Julian's heart skipped a beat.

"I can rent this place to you," Samuel said. "At a discount."

Julian's hands moved in a frantic, meaningless rhythm, shifting items in his suitcase without looking at them. His pulse was a drum against his ribs. He tried to keep his voice level. "Won't your brother mind?"

"I asked him. He's fine with it." Samuel tilted his phone, showing a brief text thread with Sonny. "The rent goes directly to his account. It's an income stream for him."

Julian's breath caught. He had planned on living alone eventually. He loved the minimalist lines of the apartment, and it was blocks away from Apex Capital. The only obstacle was his bank account. High-rise views in NYC didn't come cheap. But with the recent raise and his side income, the gap was narrowing.

"How much?" Julian asked.

Samuel paused. "Five thousand."

Julian's fingers stilled. It was manageable—barely—but the trade-off was a total transformation of his quality of life. The white walls were a perfect canvas; with a few personal touches, even Samuel wouldn't recognize the space in his videos. Plus, when his parents visited, he could skip the hotel fees entirely.

He felt like he was taking advantage of a man he barely knew, and a brother he'd never met.

Samuel seemed to read the hesitation in the set of his shoulders. "If you aren't ready for a long-term lease, treat it as a landing spot. Move out when you find something better."

Julian nodded. He pulled up his banking app and transferred the first month's rent and a deposit to Sonny's account.

By the time the last box was moved, it was the dead of night. Exhaustion pulled at Julian's limbs, but his mind remained wired, alert to the unfamiliar hum of the building.

"Julian," Samuel said, his voice low in the quiet room. "Do you need me to stay tonight?"

Julian tilted his head.

"Don't misunderstand. I mean... do you need the company? After everything that happened today."

Julian opened his mouth to decline. The word No died in his throat. "Can you?"

"If you want me to." Samuel's voice was impossibly soft.

Julian stared at him for a long beat before bolting into the bedroom. He emerged a minute later, clutching a pillow to his chest.

Samuel frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sleeping on the sofa." Julian settled onto the cushions, pulling the duvet to his chin. The sofa was deep enough to swallow him. Samuel was still sitting at the other end. Julian curled his knees to his chest, careful not to let his feet brush the man's suit.

Samuel reached out, his finger poking Julian's toe through the wool of the blanket. "Go to the bed."

Julian didn't budge. "There's only one bed. I'm not letting the owner sleep on a couch."

"You're the tenant now. That makes you the owner."

Julian ignored him. Samuel was too tall, too broad; he'd roll off the sofa by 3:00 AM. "Besides, I don't like big beds. Small spaces make me feel safe."

It was the truth. He'd spent his life in dormitory bunks and narrow rental cots. A king-size mattress felt like an ocean he could drown in.

"Are you sure?" Samuel asked.

Julian gave a stubborn shake of his head.

Samuel brought over a second duvet and draped it over him. "Don't catch a cold."

Julian drifted off with a smile, but the darkness brought back his mother.

In the dream, he was a child again, burning with fever. His mother carried him on her back, trekking five miles of mountain trails to the village clinic. He remembered the sharp bite of the penicillin needle—his first time. A small, painful welt rose on the inside of his wrist. He didn't cry. His mother was there.

The medicine flowed into his veins, cold and sluggish. He fell into a heavy sleep.

When he woke, the fever had broken. His mother sat by the bed, clutching his free hand.

Memories of childhood were usually a grey blur, but this one was vivid. It was summer. Leaves rustled against the window. The hospital walls were a jaundiced yellow, stained with age. A breeze carried the scent of rain.

"You're awake," she had said, her face lighting up. "You scared me, Jules."

He had felt like the luckiest child on earth.

Then she had gone to the city to work. She and his father had Jason. They built a new life in a new place, and the memories of the eldest son left behind turned cold and sharp.

Julian had spent twenty years searching for a second memory like that one. He never found it.

The realization of the "toxic" nature of his family had made him want to cut ties, but these fragments of warmth kept him tethered. It was like panning for gold in a river of silt. He and the prospectors both believed the gold was there, so they kept digging, deeper and deeper, into nothing.

In the living room, a soft whimpering broke the silence.

Julian was caught in a nightmare. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead. He let out a series of broken, pained murmurs.

Samuel reached out to wake him. The moment his hand touched Julian's shoulder, the boy's fingers clamped onto his wrist with bruising force.

"Mom..." Julian breathed.

Samuel's body went rigid. He didn't pull away.

The plea didn't last. Perhaps even in his sleep, Julian realized calling for her was useless. He let go of Samuel's hand and bit his lower lip, his body curling into a tight, defensive ball.

Samuel didn't want him to draw blood. He slid his hand into the boy's mouth, his fingers acting as a barrier.

Julian didn't bite. He leaned in, his forehead resting against Samuel's arm. He nuzzled the man's palm, a soft, seeking motion like a stray cat finding heat.

Julian woke in the king-size bed. The blackout curtains were drawn tight, save for a single sliver of gold light cutting across the carpet.

He shifted, the silk sheets cool against his skin. He didn't want to get up. The bone-deep exhaustion of the previous day had dissolved into a heavy, comfortable lethargy.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand. His alarm had been disabled. It was 11:00 AM.

A hand-written card sat next to the phone.

I gave you the day off. Rest.