Chapter 5: The Glass Wall

...Daniel POV...

The car ride is suffocating. Usually, we have the radio up too loud, or we’re arguing over where to get fries, but today the only sound is the rhythmic thump-thump of the windshield wipers. It feels like we’re trapped in a glass box, and if I move too fast, I’ll shatter it.

I keep glancing at him. Azreal is staring out the side window, his reflection ghostly against the rain-streaked glass. He’s so close I can smell the charcoal and the faint, clean scent of his shampoo, yet he feels a thousand miles away.

"Evelyn wants to go to the lake this weekend," I say, desperate to break the quiet. "Her parents are away. She said you should come. We could bring the old kayaks."

Azreal doesn't even turn around. "I’m busy, Daniel."

"Doing what? You’re always busy lately. It’s a Saturday, man. We haven't been to the lake since June."

"I have work to do," he says, his voice clipped.

"Work can wait. You’re burning out. I can see it." I reach over, intending to nudge his arm, but he flinches—just a tiny jerk of his shoulder—and I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned. "What is it? Did I do something? Is it because I’ve been spending more time with her?"

Finally, he turns. His expression is weary, his eyes rimmed with a redness that makes my heart ache. "The world doesn't revolve around you and Evelyn, Dan. Believe it or not, I have a life that has nothing to do with your relationship."

The bite in his words stings. I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I know that. I just... I miss my best friend. Is that a crime?"

"Maybe your best friend needs some space," he whispers.

He says it so softly I almost miss it. Space. We’ve never needed space. We’ve been joined at the hip since we were in diapers. The idea of space between us feels like an amputation. I pull up to his curb and put the car in park, but I don’t unlock the doors.

"I don't know how to do that," I admit, looking straight ahead. "I don't know how to not be around you."

...Azreal POV...

I don't know how to not be around you.

His words are like a knife twisting in my gut. He says them with such earnestness, such total lack of awareness of what they do to me. He wants to keep me in his pocket like a lucky charm, never realizing that being his "best friend" is becoming a slow-motion execution.

"You'll learn," I say, my voice trembling. "You have Evelyn. You have the team. You'll be fine."

"I won't be," he argues, finally looking at me. His blue eyes are clouded with a confusion that makes him look younger, like the boy who used to cry when he lost a soccer match. "It’s not the same. You know it’s not."

"Nothing is ever the same, Daniel. We’re eighteen. Life is supposed to change."

I reach for the door handle, but he hits the central lock. Click. The sound is definitive.

"Let me out," I say, my heart racing. The "Close Proximity" in this small car is becoming dangerous. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, heavy and questioning.

"Not until you tell me what's actually going on," he says. "You're lying to me. I can taste it. Is it a girl? Did someone hurt you?"

I let out a harsh, jagged breath. Yes, I want to scream. You. You’re hurting me every time you smile at her. You’re hurting me every time you call me your brother.

"It's nothing you can fix, Daniel," I say, finally meeting his eyes. I let a bit of the bitterness show. "Not everything in the world can be solved by you being a hero."

His face falls, a look of genuine hurt crossing his features. I hate myself for it. I want to reach out and smooth the frown from his forehead, to tell him I’m sorry, to tell him I love him. But I can't. If I start, I won't be able to stop.

"Unlock the door," I say again, firmer this time.

He looks at me for a long beat, searching for something I’ve spent years learning how to hide. Slowly, he reaches out and presses the button.

The lock pops. I don't wait. I push the door open and step out into the rain, the cold water hitting my face like a blessing. I don't look back. I can hear him calling my name, but I keep walking until I’m inside my house, leaning against the shut door, listening to the sound of his engine idling in the street.

He stays there for five minutes. I count every second. And when the sound of his car finally fades away, I sink to the floor, the silence of the hallway feeling like a grave.

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