The Bear Part III
by N. Lane - written as remembered
The Bear Part III
Chasing Summer
The storm came in hard that morning, hammering rain against the glass, turning Table Mountain into a shadow streaked with waterfalls. In the streets below, branches floated down gutters and storm drains spat water like broken fountains.
What woke me wasn’t thunder. It was whispers.
I dragged myself downstairs. The twins hunched on the couch, plastic bags at their feet, whispers cutting sharp through the storm.
“So what then?” Aiden snapped.
“I don’t know, let me think,” Luke muttered.
“I’m not going back there. Not after last time.”
“It paid,” Luke said flatly. “Maybe they’ll let us crash for a few nights again.”
“Screw that. If you want to crawl back, go. I’ll take my chances.”
“Aid, what do you want me to do?”
“Ask him if we can’t stay here.”
“No. We don’t know him. We asked for one night. Time to move on.”
“And go where? I’m tired of hopping couches. Since when do you care about overstaying your welcome?”
“Stay here,” I said—voice cracking before I could stop it.
They froze. Luke watched me from the edge of the couch, not suspicious, not grateful — something else.
“My flat mate is away. His room’s empty. Use it.” I tried to sound casual, but the truth was I didn’t want them to leave.
“We can’t ask that,” Luke said quietly, picking at the couch stitching.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, I owe you. And I could use the company.”
The storm rattled the glass. They shivered in summer clothes; I made coffee and watched from the kitchen.
“Towels are in the linen cupboard. Heater’s under the stairs. There’s a jar of apricot jam my mom sent me—might still be some bread around here too.”
Voice emotionless.
“What do you want in return?”
Luke’s eyes dropped to the floor, then flicked to the window—as if braving the storm would be easier than whatever price I might name.
Aiden casually stood, tugging at his belt, tone flat, like a price list.
“You can fuck us, condoms optional. Luke’ll even piss on you, if you’re into that.”
“Fucking gross dude,” Luke muttered, red.
For a second I saw how normal this was to them—what they do or at least have done to survive.
“I’ll pass… Coffee first, then maybe I’ll deal with whatever that was.”
I exhaled.
“Look, you didn’t have to help me, but you did. I want to do the same.”
The room heavy with my words. Aiden puffed his cheeks, popped his lips like a kid blowing a bubble, then shrugged.
“See, told you he wasn’t a weirdo.” Aiden said, flopping down and switching on the TV.
Upstairs, I sank into bed with my coffee. Footsteps. Luke in the doorway, hair messy, guarded.
“You’re really sure?” he asked, picking paint off the doorframe.
His eyes lingered on me longer than they should have, then dropped quick, like he’d been caught.
“Yeah. You can stay for a bit… if you want. No pressure.”
He exhaled.
“We won’t get in the way.”
“We might steal your Jeep,” Aiden yelled from below.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” I muttered.
Luke smiled. “Naw.” He toed off his shoes and sat on the bed’s edge.
“What are you watching?”
“People trapped on a ship, some kind of portal thing.”
“Stargate Universe,” he said.
“Bit of a geek?”
He shrugged.
I scooted over. He climbed in—quickly, like I might change my mind.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” I echoed.
Aiden’s voice drifted up: “You’re welcome! And stop taking drugs from strangers, idiot.”
We laughed quietly. The storm dragged on for days. Inside, we had shelter.
As the episode started, He tugged the blanket higher — over my knees before his. He didn’t look at me while he did it.
Shameless
Life with the twins was a crash of colour against my grey routine. Mine began with study marathons—textbooks scattered across my desk, garage pies and energy drinks. Theirs ended by crashing into bed as the world went to work—eyes bloodshot from neon nights, pockets heavy with crumpled notes, underwear tossed aside, chemicals still buzzing.
Between their chaos and my routine, we became a kind of a dysfunctional family. Boys from nowhere with somewhere to stay; me with someone to turn to.
Early mornings were mine: gym at sunrise, then coffee and a long shower. The bathroom was my sanctuary—until the morning I wiped shampoo from my eyes and found Aiden on the toilet, phone in hand, grinning like I was the entertainment.
“What the fuck, Aiden!” I yelled, twisting to cover myself.
He smirked. “You could make some serious money with that thing.”
“Get out!”
Before I could grab a towel, Luke barged in, gagging. “Jesus, Aiden—spray.” He wedged in at the basin to brush his teeth like it was normal. He caught my eye in the mirror, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Morning, Nick.”
I stormed out, dripping. Boundaries didn’t exist. They cracked up behind me.
It felt like a live sitcom. Luke sprawled in underwear, glued to movie marathons. Aiden stormed out in a jockstrap to scream at gardeners weed-whacking at 8 a.m. The twins tipped my toaster on its side to “grill” cheese—thirty seconds later, flames, smoke, chaos. Sometimes they brought men home—until my phone got stolen. More than once I came downstairs for class to find my car missing; I bummed rides while they rolled back hours later with a story.
Still, the chaos worked. The apartment wasn’t quiet anymore—but it was alive.
Winter turned to spring. The rain eased, and the boys started stealing my shorts. Dominik stayed away. His silence was heavy, if not surprising.
We still messaged sometimes—short replies, the occasional “Hey, what you up to?” that read more like habit than truth. He never visited while the twins were around. If I wanted to see him, I had to go to him.
Meanwhile, the loft found its rhythm. Aiden claimed the couch, controller in hand. Luke filled the kitchen with noise, flipping through cookbooks, lips moving as he tried to sound out the words. I buried myself in classwork, pretending not to notice how rarely my phone lit up with Dominik’s name.
One afternoon after class, I came home to a post-it on a pizza box on my desk:
‘Dont forget too eat. L.’
We grew closer. Like brothers, but different. We both carried pasts we didn’t name, and with each other there was safety.
One night, around 2 a.m., a whisper:
“Nick.”
I cracked an eye. “What?”
“Can I sleep here?” His voice was quiet, almost guilty.
“Why?”
He hesitated, then muttered, “Aiden is still on Chaturbate. It’s driving me insane.”
I smirked in the dark. A weak excuse. We both knew it.
Still, I lifted the covers.
He slid in fast, cold from the night. Settled close, shivering.
“Nick… would you mind holding me?”
“Sure.” I said softly.
He curled in, tense at first, then let go. My heart hammered, not from fear.
In the dark I felt how thin he was, sharp bones under my hands.
After that, the visits became routine. At first he whispered excuses. Later, he stopped asking.
Angels & Demons
It didn’t take long for Dominik to resurface. He said he’d moved to another student apartment, buried in exams. Excuses that felt thin, but I let them stand. He was pulling away, whatever we had fraying at the seams. With the twins under my roof, reconnecting wasn’t easy.
Halloween isn’t much in South Africa, but it still drags the ghouls out. Dominik messaged: Hallow-Queen at the Bronx nightclub. “No weirdness,” he said. “Just fun.” Casual. A clean slate.
The twins weren’t keen. They muttered their disapproval. I laughed it off.
“Why waste time on that asshole?” Aiden said.
“We’re just going as friends,” I said, not sure if I was convincing them or myself.
“Come with us instead. House party. Free booze. We’ll pretend you’re our cousin—shit like that pays double.”
“Uhm, that’s gross and no thanks. I’ve had enough of house parties for a bit.”
“Oh, come on.” Aiden grinned. “It’ll be fun.”
“Leave him.” Luke’s tone softened, though his eyes darted away too quick. “If he wants to go, let him.”
I spent the afternoon turning myself into a dead angel—veins sketched in eyeliner, hair wrecked, shirt smeared red, wings torn to match.
“What’s Dominik going as?” Aiden asked around a mouthful of chips, leaning in the doorway.
“No idea.”
“Maybe as himself. A cunt,” Luke called from the other room.
The strip was alive: drag queens, rent boys on Blackberries, the guy with his boerewors stand smoking up the curb, bass rattling the streetlights.
At the door, an old queen with Dracula teeth lit up.
“Dominik, you tart! Where the fuck have you been?”
“You know good things are hard to find,” he winked.
“And who’s this?” Her nails, long and painted, stabbed the air at me.
“That’s Nick. My boyfriend.”
I froze. Boyfriend? He’d never used that word. Tonight was supposed to be casual. For a second, I wanted to believe him. I wanted that word to mean something. That’s why I kept going back.
“For you, free,” she purred at him. Then, to me, ice-cold: “Eighty rand. Pay up or fuck off.”
“Come on, Bruce. He dressed up,” Dominik smiled, brushing her hand.
“Dressed up like every other queen—dead or dying.” She stamped my wrist so hard it stung. “Fine. Last time, Dominik. Next time I’ll be a cunt.”
Inside, time dissolved—DJs, drinks, flashes, long bathroom queues, darker corners, disinfectant and sweat.
“Come to the roof,” he said, grabbing my hand.
We watched the sun break over Green Point, cheering like idiots. For a moment, everything felt right again. Dominik squeezed my hand, rough and fleeting, like he needed me. Then he let go.
When we first met, we’d watch sunsets. We’d sit on our hoodies, pass a bottle of sweet rosé, and he’d whisper, “You really good for me, Nick.” I mistook that for love. I kept chasing that minute.
Across the street, the Catholic church doors opened for Mass. Dominik tucked his crucifix into his shirt and laughed, like even God was a joke.
We ended on the curb, eating greasy boerewors rolls, watching rent boys climb into the last taxis as congregants filed past. Sin and incense. It lodged in my chest. I told myself this was why I moved to Cape Town.
The apartment was cool and still. The Jeep was gone. Upstairs, Luke slept in my bed, clutching my pillow. Peaceful.
I should’ve stayed.
In the shower, head between my knees, I watched the water circle the drain.
“He’s going to lose his mind.”
I jerked up. Aiden stood at the basin, keys in his fist, last night’s clothes still on, eyes flat.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Some asshole elbowed me.”
“Let me see.” He wiped steam from the glass, leaned in.
Later, light cut through the blinds; antiseptic stung.
“Hold still,” he snapped, hands steady. “You must’ve hit hard. I’d hate to see the other guy.”
I laughed—thin. Purple and yellow swelled across my cheek in the mirror.
“Good, right?” he asked, almost proud of his handiwork.
“Actually… yeah.”
“My dad used to beat the shit out of us,” he said, voice low, packing away the first aid kit. “You learn a few things.”
“Your mom?”
“Died young. Aneurysm. Kitchen floor. In front of me.” He gave a small, sad smile. “Shit happens, right?”
Whatever showed on my face, he caught.
“Oh, piss off,” he snapped. He yanked the blinds; sunlight slashed the room and a soft breeze slipped in. He stood there a beat, then, without turning:
“What you and Dominik do is your business. Just keep him away from us.”
4 a.m. Forever
Silence. Then ringing. The GTI’s tyres screamed down the N1, leaving me in exhaust fumes as traffic tore past.
Shoes, wallet—still in his car. Angel wings sagged off one shoulder. Pain burned along my cheekbone, swelling fast, pulling at the skin beneath my eye.
I stumbled home barefoot, dodging glass and thorns. The main road stretched wide and empty, early traffic humming past car dealerships and quiet office blocks.
I touched my face. Hot. Tender. Fingers came back streaked with paint and something else.
“You brought this on yourself”, his voice echoed.
Weeks passed. Neither of us broke the silence.
4 a.m. Banging. Seven missed calls—Dominik.
The berg wind hit when I opened the door. Rum and Coke on his breath. Red eyes. Messy hair.
“I’m sorry, Nicky. I can’t go home like this. My dad will know I drove drunk. Can I crash here?”
I let him in. Fear. Habit. Hope. By then, they were the same thing.
He collapsed on my bed, rum and sweat filling the room. I stared at the ceiling until I drifted.
A hand woke me. Sun through the blinds. His hair brushed my lips.
“Dom… what are you doing?”
“I want you” he whispered, tugging at my boxers.
I hesitated. “No. Let’s not”
“Relax,” he murmured through his teeth, pulling me closer. His weight pressed in, his grip bruising and urgent. He moved against me, taking what he needed, whispering, “You feel good, Nicky.”
I stayed still, letting him. Part of me wanted to believe it was love.
Then—slam. The front door. Keys clattering on the table.
He froze. Footsteps on the stairs. He scrambled for his pants.
“The fuck are you doing here!” Aiden thundered from the doorway.
Luke behind him—his face a storm. Horror. Disgust. And beneath it—hurt. The kind of hurt you only feel when you’ve been replaced.
Dominik shirtless, fumbling with his belt. Me tangled in covers.
“Nick…” Luke’s voice wavered, confused.
Dominik shoved past them and was gone. The door rattled.
“What the fuck was he doing here!?” Luke screamed.
“Leave him alone!” Aiden barked.
“Fuck you, This is my house too!” Luke shot back.
“Get out,” I whispered, voice trembling.
“Yeah?” Aiden snapped. “Where were you on Halloween?”
Luke blinked. “What?”
Aiden slapped his own cheek—right where my bruise had bloomed. The sound cracked through the room.
Luke’s voice broke. “Nicky…?”
I froze. He’d never called me that before. Not once.
And in that single word—all his rage, all his hurt, and something I hadn’t seen until it was too late—I understood.
Luke’s scream split the air. “That was HIM!”
“Stop it! I don’t need you telling me who I can and can’t have in MY life!”
I locked the bathroom and shook over the sink while their fight detonated outside. Through the shouting, Luke’s voice cracked again—not rage this time, but pain.
Brothers
Morning felt like an interrogation. They sat across from me, silent.
Luke slammed down a mug of burnt coffee—punishment in a cup.
I started to explain: Halloween. The banging at dawn. Him drunk. Me feeling sorry.
The words disintegrated.
The look on Luke’s face hurt worse than Dominik’s fist—betrayal buried under protectiveness.
“You asked us to stay,” Aiden said, voice flat. “We were happy to keep moving. You wanted us here.”
“For the first time since leaving the home, we felt like we were part of something.”
His voice caught—the first crack I’d ever heard in it. He looked away, hating that it showed. Then back at me, blazing:
“But you keep dragging that piece of shit into our lives! What he does to you is your shit—until you bring him into this place.”
His fists clenched, jaw tight. Anger, yes—but underneath was something worse. He cared. More than he ever let on. Not just about a roof or meals, but about me. About us. Every time Dominik laid a hand on me, it tore something open in him. Like watching his mother collapse all over again—helpless, furious, broken by what he couldn’t stop.
“Aiden,” Luke warned softly.
“No.” Aiden stepped close, teeth clenched. “Keep us out of it. I told you once—keep him out of our lives. Or say the word and we’re gone.”
His chair toppled as he turned. On the stairs he wiped his face, then spat without looking back:
“You’re the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to Luke and me.”
Luke’s silence was deafening. His eyes were red, locked on me like he didn’t recognize me anymore.
By midday, they were gone. Big hustle. No goodbye.
The door clicked. That was it.
Silence.
Empty quiet hummed. No Luke blasting movies. No Aiden’s loud phone calls. For the first time in months, I was alone—and it felt colder than before they’d ever come.
We’d built something: pizza and movies, sharing clothes, late-night swims, Luke slipping into my bed at 2 a.m. In the mess of it all, three strangers had turned into a family.
And I threw it away.
I kept searching for answers in the storm of Dominik, when the real ones were already here. The longer the twins stayed, the less they hustled. Chaos softened into routine. Routine into safety. Safety into belonging.
Every time I dragged Dominik back, I poisoned it. My mistakes became theirs.
The TV reflected me back—grey, hollow.
The twins had given me roots. I chose rot.
I typed, erased, retyped. Finally: We’re done. This isn’t working. Sent to Dominik. No reply.
Too little. Too late.
I drove to Lover’s Lane that night. The city glowed. Takeout tasted like cardboard. Like nothing.
I thought of Luke’s pillow clenched in sleep.
Aiden’s rage.
The emotions he wiped away like it betrayed him.
I missed them.
I missed us.
At the estate gate, security said, “You’ve got a visitor”
My chest lifted. The twins. Two missed calls blinking. I rehearsed the apology as I parked.
I didn’t notice how still the night air had gone.
All I saw was the door. A chance to make it right.
I didn’t see the shadows.
Crossing the parking lot—then a fist hooked my shirt and ripped me backwards. Fabric tore. Paving knocked the breath from me.
Did a car hit me? Did I fall? My head couldn’t keep up.
A hand clamped my shoulder, hauling me upright. Hot breath. No words. Then—impact. A skull smashed my nose. White flash. Black blur. Blood flooded my lips.
I folded, spitting red onto bricks. The wall caught my back; the garden took me—dirt in my teeth, lungs clawing for air.
For a second I wasn’t there—
Luke clutching my pillow.
Movies and laughter.
Warmth. Safety.
Gone.
A sneaker collapsed my stomach. Pain detonated. Air vanished.
I crawled; fingers scraped dead leaves. The ground tilted. My body refused.
Another splice—Aiden’s voice: “You’re the worst thing to ever happen to Luke and me.”
Then nothing. The earth against my face. Iron on my tongue. The world breaking into black.
Home
I survived. But it cracked me in two. I still tense at shadows. I never learned who came—or why.
I remember—
The Jeep’s engine screaming, redlining.
Luke’s face above me in the backseat—blank, but not. Tears splattering my cheek, lips trembling.
“Faster!” he yelled at Aiden, voice raw.
The smell of petrol and alcohol hung in the Jeep.
Aiden’s knuckles white on the wheel, streetlights slashing across his face.
“I’m going as fast as I fucking can!” he shouted.
My stomach heaved. Blood and bile spilled into the footwell.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Luke whispered, tugging his leather jacket sleeve over his hand to wipe at my mouth.
His own face was streaked—my blood smeared under his eye where he’d tried to wipe away a tear.
Darkness.
Then a bloodcurdling “…help!” that still echoes.
Flashes: Luke’s hands, smeared red. Hospital lights too bright. Curtains screeching on rails. Voices underwater. My name—
Then nothing, like someone pulled a plug.
I didn’t hear from Dominik again that night. I told myself he’d gotten the message. Months later, his reply finally arrived—and shattered what innocence I had left.
Early the next morning I woke in hospital. White walls. Machines humming.
Every breath stabbed—broken nose, bruised ribs, head pounding. Empty room.
Footsteps. Raised voices in the corridor. My chest tightened.
For a second I thought the shadow had found me.
The thumping in my chest synced with the monitor’s frantic beeping.
Breath fast, shallow. The sound drowned out by a high, familiar ringing in my ears.
Instead, the twins burst in—loud, the nurse furious on their heels.
“He’s here!” Luke’s voice cracked.
“Damn, you’re alive,” Aiden said, trying for mean, car keys still clenched in his fist. “I was hoping I could get your Jeep.” His eyes gave him away.
“They wouldn’t tell us which room you’re in,” Luke added, softer. “Said we weren’t family.” The words stung him more than he let show—I saw it in the way his mouth tightened, in the blood still dried and flaking on his cheek, in the faint smell of alcohol clinging to him from the night before.
“So I told the nurse we’d walk the hospital yelling, ‘Nick Lane, where are you?’” Aiden folded his arms.
“No, no, you can’t be in here. Come back during visiting hours,” the nurse snapped.
The twins ignored her. She turned on her heel, threatening to call security.
Luke didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on me, red and unblinking, as if he was making sure I was real.
Aiden, of course, made himself comfortable—lifting the lid on my breakfast tray, snorting at the cold toast, and eating anyway.
They didn’t leave my room all morning. Doctors hovered at the door, annoyed. Nurses tag-teamed the courage to enter. For those hours, the room didn’t belong to the hospital—it belonged to the twins.
They only left when I was discharged.
Luke slipped off to the toilet. Aiden kept pushing the wheelchair, making car-racing sounds under his breath. Then, casually, without looking at me:
“You know he likes you.”
“I like him too. I like you both.”
Aiden snorted. “God—are you still concussed, or just thick? He like likes you.”
I blinked. Silent.
“I saw it in the car. Every time he slipped out to crawl into your bed. The way he hurt when he saw Dominik in your room. My brother doesn’t care about shit—not easily. But you?”
He looked at me then, mouth twisted, uncertain, like even he didn’t have the language for it.
“You must’ve done something right.”
I had no words.
“And I sort of like you too,” Aiden added, smirking. “Don’t get excited—I don’t mean it like that. I like my men older, with a bank account and a will.”
We laughed. For a beat his eyes softened, sharper than the joke.
“Let him make you happy—as much as you make him,” he said quietly. Then, before I could answer, he looked away, smirk back in place.
“And that shit I said before—‘worst thing that ever happened to us’—” he shrugged. “Yeah, that was bullshit. You’re not the worst thing. Not even close.”
He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll always protect my brother. He’s not like me—he’s more sensitive, more trusting.” His eyes cut to mine, sharp, unblinking. The grin that followed didn’t lighten the words—it made them colder. “You hurt him, I’ll put you right back in this chair.”
Luke caught up with us, wiping his wet hands on his leather jacket.
“What are you two whispering about?” Suspicion edged his voice.
“Nothing,” Aiden shot back fast. “Just telling Nick he and I should team up, hit a few parties. I mean, have you seen his cock?” He winked at me.
“The fuck you will,” Luke snapped, glare sharp enough to cut.
They bickered the rest of the way out.
We ordered burgers and fries—“modern-day chicken soup,” Aiden called it. Salty fingers, crisp soda, Super 8 flickering on the TV. For a moment, the night before didn’t exist. We lived right there.
“We couldn’t go through with it,” Luke said, eyes low. “Got to the party, had a few drinks, but… nah. Meeting you messed us up. Guess we’ll have to find other ways to make money.”
By the time we cleared the coffee table, Aiden was out cold on the far couch, drooling into a cushion. Luke stayed beside me. Close. The kind of close that hammers your chest—something real, terrifyingly pure.
On screen, the kids in Super 8 clung to each other, building family out of scraps, running through shadows with nothing but each other to hold onto.
My hand moved slow. My fingers brushed Luke’s—soft, hesitant. I took a breath, closed my eyes, and slid my hand into his palm.
He looked at me, startled for a heartbeat. Then his face softened, a small smile breaking through, the wall giving way. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed.
His head fell onto my shoulder. Leather. Hairspray. Warmth. Steady.
And in the glow of the TV, with monsters on the screen, I realized: for the first time, we weren’t running anymore. We were home.
“Nick,” he whispered.
“Yeah, Luke?”
“…Thank you.”
A beat.
“Nicky?”
“Yeah?”
“You smell like home.”
I laughed, heart thudding.
“Nicky?”—teasing now.
“Yeah?”
“…You smell really bad.”
We broke down laughing, stupid and loud. Outside, spring warmth wrapped the city.
Luke and me.
The boys from nowhere.
And, for the first time, the boys who belonged somewhere.
Home.
I honestly read through The Bear series in one sitting. I need the rest! Thanks Nick!
An emotional touching account of a path to a found family. And they're the best.