The clatter of utensils and the scent of garlic and lemongrass drifted from the kitchen into the hallway. Simon emerged from his room slowly, tugging at the edge of his T-shirt like it might somehow hide the heat still smoldering in his chest. He could hear Elena laughing again—this time at something Eddie said. That laugh had started to haunt him. Not because it annoyed him, but because he wanted to be the reason behind it.
He entered the dining area and found them already at the table. The Thai delivery was spread out in messy cartons across the surface—noodles, spring rolls, sticky rice, and enough spice to make his nose twitch. Elena was sitting cross-legged in her chair, dipping a piece of tofu into peanut sauce. Eddie was next to her, his arm slung casually along the back of her chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off the veins on his forearms.
Simon's eyes flicked to them and then quickly away. He slid into his usual seat, across from Elena.
"Finally," she said, grinning. "We were about to start without you."
"Wasn't sure if I was invited," Simon mumbled, reaching for the pad thai.
Eddie chuckled. "You're always invited, bro."
Simon forced a smile. Bro. That word tasted like vinegar in his mouth.
As he piled food onto his plate, he avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the flickering candle Elena had lit in the center of the table. She always did that—little touches that turned even the most ordinary meal into something intimate. She was like their mother that way. Except their mom was working a night shift again at the hospital, and their dad was likely pulling overtime with the NYPD.
Which meant it was just the three of them. Again.
They ate in silence for a moment, broken only by the occasional slurp or crunch. Simon could feel the heat of Elena's gaze, like sunlight on the back of his neck. Or maybe he was imagining it. He looked up.
She was staring at him. Just for a second. Then she looked away and licked sauce from her thumb.
Simon nearly dropped his fork.
"So," Eddie said, clearly oblivious, "you thinking about trying out for the lacrosse team next year?"
Simon blinked. "Uh, yeah. I mean, maybe. I've been practicing."
Eddie nodded, chewing on a piece of chicken. "You've got the build for it. And the speed, too. I could help you out if you want. Training, drills, stuff like that."
Elena perked up. "That's a good idea. You'd be awesome, Simon."
Simon felt a flush rise to his face. Her praise still hit him like electricity—something warm and dangerous and alive.
"Thanks," he said, his voice low. "I'll think about it."
"You've got almost a whole year," Eddie added. "Plenty of time to bulk up. Hit the gym, get your shot tight."
Simon hated that Eddie was being nice. It would've been easier if he was a jerk—someone he could hate freely. But Eddie was just... good. And that made everything harder. It made Simon feel like the villain in his own story.
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Eddie turned on the TV, flipping to a movie none of them really watched. Elena curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. Simon sat on the far end of the couch, pretending to scroll through his phone while his eyes kept drifting back toward them.
Eddie's hand was resting lightly on Elena's thigh.
Simon's jaw clenched.
He couldn't explain the weight in his chest. It was part jealousy, part ache, part something else—something raw and wrong and constant. Every time he saw them together, it felt like being stabbed just beneath the ribs.
After half an hour, Eddie stood and stretched. "I should head out. Big game tomorrow."
Elena pouted. "Already?"
He leaned down and kissed her. "You can walk me out?"
"Yeah."
They left the room, and Simon sat frozen in place, listening. He heard the murmur of voices near the door, the rustle of a jacket, the faint click of the lock as the door opened and closed. He imagined them in the hallway, Eddie kissing her again, hands on her waist, her back pressed to the wall—
He stood abruptly.
The silence stretched. A minute passed. Two.
Then Elena returned, alone.
She looked tired, but there was a softness in her eyes as she glanced at him. "Still awake?"
Simon nodded, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. "Yeah. Just... wasn't sleepy yet."
She crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside him—not where she'd been sitting with Eddie, but closer. Too close.
Her knee brushed against his thigh, and neither of them moved.
"That movie sucked," she said, sighing. "Why do guys always want to watch dumb action stuff?"
Simon swallowed. "I don't know."
They were quiet again. The TV was still on, playing some low-budget action flick with too much fake blood and slow-motion gunfire. But Simon barely noticed. Elena was inches away, and the scent of her shampoo—coconut and something sweet—filled his lungs.
"Do you ever feel," she said suddenly, her voice softer now, "like... like you're not really part of your own life? Like you're watching it from the outside?"
Simon turned to her, surprised. "Sometimes, yeah."
She looked at him then, really looked. Her eyes were glassy, reflecting the TV's flickering light. "I don't know what I'm doing half the time," she admitted. "With school. With Eddie. With... anything."
He wanted to ask what she meant by that. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, to tell her he understood, that he felt it too—that aching disconnection from the world, that hunger for something just out of reach.
But instead, he said nothing.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Just for a moment.
Then she stood.
"I should go to bed," she said quickly. "Night, Si."
"Night."
She disappeared down the hallway, and he sat there for a long time, the echo of her presence lingering like the heat of a flame that had come far too close.
He was suffocating in his own silence.
And he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the fire inside from spilling out.