The air is heavy—too heavy to breathe in.
Blue and red lights flicker across the cracked windows of the cabin, casting Caleb's pale skin in flashing bursts. He blinks slowly, still in his blanket, his legs resting limp over the couch. The scent of dinner still lingers in the air—sweet chocolate, roasted spices—and the ghost of Noah's kiss hasn't yet faded from his lips.
But now, everything is silent.
Then—crash.
The front door bursts open.
Voices thunder in.
Boots stomp. Weapons cock. Shouts echo.
"Noah Haverly! Drop to your knees! Hands where we can see them!"
Caleb doesn't move. He doesn't flinch. He just watches.
Because he already knew this day would come.
It wasn't just the bang on the door. It was the silence after it.
He sees them—men in black uniforms, rifles raised. And behind them, his father, standing tall and cold in a three-piece suit, untouched by the mess. Beside him, his bodyguard, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Caleb with something like relief.
And at the center of it all, standing dumbfounded with a chocolate-smeared hand still in the air—
Noah.
The boy drops the dessert bowl. It shatters. His body jolts like he's waking from a dream.
"No..." he whispers, breath trembling. "No, no, no..."
Caleb watches his face crumble.
"No—don't take me—" he stumbles forward. "Don't—!"
The police rush toward him, hands outstretched, but Noah falls to his knees—right in front of Caleb—crying.
"No! Don't let them take me! Please, Brother—!" His hands slam against the floor, head bowing like a beast at the gallows. "Tell them! Tell them to leave us alone—we were happy! I fed you, I held you, I kissed you—!" His voice breaks into choking sobs. "Please tell them you forgive me!"
The police hesitate. The room halts.
Noah's fingers reach up—gripping Caleb's lifeless legs with shaking reverence, pressing his forehead against them.
"I'll be good—I'll be so good, Brother—please, I'll do anything! You said my name again—when you kissed me—you didn't hate it! You didn't hate me! Please say it again, please just say it—say you forgive me!"
His voice rises, cracking with hysteria, tears falling like rainfall.
"You don't hate me... right? R-right Brother? You can't..."
Silence.
Everyone in the room waits.
Noah's breath catches. His eyes widen with desperate hope as Caleb finally opens his mouth.
His voice is low. Calm.
"Noah."
The name slices through the silence.
Noah smiles instantly, lips quivering. "Y-yes...! Yes, Brother, I'm here—"
And then—
"I hate you."
The words are not shouted.
They are not angry.
They are a funeral bell—cold, heavy, final.
Noah freezes. His fingers still on Caleb's legs. Eyes blank.
His body doesn't move—but slowly, his grip loosens.
Then, like a switch flips in his mind, he starts screaming.
"No—NO—NO! YOU DON'T! YOU DON'T MEAN THAT!! YOU LOVED ME, BROTHER—YOU STAYED—YOU ATE THE STRAWBERRIES—YOU—!"
It takes three officers to drag him back.
He thrashes, reaching out, his nails dragging across the floor, a guttural scream tearing from his lungs like his soul is being ripped out.
"BROTHER!!!"
Caleb doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. He just stares.
Noah's voice echoes down the hallway.
Then—he's gone.
Gone. Forever.
---
Months Later...
It's spring again.
The cherry blossoms are blooming outside the Chairman's estate.
Caleb sits in his wheelchair beneath a glass sunroof, fingers idly tracing the steam rising from a cup of untouched tea.
He's clean. Safe. Comfortable.
There's no chain around his legs.
No blood. No screaming. No chocolate-covered fingers.
Just peace.
Just...
"Brother..."
The word still floats through his dreams sometimes.
He leans his head back and closes his eyes.
His father thinks therapy is helping.
His bodyguard tells him it's all behind now.
But Caleb knows it's not.
Because he remembers everything.
The trembling hands. The way Noah cried like a child. The kisses that shouldn't have felt like anything—but did. The broken mind that somehow loved him in its own cursed way.
He exhales shakily, gripping the arms of the chair.
What if...
What if he had stayed?
What if he hadn't said those words?
Would things be better? Worse?
Would he still be trapped—but... would he have felt more alive?
His heart is quiet now.
But sometimes, it still whispers—
"You loved me, brother..."
He opens his eyes, staring into the silence.
And the haunting never stops.
Not really.
Not ever.
The end...