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The first time Finney meets Ernesto Arellano again, it’s like someone shoves a knife into his chest and twists it.
Because he knows that face.
He’s known it since the days he’d run across the cracked sidewalks to Robin’s house, the summer sun turning the asphalt sticky under his sneakers. Ernesto would always be on the porch, smaller back then, a little loud, always trying to tag along when Finney came to hang out.
“Can I play too?” he’d ask, eyes bright, voice full of energy.
Robin would groan, “Go inside, mijo, we’re busy!”
But Finney always laughed, ruffling Ernesto’s hair. “He can stay, Rob. He’s cool.”
And he was. Ernesto was the shadow that followed them, the little brother Finney secretly didn’t mind having around. He used to love the sound of him laughing from the porch while he and Robin tossed a baseball in the yard. It made everything feel safe, like home.
But that was before.
Before the phone.
Before the basement.
Before Robin’s voice was something Finney could only hear when he was dreaming.
Now Ernesto stands in front of him, taller, older, wearing the same crooked grin Robin used to have- and it hurts.
Gwen beams, practically glowing beside him. “Fin, this is Ernesto,” she says proudly, like she’s introducing the sweetest guy on earth.
And maybe she is.
But Finney can’t see him without seeing Robin.
He can’t breathe for a second. Ernesto’s eyes, dark, soft, a little amused, cut straight through him.
“Hey,” Ernesto says, smiling. “How you been, Fin?”
Finney swallows. He wants to answer, but the words catch in his throat.
Because he remembers another voice that sounded just like that, telling him “You’re gonna make it out, Finney. You have to.”
He barely hears Gwen whisper, “Fin?”
He forces a nod. “Yeah. I’ve been good.” His voice is too flat, too cold.
Ernesto’s hand hovers for a second before he lowers it.
And then he laughs, lightly, naturally, and it’s the same laugh.
Finney looks away before he can crumble.
He doesn’t mean to hate Ernesto.
He knows he shouldn’t.
When Gwen brings him around, Ernesto’s polite. He helps carry groceries, asks about Finney’s school, even compliments Mr. Blake’s cooking. He’s kind in every way Robin was, and that’s the problem.
Because every smile feels borrowed. Every word sounds like an echo.
When Finney looks up at the dinner table and sees Ernesto sitting where Robin used to drop by and tease him, his stomach twists. The walls of the dining room blur, the air too thick to breathe.
“Finney?” Gwen’s voice cuts through the fog. “You okay?”
He forces a nod. “I’m fine.”
He’s not.
He leaves halfway through dinner, mumbling something about homework. He hears Gwen sigh, Ernesto whisper, “It’s okay,” and it just makes the guilt worse.
Because Ernesto doesn’t deserve this.
But Finney can’t stop seeing him.
It keeps happening.
At the store, Ernesto waves from across the street. Finney freezes.
At home, Gwen gushes about how sweet he is, how patient, how funny.
And every word hurts, because Finney remembers another boy who was all those things first.
Sometimes, late at night, he thinks about those summers again, about Ernesto being that little kid who used to chase them with a water gun, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Finney remembers how safe Robin’s yard felt, how Robin used to roll his eyes and say, “He’s so annoying,” but he’d always end up letting his little brother join anyway.
It was all so normal. So alive.
Now, Finney can’t look at Ernesto without feeling everything he’s lost.
One evening, he’s sitting outside, throwing pebbles at the streetlight again when a familiar voice says softly, “You really don’t like me, huh?”
Finney tenses. Ernesto stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, that same half-smile that used to belong to someone else.
Finney looks away. “Did Gwen tell you to talk to me?”
“No,” Ernesto says quietly. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Finney snorts. “Then why are you?”
“Because I miss my brother,” Ernesto says, voice cracking just slightly. “And every time you look at me, it’s like you hate me for still being here.”
Finney’s jaw tightens. “You don’t get it.”
“Then tell me.”
Finney doesn’t answer for a long time. He stares at the pavement until the streetlight flickers on. His throat feels like sandpaper when he finally speaks.
“You just-“ His voice breaks. “You look like him. You laugh like him. And every time I see you, I remember how I used to sit in your yard with him, how I used to think you were both the luckiest brothers in the world. And then he was gone, and you still had a face that reminded me he’s not coming back.”
Ernesto swallows hard. His eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away. “I loved him too, Finney. He was my big brother. You think it doesn’t kill me every day that I didn’t get to say goodbye?”
Finney’s breath shakes.
“I can’t be him,” Ernesto says softly. “But you don’t have to hate me for looking like him. Maybe… maybe we could miss him together.”
Finney blinks fast, tears threatening to fall. For the first time in months, he really looks at Ernesto- not as Robin’s shadow, but as the boy who used to run after them with a grin, begging to be part of their world.
He exhales, his voice small. “I don’t hate you. I just- miss him so much it hurts.”
Ernesto nods slowly. “Me too.”
They sit in silence, the streetlight buzzing above them.
When Ernesto stands to leave, Finney says quietly, “You can come over again. Just… give me time.”
Ernesto smiles, his own smile this time, not Robin’s, and Finney lets himself look without flinching.
For the first time, he doesn’t see a ghost.
Just someone who misses him too.
