We're still in the kitchen, sipping our tea in the quiet pre-dawn hours when Cecil suddenly goes still.
His eyes are fixed on something over my shoulder.
"What's that?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I turn to follow his gaze and my stomach drops.
There's a note propped up on the counter. White paper folded in half with "Dylan & Cecil" written on the outside in Keith's unmistakable handwriting.
How did I miss that?
I set my mug down and cross to the counter, picking up the note with a growing sense of dread.
Keith doesn't leave notes. Keith talks. Keith over-communicates to the point of annoyance sometimes.
Notes mean something's wrong.
I unfold the paper and scan the first line.
Hey guys,
Something came up and I had to leave for about a week. Family stuff—nothing to worry about, just something I need to take care of.
My jaw clenches.
Family stuff.
He's lying.
Keith doesn't lie. Not to me. Not about important things.
But this? This is absolutely a lie.
"Dylan?" Cecil's voice cuts through my thoughts. "What does it say?"
I don't answer immediately, too busy reading the rest of the note, anger building with each word.
Dylan, I'm counting on you to hold down the fort. Make sure Cecil settles in okay. You know where everything is.
Of course. Of course it's about Cecil.
Keith's been acting strange since Cecil moved in. Protective. Watchful. Anxious in a way I've never seen him before.
And now he just disappears for a week with a bullshit excuse about "family stuff"?
"Dylan."
Cecil is standing now, his mug abandoned on the counter. His expression is carefully controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
He knows something's wrong too.
I hand him the note without a word.
I watch his face as he reads, cataloging every micro-expression.
His eyes scan the first line—confusion.
Second line—understanding.
Third line—something shutters closed behind his eyes.
By the time he reaches the part addressed to him, his expression is completely blank.
Emotionless.
But his eyes...
His eyes are burning with barely contained anger.
He sets the note down on the counter carefully. Too carefully. Like he's afraid if he's not gentle with it, he'll tear it to pieces.
The silence stretches between us.
Cecil picks up his mug again, taking a slow sip of tea. His movements are precise. Controlled.
Too controlled.
"Family stuff," he says finally, his voice flat.
"Yeah."
"For a week."
"Apparently."
Cecil's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Do you believe him?"
The question hangs in the air between us.
I could lie. Could say yes, of course I believe him, why wouldn't I?
But Cecil deserves better than that.
And after the trust we've been building—after last night's apology, after this morning's tea and quiet conversations—I'm not going to start lying now.
"No," I say simply. "I don't."
Something flickers across Cecil's face—vindication, maybe. Or relief that I'm not going to pretend everything's fine.
"He's lying," Cecil says quietly.
"I know."
"Do you know why?"
I hesitate. Because I don't know. Not for certain. But I have suspicions.
"I think..." I choose my words carefully. "I think it has something to do with you."
Cecil's eyes snap to mine, sharp and assessing.
"Me?"
"Keith's been different since you moved in. More anxious. More protective. Like he's carrying something heavy and doesn't know what to do with it."
Cecil looks away, his hands curling tighter around his mug.
"So he just leaves," he says, and there's an edge to his voice now. Sharp. Bitter. "Without explanation. Without talking to me. He just—disappears."
The anger in his eyes intensifies, even as his expression remains carefully blank.
He's furious.
And hurt.
The realization hits me square in the chest.
Cecil trusted Keith. Trusted him enough to move in here, to start rebuilding their friendship, to let his guard down.
And Keith repaid that trust by lying and disappearing.
"Dylan."
I look up.
Cecil is staring at the note again, his voice dangerously quiet. "What does he mean by 'family stuff'? What family does Keith have that I don't know about?"
Shit.
I can't tell him the truth. Can't explain that "family" means Aethera, that we're Celestians, that there's an entire divine realm he doesn't know exists.
Not without revealing everything.
And that's not my secret to tell.
"It's complicated," I say carefully.
Cecil's eyes narrow. "That's not an answer."
"I know."
"Dylan." His voice hardens. "Don't lie to me too."
The words cut deeper than they should.
"I'm not lying," I say, meeting his gaze. "I genuinely don't know why Keith left. But I know he's lying about the reason, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise."
Some of the tension bleeds out of Cecil's shoulders.
"But you have theories," he says. Not a question.
"Yeah. I have theories."
"Are you going to share them?"
I consider this. How much can I say without betraying Keith's trust? Without revealing things that aren't mine to reveal?
"I think Keith is dealing with something he doesn't know how to handle," I say slowly. "Something that scares him. And instead of talking about it, he ran."
Cecil's laugh is hollow. "Sounds about right."
The bitterness in his voice makes my chest ache.
He's been abandoned before. I don't know the details, but I can see it in the way he's holding himself. The way his eyes have gone distant.
This isn't just anger at Keith lying.
This is an old wound being reopened.
"Cecil—"
"It's fine." He cuts me off, his voice too controlled. Too empty. "He'll come back when he's ready. Or he won't. Either way, it's not my problem."
He's lying too now.
It absolutely is his problem. It's eating him alive.
But he's shutting down. Pulling back into himself the same way he did after the Truth or Dare question.
I can't let that happen.
Not after the progress we made last night. Not after he stayed with me while I slept, his fingers gentle in my hair. Not after he trusted me enough to admit he has nightmares.
"Cecil." I set my own mug down and move closer, stepping into his space. "Look at me."
He doesn't. Just keeps staring at the note like it personally offended him.
"Cecil."
Finally, reluctantly, his eyes lift to mine.
The anger is still there. But underneath it...
Hurt. Raw and bleeding.
Before I can second-guess it, I pull him into a hug.
Cecil goes rigid in my arms, clearly not expecting it.
This is the first time I've initiated contact. Usually he's the one who hugs first—like last night, after I apologized. But right now, he needs this.
Even if he doesn't realize it yet.
"What are you—"
"Keith will be back," I say firmly, tightening my grip when Cecil tries to pull away. "I promise you. He will come back."
"You can't promise that—"
"Yes, I can." I pull back just enough to look him in the eye. "Keith is a lot of things. Impulsive. Anxious. Terrible at communication sometimes. But he doesn't abandon people he cares about. Ever."
Cecil's expression wavers, the careful blankness cracking just slightly.
"He cares about you, Cecil. Whatever reason he left, it wasn't because he doesn't care. I'd bet everything I have on that."
"Then why didn't he tell me?" The question comes out quieter. More vulnerable. "Why just leave a note?"
"Because he's an idiot," I say bluntly, and Cecil lets out a surprised huff that might be a laugh despite himself. "Because he probably thought he was protecting you or giving you space or some other stupid noble reason that made sense in his head at three in the morning."
"That's a terrible excuse."
"I know. But it's probably the truth."
We stand there for a moment, Cecil still tense in my arms but no longer trying to pull away. His tea has gone cold on the counter. Mine too. The pre-dawn light is getting brighter through the kitchen window.
"You don't have to worry," I say quietly. "He'll be back in a week. Maybe less. And when he gets back, we'll both make him explain what the hell this was about."
"Both of us?"
"Yeah. Both of us." I manage a small smile even though he can't see it with his face pressed against my shoulder. "You think I'm just going to let him get away with this bullshit 'family stuff' excuse? Not a chance."
Cecil's lips twitch against my shirt. Not quite a smile, but close.
"Okay," he says finally, his voice muffled.
"Okay?"
"Okay. We'll wait for him to come back. And then we'll make him talk."
Relief floods through me.
He's not shutting down. Not pulling away completely.
He's staying.
I squeeze his shoulder once before letting go, giving him space.
Cecil moves back to his cold tea, picking up the mug and dumping it in the sink. His movements are still careful. Still controlled. But some of the dangerous edge has left his posture.
"Do you want more tea?" I ask. "Or should we try to get some actual sleep?"
"Not tired." He rinses the mug methodically. "And I don't think I could sleep now anyway."
"Yeah. Me neither."
The sun is starting to rise properly now, painting the kitchen in soft gold light. The note still sits on the counter between us, Keith's handwriting a silent accusation.
I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye in person.
Yeah. I bet you are, Keith.
I grab my phone from where I left it on the counter last night and pull up Keith's contact.
Cecil is watching me over his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral.
I type out a message quickly.
"What the hell, Keith? 'Family stuff'? Really? You couldn't come up with a better lie?"
I hit send and wait.
Nothing.
No response. No typing indicator. No read receipt.
I try again.
"I know you're probably not going to answer, but when you get back, you better have a damn good explanation. Cecil deserves better than this."
Still nothing.
"He's not answering," I say, more to myself than to Cecil.
"Didn't think he would," Cecil says quietly.
The resignation in his voice cuts deep.
I pocket my phone and lean against the counter, mirroring his position. "So what do you want to do?"
Cecil blinks. "What?"
"It's—" I check the time. "Five-thirty in the morning. Neither of us can sleep. Keith's not here. Might as well figure out how to pass the time."
"Dylan—"
"I'm not leaving you alone to spiral," I say firmly. "So you can either tell me what you want to do, or I'll decide for us."
Cecil stares at me for a long moment, those burning eyes searching my face for something.
Then, surprisingly, he laughs. Small and tired, but genuine.
"You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"Not a chance."
He shakes his head, but there's something softer in his expression now. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it's not the only thing anymore.
"Fine. What do you suggest?"
I think for a moment. "We could watch the sunrise. Make breakfast. Pretend Keith doesn't exist for a few hours."
Cecil considers this, his fingers drumming against the counter in that precise rhythm I'm starting to recognize as a thinking habit.
"That... actually sounds nice."
"Good." I push off the counter. "Grab a blanket. We'll watch from the balcony."
He hesitates, then nods and heads toward the living room.
I watch him go, noting the tension still in his shoulders, the carefully controlled anger still visible in the set of his jaw.
He's not okay.
But he's here. He's trying.
And for now, that's enough.
You better have a good reason for this, Keith, I think as I gather mugs for fresh tea. Because when you get back, I'm going to make you explain every single detail.
And if you hurt him again...
I don't finish the thought.
Because Keith wouldn't. He wouldn't hurt Cecil intentionally.
But he did.
And now I'm the one left picking up the pieces.
Cecil returns with a thick blanket, his expression still carefully controlled but less sharp around the edges.
"Ready?" I ask.
He nods.
We head to the balcony, the early morning air crisp and cool. The city is just starting to wake up—distant traffic sounds, birds beginning their morning songs, the sky shifting from deep blue to pale pink.
We settle on the outdoor couch, the blanket spread over both of us, our fresh tea steaming in the cool air.
The silence between us is comfortable. Familiar, even, after this morning's quiet conversations.
Cecil's shoulder brushes against mine as we watch the sun creep over the horizon.
"Thank you," he says quietly, not looking at me.
"For what?"
"For not pretending everything's fine. For not making excuses for him." He pauses. "For staying."
My chest tightens.
"Always," I say, and I mean it with everything in me.
We sit there as the sun rises, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink and orange. The anger is still there in Cecil's eyes when I glance at him, but it's tempered now.
Not gone. But manageable.
And as long as he doesn't shut me out, as long as he lets me stay beside him...
We'll get through this week.
Together.