Episode: - 12 Theatre of Sweets and Secrets: Sweet Distraction

Thump. Clatter. Voices.

Mee-Toh stirred under his blanket like a cat who’d just realized the sunbeam had moved.

The room was dim—half-dream, half-shadow. Footsteps whispered urgently beyond the door, tangled with muffled curses and the hollow clack of something hitting the floor. The sound of a beautiful morning getting ruined in real time.

He groaned into his pillow.

“Can’t this guy just... exist in peace for five more minutes?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep and mockery. “I loved being unconscious—no one tried to stab me, and you’re even taking that peace away too? How pathetic are you all…”

He sighed, deeper. “Maybe today’s Sunday. No boring lectures. No kitchen catching fire. No existential breakdowns in the common room. Just one beautiful, cursed-full morning.”

Then came the knock.

Sharp. Intentional.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Mee-Toh.”

Carel’s voice. Calm, but edged—like fine china that’s secretly a weapon.

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to sleep through the whole morning,” she said crisply. “Someone’s here to meet you. Wash your face, man. Damn, you look like a ghost who got fired by email last Sunday. Classic clingy ghost vibes.”

Mee-Toh blinked blearily. That woke him up faster than shame ever could.

He groaned louder, then rolled out of bed in a tangle of blanket and pride. His hair stood up like a rebellion in every direction. The oversized white shirt slouched dramatically off one shoulder, and the emerald cargo pants were caught around one ankle like they were clinging to dreams.

He cracked open the door.

Carel. Already perfect. Of course.

She stood with that maddening elegance that made him want to throw his sock at the wall. Immaculate white shirt, layered black top, pleated skirt like it had been pressed by moonlight. Hair cascading like even gravity had given her special permission.

Mee-Toh stared, deadpan.

“You’re not real. You’re a conspiracy invented by shampoo commercials. Do you even sleep, or just enter a stasis chamber made of perfume and judgment?”

Carel’s lips twitched—barely.

“You could look human too, if you tried. Now move. Alex drank the good coffee. The rest’s yours—unless you want to go grocery shopping later with your hair looking like emotional static shock.”

He grunted. “That sociopath.”

She turned, heels whispering down the hall like they knew secrets, skirt fluttering behind her like a flag of disdain.

Mee-Toh dragged himself to the sink. The cold marble greeted him like an old enemy. He splashed his face, hissing like a haunted teapot.

“Someone wants to see me now? Who even wants that in the morning—eshhh…”

A yawn. Quiet. Behind him.

He turned.

Alex.

Looking like a late-stage hurricane dressed in leather and audacity.

Blazer wrinkled like it had been slept in by regrets. Combat boots with stories they refused to tell. Hair tied back in a not-quite-man-bun that looked more like a truce with chaos than a style choice. Travel mug steaming like it contained government secrets.

“Morning, bro,” Alex said, far too chipper. “You look like a cryptid who escaped a museum exhibit just to complain about taxes.”

Mee-Toh didn’t blink. “I’m not built for this timeline.”

“Same, dude.” Alex wandered in like this was his house and gravity owed him rent. He rifled through the medicine cabinet, pulled out a tin of mints.

He tossed one over his shoulder without looking.

“Catch. Your breath smells like regret and probably decaf.”

Mee-Toh caught it midair with a grunt. “Why are you even awake?”

Alex sipped his coffee like a man who didn’t believe in consequences. “Because someone disappeared yesterday.”

“That wasn’t a disappearance. That was a calculated retreat.”

“Yeah? Well. You’re being summoned now. Personally.”

Mee-Toh froze.

“Summoned?” His voice cooled. “By who?”

Alex’s smirk softened—just slightly. A new edge curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Said he’s from Oakwood.”

That name. It landed in Mee-Toh’s chest like cold thunder. Still distant. Still real.

He straightened. The towel in his hand suddenly felt like armor too thin.

“Did he give a name?”

Alex shook his head. “Nope. Just said—‘Tell him I asked nicely. Once.’”

He took a long sip. “So I told Carel. Carel told you. And now here we are, living inside the metaphorical scream of your morning alarm.”

A voice joined. Hoarse. Flat. Cursed.

“What the hell are you people yelling about…”

Ana.

She shuffled in like a gremlin freshly ejected from the underworld. Hoodie half-zipped. Shirt inside out. Hair wild as a storm. One sock clinging desperately to her leg, the other already plotting its escape.

She blinked at them, expression blank.

Mee-Toh deadpanned, “You look like you got kicked out by your own blanket and fought your closet to the death.”

Ana yawned like she was opening a portal to another realm. “You look like an identity crisis wrapped in laundry. Don’t come for me unless you brought actual breakfast. And fruit juice.”

Alex chuckled. “You two are like mythological creatures—mortal enemies bound to keep getting assigned the same quests. How beautiful.”

Ana pointed at him, eyes half-closed. “You sound like someone narrating trailers for disaster films. With overly theatrical side characters.”

Mee-Toh blinked. “What the hell do you mean, ‘side character’?”

Ana shrugged. “Didn’t name anyone. If it fits, wear it. Cool?”

Her sock finally gave up and slid off with a sad little flop. She stared down at it.

“Betrayal,” she muttered.

Mee-Toh muttered, “Classic witch vibes on a Sunday morning.”

Ana sniffed. “What do you mean, witch? I’m just too fine for this house.”

Mee-Toh said, “Go check your face in the mirror and say that again.”

She flipped them all off half-heartedly and turned around, shuffling down the hallway.

“I’m not here to impress the floor,” she added as she disappeared. “Or whatever imaginary judges you think are watching. Judgemental people.”

Mee-Toh sighed, towel still pressed to his face. “This house is totally cursed.”

Alex, leaning in the doorway, said cheerfully, “Yeah. And that’s what makes it home.”

Mee-Toh smirked, tossing the towel into the sink. “Shut up, dude. Even in hell, there isn’t this much noise in the morning.”

Alex chuckled. “Yeah. Because they haven’t even woken up.”

_________

The front door was cracked open just wide enough to let in the golden light of morning.

Mee-Toh padded toward it barefoot, towel slung over one shoulder, face still damp from half-hearted washing. Sleep clung to him like static, reluctant to let go. His thoughts were tangled, eyes still adjusting—until the silhouette framed by sunlight snapped him into clarity.

"Mee-Toh!"

The voice struck first. Familiar. Loud. Carved from sunshine and memory.

A tall boy stood just outside the door, hand lifted in a casual wave, something small glinting between his fingers. His grin was wide, careless, entirely Ethan.

Mee-Toh froze.

"...Ethan?"

"Took you long enough to crawl out of bed. I see you’re still a disaster for mornings," Ethan teased, stepping in like he owned the floorboards. His white shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows. A thin chain caught the light at his collarbone, gleaming like it had something to say. He looked like he hadn’t aged a day—and yet carried the weight of days Mee-Toh hadn’t seen.

"I knew you'd end up in Spectra," he added, voice bright. "Congratulations, man. Or what, you forgot your Oakwood buddy already?"

Mee-Toh blinked, towel now hanging limply in his hand. "Nope. I didn’t forget. But you’re seriously here? You didn’t even message me—just ghosted up like a myth."

"Wanted to see that dumb look on your face in person," Ethan said, laughing like he always had—full-bodied, infectious, impossible to distrust. He stepped forward and held out a small card between two fingers.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Mee-Toh took it slowly. Their fingers brushed. The card was heavier than it looked—matte black with an embossed seal. Oakwood.

"You’ve got a check-up today," Ethan said, and this time his voice dipped—just slightly—from playful to quiet. "Old doc’s request. He heard about the transfer. Still wants updates on your condition. You miss this one and you’ll probably get haunted by medical guilt ghosts for eternity."

Mee-Toh stared at the card. His smile faltered just slightly.

"I mean... I joined Spectra. Why’s Oakwood still... ghosting me?"

Ethan rolled his eyes with a soft scoff. “Dude. Changing schools doesn’t mean people stop caring. You know how he is. Stubborn. Like someone else I know." Then, muttering under his breath with mock bitterness, "Ugh. He even sent me for the personal touch. How heartful."

Then, more gently—real, in the way only Ethan knew how to be:"He’s still watching out for you. So am I."

Mee-Toh looked at him then—not at the smile, but the space behind it. The years behind it. The part that had seen him cry under hospital lights and rage at ceilings. There was something older in Ethan now. Not aged, exactly—just tempered. Like life had gone quiet for a while and let him listen.

He finally let out a breath, lips tugging into a tired smile.

"Thanks... bro."

A flicker of mischief stirred in his eyes.

"We're still brothers, right?"

Ethan didn’t answer with words. He just reached out and ruffled Mee-Toh’s hair like it was an ancient ritual. It said more than words could’ve. A promise forged not in blood, but in survival.

"Always," he said softly. "Even if you sleep like an urban legend no one believes in anymore."

Off to the side, unnoticed until now, Carel stood still.

Silent.

Not tense—but aware. Watching him.

Her arms were crossed, but loose. Casual. Her weight shifted slightly to one foot, like a dancer ready to move if something broke the rhythm. Her eyes hadn’t left Ethan—not once.

Ethan caught her stare. Turned toward her with that same easy grin—but this time, the edges were softer. Less teeth. More mask.

"Do you... wanna say something?" he asked, tone light—just a shade too light.

Carel stepped forward, tilting her head, eyes narrowing. Not in suspicion. In precision.

"Have we met before?" she asked.

Her voice wasn’t sharp—it was clean, like a freshly drawn blade.

"You seem... familiar."

A pause. Just one breath too long.

Ethan’s smile wavered—but only barely. A blink. A flicker. Then it was back, polished to perfection.Except... just before it returned, a small muscle twitched near his jaw. Almost nothing. Almost.

He adjusted his sleeve. A tiny movement. Casual to most eyes. But perfectly timed.

Carel’s gaze dropped to it—briefly. Something in her eyes flickered. Like a memory knocking once and retreating again.

Mee-Toh, oblivious, glanced down at the card, then toward the hallway.

"Man," he muttered, "this morning’s weird."

Ethan turned back to him, smile unchanged.

"Get used to it," he said. "This place? Full of weird mornings."

Then he stepped away, footsteps soft against the floorboards. Steady. Measured. Like he didn’t leave shadows when he moved—just echoes.

Carel watched until he vanished around the corner.

Only then did she speak.

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

"He’s from Oakwood, isn’t he?"

Mee-Toh nodded slowly. "Yeah. We grew up together there."

Carel didn’t respond right away. Her gaze still clung to the hallway like it expected something—or someone—to return. A flicker passed through her eyes. Not fear. Not recognition. Something in-between. A knot forming.

Then she looked down at the floor. Her voice was soft, nearly thrown away.

"...He seems nice. Or maybe... familiar, too."

But her tone—just faintly—held the bite of a lock clicking shut. Not distrust.

Just... recording data.

Mee-Toh didn’t notice the shift in her. He was still holding the card, still feeling the fading warmth from where Ethan’s fingers had touched his.

Ethan’s footsteps vanished down the hall like smoke curling into silence.

A warmth lingered in Mee-Toh’s chest, old and comforting—like a childhood song hummed in passing.

But even as he smiled faintly to himself...

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the peaceful morning had just quietly, irrevocably, broken.

From the hallway behind them, Ana emerged in all her half-awake glory—hoodie dragging, eyes distant, a mug in her hand and the ghost of sleep still stitched to her face.

She blinked once. Then again. "Morning," she croaked. "Or did I just walk into a plot twist?"

Mee-Toh didn’t turn. He just held up the card like it was evidence.

"Ex-Oakwood," he muttered. "Ghost from the past. Still looks like a dream. Says nice things. Probably has a secret villain arc. Came here for medical nagging. Classic. Big brother vibes. Bit clingy."

Ana nodded, too tired to care. "Cool. Don’t die. Coffee’s out."

And then she was gone again, drifting down the hall like a half-written poem deciding it was too early to finish itself.

Ethan watched her leave. Blinked. "Your housemates are... vivid."

"They’re functional disasters," Mee-Toh said dryly. "I fit right in. Just get a bit more chaotic some days."

From the corner, Carel hadn’t moved. She hadn’t spoken either. But her gaze stayed locked on Ethan, patient as a crow on a wire.

Not hostile.

Just watching.

Watching how he shifted his weight. How he measured his breath before he spoke. Watching where his eyes wandered when he thought no one noticed.

Mee-Toh glanced at her. Then back at Ethan.

"Yeah. He’s got charm. The shiny kind. Makes you want to forget where you put your doubts. Really nice person. Handled me for years. Deserves a trophy. Hehe."

Ethan’s grin faltered—for just a breath. A half-second misstep.

"Still doing that thing," he said quietly, "where you turn honesty into a magic trick?"

Mee-Toh raised an eyebrow. "Still doing that thing where you sound like a poem trying to apologize without saying sorry, poetic?"

From the hallway, a snort.

Ana again, sipping her coffee like she was grading the moment. "This is better than any drama I’ve binged this month."

Ethan turned toward her with mock reverence. "Hi, I’m Ethan. Childhood friend. Emotional relic. Support group escapee. Came bearing baggage and one stylish big brother vibe. But yup, he’s an idiot who can’t take care of himself. I hope he doesn’t annoy you all too much."

Mee-Toh snorted, "What the hell, dude? What kind of intro is that? And why the hell are you dragging me? You’re not my babysitter, eshh..."

Ana raised her mug. "Yup, he’s hella annoying most of the time. And me? Ana. Local disappointment. Once possessed, still cursed. Runs on caffeine and bad impulse control."

Mee-Toh gave her a side glance. "Yup, yup. You both got a good bonding headache troupe. Two tedious people."

They clinked invisible glasses.

Carel still hadn’t moved.

But her arms had quietly uncrossed. Her eyes drifted again to the chain at Ethan’s collarbone, then the card in Mee-Toh’s hand. Not suspicion. Just... gathering intel. Filing it all away in a locked drawer behind her steady expression.

Mee-Toh noticed. Of course he did. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

From behind them, another door creaked open.Alex stood there, leaning against the frame, blinking slow, face unreadable.

“Everything okay?”

Mee-Toh shrugged, eyes still on Ethan. “Define ‘okay’ in twenty-five emotionally complex ways or less.”

Alex’s gaze flicked to Ethan, sharp but silent. A nod followed—barely there, but acknowledging. Watching, always watching. Then he vanished again like fog from glass. Not interested in entanglements unless they begged for it.

Mee-Toh exhaled and turned back to the group.

"Okay. Can we not host a therapy session in the hallway before I’ve committed to basic survival tactics?"

Ethan’s laugh came soft. Unforced. Familiar.

He looked at Mee-Toh like someone who’d memorized a map of his silences.

"I missed you," he said.

Mee-Toh didn't answer right away. His hand tightened slightly around the card. Just for a moment. Like the words had bruised something softer than he’d meant to show. Then he let go.

"Stop saying stuff like that," he muttered. "Makes it harder to pretend I’ve moved on."

Ethan tilted his head. "Why pretend?"

Carel blinked. Once. Her head tilted slightly. Listening.

Mee-Toh looked down.

"Because if I stop, I’ll have to feel it. And I’ve got, like, three spoons and zero backup plans."

A long pause.

Ethan said gently, "You’re different. But the version of you I knew... he’s not gone. Just quieter. Like a song on low volume."

From the hallway, Ana sighed. “Are we trauma bonding or flirting with emotional repression? Someone label this scene.”

Mee-Toh rolled his eyes. "We live here. This is our Tuesday."

Ethan chuckled, then stepped back, holding the door open a little wider.

"You coming? Doc’ll murder me if you skip again."

Mee-Toh stared at the card again. Oakwood. Still sending reminders like a ghost that wanted him back.

"...Yeah. Let me grab my shoes."

He turned. But not before his eyes met Carel’s.

She hadn’t moved much.

But something behind her gaze had shifted. Not alarm. Not even warning.

Just... clarity.

"Be careful," she said. Her voice was low. Flat. And deliberate. "He remembers you. But he doesn’t know who you are now."

Mee-Toh paused.

Then a faint smile tugged at his mouth. The kind with no joy in it. Just teeth and memory.

"Good," he murmured. "That makes two of us."

But as he turned away, his hand curled tighter around the card. Just for a moment. Then he let go.

And with that, he disappeared down the hall—barefoot, tired, and not entirely sure if the past had knocked, or if it had just broken the lock.

Ethan lingered for a moment. Then followed, quiet as breath.

The door swung shut behind them.

And even after their footsteps faded...

Carel’s eyes hadn’t left it.

_______

As Mee-Toh turned to head back to his room, a loud crinkle and an unmistakable crunch froze him mid-step.

He squinted toward the living room, and sure enough—there was Alex, legs casually draped over the arm of the couch, gleefully working through Mee-Toh's box of sweets like a kid who’d just robbed a candy store.

"ALEX!" Mee-Toh barked, scandalized. "You stole my sweet box! I was saving that!"

Alex looked up with all the innocence of a thief caught red-handed—and not remotely sorry. His tousled black hair was a beautiful mess, and his blue eyes sparkled like he’d just won a prize.

He grinned. "Whoa, whoa. Stole? You wound me. I'm just... borrowing a few snacks for emotional support." He popped another sweet into his mouth with a dramatic sigh. "You wouldn’t deprive a man of emotional stability, would you? That’s borderline cruel."

Mee-Toh narrowed his eyes. "That’s not borrowing. That’s sugar-fueled robbery."

Alex shrugged, unbothered. "Semantics, my friend. Delicious, delightful semantics."

Before Mee-Toh could tackle him, Ana stepped into the room, arms crossed and eyebrow already arched.

"Are you two seriously about to duel over a box of candy? How childish," she asked, voice dry but amused.

Mee-Toh tossed his towel over his shoulder like a cape. "I'm defending my honor. He’s the thief. Those are not just sweets. They're personal emotional support for a solo guy."

"Honor, honor, honor," Alex scoffed through a mouthful of sweets. "You mean your secret stash. The hidden box under the third drawer behind the laundry detergent? Real subtle. You're a kid. You're just mad because you don't wanna share."

Mee-Toh said, "Dude, what the hell—those are personal. You didn’t even ask, no self-restraint, and now you’re blaming me? How quaint."

Carel entered next, silent as a shadow, her long dark hair trailing behind her like ink in water. Her voice came smooth and husky.

"What’s going on?"

Ana turned with a smirk. "Just Alex, being a sugar addict."

Carel's lips curved. "Mmm. Sweet addiction. Classic sign of mischief. Or suppressed guilt. I see—Alex's sugar addiction."

Alex raised both hands, mock-solemn. "Guilty. Someone’s got to keep things interesting while you all stare ominously at walls and judge each other’s trauma in silence. I just figured I’d make my mouth a little sweeter."

Ana tilted her head toward Carel, expression shifting slightly. Her voice dropped, casual but cutting. "So, Carel... what’s with the sudden curiosity about Mee-Toh’s past?"

Carel didn’t miss a beat. She smiled—just a little too sweetly. "Can’t a girl ask questions? I’m on your side. Promise."

Ana’s gaze sharpened. "You remember complaining about him to the Admiral?"

Carel blinked, then gave a breathy laugh. "What? I didn’t say that." A beat passed. She glanced away. "...Did I?"

Before the tension could thicken, Alex—ever the interrupter of mood—stretched, unfazed. His voice was light, but calculated.

"I told my dad about it."

Mee-Toh turned sharply. "Wait. Your dad?"

Ana’s eyes narrowed. "Hold up. Alex... Admiral Elijah is your father?"

Alex nodded, unabashed. His smile was calm, confident. A practiced charm. "Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled. He’s just... particular. Not a big deal."

Mee-Toh blinked, stunned. "Alex, I appreciate the honesty, but I—this feels like a lot."

His voice cracked slightly at the edge. Not anger. Not fear. Just the fragile thrum of being left out of a truth that could matter.

Alex’s grin softened—just a bit, like he noticed. "Come on, Mew-Toh—relax. It’s me. Everything’s under control."

Carel let out a quiet chuckle, arms folded. "So, you’re a spy."

Alex gave a mock gasp. "Spy? Me? Never. Just a humble informant with a sweet tooth and a big heart." He straightened up, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. "Totally innocent, guys. Absolutely no secret agendas here. Just an informer."

Ana stepped closer, voice firmer now. "Alex. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?"

Alex tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "No one asked," he said brightly. "Also... it’s more fun to keep people guessing."

He winked, then nudged Mee-Toh with his shoulder. "Besides, I only dropped the info so you could shine a little. Admit it—I’m the best wingman here."

Mee-Toh muttered, "Thanks, I guess..." but the words felt heavier than his tone. He wasn’t quite smiling. His fingers clutched the empty sweet box, as if it might help him hold onto something—anything—unchanged.

"You should’ve told me sooner, candy stash thief," he added under his breath, almost to himself.

Alex’s eyes flicked to him—just for a moment—and something flickered behind the blue.

"...Yeah," he said. Quiet. "Maybe I should’ve. But I figured—you’d still cling to the candy after all that gratitude. This world’s too mean not to have a sweet thing to hold onto."

Then, quick as it came, the mask of charm returned. He clapped Mee-Toh on the back with exaggerated cheer. "But hey, my dad’s not that bad. Strict? Sure. Terrifying in meetings? Occasionally. But deep down, he’s all bark, no torpedoes."

Ana’s posture softened, though her eyes still held a trace of wariness. Carel’s expression, by contrast, seemed amused—as if watching an unfolding play she already knew the ending to.

Alex leaned back against the couch, arms behind his head, perfectly at ease.

"Just another day in the life of a humble, incredibly helpful, candy-loving informant. I’M TOTALLY INNOCENT! Listen—innocent! Don’t you dare blame me."

Carel shook her head with a dry laugh.

Ana sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

And Mee-Toh... still holding the empty box, stared at it mournfully.

"...You better buy me new ones."

"I’ll buy you two," Alex said, grinning. "One for the calories I burned making today dramatic..."

He paused—just for a second—then added quietly:

"...and one for the price of secrets, sweet as they are."