Connor is the first to break the silence. “I’m going to make some coffee. If you want to go to bed, I understand, but I’d like to talk to you.” I don’t deserve friends, but I try to hold onto them because I fear the blackness and emptiness that waits if I let go. “Can you make me hot chocolate?” I ask. “Even better. You could use some calories.” I sink into the recliner, snuggling into a warm blanket and watch Connor mill about the kitchen like he owns it. I imagine if I ever had a brother, Connor would fit the perfect mold. A little conceited but deep down, even below his people collecting
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