An Old Sweet Story About Rebirth

Dinner ended quietly. Shane didn’t °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° linger.
Emily darted off for a shower, still humming the melody from the cartoon she liked that week. Tyler, meanwhile, knelt by the couch, unzipping and rezipping her suitcase for the third time that evening.

She was starting school tomorrow. A boarding program. New town, new dorm, new everything.
The thought knotted his chest in a hundred different ways. One minute he worried she was still too young—eleven was too small to sleep in a room full of strangers. The next, he reminded himself how easily she made friends, how effortlessly light she was, how she could always make people laugh. But still.
But still.

Lost in those half-anxious, half-hopeful loops, Tyler didn’t hear the bathroom door open until Emily padded out, towel wrapped around her hair like a crown. She spotted him hunched by the suitcase, eyes vacant, hands still.
She climbed up beside him on the couch and flung her arms around his waist.
“Ty,” she said.

He gave her arm a light pat, about to remind her—again—not to forget her toothpaste or headphones. But she spoke first.
“When I’m gone, you’ve gotta take care of yourself, okay?”
Tyler blinked. “Huh? Of course I will. I’m an adult, you know. Eight years older than you. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

She shook her head solemnly. “I know. But I mean… I’m worried about you being by yourself.”
He reached up, gently messing her damp hair. “It’s not so bad. Being alone. I’m used to it.”
Emily studied his face. “Well, you’ve definitely been happier lately.”

Tyler arched a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “Probably because you have Mr. Shane now.”
He stared at her. “What? No.”

She didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
“Tonight, you were smiling so much. You’re never like that unless he’s around.”
It had been a while since she’d seen her brother laugh like that. Not the polite half-smiles he gave the neighbors or the stiff nods at grocery store clerks. Tonight, it had been real.

“And other times too,” she added, eyes darting like a detective’s. “Whenever you come back from those walks. You always look… lighter. Calmer.”
She leaned over, giving his shoulder a firm pat like some kind of tiny therapist. “So I’m not worried anymore. You’ve got him now.”
Tyler couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. “God, what are you even talking about?”
“You’ll see,” she said smugly. “By the way—did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes!”
“Good. Now tell me—since you’ve been friends with Mr. Shane for a while now, you don’t still think he’s a bad guy, do you?”
Tyler froze.

It took him a second to remember. The first time Shane had visited, Tyler had pulled Emily aside, whispered in that clipped, too-cold voice: “People don’t help you for no reason. Don’t expect good people to just show up.”
And now?
Tyler rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly itchy. “Well… he’s definitely not a bad guy.”

“There.” Emily pointed at him triumphantly. “See? Progress!”
“It’s late,” Tyler muttered, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “Get to bed before I drag you in there myself.”
He nudged her into her bedroom, made her turn off the lights, waited until he could hear her rolling over under the sheets. But even then, something inside him was unsettled. Off-kilter.

He drifted back to the living room, wiped down the spotless coffee table again for no real reason, straightened the cushions.
Then finally sat down and stared at the far wall, thinking:
This is still just a contract. A script.

We’re both just playing our parts, right?
But if it’s just a role—then why does it feel like Shane’s playing it better than I am?
Images came unbidden, uninvited.

Shane, eyes stinging from the chili in the stir-fry, blinking hard to hide it.
Shane, breathless with laughter at Emily’s awful puns.
Shane, silent at the table, gaze locked on Tyler the moment he’d looked up—like he’d been watching the whole time.

Those eyes…
Tyler scrubbed at his own face, shaking the images off.
Was dinner tonight part of the contract too?

 
****
That night, he slept badly. Kept tossing, turning, dreaming of closed doors and long hallways.

By morning, he was yawning over toast, stuffing Emily’s backpack with her notebooks and stuffed bear. He rode the bus with her to the campus, walked her to the dorm, helped her tuck in the bedsheets and tape her name tag on the wall.
As it turned out, she’d been assigned to the same dorm room as a friend from her summer tutoring program. The second she realized that, she nearly jumped out of her sneakers.
And Tyler finally, finally let his chest unclench a little.

But then came the part that made Emily beam with pride.
“Wait—is that your brother?” one girl whispered behind her.
“He looks like he stepped out of a comic book,” someone else murmured.

Emily puffed up like a balloon. “That’s my brother,” she confirmed. “And you should see him next to Mr. Shane. Then they look like real artwork.”
 
****

Greenville Academy had strict rules. Parents had to leave after noon.
When it was time to say goodbye, Emily waved as if they hadn’t just spent every waking minute together for the last eleven years. “Ty! Don’t forget to bring Mr. Shane next time, okay?”
She said it loud—loud enough for everyone around to hear—and grinned wickedly when she saw the color rise in her brother’s face.

Tyler could only stare at her, speechless, half-laughing.
He watched her run off toward the dorm, backpack bouncing. The gate clanged shut behind her.
And just like that, she was gone.

He wandered over to a bench under a tree, sat down, hands in his pockets, unsure what to do with the sudden quiet. With the space she left behind.
Only a few minutes passed before the light shifted.
The sky darkened fast—too fast.

He looked up.
Shit.
It had been clear only moments ago, but now the clouds had rolled in, thick and heavy like wet wool. The first crack of thunder came low and mean.

Tyler sprang up.
Thank god Emily moved in this morning.
He turned toward the walking path that led back to the apartment. If he walked fast, he could make it in fifteen minutes.

But the rain wasn’t going to wait.
He’d barely made it a block before the downpour hit—sheets of it, sudden and relentless. The world blurred. The sky spilled. The sidewalks ran like rivers.
There was no cover. Just a narrow strip of trees and fence line, and the rain everywhere. He wiped at his eyes and broke into a jog, resigned to getting soaked—

When suddenly, a shape emerged from the storm.
A tall figure, coat dark, umbrella darker, striding fast across the slick pavement. The kind of presence that moved like it belonged there, like the rain couldn’t touch it.
He reached Tyler in seconds.

The umbrella tilted. A long arm reached around him.
And Tyler was pulled, without warning, into a warm, dry chest.
The scent hit first—clean, faintly sharp, like eucalyptus and winter air.

Shane.
Tyler’s eyes were still half-blinded by the water, but he knew. He didn’t need to see.
“Shane?!”

“I saw the forecast,” Shane shouted over the wind. “Figured you’d be dropping off Emily. Came to check on you. Good thing I did—you’re getting soaked!”
The wind ripped at his voice, broke it into fragments.
But the arm around Tyler stayed steady. And the umbrella never wavered.

But even through the wind and rain, Tyler caught a few words.
He’s... worried about me?
The realization jolted through him like cold water down the spine. His breath caught in his throat, and then, quietly, his whole body shivered.

Shane pulled him in tighter. “You’re shaking,” he said, voice low, strained. “You're gonna catch a cold like this.”
It wasn’t just the cold in Shane’s voice. There was something else there—urgency, tension. Maybe even... worry?
Tyler bit the inside of his cheek. A strange clarity bloomed behind his eyes.

Of course. If he got sick, his blood sugar would tank. If he missed the orientation exams next week, his scores might drop. And if that happened…
He’d breach the contract.
That had to be it. That was why Shane had come.

—
By the time they stumbled into the lobby of the apartment building, Tyler was bone dry.
Shane wasn’t.

Half of his shoulder was soaked straight through. Rainwater dripped down the side of his coat and pooled quietly on the marble floor.
Tyler noticed. Of course he did.
Shane followed his gaze but offered no explanation. Just said, “Don’t stare. We both need a hot shower.”

Tyler nodded quickly, maybe too quickly.
A gust of wind hissed in through the crack beneath the glass doors. The kind of wind that slices right through clothes, sharp and damp. It hit them both square in the back as they waited for the elevator.
Tyler shuddered and sneezed. Twice.

“You...” Shane muttered something under his breath—low, inaudible—and wrapped an arm around Tyler again. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“This side’s still dry,” he said.
It was. Warm, even. Solid.

And just like earlier, Shane didn’t let go. Even as the elevator dinged and opened its doors. Even as they stepped inside. Tyler was still tucked under his arm, as if returning him to the cold was no longer an option.
The warmth seeped through Tyler’s jacket, and his body finally started to thaw.
But his brain… his brain was a mess.

“I’m fine,” he blurted out, breath quick, words tangled. “Really, I’m not gonna get sick.”
Shane didn’t let go. “You’re freezing.”
Is it just because we’re standing so close? Tyler wondered. Why does his breath feel so... warm against my ear?

And before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.
“I’ll be fine—I swear. I’ll stick to the agreement. I won’t mess it up.”
The silence was instant.

Something in Shane’s posture stiffened.
Tyler felt it, even before he saw it.
Wait.

Did I say something wrong?
His thoughts spiraled.
Then Shane said his name.

“Tyler.”
His voice was quiet, flat. But underneath it—clear frustration.
“Even if we were just neighbors—hell, even if we were just strangers—I wouldn’t let you walk through a storm like that alone.”

Tyler blinked.
What?
Shane continued, voice low, unmistakably stern. “But you're not just a neighbor. Or a stranger.”

He paused.
Tyler's thoughts raced ahead of him.
Right, I’m your... your contractual partner. The guy you’re obligated to take care of.

But then Shane said—
“To me, you’re a real friend.”
Tyler froze.

“A friend looks out for the people they care about,” Shane said. “That’s what I’m doing. This has nothing to do with the contract.”
Tyler blinked again, his voice a whisper. “You said… real friend?”
“Not… pretend friend?”

Shane gave a breathy laugh—half amused, half exasperated. “Of course I meant real.”
The words struck something raw and unused inside Tyler, like a muscle that hadn’t moved in years.
Friend.
Real friend.

But we only met because of the contract. Without that paper, we’d be nothing. Right?
“I…” Tyler stammered, voice cracking. “I haven’t had a friend in a long time. I don’t really…”
Shane leaned in just slightly, voice like low cello strings. “Tyler, anyone who spends time with you would want to be your friend.”

“You’re smart. You’re kind. You take care of people. And you draw—beautifully.”
Tyler made a small, disbelieving sound. His face flared red.
Was he—was he praising me?

Me?
He couldn’t even bring himself to look up. His thoughts were scrambled, buzzing in every direction.
The elevator slowed. Dinged.

They reached their floor.
Shane smiled faintly. “We’re here.”
He kept an arm around Tyler as they stepped out into the hallway.

“Go shower. Turn the water up hot.”
Tyler nodded weakly, still not sure what planet he was on. He reached into his pocket—
Checked the left.

Then the right.
Then patted both back pockets.
His face drained of color.

He turned slowly to find Shane still waiting beside him, expectant.
“I think I…” Tyler swallowed. “I forgot my key.”