Eric faltered. Are you afraid of me?
“Hey, Ollie?” the omega next to Olivier said. The omega was young, with thick glasses. “It’s nine. I’m clocking out.”
“Yeah, okay,” Olivier croaked.
There was something off about his voice. The omega noticed it too, narrowing his eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”
The employee stepped close to Olivier, staring shrewdly at Eric.
“I’m his brother,” Eric muttered, offended. “I’m not gonna rob him, okay?”
Olivier’s breath hitched, loud in the silence of the shop. “I’m fine. Go home, Levi.”
Levi looked warily at Olivier, then backed away. “If you say so, Ollie.”
Ollie.
The name resonated in Eric’s mind, unfurling memories along with it.
Once upon a time, Eric had called Olivier Ollie, and Olivier had smiled. He’d held Eric’s hand, and they’d drawn their names into the playground dirt. Then they’d crept home, hid in the pantry and nibbled on cookies, and they’d grinned when Dad never once noticed they’d stayed out past bedtime.
They’d tangled their toes under the homework table, they’d cuddled up in bed to sleep. They’d shared their gifts at Christmas, and Eric remembered Olivier’s smile, the way his entire face had lit up over a teddy bear. Eric’s heart had said, Mine.
Now... this was where they were. Two different people, older, jaded, on different sides of everything.
Eric waited until Levi left the shop. Traffic rumbled outside, muffled by the glass. Inside, the radiator clanged, but it was otherwise silent.
Olivier squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving.
This close, Eric saw the way Olivier had aged. At eighteen, Olivier had been Eric’s height, his face younger. Now, Eric was a full head taller than him, and there were faint lines by Olivier’s mouth, a few strands of white in his dark hair. He was still pretty, like he’d always been.
Olivier was twenty-eight. But he looked stressed, like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.
What’s wrong? Eric wanted to ask.
Olivier’s lips were chapped, his shoulders thin. His clothes fitted snug against his body, showing off his slender limbs, his narrow hips. So different from Eric’s bulky frame. So... huggable. Attractive.
Somehow, despite everything, Eric knew that Olivier would fit perfectly against him.
He shouldn’t be thinking about that.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Olivier said, glancing uneasily at the front door. “And... the store’s closed. I’ll need you to leave so I can lock up.”
Eric wanted to be angry. Instead, disappointment swelled in his chest. “You want me to leave?”
Olivier hesitated. Then his gaze dragged heavily down Eric’s body, down his shoulders and chest and hips, to his feet. He was interested. In Eric’s body, at least.
Eric swallowed hard. Ten years ago, Olivier had gasped against him. He’d arched, his ravenous body trembling. Eric had felt him come. He’d wanted to press Olivier up against the wall, fuck him, claim him. But Olivier had left.
Eric forced that memory out of his mind.
They were stepbrothers. Olivier had hurt Eric, and he would do it again.
And now Eric was bitter, remembering the pain from those days. Remembering Olivier kissing him back, then turning around and saying I don’t love you.
After all the times he’d smiled at Eric, after the times he’d held Eric’s hand... what the fuck had he meant by that? Had he been lying when he said Eric had been his best friend?
Eric clenched his teeth. He remembered the feeling of betrayal, the sight of Olivier leaving through the fire escape window, never once looking back. As though Eric had meant nothing to him.
“You left,” Eric muttered, stepping closer to the counter. “I trusted you.”
Olivier glanced away, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I did leave.”
And now it was easier to ignore the attraction that ran between them, Olivier’s gaze on him, the musk coiling off his skin.
Eric wanted to say something, return the hurt that Olivier had inflicted on him. He wanted to say, Did you know how betrayed I felt? He wanted to say, I loved you. He wanted to say, I thought you loved me, too.
Instead, he said, “I spent so long hating you.”
Olivier flinched, paling. He turned and fished a set of keys out of the register. Then he headed for the front door, his gaze downcast, his shoulders hunched.
“That’s okay,” Olivier said quietly. “I understand.”
Eric growled. He had hurt Olivier back. It didn’t feel right, though. Not when Olivier looked small and out-of-place in his own shop, not when his voice had cracked over the phone, when Eric called him earlier.
Eric took a step toward him. Olivier paused at the glass door, pushing it open. Then he held it there, looking at his feet. Waiting for Eric to leave.
Eric was tempted to. He didn’t want anything to do with Olivier anymore. So he followed his brother to the exit, glancing out at the quiet streets, the few people left on the sidewalk.
At the doorway, just paces from Olivier, Eric stopped. He looked again at his brother, trying to pick apart the mess of emotions he felt. He couldn’t. Because seeing Olivier again... it made his chest squeeze, made his heart thump.
Who are you now? How much more have you changed?
He thought about going home, leaving Olivier in his floundering shop, and never returning. Then he realized that Olivier looked miserable. That he’d never once smiled when Eric was here.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked in spite of himself.
Olivier’s lips moved. Then he looked up, his gaze uncertain, and there was such... resignation in his eyes, that Eric’s breath snagged. Did I cause that?
“I—I have to close the shop,” Olivier said shakily, waving at the door. “For... for tonight. Please leave.”
But he needed someone. Olivier needed a hug—Eric could see that now, could see the way Ollie clutched at his own arms, like he would fall apart if he were alone long enough. And that shifted something in Eric’s chest, made him pause.
“Ollie,”
