That's What You Get

Chapter Twenty-Three: Splinter

The air inside the house was still, almost too still. Morning sunlight spilled through the blinds in sharp lines, casting the living room in a fractured glow. Mikey stirred eggs in a pan, the soft scrape of the spatula the only sound filling the quiet.

Pete sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, fingers tapping absently against the ceramic. He'd been quieter now, less volatile. Less sharp around the edges. There were mornings like this now, where the routine almost felt normal.

Almost.

Mikey kept his eyes on the pan. "You want toast?"

Pete hummed. "Sure. Thanks."

It was easy, domestic. And that's what scared Mikey the most, how easy it had become to fall into rhythms with someone who had once made him feel so small. He didn't trust it, not really. But he couldn't bring himself to pull away, either. Something inside him still wanted to believe Pete meant it this time. That he was trying. That the worst was behind them.

Pete watched him from across the room, something unreadable in his gaze. "You slept okay?"

Mikey gave a half-shrug. "Yeah. You?"

"Not really." Pete leaned back, folding his arms. "Kept thinking about Dani."

Mikey glanced up. "Me too."

Pete didn't say anything after that. He just stared down at the table, jaw tight, and Mikey could tell, something was off. A storm was coming. He could feel it in his chest, like the way the air changed before lightning split the sky.

From down the hall, the faint sound of movement. A door creaked. Bare feet padded lightly across hardwood.

Dani.

She appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, pale and silent, one hand tucked beneath her hoodie like she was trying to hold herself together from the inside out. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she hadn't cried in front of either of them. She just looked... depleted. Like she hadn't slept in days.

Pete stood when he saw her. "You good?"

Dani nodded, but it was automatic. Empty. Her gaze flicked to Mikey, lingering just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.

Mikey set a plate of eggs and toast on the table, nudging it toward her. "You should eat."

"I'm not hungry." Her voice was paper-thin.

"Dani..." Pete started, stepping forward.

She flinched.

Just slightly.

But Mikey saw it.

So did Pete.

Pete's hand froze in mid-air, then dropped back to his side. "Sorry," he muttered, stepping back. "Didn't mean to... sorry."

Silence.

Dani folded her arms across her chest, eyes darting to the window, to anywhere but them. "I need some air," she said, already turning. "I'll be back."

The front door closed gently behind her.

Pete exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus."

Mikey stayed quiet. He could still feel the way the air had shifted in that moment, like something fragile had cracked, even if just for a second.

"She's not okay," Pete said.

"I know." Mikey nodded.

"She's not talking to me."