A Fragile Thread

Chapter 16: 20 Questions

Emilia POV:

The room felt bigger than I remembered. Maybe it was because I hadn't been down here in what felt like forever, or maybe it was just that everything seemed louder, brighter, than the quiet I'd gotten used to upstairs.

I curled a little tighter into the couch, the blanket Raffaele had thrown over me warm against my skin. Matteo sat beside me, not too close but close enough that I could feel his presence, solid and steady.

Across from me, Luca was watching. He hadn't said much since Raffaele plopped me onto the couch, but his sharp gaze was locked on me, like he was trying to figure something out. Like he couldn't believe I was actually here.

"Alright, alright," Raffaele stretched, throwing an arm over the back of the couch as he smirked at Nico. "Let's address the most important thing here—me. The first brother to officially carry Emilia. Feels good to make history, huh?"

Nico scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, real proud of you. You want a trophy?"

"Actually, yeah," Raffaele said, grinning. "But I'll settle for the satisfaction of knowing you're dying inside."

Nico rolled his eyes, but there was something under the irritation—something almost sulky.

"You wish."

Matteo sighed beside me, like he already knew where this was going. "Can you two at least wait until she's feeling better before you start fighting over who wins the 'Best Brother' award?"

"Not fighting," Raffaele corrected. "Just pointing out that I am, objectively, the favorite now."

I blinked at him.

His grin faltered. "Okay, that silence was rude."

Luca finally spoke, his voice slow. "You let him carry you."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, like he was still trying to process it.

I felt my stomach twist a little. I didn't really know what to say to that. It wasn't like I had planned it. It had just... happened.

Matteo's voice was quieter when he spoke. "Are you okay?"

I hesitated. The answer should've been simple. I was here, wasn't I? I was sitting with them, listening to them argue, wrapped in a blanket instead of curled up alone in bed.

But was I okay?

I glanced down at my hands, twisting the fabric of the blanket between my fingers. "I... think so."

No one said anything for a second, but then Raffaele flopped back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. "There, see? She's fine. Which means we can move on to the real issue—how deeply jealous Nico is right now."

"You're pushing it," Nico muttered.

"Am I?" Raffaele smirked. "Or are you just mad because I got to carry her first and you didn't?"

"You shoved your way in."

"Hey, someone had to step up."

I watched them go back and forth, my head tilting slightly as I listened. It wasn't tense or sharp, not like the arguments I was used to. It was different, familiar, almost safe.

And then, before I even realized it, a small sound slipped out of me.

Not quite a laugh. Not quite a giggle. Just something soft and small—barely anything.

But Raffaele froze mid-sentence, his eyes snapping to me like I'd just dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation.

I tensed immediately, heat creeping up my neck.