CHAPTER 136: BROTHER.

Guys I’m sick please, wait for the other Chapter.

To not loose you coins please don’t open it hold same Chapter story as the last one.

Thank you for exercising patience with me.

A strange, almost magnetic pull seemed to draw Logan toward the bed, as if invisible strings were tugging at him from every corner of his body.

Each step was heavy, yet compelled, as though his legs moved on their own, guided by some unseen force.

His heart thumped unevenly in his chest, echoing the rhythmic beeping of the monitors around them, each sound amplifying the surreal intensity of the moment.

He slowed as he approached the bed, eyes fixed on the young man who mirrored him in every conceivable way—down to the smallest details of his features, the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders.

The man’s voice, hoarse but clear, cut through the tension. "Are you my hidden twin brother?"

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. Without thinking, his own voice came sharp, wary. "What do you mean by my hidden twin brother?"

The man shifted slightly, propping himself more upright against the pillow despite the weakness in his limbs. "Yes. I mean... the long-lost one."

A jolt of confusion shot through Logan, making him blink rapidly, as if the words themselves had struck him. His mind whirled, trying to reconcile the impossible.

"I believe you noticed the way we look alike, right?" the man continued, voice softening slightly. "And you were utterly confused... even now."

Logan felt the weight of the statement pressing down, but before he could respond, the man leaned back against the pillows, his expression weary yet contemplative.

"Same here. That’s what makes me wonder if you are indeed my twin brother. But to my utter disappointment, I’ve never heard my parents say I had one."

He shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line as a small frown tugged at his features.

Logan’s gaze softened, and he nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair as if the movement could clear the fog of thought. "Same here," he admitted, his voice quieter, more introspective.

"My parents never told me I had a twin brother either." He trailed off, eyes drifting to the ceiling, brows knitting in thought.

The young man’s eyes followed his movements, sharp and observant despite his weakness.

He hummed, as if to himself, the sound low and thoughtful.

’ Is Dad and Mom hiding something from me? ’ Logan’s mind repeated the thought as he glanced down at the man lying before him.

"Have a seat," Logan finally said, voice slow and measured, a faint grimace crossing his features as a sudden, dull headache pulsed behind his eyes.

The room seemed heavier now, the air thick with the shared tension between them.

The other man, Maxwell, gave a slight nod and lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, moving carefully as if each motion might jar his body too much.

Logan watched him, feeling an odd sense of surrealism wash over him.

It was as if he were peering into a reflection, yet the reflection was alive and breathing.

"My name is Logan Steve," he said, trying to anchor himself in the moment.

His eyes briefly met Maxwell’s, dark and steady, before he quickly looked away, overwhelmed by the strangeness of seeing someone so identical to himself in such an intimate, quiet setting.

Maxwell’s lips curved into a faint, weak smile. "My name is Maxwell Alexanda," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet, almost shy warmth.

Logan’s chest tightened, and he allowed himself a small, hesitant smile.

"Nice to meet you... bro." His tone carried a mixture of disbelief and tentative connection, and Maxwell returned the gesture with a gentle nod, eyes softening at the acknowledgment.

A silence fell between them, filled only by the faint beeping of the monitors and the distant hum of the hospital ventilation.

Maxwell’s lips moved slightly as he admitted softly, more to himself than to Logan, "It’s so thrilling to see someone who looks exactly like me... in the middle of the night."

Logan’s stomach tightened, and his pulse quickened.

The sensation was surreal, as if the moment had been lifted from a dream—or worse, a horror movie, with reality twisted just enough to feel impossible.

Maxwell shifted again, moving slightly on the bed.

He tucked his buttocks to the side, adjusting for comfort, and slid one hand into the back pocket of his hospital pants with careful effort.

His movements were small, deliberate, and deliberate in their fragility, yet he maintained eye contact with Logan, a faint determination glimmering despite the weariness etched into his pale face.

Logan watched all of this, heart thumping in his ears, chest tight, every sense acutely aware of Maxwell’s presence.

Every small gesture, every breath, every faint smile carved itself into his memory, making the surreal nature of this encounter all the more tangible.

Logan watched as Maxwell slowly withdrew his hand from beneath the blanket, and with it came a sleek phone.

The glow of the screen caught the dim hospital lights, reflecting faintly in his pale eyes.

Maxwell’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as he held it out.

"Here it is... your phone," Maxwell said softly, his voice still husky with weakness.

Logan felt a strange unease twist in his stomach at the sight of the man lying there, smiling at him.

There was something almost surreal about it—seeing someone who looked exactly like him, so calm and composed, even after everything.

"Thank you," Logan said cautiously, his fingers hovering near the device. "But I can’t hold it yet."

Maxwell’s smile widened just slightly, warm and quiet.

He gently tried to place the phone on the small table beside the bed, moving carefully to avoid disturbing himself.

"Don’t keep it yet," he murmured, his eyes twinkling faintly.

Logan tilted his head, curious. "Help me turn it on," Maxwell added.

Logan didn’t see any reason to refuse. He took the phone with care, feeling the smooth metal and cool glass under his fingertips.

With a swift motion, he pressed the power button, and the screen lit up immediately, bathing his hands in soft light.

"Your phone is... handsome," Logan remarked, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at Maxwell.

"Point of correction," Maxwell said, his voice playful despite his weakness. "Not like me... but like us."

Logan chuckled softly at that, feeling the tension in his chest ease just slightly.

Maxwell’s small smile in response made the room feel less sterile, less cold—somehow human, intimate in a way that shouldn’t have been possible given their circumstances.

The lock screen displayed a delicate flower, soft petals rendered in vibrant colors.

Logan’s eyes lingered on it, and he allowed himself a quiet moment to appreciate the simple beauty.

How expensive, he thought, turning the phone slightly in his hands, imagining the cost, the detail, the care put into something so small yet elegant.

He looked up at Maxwell, who was watching him with faint curiosity. "Tap @@@@," Maxwell instructed, nodding toward the screen.

Logan’s brows knit together in mild confusion, and he glanced at Maxwell in question.

The small gesture, the quiet directive, carried with it the odd familiarity of someone speaking to a brother—gentle, patient, and commanding all at once.

Logan adjusted his hold on the phone, the smoothness of the screen cool beneath his fingertips.

The soft click as he followed Maxwell’s instruction echoed faintly in the otherwise silent room.

His pulse was steadying now, but a faint tremor lingered in his hands—not from fear, but from the strange, surreal mix of awe and disbelief he felt every time he looked at Maxwell.

Maxwell’s gaze softened, his lips curving in that small, quiet smile again.

Logan felt an odd warmth creep up his chest, an unfamiliar comfort despite the disorientation that still clung to him.

The phone, the flower on the screen, the man who mirrored him perfectly—it all combined into a surreal tableau, one that made Logan acutely aware of how unreal this night had become.

Seeing the faint crease of concentration on Maxwell’s forehead, Logan’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

"That’s my password," he said gently, his voice carrying a soft lilt. "Tap it in."

Maxwell’s brow furrowed immediately, a shadow of unease passing over his pale features.

He hesitated, fingers hovering uncertainly above the smooth screen of the phone.

The lines around his eyes deepened slightly as he looked up at Logan, as if weighing the trust implied in the gesture.

"But you shouldn’t tell me your password," Maxwell murmured, his voice low, cautious. "It’s something you should keep to yourself."

Logan chuckled quietly, the sound soft and reassuring in the sterile stillness of the hospital room.

He leaned forward slightly, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the bed for balance.

His eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and gentle admonition, like a teacher correcting a child who has asked an innocent question.

"You’re missing the point, bro," Logan said, shaking his head slowly, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sometimes, sharing isn’t a weakness—it’s about trust." He paused, letting the words settle in the quiet air. Then, with a warmth in his gaze, he added, "Now, go ahead."

Maxwell’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, hesitant but growing.

He glanced at Logan, then down at the phone, finally pressing the digits in with careful deliberation.

Each tap echoed faintly in the room, punctuating the silent rhythm between them.

Logan leaned back slightly, a gentle pride softening his features.

His eyes never left Maxwell, watching the subtle tension in his shoulders ease as he completed the task.

The small victory, so ordinary in another context, felt monumental here—an unspoken acknowledgment that even in the midst of pain and confusion, connection could form.

"I have my reasons, bro," Maxwell said quietly, a hint of mischief twinkling in his tired eyes despite the weakness in his voice.

His lips lifted into a gentle, almost shy smile, one that carried warmth and sincerity in equal measure.

Logan’s chest tightened slightly at the sight.

The simplicity of the gesture—the phone, the password, the shared moment—felt heavy with unspoken meaning.

He leaned closer just a fraction, his dark eyes softening with a protective warmth.

"I get that," he murmured, his tone low but filled with genuine affection. "I really do."

Maxwell’s fingers lingered on the phone for a moment longer, the smooth surface cool under his touch.

He exhaled softly, letting the tension roll out of his shoulders, his eyes flicking up to meet Logan’s.

There was a quiet understanding there, fragile but growing, unspoken yet palpable in the charged silence of the room.

Logan’s smile widened slightly, a rare warmth breaking through his usual stoicism.

"See?" he said softly, almost to himself. "Trust isn’t weakness—it’s strength." His gaze lingered on Maxwell, taking in the small smile, the subtle light in his eyes, and the way his posture had shifted to something more open, more tentative.

Maxwell mirrored the gesture, his own smile small but genuine, and for a brief moment, the sterile hospital room felt almost human, almost warm.

The phone, the password, the shared secret—it was more than technology; it was a bridge, fragile but strong, between two halves of a story that had just begun.