Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Hi, I’m Theo and I’m your brother.
No.
Hi, I’m Theo and I’m your half-brother and our mom—
No.
Hi, I’m Theo and I’m your half-brother, but you probably think I’m your half-sister since our only interactions have been through the Christmas cards our mom sends you every year and I don’t know if you even open those or if you dump them straight in trash, which I wouldn’t blame you for, considering—
Fuck.
Theo downshifts as he turns onto the cobble-stoned driveway of a mini modern mansion that is, at least, more tasteful than some of its neighbors. He pops the bike into neutral and flips down the kickstand, pulling his phone out of his chest bag to stop navigation and double check the address against the giant metal numbers beside the equally massive door.
He kills the engine and drums the fingers of his free hand against the tank. Despite having spent the last several hours going over what he should say when Alex opens the door, he still has no idea what’s actually going to come out of his mouth. A mess, probably. But that’s par for the course and it’s not like agonizing over it any more is going to help.
Except when he pulls off his helmet and cautiously approaches the porch, eyeing the security cameras, Alex isn’t the one who opens the door; it’s Alex’s husband, who’s studying him with understandable bewilderment.
Theo knows he looks a lot younger and a little meaner than he actually is with his shaved head and sharp features and loose hoodie over Kevlar leathers. Boots too big. Hands too small.
“Can I help you?” the man asks, all southern politeness.
Eli, Theo thinks, recalling his hasty Google search at the truck stop last night—this morning?—as he downed a coffee and tried to shake out the arm pump from the hours he’d already spent driving.
“Uh,” Theo says, hitching his backpack higher. “Hi. Is Alex home?”
“How did you find this address?” Eli sticks out his knee so that a curious dog behind him can’t cross the threshold. It’s big. A German shepherd.
“I—” Theo swallows. “My mom sends Christmas cards every year. I got the address from the envelope before she sent it a few years back. Just in case. And now I’m … here.”
As expected, he’s doing a terrible job explaining.
“Your mom,” Eli repeats.
“Our. Mom,” Theo clarifies. “Alex and I. I’m his brother?” He poses it like a question which necessitates he say it again, firmer. “I’m his brother. And I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“As far as I know,” Eli says slowly, “Alex’s only sibling old enough to drive is a half-sister.”
Theo lifts his chin. This, at least, he’s prepared for. “Not anymore,” he says with a combat-earned confidence that dares Eli to disagree.
He doesn’t. Instead, Eli’s posture slackens and he says, “I see,” with a sudden gentleness that would make Theo bristle, only he hasn’t slept, and he’s technically homeless, and his mom, his fucking mom—
He scrubs a hand over his skull, looking at the dog again. She’s sable with grey around her nose and the kind of fluffy neck he’d like to bury his face in.
“One moment, please,” Eli says, digging his phone out of his back pocket and dialing.
“Hey,” the person on the other end answers, “we’re about to board, what’s up?”
“Beloved,” Eli says brightly. “There’s a feral twink on our porch insisting he shares half his DNA with you. Please advise.”
And then he turns the phone to Theo and there’s Alex’s face, leaned into the screen, backgrounded by an airport gate.
“Hi,” Theo says around the constriction in his throat. “I don’t know if you recognize me, but I go by Theo, now.” He says it too fast, too desperate. And he clenches his free hand into a fist, shoving it in the pocket of his hoodie, trapping a deluge of even more desperate words behind gritted teeth.
“Oh fuck,” Alex says after a moment of poignant, startled silence. “Tell me she didn’t kick you out.”
“Not … exactly.”
“Eli,” Alex raises his voice. “We’re good. That’s—sorry. Jesus. What name did you say?”
“Theo.”
“Theo, right. He’s fine,” Alex says, “you can let him in. That’s my”—he catches himself, stifling the ‘S’ before it’s fully out of his mouth—“brother.”
Theo is not going to cry. He’s not. He’s just sleep deprived. And sore. And his chest is full of some cousin to grief he doesn’t have a name for.
“Well,” Eli says with a careful sort of sympathy that makes Theo want to spit and rage or maybe collapse into Eli’s arms and sob, “you’d better come in then, sweetheart.”