Cecil wakes up slowly.
I watch from the kitchen doorway as his eyes flutter open, taking a moment to orient himself. He's still curled against Dylan's side, Dylan's hand stilling in his hair the moment Cecil stirs.
For just a second—before awareness fully returns—Cecil looks peaceful.
Before he remembers everything.
I can see the exact moment it happens. The slight stiffening of his shoulders. The careful blankness sliding back into place.
And then his eyes find me across the room.
We stare at each other.
I don't know what I expected. Anger, maybe. Or that cold, empty look Dylan warned me about through our mind link during the week.
But Cecil just... looks at me. His expression completely unreadable.
"You're back," he says. His voice is flat. Neutral.
"Yeah." I stay where I am, not wanting to crowd him. "I'm back."
Dylan glances between us once—a look that says 'handle this carefully'—but doesn't move from the couch. Doesn't try to leave or give us space.
He's staying.
And somehow, that feels right.
Cecil sits up properly, pulling his sleeves down over his wrists in a motion so practiced, so automatic, that it breaks my heart a little.
He doesn't know that I can see it.
He doesn't know that I understand what it means.
Not yet.
"Can we talk?" I ask.
Cecil's jaw tightens. "Do we have to do this now?"
"No. We don't have to do anything." I keep my voice gentle. "But I'd really like to explain. Everything. If you're willing to listen."
A long silence.
Then Cecil nods once, sharp and reluctant. "Fine."
He stays where he is on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
Protecting himself.
From me.
The realization settles heavy in my chest.
I cross the room and stop in front of him.
And then, before Cecil can say anything, before I can second-guess myself, I do what felt right the moment I walked through that door.
I kneel.
Cecil blinks, clearly not expecting it. "Keith—"
"Please." I meet his eyes from my kneeling position, holding his gaze steadily. "Let me say everything first. And if you still want to be angry after, I'll understand completely."
Cecil stares at me for a long moment, something flickering in his expression.
Then he nods. "Okay. Talk."
I take a breath.
And I tell him everything.
Not the sanitized, carefully edited version I'd been rehearsing for seven days. Not the version designed to minimize damage or protect myself.
Everything.
"Aethera told me," I start, and I feel Cecil go still across from me. "About your past life. About your mother. Your father. The debt. The rooftop."
Cecil's hands tighten around his knees.
"I've known for weeks. Long before I left. And I kept it from you because I was terrified—terrified of saying the wrong thing, of pushing too hard, of making things worse." My voice stays steady even though everything in me wants to break. "But keeping it secret was cowardly. You deserved to know that I knew. You deserved the choice of what to do with that information."
"Keith—"
"I'm not finished," I say gently. "Please."
He closes his mouth but doesn't stop me from finishing, so I continue.
"I left because I realized I didn't know how to help you. Not properly. And I was so afraid of hurting you that I—" I pause, choosing my next words carefully. "I went to someone who understands pain better than anyone. Someone who could teach me how to approach this without causing more damage."
Cecil's brow furrows slightly. "Who?"
"The God of Pain. Tenebrae." I watch his expression carefully. "I spent a week in his garden in heaven, learning about trauma and healing and how to hold someone's pain without making it worse."
Silence.
Cecil is staring at me with an expression I can't quite read.
"You went to the God of Pain," he says slowly. "For a week. To learn how to talk to me."
"Yes."
"Because you were worried about hurting me."
"Yes."
Another silence. Longer this time.
"That's..." Cecil stops. Starts again. "That's either the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me or the most dramatic."
Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. "Probably both."
From the couch, Dylan makes a sound that might be agreement.
Cecil doesn't laugh. But something in his expression shifts—just slightly. Just enough.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asks quietly. "Before you left. Why the note? Why the lie about family stuff?"
"Because I panicked." The honest answer, even though it makes me look terrible. "Because it was three in the morning and I didn't know how to explain without revealing everything I'd been keeping from you. And I told myself that leaving was the right thing. That coming back more prepared was better than staying and making things worse." I hold his gaze. "But I didn't think about how it would feel from your side. I didn't think about what disappearing without explanation would mean to someone who's already been abandoned."
Cecil's breath catches.
There it is.
The real wound beneath all the anger.
"I'm sorry," I say, and the words come out rougher than I intended. "I'm so sorry, Cecil. For keeping Aethera's secret. For lying. For leaving the way I did. For making you feel like I'd abandoned you when you'd barely started to feel safe here."
Cecil's jaw is working like he's trying to hold something back.
"You should have told me," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "You should have—I had a right to know that you—"
"I know." I don't move. Don't reach for him. Just stay where I am, kneeling on the floor, giving him space to feel everything he needs to feel. "You're right. You had every right to know. And I failed you by keeping it from you. I can't change that. All I can do is promise to be honest from here on. About everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything," I confirm. "No more secrets. No more protecting you from information that's actually yours to have. If I know something that affects you, you'll know it too. I promise."
Cecil is very carefully not looking at me now, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
But I can see his face.
Can see the way his eyes are filling despite everything.
Can see the single tear that escapes, tracking slowly down his cheek.
He lifts his hand to wipe it away before it reaches his jaw. Then another appears, and another, and his hand moves faster, more urgently, like he can physically stop himself from crying if he just acts quickly enough.
"Hey." My voice comes out very soft. "You don't have to hide that."
"I'm not—" His voice breaks completely. He presses his lips together, jaw tight.
I reach out slowly, giving him every chance to pull back, and gently catch the tear on his cheek with my thumb.
Cecil's breath hitches.
"Get up first," he says quietly.
I blink. "What?"
"Get up." He finally looks at me, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Get up off the floor, Keith. You don't need to kneel."
Something warm floods through my chest.
I stand, my knees aching slightly from the hard floor.
For a moment we just look at each other, barely a foot apart.
And then Cecil moves.
He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me, his face pressing into my shoulder.
I fold around him immediately, one arm around his back, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. Holding him carefully. Securely.
Like he's something precious.
Because he is.
"Thank you," Cecil says against my shoulder, his voice muffled and slightly unsteady. "For telling me the truth. For not hiding anymore."
My throat tightens.
"I should have done it sooner—"
"But you did it now." His arms tighten slightly around me. "You did it now, Keith. And that's still better than hidden the truth forever. "
I close my eyes, breathing him in.
"I'm hurt," he continues quietly, and I can feel the slight tremor in his voice. "I need you to know that. What you did—leaving, lying—it hurt. It opened things I'd managed to keep closed and it hurt a lot."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
"But..." A pause. A long, fragile pause. "I'm going to forgive you. And I'm going to give you a second chance."
The words hit me somewhere deep and fundamental.
I don't expect it—the sudden rush of emotion that crashes over me. Hot and overwhelming and completely beyond my control.
I've been holding it together all morning. Through the anxious walk home. Through finding Cecil and Dylan on the couch. Through kneeling on that floor and saying every difficult, honest thing I needed to say.
I held it together through all of that.
But this—
Cecil's quiet, deliberate choice to forgive me—
That breaks me completely.
My arms tighten around him, pulling him close, and I feel my own breath catch and shudder.
"Cecil—" His name comes out broken, barely audible.
"Hey." His arms shift, holding me back just as firmly as I'm holding him. "Hey. It's okay."
"I don't deserve—"
"Maybe not yet," he says simply. "But I'm giving it to you anyway."
And that's what finally does it.
The tears come quietly, without fanfare. Just warmth tracking down my face, soaking into Cecil's hair where I've pressed my cheek against his head.
"Thank you," I manage, and even those two words are barely coherent. "Thank you, Cecil. I won't—I promise I won't waste it. I promise I'll be better. I'll be honest and I'll be here and I won't run again—"
"I know." His voice is steady now. Certain. "I know you will."
The simple trust in those words undoes me further.
Then, quietly, from behind us—
"Room for one more?"
Dylan's voice. Low and uncertain in a way I've almost never heard from him.
Cecil pulls back just slightly, turning his head to look at Dylan over his shoulder.
Something passes between them—something I don't fully understand but recognize as important. As earned.
"Get over here," Cecil says simply.
Dylan crosses the room in two strides and wraps his arms around both of us, his chin coming to rest on top of Cecil's head. One of his hands grips my shoulder—not gently. But not angrily either.
Like an anchor.
Like a promise.
We stand there, all three of us, tangled together in the middle of the living room while the morning light grows stronger through the windows.
It's not perfect. We still have so much to talk about—Cecil and I, Dylan and I, all three of us together. So many layers of truth still to be peeled back carefully. So much healing still ahead.
Dylan is still angry with me, I can feel it in the tension of his grip.
And Cecil is still hurt, even through the forgiveness.
But we're all in the same room.
We're all still here.
And for the first time in a week, the weird feeling in my chest has gone quiet.
Replaced by something steadier.
Something that feels, cautiously and tentatively, like hope.
We stay like that for a long time.
Long enough for the morning light to shift across the floor. Long enough for the tension in Dylan's grip to ease slightly. Long enough for Cecil's breathing to steady completely against my shoulder.
Eventually, slowly, we pull apart.
Not all the way. Just enough to see each other properly.
Cecil looks between us, his eyes still red-rimmed but clearer than they've been since I walked through the door. Something has settled in his expression—something fragile but deliberate.
Like a decision being made in real time.
"I'm not going to hide anymore," he says quietly.
Dylan and I both go still.
Cecil's eyes drop briefly to his sleeves—that same automatic, practiced gesture—before lifting back to meet ours. Direct and unflinching even though it's clearly costing him something.
"I've been hiding for a long time. From both of you. From everyone." His voice is steady, carefully so. "But I'm..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "I'm willing to trust you. Both of you. If you'll let me do it at my own pace."
Dylan's expression softens completely, that last remaining edge of tension finally dissolving. He nods once, slow and certain.
And smiles.
It's not his usual guarded smile or the carefully controlled one he uses when he doesn't want to reveal too much. It's quieter than that. More genuine.
"Of course," Dylan says simply. "At whatever pace you need."
Cecil holds his gaze for a moment, something passing between them that I recognize as the weight of shared experience. Of what happened this week while I was gone. Of things I don't fully know yet but will.
Then Cecil looks at me.
I open my mouth to say something similar—to agree, to reassure, to promise—
But something stops me.
Because Cecil just said something brave. Something enormous. And it deserves more than reassurance.
It deserves honesty.
"You can't take it back, you know," I say.
Cecil blinks. "What?"
"What you just said." I hold his gaze, letting him see that I mean every word. "You can't unsay it. Can't decide tomorrow that you didn't mean it." The corner of my mouth curves slightly. "That's how trust works."
Cecil stares at me for a moment.
Then, slowly, something that might be the beginning of a real smile crosses his face. "Is that so."
"Absolutely." I glance between him and Dylan. "Which means it's only fair that we do the same. All three of us."
Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a pact?"
"I'm suggesting that if Cecil is brave enough to say he won't hide anymore, then we owe him the same." I look at Dylan steadily. "No more secrets between us. No more protecting each other from things we have a right to know. No more disappearing without explanation."
That last part is directed at myself as much as either of them.
Dylan is quiet for a moment, his dark eyes moving between me and Cecil.
Then he exhales slowly. "Fine. No more secrets."
"No more hiding," Cecil adds quietly, like he's testing the weight of the words.
"No more running," I finish.
The three promises settle over us like something solid. Something real.
Cecil looks between us both, his expression unreadable for just a moment.
Then— "You're both so dramatic."
Dylan snorts.
I laugh—properly, for the first time in a week. "Completely. Runs in the family."
"You're not my family," Cecil says, but there's no edge to it.
"Not yet," I say simply.
Cecil goes quiet at that, something flickering in his eyes that I can't quite name.
But he doesn't disagree.
And somehow, that feels like enough.