A/N: Set in the late 1980's early 1990's. Nicholas is Lyle. Cooper is Erik. You and Lyle just recently became friends as you both went to Princeton. As you and Lyle spend more and more time together, you discover the truth about his family.
The weight of the mansion settled around you like an oppressive shroud, every grand hallway and chandelier a cover for something dark beneath. You had always wondered why Lyle Menendez, the older of the two brothers you had met only recently, carried such a guarded demeanor. His laugh was rare, his smile quick to fade—there was a sadness behind his eyes that you couldn't quite place.
One evening, you found yourself alone with Lyle in one of the more secluded rooms, away from the usual buzz of the house. The two of you were talking casually when, almost by accident, Lyle's gaze became distant, his words halting. You saw his hands clench tightly on his knees as if he was battling an invisible force within himself.
"Lyle?" you asked gently, sensing his inner turmoil. "Is everything okay?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he gave a hollow laugh, as if mocking himself. "You wouldn't understand," he murmured. But there was a flicker in his eyes—a desperate need for someone to know.
"Maybe I can try," you said softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his. "Whatever it is, you don't have to carry it alone."
He hesitated, the weight of years and secrets etched into his face. Finally, he began to speak, his words a mere whisper at first. He told you about the home that everyone assumed was perfect. The respectability his father demanded, the masks they wore in public. But behind closed doors, he revealed, it was a different world. The physical and emotional abuse his father had inflicted on him and his brother Erik left scars, both visible and hidden, that no amount of luxury or status could conceal.
Tears began to pool in his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, as though ashamed. "I hate him," he admitted, voice trembling with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "But I can't do anything. We can't get away. No one would believe us."
Your heart ached for him, for Erik, for the silent suffering they had endured for so long. You reached out, holding his hand tightly. "I believe you," you said with all the conviction you could muster. "And I'm here, Lyle. Whatever happens, you're not alone."
For the first time, a glimmer of relief passed over his face, and he gripped your hand as if it were a lifeline. In that moment, you knew he had been waiting for someone to see beyond the façade, someone to see him.
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Days turned into weeks, and with each passing day, Lyle began to open up more, slowly peeling back the layers of pain and secrets that had bound him and Erik for years. You became his confidante, a source of comfort and strength when the memories became too heavy to bear alone.
One evening, Lyle brought you to a secluded spot by the pool, far from the prying eyes of his father and the rest of the house. The air was tense, and he looked at you with an urgency you hadn't seen before.
"I need to show you something," he said, his voice low. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing faint bruises along his forearm and a few older scars hidden near his wrist. "This is what he does... what he's done. For as long as I can remember."
You felt anger well up inside you, a fire igniting as you saw the evidence of his father's cruelty written across his skin. But you knew this wasn't the time for rage; it was a time for support. Gently, you reached out and touched his arm, tracing the scars with the lightest touch, as though your touch might somehow ease the pain they carried.
