My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 180: Caught In Between

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As soon as the bell rang marking the end of the school day, the three of us squeezed into Skylar’s worn-out hatchback, our breath fogging the windows and the heater blasting against the December chill.

Of course, Gigi took charge of the music, excitedly selecting her classic "holiday cheese" playlist that kicked off with a hilariously cheery version of "All I Want for Christmas Is You." By the time we parked in front of Joe’s Ice Cream Parlor, we were all singing along, our laughter filling the car like confetti.

Joe’s had remained unchanged for years, and that’s exactly what we loved about it. The bright neon sign buzzed cheerfully in pink and blue, boasting "Homemade Since 1957." Inside, the delightful aroma of freshly baked waffle cones wafted from the old iron press behind the counter, mingling warm sugar and cool dairy, making our mouths water long before we reached the glass display.

Red vinyl booths lined the walls, decorated with framed black-and-white photos of Willow Haven from decades past, while an ancient jukebox in the corner softly played a slow tune by Dean Martin. A few other customers were scattered about...two little kids with sticky fingers pressed against the freezer glass, an older couple sharing a banana split like newlyweds, and the usual group of middle-schoolers dominating the corner booth.

At the counter, we placed our orders with all the seriousness reserved for life’s big moments. Gigi went all out for the holidays with a double scoop of peppermint stick smothered in hot fudge and whipped cream, topped with mandatory rainbow sprinkles.

Skylar chose classic chocolate chip in a waffle cone dipped in chocolate and rolled in crushed peanuts. I, still buzzing from the day’s good news, decided to treat myself to a peppermint bark milkshake—thick, minty, filled with dark chocolate chunks, and adorned with an excessive swirl of whipped cream and a bright red cherry.

And me, being the stepson of the richest men in the city...decided to handle the bill with my now fat allowance, Gigi almost teared up when I declared they could have any many ice creams as they wanted.

With our sweet treats in hand, we settled into our usual booth by the window, sliding into the cool vinyl until we were nestled shoulder-to-shoulder, our spoons clinking against glass dishes.

For a while, the conversation flowed easily and lightly, we recapped our pop quiz disaster, ranked the worst holiday sweaters we’d seen that week, and wildly speculated about which classmates might pair up at the Snow Ball now that Vanessa wasn’t orchestrating the drama.

Gigi had us in stitches mimicking Mr. Delgado’s disappointed eyebrow raise when half the class left the molar mass question blank, and Skylar nearly snorted her fudge when Gigi pulled off one last faux hair flip like Vanessa used to do.

I laughed along with them, the sound genuine enough, as being with them always felt like the coziest version of myself. Yet, beneath the giggles and sugar rush, a gnawing sense of deception lingered within me.

Each spoonful of shake felt overly sweet, and every burst of laughter seemed too loud, because how could I sit there enjoying their warmth, the same warmth Ethan provided, the same safety Adrien tried to offer...while hiding secrets that could ruin everything if revealed?

Eventually, Skylar slid out of the booth, muttering something about too much hot fudge, and disappeared down the hallway toward the restrooms. The jukebox switched to a soft instrumental version of "Winter Wonderland," and the noise level in the parlor relaxed into a gentle hum.

Suddenly alone with Gigi, I noticed her scraping the last bit of fudge from her dish. I stared at the melting whipped cream atop my shake, my heart pounding with the question I’d been carrying like a hot coal all day.

My fingers tightened around the cold glass, hesitation thick in my throat, but the words spilled out before I could hold back.

"Hey, Gigi... hypothetically," I began, keeping my voice low enough to avoid being overheard by the nearby middle-schoolers, "if you were.with Skylar...which you are, and you know, loved her and everything, but then you realized you had feelings for someone else too... and that person confessed they felt the same... what would you do?"

Gigi halted mid-scrape, her spoon hovering above her dish. Slowly, she turned toward me, her eyes wide in disbelief. Her mouth dropped open in a dramatic O that would have been funny if my stomach wasn’t twisting itself in knots.

"Excuse me," she whispered, leaning over the table as if we were concocting a heist, "but what in the fresh fanfiction fuck was that question?"

Lowering her voice even further, her tone became both conspiratorial and excited as she gasped.

"Noah, Noah. Someone confessed their feelings to you, didn’t they? Who is it? Spill it right now, or I swear on this peppermint stick ice cream I will shake you until you give me details!"

Oh my God, talk about a bestie with no chill.

Heat flooded my cheeks, making me feel hotter than the cherry on my shake. I glanced around, half-hoping Skylar would come to my rescue, but the hallway door remained closed.

"It’s hypothetical," I hissed back, playfully kicking her under the table. "Totally hypothetical."

Gigi squinted, clearly unconvinced, and leaned in closer until her curls brushed my forehead.

"Hypothetical my ass," she whisper-expected fiercely. "You’re blushing like a stoplight, and you asked that question like it’s been on your mind for hours. Who is it? Come on, you know I thrive on this drama. Is it a senior like us? A junior? Someone from art club? Oh my God, is it—"

"Gigi!" I squeaked, quickly covering her mouth to prevent her from voicing my imaginary love life to the entire parlor.

She retaliated by licking my palm, making me retract my hand with a muffled yelp. We burst into muffled giggles for a moment, as we had since freshman year, but her eyes remained sharp and curious, waiting for the truth I wasn’t ready to share.

Rolling my eyes, I felt their strain in their sockets as a flush crept up my neck, unrelated to the parlor’s cozy heat. I knew I should have just kept my mouth shut. The question had slipped out like a greased banana peel, setting me up for a mess of my own making.

Gigi continued to stare at me, spoon dangling forgotten in her hand, hot fudge dripping onto the table like evidence. I waved my hands in a frantic manner, trying to dismiss the whole situation.

"I—I saw it in a random post online," I blurted out, tasting the lie’s bitterness. "You know, one of those advice threads where someone asks about what to do in that exact situation? I just...uh, thought it would be interesting to see what you’d say. Hypothetically."

Gigi’s eyebrows shot up so high they might disappear into her curls. She slowly set her spoon down, folding her arms and leaning back against the red vinyl booth like a detective who had just found a glaring inconsistency in a suspect’s story.

"Uh-huh," she replied, stretching the word out dramatically. "Random post. Online, sure..."

I could feel my face burning hotter, suddenly fascinated by the cherry on my shake as I poked at it with my straw. I’d lied to Mom, to Ethan, to myself a dozen times in the past few days, why not add another? Starting the truth now felt like trying to bail out a sinking ship with a spoon.

"It’s not about me," I insisted, forcing a laugh that came out too high-pitched. "I’m just... trying to spark conversation. You know, deep stuff. While we wait for Skylar."

Gigi continued her piercing gaze for a long, agonizing moment, her expression narrow and keen, as if she knew someone was fibbing but couldn’t catch them just yet. Finally, she exhaled through her nose, picked up her spoon again, and stirred her remaining fudge in slow circles, contemplating.

"Okay," she said softly, shifting into a more serious tone. "If we’re truly doing hypotheticals... I’d need to look at it this way."

She paused, glancing toward the hallway to make sure Skylar was still MIA. "If I still loved Skylar—and I do, like bone-deep, can’t-imagine-life-without-her love—and someone new appeared, flipping my heart with confusion... yeah, it would be complicated. Flattering, perhaps, maybe even painful."

Taking a small bite of ice cream for pause, she continued, "But I couldn’t fathom betraying her like that. Sneaking around, lying; letting it become something that hurt her. I’d never want to be that person who cheats just because feelings get complicated."

Gigi shrugged, but her shoulders carried real weight. "I’d have to make a choice. Choose Skylar, the one I already pledged my heart to. Then, I’d set clear, kind, but firm boundaries with the other person—even if it meant enduring heartbreak for a while. Even if it sucked."

She looked directly at me, her gaze steady and sincere. "Feelings don’t override respect for me. Skylar deserves better than that; so do I."

Her words landed gently yet firmly, like snow piling up until it blocked all escape routes. Staring into my milkshake, the peppermint ice cream swirling into pale green, I felt the guilt I’d been carrying tighten my chest.

Gigi’s response was so clear, so unwaveringly decent, while I was there...kissing Adrien in my bedroom, letting his touch blur every boundary I’d ever drawn—while Ethan still believed I was only his.

I swallowed hard, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah," I replied quietly. "That makes sense."

Gigi reached across the table, playfully flicking my knuckle. "You’d handle it the same way, right?" she asked, her tone curious but not accusatory. "If it happened to you? You’re too good a person to drag it out and hurt everyone."

I nodded automatically, feeling the motion mechanical. "Right," I whispered.

I really was a terrible person, wasn’t I?

But inside, the word cheater echoed louder than the jukebox, louder than the laughter from the middle-schoolers, louder than anything else in the warm, sugary air of Joe’s Ice Cream Parlor. And for the first time since Adrien’s lips touched mine, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t fully aware of what I was becoming.