November 26, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—The Next Day #15
Adrian knew what he had to do. He had always been the big brother, whether he wanted to be or not.
And maybe he hadn’t always been good at it.
Maybe he’d been too consumed by his own pain and struggle to notice his younger brother gradually disappearing.
While standing in the same room, his brother was being erased, ignored, and dismissed, fading into silence that no one bothered to break.
But he saw him now. He saw everything—the bitterness, the loneliness, the hollow ache of being the one always left behind.
The one always in the shadow. Alon wasn’t really angry.
He was hurt. Deeply, deeply wounded in a place no one had ever thought to reach.
And Adrian had never noticed. Never realized how much Alon had been waiting—craving—just to be seen.
So Adrian took two steps forward, closed the space between them, and pulled his little brother in.
A short hug, but real, nonetheless. Solid.
He felt the tension in Alon’s body, the way he hesitated for a fraction of a second before melting into it, like he wasn’t used to being held this way anymore. Like he had forgotten what it was like.
Adrian let go but kept his hands on Alon’s shoulders, grounding both of them in this moment. “I don’t want to leave like this,” he admitted, voice heavy with exhaustion, with regret. “Alon, you’re my brother. I love you. I care about you.”
“Half-brother,” Alon remarked silently, not meeting his eyes, clinging to the one piece of distance he had left, as if it could protect him.
“No,” Adrian said quietly. “Not that half-brother shit. You’re my little brother. That’s it.” Adrian took a breath. “I am sorry. I’ve failed you, I should have talked to you sooner, to try and understand. I should have seen it, and I am so damn sorry, Alon.”
Alon didn’t say anything, but something flickered in his expression—something raw, something close to breaking.
Adrian hesitated. He had spent so many years looking forward, trying to survive, that he had forgotten to look back. To remember. But now it hit him—hard, sharp, like a blade twisting in his ribs.
He remembered when they were kids, when Alon was just four or five, clinging to Adrian’s every move.
Back then, it had felt natural, his baby brother following him around, asking endless questions, tugging on his sleeve, wanting Adrian to play with him.
He had loved it. Loved having Alon there, a tiny shadow always at his side.
They played catch, ran wild at the park, and spent entire days at the beach.
Because Dean had been a consistent part of Adrian’s life since he was six, he accompanied them on most of those adventures.
Back then, the three of them had been inseparable.
But then, slowly, things began to change. Alon started pulling away.
At first, it was little things: choosing to stay home instead of joining them, keeping to himself, and rolling his eyes at Adrian’s jokes.
Then it became something more, something colder.
The distance between them stretched year after year, widening until Adrian barely recognized the boy who had once followed him around.
And now, standing here, Adrian saw what he had been too blind—or too distracted—to see.
Had he missed the way Alon used to look at Dean?
The way his face lit up when Dean entered the room?
The way he blushed when Dean gave him attention, or how small he became when he didn’t?
Had Adrian overlooked the way Alon’s admiration had twisted into something deeper?
Something quieter. The way that unspoken affection festered, year after year, when Dean always came for Adrian… and never for him?
It hadn’t just been their parents who overlooked Alon.
Dean had, too.
And so had Adrian.
And maybe—just maybe—Alon had been resenting him all along.
Adrian swallowed hard. “I never meant for this to happen,” he said softly, meaning so much more. “I should’ve seen it, Alon. I should’ve been there for you.”
Alon’s throat worked like he wanted to say something, but he just nodded.
The night wrapped around them like a vast, endless ocean, deep and dark and unknowable. The air was thick with salt and cigarette smoke, the remnants of old battles fought in silence, words swallowed like seawater, choking but never spoken.
Adrian held his brother’s gaze, searching for something, anything, that told him they weren’t still adrift in the wreckage of all the years between them.
“Are we good now?” His voice was quiet, holding too much weight behind it.
Alon’s lips twitched, a flicker of something fragile, before he gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
A single word. So simple, so insufficient, and yet it held multitudes. But Adrian hesitated, lingering in the silence that stretched between them. Just in case. Just in case Alon needed to say something more. Just in case this was the last time they would ever stand together like this.
Because Adrian knew.
Even if no one else was brave enough to say it out loud, he knew.
The ocean was calling him back, but not to the waves—to the abyss.
There was no coming back from this. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones, in the quiet certainty that settled in his chest like an anchor dragging him deeper, deeper.
This might be the last time he got to look his baby brother in the eye, the last time he got to hear his voice, to touch his shoulder, to feel, even for a fleeting moment, the bond that time and grief had nearly severed.
A man can only be given so much in a lifetime before fate comes to collect its debts. And Adrian? He had already stretched his luck thin, had already taken more than he had ever deserved.
His life had never been kind, not in the way stories promised, not in the way children dream.
He had lost his mother too young, had grown up in the shadow of grief, had learned too quickly that love did not make a home safe, that money did not stretch far enough, that no one was coming to save him, that not everyone came back home.
And yet, there had been light, too.
Tammi, who had chosen to love him, though she never had to.
His little brother, who followed him around and was a constant source of cuteness in his life.
Brothers who had flown across oceans to stand by his side, who had lifted him from the depths when he had nothing left but the ghosts of war clinging to his skin.
He had found purpose in the army, had thrived in the fire of it, had felt, for the briefest time, like he was whole.
Even when it took everything from him—even when it broke him, shattered him, spat him out into the world as something lesser—he had never regretted it.
And then there was love.
Real love.
The kind that poets wept over, the kind that bent the laws of time and logic, the kind that no man, no matter how broken, ever truly believed he would find.
Four months of chasing waves and stolen kisses and laughter that echoed across continents.
Four months of waking up to gray eyes that felt like home, of knowing—deep in his soul, in the very marrow of him—that he had found the other half of himself.
And maybe that had been his limit.
Maybe the universe had given him all the love he was allowed before it came back to take the rest.
Because now, the streams of water that had once given him everything were pulling him under, and this time, there was no one who could save him.
Adrian forced a smile, even as his chest ached, even as his ribs felt like they might crack beneath the weight of all the things he would never get to say.
“Come on,” he urged, his voice calm despite his heart’s turmoil. “Mom likely cooked enough to feed an army.”
And then, with one last touch, a firm hand on Alon’s shoulder, one last silent promise, he turned toward the stairs and together they climbed back up.
As Alon pushed open the apartment door, Logan’s gaze found Adrian’s the moment he stepped inside, like he felt him coming.
Those silver eyes, sharp yet full of quiet warmth, searched his face, asking a silent question.
Adrian nodded, just a small dip of his chin, a reassurance without words. Everything was okay.
Logan’s shoulders loosened slightly, and he gifted Adrian one of those half-smiles—beautiful in its simplicity, effortless. Then, without missing a beat, he took another bite of the cookie in his hand, his eyes flickering with amusement.
Adrian smirked as he slid back into his seat beside him, raising a brow at the half-empty plate of cookies and the cup of tea nestled in Logan’s hands.
“Your mom forced me to eat cookies,” Logan explained, holding up the half-eaten treat as proof, his voice laced with a boyish kind of mischief. “And she made me tea.” He took a dramatic sip, then turned to Tammi with a charming smile. “By the way, the cookies are amazing, Tammi. Thank you.”
Adrian snatched a cookie from the plate and handed it to Alon, grinning. “He’s not lying. She does that. She weaponizes food.”
Tammi let out an affectionate laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “I to make sure, you… a guest. You need to welcome.” Then, she asked, “You hungry?”
Adrian scoffed before Logan could even answer. “It’s Logan. He was born hungry.”
Logan elbowed him discreetly, his laughter spilling into the room like sunlight dancing on the waves.
Tammi shook her head, pleased, and motioned for them all to take their places at the small dining table.
The chairs scraped softly against the floor as they settled in, the table suddenly feeling full.
Bowls filled with steaming dishes were placed in the center, the rich scents of home-cooked food curling through the air.