Chapter 3

The shrill driiing of the doorbell sliced straight through the cottony fog of Alan’s apartment. He groaned, eyelids heavy with sleep and regret, his body rebelling against the dull grey light leaking through the half-drawn curtains. His skull pounded like a construction site in full chaos—thank you, Dylan’s party, with its lukewarm beers and those damn shots that went down like water.

“I’m coming! Jesus, I’m coming!” he barked hoarsely, stumbling out of his wrecked bed, bare feet smacking against the cold floorboards. He grabbed a crumpled T-shirt from the floor, pulled it on inside out without noticing, and dragged himself to the door, one hand pressed to his temple as if he could cage the drum threatening to burst out of his skull.

He fumbled with the lock, and the door swung open to reveal Madison leaning against the frame, a steaming coffee in hand and a crooked smile that screamed I told you so. She wore faded skinny jeans, an oversized sweater, and her hair was tied in a messy bun already losing the battle against rebellious strands. Behind her, the campus street yawned with the slow, lazy hum of a Sunday morning: bikes rolling over damp cobblestones, the smell of rotting leaves mixed with the wet asphalt after a night’s rain.

“Wow. You look like a zombie that got flattened by a truck,” she said, stepping inside without waiting to be invited, dodging the shoes littering the narrow entrance.

Alan blinked, his fogged-up brain trying to put the pieces together: Madison. Sunday. Weekend at their parents’. Shit.

“Madi? Oh fuck, I totally spaced. Sorry, I was ... yeah, I completely forgot to set an alarm.” He shut the door with a push of his hip and scrubbed his face as if he could wipe away the dark circles betraying him.

The apartment was its usual brand of chaos: a stack of engineering books on the coffee table, a cold pizza still in its open box on the kitchenette counter, and his laptop screen blinking with an unfinished Excel file.

“It’s stupid early, isn’t it? What time were we supposed to leave again?”

Madison set her coffee down on the table with theatrical flair, her gaze sweeping over the room with a mix of amusement and mild judgment.

“It’s ten, you sloth. We were supposed to be on the road at nine, remember? To avoid traffic. If we’re late, mom’s gonna give us her classic punctuality sermon. Now move your ass, I’m not waiting all day.”

She dropped onto the beat-up couch, crossing her legs like a queen forced into exile.

“And take a shower. You smell like last night.”

He rolled his eyes, though a traitorous smile was already pushing through his three-day stubble.

“You came to ruin my life or what?” he grumbled, heading toward the tiny bathroom and shutting the door—though not loud enough to cover the sudden hiss of the shower, followed by a muffled curse when the cold water slapped him awake.

Ten minutes later, he emerged with hair still dripping, a towel around his neck, and a clean pair of jeans thrown on in a hurry. Madison hadn’t moved, except now the TV was on, showing a muted football replay, volume low to spare his throbbing head.

“So? Are we going? I’ve been waiting an hour already!”

She raised a brow, sipping her coffee with calculated slowness.

“Very funny ... Good thing I’m here to drag you out of bed, because if I had drunk as much as you last night...”

She let the sentence trail off, a shared glint in her eyes—but with a faint shadow underneath. The party. The laughter. And that weird moment at the end, that unspoken thing still clinging to them.

Silence settled—brief but heavy, the kind that sucks the air out of a room.

Alan sat across from her on a wobbly stool, grabbed a half-eaten apple from the counter, and bit into it. Madison turned her gaze toward the window, where a fine drizzle had started again, needling the glass and turning the campus outside into a blurred watercolor of soggy lawns and students bundled under hoods.

She was the one who broke the tension, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance, her voice sliding back into its usual teasing tone.

“You’re lucky to have such an amazing big sister. Now finish whatever you’re chewing and let’s go. I’m not missing mom’s cooking because your brain is still mashed potatoes.”

Alan snorted, tossing the apple core into the trash with dramatic flair.

“Yeah, yeah. The protective big sister. Without you I’d be lost in the wild, eating chips for breakfast. Thanks, mom number two.”

But the joke carried something softer underneath—gratitude, thin but undeniable, a thread still tying them together even when life tried to pull them apart. ---

They grabbed their bags—Alan shoving a few clothes into an old duffel that still smelled like a locker room—and headed down the building’s creaking stairs. Outside, Madison’s beat-up little Ford, the one their uncle had passed down, waited at the curb, its tyres still slick from the night rain. She took the wheel without a word. Alan dropped into the passenger seat with a muffled groan, buckling his belt like a robot.

The engine coughed twice before settling into a low purr, and they rolled through the narrow campus streets, weaving between bikes and puddles reflecting a heavy grey sky.

Silence settled over them, thick as the fog still crawling across the hills. Madison stared straight ahead, her fingers tapping the steering wheel to some imaginary song. Alan rested his head against the window, watching the Victorian buildings slide by—red-brick façades, pubs still shuttered with their signs clacking in the wind, and beyond them, the first hints of open countryside unfolding like an old, yellowed book.