The Honda was packed.
Luke stood in the driveway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, toeing a crack in the pavement. His duffel bag slumped against the passenger seat like a tired dog, stuffed to bursting with clothes, a handful of printed photos from Daniel's shoot, and the World's Okayest Brother mug he'd stolen from the cupboard when Daniel wasn't looking.
Daniel crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You got your charger?"
"Yeah."
"Toothbrush?"
"Yes."
"Extra hoodie? It gets cold up there—"
"Jesus, yes." Luke rolled his eyes, but his voice wavered. "I'm not a kid."
Daniel's throat tightened. You are to me, he almost said. But that wasn't fair.
The morning air was thick with unsaid things.
Luke scuffed his shoe against the pavement again. "You'll call if—"
"Yeah."
"And you'll actually answer your phone?"
Daniel smirked. "No promises."
Luke huffed a laugh, then dragged a hand through his hair—a nervous habit so much like Lila's it made Daniel's chest ache.
For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of goodbye pressing down on them.
Then Luke stepped forward, and Daniel pulled him into a hug.
Luke stiffened—just for a second—before gripping the back of Daniel's shirt like he was twelve again and afraid of the dark. Daniel pressed his face into the kid's shoulder, breathing in the scent of cheap detergent and the faint, lingering trace of Lila's old shampoo.
"Don't do anything stupid," Daniel muttered.
Luke snorted wetly. "You first."
They pulled apart too soon. Luke swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and turned toward the car before Daniel could see the damage.
Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets. "Drive safe."
Luke yanked the car door open. "Don't burn the apartment down."
And then he was gone—engine roaring to life, tires crunching over gravel, a hand raised in a half-wave through the rearview mirror.
Daniel stood there long after the taillights disappeared.
The Silence After
The apartment was too quiet.
Daniel wandered from room to room like a ghost, trailing his fingers over the spaces Luke had left behind—the empty hooks where his hoodies used to hang, the cleared-off desk, the fridge devoid of his stupid energy drinks.
He ended up in the kitchen, staring at the chipped blue mug still sitting in the sink.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, painting the walls in gold.
Daniel reached for the camera.
Final Frame
The first photo was of the fire escape, sunlight glinting off the railing.
The second, Luke's empty room—bed neatly made, a single sock abandoned in the corner.
The third, the Honda's vacant parking spot.
And the fourth—
Daniel turned the lens toward himself.
For the first time in a year, he smiled.
Click.