Chapter Text
There had been a change. That much was clear.
It didn’t happen quickly. It didn’t happen suddenly. No, the change came on slowly. That almost made it worse.
A certain quiet had settled over the Smith-Brookstone apartment.
It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came after long missions and gruelling training sessions. It was more… brittle. As if the space itself had inhaled months before and forgone the need to breathe thereafter.
It was subtle at first. The change. Small quips and arguments that stemmed from things that would have once been brushed off as nothing. Avoidant glances and a peculiar shuffling of belongings. An air of despair was accumulating in a place that had once seen so much light.
The apartment was dark now.
It was a Thursday when the string finally snapped.
The light in the apartment was dim, coming solely from a few rays of sun creeping through the window shades. The apartment had lights. Purposefully or not, none of them were on.
Kai sat at the kitchen counter, his head held low. His eyes remained glued to his phone as he aimlessly scrolled through nothing in particular.
Cole was standing at the stovetop preparing a simple meal. Rice, broccoli, and some leftover chicken from a few nights before.
There would’ve been a time months, perhaps years ago when the cooking would have been done jointly.
“Babe, you’re gonna burn the rice.” Cole would’ve said.
Kai would’ve shot something back along the lines of, “Fuck you!” with no real malice in his voice.
Cole would’ve grinned to himself at that. “I smell smoke.”
Kai would’ve turned to glare at him. “That’s just you!” Though they could both clearly see the rising fumes.
But neither of them said anything. They continued without even bothering to look up.
It struck both of them at that moment. A lot had changed.
It was about five minutes into their silent dinner, something that had become routine in the past few months, when Kai finally spoke.
“Cole-”
The other looked up sharply. Kai couldn’t make heads or tails of exactly what Cole was feeling at that moment. He could have, once. Maybe.
Kai exhaled distinctly, watching Cole’s brown eyes closely. There was a glimmer of something within them. Something that Kai had become all too familiar with in the past few months.
“I…”
Cole looked seconds away from tears. His gaze, usually soft and warm, was now… almost expectant. Challenging, perhaps. Cole wasn’t a challenging person.
Kai felt the familiar pain again. It shouldn’t have surprised him, these days it rarely did. But somehow, even though the suffering ache had been festering for months now, it felt new. The strain twisted through his chest, wrecking him wholly and completely for a brief moment before settling uncomfortably in every crevice of his body.
Cole flinched slightly. He noticed. He still noticed. That said a lot.
And, whatever words Kai had meant to say originally slipped away. How could he have held on? After that? After seeing the agony in Cole’s eyes? How could he have continued?
But he needed to say something. He was dying in the comfort of his own home, in between the four walls that had once been his safe haven. Now, they seemed more like a prison, or perhaps, horribly, a graveyard.
“You’ve felt it too.” He murmured finally, when no other more fitting words came to him.
The words came out as less of a question and more of a statement. That alone was terrifying.
Cole, brushing a loose strand of long, dark hair out of his face, nodded wordlessly in response.
He was looking away now. As if he couldn’t bare to even look at Kai. Kai supposed he couldn’t blame him. It was hard for him to look at Cole too.
“This is… fuck.” He let out a dry laugh, his voice straining. “This isn’t working, Cole.”
And that’s what did it. That’s what cut through the tension that had been building in the room like a firework, gearing to explode. He’d said Cole. Just Cole. Not babe, or love, or dear, or even starlight.
Starlight hadn’t been said in a while. That night, when Cole and Kai had snuck out of the monastery past curfew to watch the stars from a nearby mountain top, felt impossibly far away. But even then, other titles had taken its place.
It hadn’t been just Cole in years.
And then there was quiet. The same quiet that had now become normal. The quiet that had never really felt normal to Kai. The quiet that had never really felt normal to Cole either. He knew that much.
Cole had frozen the moment the words left Kai’s mouth.
Neither spoke for a few long and agonizing moments.
Finally, in the rawest, most quiet voice Kai had ever heard from Cole, “I know.” And then, as if he hadn’t already been vulnerable enough, “Please don’t.”
There was a five-hundred page novel within those four, simple words. There were worlds of history, hatred, regret, and sadness.
There was happiness too. Perhaps even joy. But Kai couldn’t remember it at that moment. At that moment, it felt like he would never remember it again.
And of course he’d known what Kai was referring to. He'd never doubted Cole’s ability to understand him fully. Cole had probably known what Kai was thinking before he’d even uttered a single shaky word. Because they knew each other inside and out, and that hadn’t simply gone away. How could it have? They were connected, body and soul, in ways that could never be undone.
Perhaps, tragically, it could be rusted. The last few months were more than proof of that. But it couldn’t ever be broken. That much Kai was sure of.
“Cole-” He began, his voice breaking uncharacteristically.
Cole watched him pleadingly. “Please?” And they were both crying now. Kai felt hot, wet, sticky tears trickling down his cheeks. His eyes were burning in the distinct, horrible way that made sadness feel that much more unbearable.
But this wasn’t sadness. This wasn’t sorrow. No, Kai had already felt those things. This was new.
This was understanding.
And somehow, that hurt more.
“Cole, I-”
“Don’t do the fucking noble thing I know you’re trying to do right now.” Cole’s voice was trembling dangerously in a way that Kai hadn’t heard in years. Cole, who’d always been the one to pull himself together just enough to be there for those he loved, was centimeters away from breaking down. And god, it hurt to see him like that.
And hearing his words… stung. A lot.
“I’m not trying to-”
“You are, though.” Cole laughed humourlessly, though he broke into a series of small sobs. “You’re trying to save me from this. You’re trying to save yourself from this. It’s always you and your stupid self-sacrificial bullshit.”
It would’ve hurt less if it hadn’t been true.
“I’m sorry,” Kai whispered after a long, drawn-out moment.
Cole looked away. “Me too,” He murmured softly.
It was minutes before either of them spoke again. They were both reeling from the few words they’d just spoken to one another. The words that seemed like so little, and yet meant so much. The words that, perhaps, pushed forward the inevitable.
“I love you. Still.” Cole muttered. The words were so quiet Kai thought he’d imagined them. He hadn’t though. He really, really wished he had.
“I-“ Kai’s heart felt like it was being ripped to shreds, torn from the inside out. And in all the ways that mattered, it was. Pain like this wasn’t unfamiliar to Kai, but it wasn’t normal either. Maybe he’s gotten too used to the deep seeded ache that had bloomed these past few months. He sighed slightly, not daring to look up at the man sitting across from him. “I know. I still love you too.”
And there it was. The worst part of it all. The one thing that hadn’t been lost in the dark months of fights and conflicts and passive-aggression.
The part that made what was inevitable feel so unfathomable.
“This sucks.” Kai choked out between sobs.
Cole laughed, really laughed, and Kai realized that he hadn’t heard that sound in months. He’d missed it. “You can say that again.”
And they’d reached an impasse. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge what came next. What was going to happen no matter how long they tried to avoid it.
And then Cole uttered seven words that felt horrible and terrifying and liberating all at once. “Babe, I think this is the end.”
And Kai wished, not for the first time, that Cole loved him less. That he couldn’t hear the devastatingly fond edge to his dejected tone. That he himself didn’t love the man in front of him to the moon and back.
Kai met Cole’s gaze as well as he possibly could, his vision clouded with tears. Cole looked broken in the purest sense of the word. He assumed, and knew, that he looked the same.
“Yeah.” He murmured. He hated how raw he sounded. He hated how painful it all felt. “Yeah.” He repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I guess it is.”
And somehow, it was over.
The apartment lights stayed off for a long time afterwards.