"You've grown so much."
"And you've stayed just the way I like."
---
The rain fell hard that evening, slapping against the windowpane of Harsh's small flat like it wanted in. The dim apartment smelled like old books, burnt chai, and faint cologne—the same one Evan used to steal when he was a teenager.
Now he was back. And nothing was the same.
---
Harsh stood by the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pot. "You hungry?" he asked without looking back.
Evan leaned against the doorway, his eyes dark, quiet. Watching him.
"You still eat that instant shit?" Harsh continued. "You used to cry when I didn't add masala—"
"I was ten," Evan interrupted. His voice was lower now. Calm. Almost cold.
Harsh turned to glance over his shoulder, then paused.
Evan was tall now. Built. His shirt clung to him from the rain. Water dripped from his jaw to his collarbone. But it wasn't the soaked look that made Harsh's throat dry—it was the eyes.
That look.
Predator.
---
"You've really grown," Harsh muttered, forcing a smile.
"I had to." Evan took a step forward. "You weren't there."
Harsh flinched slightly, then looked away, busying himself with the stove. "I did what I could... I was just a kid too."
"You were fifteen. I was ten. You were all I had."
Silence.
The rain filled the air between them.
---
They sat at the table later. Harsh eating quietly. Evan just watching him.
"You're not eating?" Harsh asked.
Evan's gaze dropped to Harsh's lips. "I'm full."
Harsh chuckled awkwardly. "Still weird, huh."
"No," Evan murmured, "just… different now."
---
🕯️ FLASHBACK
Ten years ago.
Harsh kneeling to tie little Evan's shoelaces.
"Don't cry," he said, wiping his face. "I'm here. Always."
---
BACK TO NOW
Evan's voice sliced through the memory.
"You said you'd always be here."
"I am." Harsh stood up, clearing the table. "This is your home, Evan. You're safe here."
"I don't want safe," Evan said slowly. "I want you."
Harsh froze.
The plate in his hand trembled slightly before he placed it down, too carefully.
"Don't joke like that," Harsh whispered.
Evan stood. Walked over. Too close. Too dangerous.
"I'm not joking, Bhai."
He used the word like a blade—mocking and affectionate. It dripped off his tongue slow and sinful.
Harsh looked up at him, eyes wide. "You're my brother."
"No," Evan said, brushing Harsh's hair back from his face. "I'm your problem now."