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Contrary to popular belief, Chad and Chloe aren't close.
Well, they are close. They are siblings, after all—bound by shared blood, a last name, and the unspoken agreement to never tell mom who sneaked into the kitchen to get the last piece of pumpkin pie. They grew up under the same castle roof, shared dinners and holidays, argued over the bathroom in the mornings and about using the other’s hair products, and even shared the occasional hug in front of their parents. Chad would listen to Chloe complain about Lady Prudence’s lessons while remembering how much he hated his own; Chloe would watch with unbridled fascination as Chad does his skateboarding tricks until he finally relented and offered to teach her.
But if you were to ask Chloe who her closest confidant is, she wouldn’t say it’s Chad; and Chad probably wouldn’t say it’s Chloe, either.
The distance isn’t their fault. One might even say that it’s a natural thing to happen. Age gaps as large as theirs tend to do that.
Ten years.
Chad already has his own life to deal with when Chloe entered his world. When Chad was practicing how to properly skate, Chloe was learning how to walk. When Chad started learning algebra, Chloe hadn’t even grasped the concept of numbers. When Chad started bringing Audrey home as his girlfriend, Chloe hadn’t even known what crushes are.
So no, they aren’t close. And Chloe learned to live with the fact that her older brother would always be ten years ahead of her, and she can never catch up no matter how fast she goes.
It’s not that Chloe didn’t want to be close to Chad; it’s just that Chad never seem to reciprocate that feeling. Chloe can’t blame him. By the time she realized she wanted to have a better relationship with her brother, he was already preoccupied getting ready for college, busy with essays, worksheets, tourney, and whatever else aspiring college student athletes like him occupy their time with. Having a closer relationship with his sister certainly wasn’t high on Chad’s lists of priorities—not with that type of workload.
Chloe understands, even if she doesn’t like it.
Still, Chloe longs to be closer with her big brother. She can’t help but look up to him. He’s one of the reason why she picked up sword-fighting and skating in the first place, why she’s such a stickler for the rules—it’s so she can feel a bit closer to the shining bright ray of light that is Chance “call me Chad” Charming.
Which is how the tradition of her recording a video whenever she successfully does a new trick is born.
It didn’t start out as video recordings, as Chad would be there whenever she learns a new trick, being the one who teaches her in some cases, and having him cheer and clap excitedly whenever she successfully does filled her with a high that even Chad ruffling her hair can’t extinguish. So when he asked her to promise him that he should still get to see her practice and perfect tricks and techniques from their shared hobbies before he went to college, Chloe eagerly did. Thus, video recordings of her practicing sword-fighting and skateboarding.
Chloe has been recording for the better part of the afternoon. She’s been learning a new skateboard trick—an inward heelflip to manual, a combination that looks deceptively simple when Chad does it, as if gravity itself pauses out of courtesy. For her, gravity is a petty tyrant.
The courtyard behind the dorms is empty save for the old stone fountain and the wind worrying the ivy along the walls. The castle’s towers throw long, slanted shadows over the cobblestones, turning the world into alternating bands of gold and blue. Chloe had her phone set on the low ledge, propped carefully against her water bottle, checks the angle twice, then three times, because Chad once told her framing matters. “If you’re going to show me,” he said, grinning as he ruffled her hair for the last time in a long time, “show me like you mean it.”
She steps back onto the board. The grip tape rasps under her shoes. Her knees bend. She breathes in through her nose, slow and steady, the way her dad and Chad had drilled into her—control the breath, control the body.
“Attempt number… seventeen,” she says to the camera, pushing off.
The wheels hum over stone. She pops the tail—crack—and the board snaps up. Her front foot flicks. The deck spins the wrong way, skittering out from under her, and she lands hard on her palms and knees. Skin scrapes. The sting blooms sharp and immediate.
Chloe sits there for a second, staring at her hands. They’re red and already threatening to bead with blood. She presses her lips together, refusing the burn the satisfaction of a hiss.
“Okay,” she says to the camera, pushing herself up. “That one didn’t count.”
She can already hear Chad’s response of “It totally did.”
The eighteenth attempt nearly works. The board flips clean, her feet find it midair, and for half a heartbeat she feels weightless, suspended in a private triumph. Then the manual wobbles, her balance falters, and she hops off before she can eat stone again.
“Almost,” she breathes, a grin breaking through despite herself. “Did you see that, Chad? I almost had it.”
The name hangs in the air like a bell’s fading note.
She resets. Pops. Flicks. Lands.
This time the board obeys. The wheels kiss the ground and she shifts her weight back, lifting the front trucks just enough. The manual holds—one second, two, three—her arms out, eyes fixed ahead, heart hammering so loud she can hear it in her ears. Then she lets the nose dip and rolls out smooth, clean, unbroken.
Silence.
Then she whoops, loud and unrestrained, the sound ricocheting off ancient stone. She grabs the board, runs to the phone, nearly knocking it over in her excitement.
“Did you see that? That was it! That was it!”
Her cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to her forehead, eyes bright as torchlight. For a moment she looks ten years younger, and ten years older, all at once—childish delight wrapped around stubborn discipline.
“I told you I’d get it,” she says softly to the camera. “You owe me five bucks.”
She always ends the videos like that lately. As if there will be a reply. As if Chad will open his phone between classes, roll his eyes at her dramatics, and text back something smug and proud.
She gathers her things and heads inside.
Red is already in their room bent over her sketchbook when Chloe enters.
Chloe pays her no mind, getting a change of clothes and going to their shared bathroom to freshen up and clean her wounds. She hisses a bit when cleaning the scrapes on her hands, but other than that she’s fine.
She exits the bathroom to find Red has put aside her sketchbook and is now looking at her worriedly.
“What took you so long?”
Chloe sits down across from her. “I was just out skateboarding, Red, no need to worry.”
Red grimaces, wringing her hands together. “It’s just that you’ve been returning later and later these past few weeks.” She says. “You normally only skate for about an hour and a half, but its been nearly three hours.”
Chloe goes silent, she didn’t think her roommate would notice, but Red continues to surprise her everyday.
“I was just recording a video for my brother.”
“Oh.” Red lets out a sigh of relief, then—“I didn’t know you have a brother.”
Chloe looks pointedly at the floor, weighing her options, before replying. “His name’s Chad, he’s in college, and he’s the personification of a golden retriever once you get to know him.”
“He sounds nice. How come I didn’t meet him on Family Day?”
Chloe’s breath hitches at the mention of Family Day. The day she was so excited over. The day she figured out that— she closes her eyes to stop the tears from building up.
“He… couldn’t go.”
Red looks at her, sensing something wrong. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I—um,” Chloe sniffles, “—just miss him, I guess.”
Red gives her a confused look. “Can’t you call him? You do that with your parents.”
Chloe could do that. It would be easy to pick up her phone, scroll through her contacts, and call him. She could do that right now. Except—
How do you call a person who no longer exists?
So she lies and says: “He’s busy right now, college is taking a lot of his time—especially during midterms season. I don’t want to interrupt his flow.”
Red hums, accepting the answer. “Well, if you ever miss having a sibling around, you can borrow mine. She’s been bugging me about hanging out with you anyways.”
She lets out a small laugh at that, even though a spark of something unpleasant plants itself in her chest. “I’ll consider it.”
Red smiles, reaching out to squeeze her hand, before standing up and going to the bathroom.
As soon as she hears the shower turn on, Chloe finally falls back on her bed and lets her tears fall.
She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes until colors bursts behind her lids. It doesn’t stop the tears. They slip through anyway, hot and stubborn, trailing down her cheeks and dripping from her chin onto the front of her shirt.
How do you grieve someone that no longer exists?
How do you live knowing that the only proof of his existence is the memories you have of him?
Time travel has consequences, its a rule. The butterfly effect or the domino effect or whatever it was that deemed the erasure of her brother's existence was the consequence for stopping a cruel prank.
Why him?
Why just him?
It’s not fair.
It’s not fair that everyone else was mostly the same. It’s not fair that people had more siblings due to the timeline change and she ended up with no one. It’s not fair that everyone else can continue living their life without knowing him. It’s not fair that she won’t be able to hear his voice again. Won’t see that stupid grin on his face when he beats her on something stupid like eating a hundred crackers faster than she does. It’s not fair that she can’t even talk about him with her parents because he never existed.
It’s not fair that time took him away from her more than it already did.
She’d gladly take ten years of distance than this.
She reaches for her phone and opens her gallery, scrolling down to the folder labeled ‘kuya bro’ and opens it. Inside lays the only proof of Chad’s existence, the few photos she has of him, and the tricks she recorded for him.
She selects one of the photos, and the image of Chad smiling smugly while giving her bunny ears graces her screen. She remembers when it was taken, it was the summer before Chad went off to college. She remembers the coolness of the air during their walk back home after a day in the skate park, when she suggested they take a selfie to let their parents know they’re on their way back.
She stares at it for a moment, taking in his features, before closing her phone.
She presses it against her chest.
Gods, she missed him.
The shower turns off and Red re-emerges from the bathroom, ready for bed, humming a tune softly under her breath. A tune that abruptly stops when she notices her crying roommate. She hurries to her bed side and sits.
“Chloe? What’s wrong?” Worry is etched into her voice.
Chloe sniffles and wipes at her eyes. She sits up and glance at her worried roommate. Her roommate, who’s the only one who could understand what she feels about this situation.
How do you grieve someone that no longer exists?
“I have to tell you something.”
You tell someone about them.