment it hit, his expression crumpled. He stumbled back a step as if struck by his own confession.
And then—without waiting for a reaction, without looking back—he turned sharply and stormed out of the room.
The door slammed behind him with a finality that echoed through Elliott's bones.
And then it was silent.
Elliott stood in the middle of the room, unmoving. The tears had stopped, dried along his cheeks like salt. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into the chair behind him, his hands trembling in his lap.
His breath came in short, shallow gasps.
His mind echoed with one word.
Love.
Not familial. Not platonic.
Love.
The realization pierced him like a blade between the ribs. Aiden had said I love you before- many times, as a child. but this- Elias would be a fool to group this with those words.
And the worst part?
He didn't know what to do with those words.
Not now. Not anymore, when they were spoken like that.