Had anyone asked me what frightened me most about Alex, it wasn't the things he hadn't said.

It was how readily my heart supplied those blanks for him.

That morning started as Lagos mornings always start: noisy before it's light.

The clang of keke tyres on potholes, the neighbour's transistor radio staticking gospel music, the kettle spewing steam before it actually boiled.

I crept around so as not to disturb Luis — but when I turned, I saw Alex was already awake, sitting on the mat.

His eyes were far away, following the water stains on the ceiling, as if trying to read the past there.

---

"You don't sleep much," I whispered.

He started slightly, then shook his head. "Too many thoughts," he said. His voice was low, and had a raspy quality that constricted my chest.

I got water boiling. "You know," I said, aiming for casual in my tone, "in this city, if you save your thoughts for nighttime, you won't sleep at all.".

He smiled faintly. "Maybe it's like that everywhere," he said. And, more quietly: "But here… it cuts sharper. Memories."

---

Luis moved out of the corner, hair rumpled, blinking belligerently in the morning.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Morning," Alex said, affection threading through his voice.

Luis rubbed his eyes, then smiled shyly. "You finished the comic?"

"Twice," Alex said, as if it was a given.

Luis's smile lit up the room. In that brief flash, my heart felt something dangerous: hope.

---

Breakfast was quiet but easy. Luis discussed school; Alex listened, leaning forward, nodding, asking questions that showed he genuinely cared.

It wasn't what Alex did say that scared me.

It was how easily he fell into the empty space in our mornings — as if that space had been waiting for someone exactly his size.

---

When Luis left for school, he turned in the doorway.

"You'll still be here when I get back?" he wanted to know.

Alex nodded, his voice low. "I will."

Luis smiled, the smile stretching wider than I'd seen in weeks, before disappearing down the street.

---

When the door closed behind him, silence descended — heavy, complicated.

Alex spoke first. "Your brother is… special."

"He's everything," I whispered. "Sometimes I think he's the only reason I kept breathing."

Alex's eyes softened. "I do notice that," he said. "And it's beautiful. And burdensome."

---

I opened my mouth to ask the question jammed in my breast — Why are you really here? — but it clung to my tongue.

Because perhaps I didn't want to know. Not yet.

---

The knock at the door was quick, impatient.

It was Janet. Nobody else knocked like that — as if she had a claim on my time, my truth.

"Hey," she said, entering, eyes sweeping the room, coming to rest on Alex.

"Oh. You're still here," she said, her voice neutral, careful.

Alex nodded courteously. "Good morning."

She barely nodded back. "Emi, can we talk? Outside."

---

In the courtyard, heat had already begun its slow assault.

There was a honk from a danfo on the road outside, and the air was thick with the smell of fried bean cakes and diesel.

"What are you doing?" Janet whispered, low and cutting.

"I'm. helping," I said, but it sounded weak even to me.

"Helping a strange man you don't know anything about? With Luis in the house?" she said.

"He's not a threat," I protested, quietly.

"And how do you know?" she persisted, voice shaking with annoyance. "Because he has a soft voice? Because he listens?"

---

I winced. "It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that," she stated emphatically. "That's how it starts, Emi. You know this."

Memories cut through me — bruises hidden under scarves, Luis's fearful eyes.

Femi had started to be gentle, too. Until he hadn't.

---

Janet's face softened, although worry lingered.

"I'm not blaming you," she said. "But you have to keep Luis safe. And yourself."

"I am keeping us safe," I whispered, even as a cold doubt twisted in my stomach.

Janet shook her head. "You're hoping he won't hurt you. That's not the same thing."

---

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper.

"You think I'm stupid," I whispered.

"No," she said, her voice low and sorrowful. "I think you're lonely."

The words dropped with a silent brutality. Because they were true.

---

"I don't want you to be alone," she continued, more gently. "But this… this isn't safe."

"I know," I whispered. "I'm being careful."

Janet sighed, touching my arm. "Be smarter than your heart, Emi," she said. "And ask him. Really ask him who he is."

---

I said I would. But seeing her go, braids swinging, back straight, my stomach churned.

Because I wasn't certain I'd want the answers.

---

Inside, Alex was sitting in front of the window, staring out at the courtyard beyond.

"You and Janet are close," he said.

"We grew up together," I said.

"She's protective," he observed.

"She has to be," I murmured.

---

He was silent for a moment, then said quietly: "She's right, though."

My chest tightened. "About what?"

"About me," he admitted. "You know practically nothing about me."

Then tell me," I cried, voice cracking. "Tell me something true."

---

He hesitated, jaw tightening.

"My mother was Nigerian," he began, voice low. "My father was British. I grew up in between both."

"Why does your accent slip, then?" I asked.

A small, melancholy smile flitted across his lips, self-deprecating. "Partly. And partly because I never fitted into either."

---

The honesty in his voice came out raw, uncut — different from the careful answers I'd gotten before.

"Why Lagos?" I pressed.

"I hoped… that I could be invisible here," he admitted. "In a city loud enough to swallow me."

"And are you hiding from something?" I asked.

His gaze dropped. "From someone," he corrected, so quietly I almost didn't hear.

---

The words hung between us.

"Who?" I whispered.

"I cannot say," he whispered. "Not yet."

"Then why stay here?" I said. "With us."

---

His eyes lifted, his gaze meeting mine, dark and tired.

"Because for the first time in years, it feels like… home," he said. "Even if it's borrowed."

---

I swallowed, my throat weighted.

"I am right to defend Luis," he said quietly. "I would do the same."

"And me?" I whispered. "Should I defend myself against you?"

His voice broke slightly. "Maybe you should," he said. "But I hope you won't."

---

The kettle whistled, steam misting the window.

We let it fill the silence — a silence which wasn't empty, but throbbing with all that wasn't said.

---

That afternoon, Luis burst in, shirt tail loose, smile shining.

"Did you wait for me?" he asked Alex.

"I did," said Alex.

Luis's relief was sunshine through rain.

They sat together, Luis showing Alex homework, pencil-scrawled questions.

Alex leaned forward, patient, explaining fractions.

Luis listened, nodding, his brow furrowed in effort.

And for a moment, I stood there — watching this man and this boy, neither of them really mine, but both anchoring my heart in ways that scared me.

---

As the day wore off, Janet's words returned, cutting clearer in the crisp twilight:

Be smarter than your heart.

---

Later, after Luis was asleep, Alex and I were sitting at the small table, peeling oranges.

"I used to think quiet nights were the loneliest," I whispered. "Now I'm not sure."

Alex looked at me. "And now?"

"Now I think loneliness isn't about silence," I said. "It's about being invisible."

---

He was quiet, rolling an orange peel in his hand.

"You're not invisible," he whispered. "Not to me."

The words landed in my chest, painfully tender.

---

"Then see me," I said, louder than I'd meant to. "All of me. Not just what you want."

His eyes met mine, dark and intense.

"And you?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Will you see me? Even the things I'm afraid to show?"

---

"I don't know," I whispered honestly. "But I want to try."

---

The words hovered between us, raw, incomplete.

"I promise," Alex whispered, "I'll tell you more. Soon."

And though a piece of me clutched at those words like driftwood, a piece of me whispered:

Soon isn't always soon enough.

---

That night, as I lay beside Luis, hearing his steady breathing, my mind writhed in fear and hope.

Alex slept on the mat, body tucked in, the comic book held beneath his arm like a vow.

And in the darkness, I let myself admit what I feared the most:

I did not fear his lies as much as I feared what might be true.

---

End of Chapter 6