Doppelgänger

Five

Azura's POV:

A week had passed since that tense dinner, and things had only gotten worse. Asher was drifting further away, like he was slipping through my fingers. I could feel the change in the air, thick with unspoken words and heavy silences.

I was in the kitchen, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in my gut. It was early, and I was making breakfast—pancakes, our go-to when we needed some comfort. As I flipped the first pancake, I glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting Asher to walk in with that familiar sleepy smile. But when he finally entered, it wasn't the same. His eyes were dark, and he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Morning," I said, keeping my voice light.

"Yeah," he muttered, pouring himself a cup of coffee without meeting my gaze. I noticed how his hands trembled slightly as he held the mug.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to gauge how he was really feeling.

"Just tired," he replied, his tone clipped. He leaned against the counter, staring into his cup like it held all the answers.

I took a breath, feeling the distance grow between us. "You've been working a lot. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He glanced up, irritation flickering across his face before he quickly masked it. "I appreciate it, but I really just need some space right now."

Space? The word felt like a slap. "Space? Since when do we do that? Something's wrong, and you're acting like it's nothing!"

"I said I'm fine, Azura!" he snapped, the sudden outburst surprising us both. He immediately looked remorseful, but the damage was done. I stepped back, shocked at the shift in his demeanor.

"I'm just worried about you," I said quietly, my heart racing. "You can talk to me."

Asher's expression softened for a moment, and I thought maybe he'd finally open up. But then he turned away, his shoulders tense. "I'll be okay. Just... give me time."

Time. I hated that word right now. It felt like a door slamming shut, leaving me on the other side, helpless and confused. As he retreated to his room, I stood there, staring at the pancakes that now felt like nothing more than a reminder of how broken our routine had become.

Days passed, and I felt like I was walking on eggshells. Asher continued to come home late, and each time he did, it was like he brought a cold wind with him, chilling me to the bone. I'd wait for him, my heart pounding in my chest, desperate for any sign of the brother I once knew. But each time he walked through the door, it was as if he carried an invisible weight that pushed him further away.

One evening, as I was washing the dishes, I heard the front door creak open. I turned, half-hoping for a familiar smile. But when I saw Asher, my heart sank. He looked exhausted, eyes shadowed and distant.

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

"Hey," he replied, his voice flat. He tossed his keys onto the table and sank into a chair, staring blankly at the wall.

"Long day?" I asked, placing a dishcloth down.

He sighed. "Yeah. Just a lot on my mind."

I hesitated, unsure if I should push him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Asher rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit I'd noticed he had when he was stressed. "Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."

Finally..

"Sure, what is it?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"What do you think about moving?" he said suddenly, his gaze finally meeting mine.