Desmond walked down the hallway, his steps steady but heavier than usual.
The argument with his father still echoed in his head.
When he reached the corridor leading to his room, he slowed.
Not at his door.
A few steps away, another door stood quietly.
Still
He stopped completely.
His gaze locked on it.
The room.
For a moment, everything else faded—the mansion, the silence, even his anger.
His hand lifted slowly toward the handle.
Hesitated.
Hovered just inches away.
Something in his eyes softened—barely noticeable, but real.
Longing.
For a second… it looked like he would open it.
Like he would step back into a part of himself he had locked away.
His fingers twitched.
Then stopped.
His jaw tightened.
And just like that, he pulled his hand back.
He turned away.
And entered his own room instead.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud.
Desmond's room was exactly what he was—structured, controlled, and quiet.
Dark tones. Clean surfaces. Everything in place. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing out of order.
It looked untouched by emotion.
Except for one corner.
A small, carefully kept space that didn't belong to the rest of the room.
Frames.
Photos.
Some of him alone.
Some of his twin brother.
And some of both of them together.
Desmond stood there for a moment, then picked up one frame.
In it, his brother was laughing—dimples deep, eyes bright.
A birthday party.
A memory frozen in time.
Flashback
The sound of children filled the air.
It was a birthday party.
His twin brother,Damien was laughing with the birthday girl, animatedly telling a story that had her completely hooked.
He always had that effect on people.
Desmond had gone to get ice cream earlier.
Damien had insisted.
"She can get anything she wants today," Desmond had said.
"But I want to impress her," Damien had replied with a grin.
So Desmond went anyway.
Because Damien asked.
When he returned, everything had changed.
A group of boys surrounded Damien.
Pushing him.
Mocking him.
Seven-year-old Desmond stopped walking.
His voice came out low.
Cold.
"Push him one more time," he said, "and you'll be the one in that pool."
Silence.
One of the boys froze. "It's the scary twin…"
They backed away quickly.
Later, Damien was laughing again like nothing had happened.
"You'll never stop getting into trouble," Desmond said, handing him the ice cream.
Damien grinned.
"I know you'll always save me."
Back to present
Desmond's grip tightened slightly on the frame.
His father's words echoed in his head again.
"–You don't get to come back even to your brother…"
His breath hitched.
"Fuck."
The word slipped out low and sharp.
For a second, his hand lifted like he might throw the frame.
But he didn't.
He stopped himself.
Carefully, he placed it back on the table face down.
A strained breath left him as he turned away.
Knock.
A soft one.
He didn't answer.
He already knew who it was.
He walked to his bed and sat down, staring blankly at the wall.
"Desmond… baby."
The door opened.
Mrs. Lennox stepped inside.
next.
Mrs. Lennox didn't speak when she entered.
She stayed by the door.
Watching him.
Desmond sat on the edge of his bed, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the wall like there was something there only he could see.
She took a slow step forward.
Then another.
Until she stood directly in his line of sight.
He felt her before he looked.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes shifted away.
And then his fingers started moving.
Crack.
One knuckle.
Then another.
Slow. Controlled. One after the other.
Most people fidgeted when they were nervous.
Desmond didn't.
He cracked his knuckles.
A habit. A shield.
Something to keep everything else from spilling out.
Not many people noticed.
But she did.
She always did.
Mrs. Lennox moved closer and sat beside him quietly. Gently, she reached for his hand, the one still working through his knuckles and rested her fingers over his.
He stilled.
Just for a second.
Then his hand trembled faintly under her touch.
That was all it took.
His eyes lifted to hers.
"Desmond…" she said softly. "Baby."
"…Mom."
The word barely left his lips quiet, fragile, almost lost in the air.
And in that moment, she didn't see anger.
She didn't see defiance.
She saw her son.
Hurt.
Mrs. Lennox gently cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Desmond Roman Lennox, you are not alone. Don't act like you are."
He held her gaze for a moment, seeing his own reflection in her eyes.
Slowly, her hands slid from his face to his hands.
"Open up," she said softly. "Let people help you carry your weight. Don't only share your joy. You can share your pain too."
Her thumb brushed over his knuckles.
"It was never meant to be only you. You were born as two."
Something flickered across his face.
"And I failed to protect him."
The words came out quietly.
"It wasn't your fault, Desmond," she replied immediately.
A sigh escaped her.
"You can't blame yourself for things you can't control. You can't blame yourself for your brother. You can't blame yourself for Raymond. And you can't lock everyone else away because of it."
She squeezed his hand.
"We miss you. I miss you. Daisy misses you. Your friends miss you. You can't keep everyone at arm's length."
Desmond looked away.
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
A sad smile touched her lips.
"You aren't hurting anyone. You're loving, you're gentle, and despite what you think, your friends won't break because of you."
She leaned back slightly.
"If Raymond hurt you, then that's on Raymond. If someone doesn't understand you, then that's their loss. You are one of the most amazing young men I have ever known."
Desmond scoffed softly.
His mother ignored it.
"Not everyone is out to hurt you. And not everyone can read you from a distance."
A pause.
Then she added quietly,
"She can't read you either."
The softness in his expression disappeared almost instantly.
"What she?"
"The one that came to your mind just now."
A small smile escaped him despite himself.
He stood and walked across the room.
"I know what you're trying to do, Mom. There's no she."
"Oh, I've heard that line before."
Desmond raised a brow.
"Really, Mom?"
"Come on." She folded her arms. "You made a deal with your father because of a girl and now you're telling me there's no she?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Should I call Edmond?"
"You won't get anything."
Her eyes lit up immediately.
"So there is something."
"Mom..." Desmond dragged out the word before glancing toward the bathroom. "I kind of want to shower. You mind giving me some privacy?"
"You're chasing me away."
"Why would I do that? I genuinely need a shower."
He opened the door for her, feigning innocence.
Mrs. Lennox shook her head.
"You really are your father's son."
Desmond narrowed his eyes and gave her a fake smile.
"Bye, Mom."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence returned.
His gaze drifted toward the spot on the bed where she had been sitting moments ago.
And just like that, another memory surfaced.
Raymond and Edmond were sprawled across his bed.
Laura sat comfortably in his desk chair, reading one of his books.
"What about we stay over?" Edmond asked without looking up from his phone.
"I didn't plan for visitors."
"You keep making the same mistake, Edmond," Raymond said. "You ask him."
He stood from the bed and wandered toward Desmond's wardrobe.
"Whatever you say, brother. I'm staying."
"Stop walking around in my room with your shoes on."
Raymond ignored him completely.
"You heard him," Laura said, looking up from her book. "Take the shoes off, mister."
Raymond gasped dramatically.
"You always support him."
Laura rolled her eyes.
"You and Edmond always gang up on him."
"Whoa." Edmond looked up from his phone. "How did I get dragged into this?"
"It's you, me, and Desmond against the world," Raymond declared to Laura.
Desmond shook his head.
"So I should support your nonsense over Desmond?" Laura asked.
"Ouch."
Raymond clutched his chest.
"Baby girl, that hurts."
"Shut up." She said.
The room erupted into laughter.
Eventually, Raymond kicked off the shoes and wandered into the closet anyway.
"Desmond, your clothes..."
"What about them?"
Desmond was busy explaining a section of Laura's book to her.
"You need new ones."
"Stop touching my things."
"Seriously. Do you live in a colourless world?"
"Leave my closet."
"Let's add some stars to your night, Ice Prince."
"Shut up."
To his horror, even Laura agreed with Raymond.
The memory faded.
Desmond's eyes settled on a red, black and white jacket hanging neatly inside his wardrobe. A Cruella de Vil themed piece, one of the few colorful items among the sea of dark clothes.
For a long moment, he stared at it.
"There really is no she, Mom," he muttered to himself.
Slowly, he removed his hand from his pocket.
A small object rested in his palm.
After a moment's hesitation, he slipped it into the jacket pocket.
Then he closed the wardrobe.
A knock sounded on Juliana and Juliet's dorm room door.
Juliet opened it.
Her expression immediately softened.
"Regina?"
The scholarship girl stood there with red eyes and a strained smile.
Juliet stepped aside immediately.
"Come in."
Regina entered slowly.
"Are you okay?" Juliet asked.
Across the room, Juliana loo
ked up from her assignment.
The concern on her face appeared instantly.
She set her pen down.
"Regina?"
The girl swallowed.
"Can I talk to you two?"
Juliet guided her toward a chair.
"Of course."
Juliana moved closer.
"What happened?"