By the time Riley and I finally went downstairs, the quiet of the morning had completely disappeared, swallowed whole by the kind of holiday chaos only our two families could create before breakfast.

I should have known it wouldn't last.

The Briarwyn house had transformed in the short amount of time we had spent upstairs into something that looked like Halloween itself had exploded inside it, leaving behind blankets, costume pieces, coffee mugs, candy wrappers, and a level of noise that should have been illegal before noon.

The television was playing some old Halloween cartoon no one was actually watching, cabinet doors opened and closed in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee, pancakes, and something slightly burned drifted through the air while Milo sprinted through the living room wearing his vampire cape over his pajamas and shouting that the sun could not kill him because he was "a special vampire."

"I'm starting to think we should've stayed upstairs," Riley said quietly beside me, standing one step above me on the staircase with his hair still messy from sleep and his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked down at the madness like he was observing wild animals from a safe distance.

I smiled without looking away from the living room. "Too late now."

"We could go back."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because they'll come looking for us."

He thought about that for a second, then said, "We could lock the door."

I turned to stare at him, and his mouth twitched before he could hide it.

There it was again. That tiny piece of old Riley.

I looked away before he could see how much it affected me. "Come on. If we don't go down now, Brooklyn will probably eat everything."

"Which one is Brooklyn again?"

I stopped on the stair.

Riley stopped behind me.

The question shouldn't have hurt anymore, but it did, because apparently there were some things the heart never learned how to hear without cracking a little. I turned back to him slowly and kept my voice gentle as I said, "One of my older sisters. The twins are Harper and Brooklyn. Brooklyn is the louder one."

From the kitchen, Brooklyn shouted, "I HEARD THAT."

Riley looked toward the kitchen, then nodded. "Okay. That helps."

"And Harper is the one who will deny being equally insane because she thinks being quiet makes her better than the rest of us."

"I ALSO HEARD THAT," Harper called.

Riley glanced at me.

I shrugged. "You'll learn."

Something in his expression changed, just enough for me to notice, and he said softly, "Yeah. Maybe."

Maybe.

I hated that word now, but I smiled like it hadn't touched something sore inside me and kept walking down the stairs.

The second we reached the bottom step, Milo spotted us from the middle of the living room, where he stood wearing dinosaur pajama pants, one sock, a single shark slipper, and his vampire cape tied crookedly around his neck. He pointed dramatically at us and shouted, "There they are! They were sleeping together!"

I nearly choked.

"Milo!" Willow shouted from the kitchen.

"What?" Milo asked, wide-eyed. "They were."

"We were sleeping in the same room," I corrected quickly, feeling my face heat so fast I thought I might actually catch fire.

Milo frowned. "In the same bed."

The entire room went quiet.

My soul left my body.

Slowly, I looked toward my parents. Mom was standing near the kitchen counter holding a mug of coffee. Dad was sitting at the table with Kai.

Neither of them spoke.

Lydia stood near the refrigerator eating something directly from a container, and the smile slowly spreading across her face told me she was about to make this significantly worse.

"Interesting," she said.

"Don't." I warned her.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"I was thinking."

"You think loudly."

Brooklyn leaned around the kitchen doorway. "Wait. You two actually shared the bed?"

"The floor was uncomfortable," Riley said.

I slowly turned toward him.

"What?" He asked.

I closed my eyes. "Nothing."

"It's big enough for three people." Riley shrugged.

My eyes flew open. "Riley."

"What?"

Kai immediately put his coffee down. Dad stared at him. Willow turned around so quickly she nearly dropped the spatula she was holding.

Riley looked around the room. Then at me.

"What did I say?"

I covered my face.

Lydia started laughing.

"The bed," Riley corrected. "I meant the bed. The bed is big enough for three people."

"That is somehow worse," Harper said.

"It's literally true."

"Stop helping," I whispered.

"I'm trying to explain." He said.

"You're failing."

Milo looked between us. "I slept with Hudson."

Lydia started laughing so hard she had to grab the refrigerator door for support, while Brooklyn appeared in the kitchen doorway with the expression of someone who had just been handed blackmail material that would last years. Dad closed his eyes and said, very calmly, "Please, everyone stop talking before I have to move to another state."

Hudson wandered in from the hallway wearing pajama pants and one of Dad's sweatshirts, the sleeves hanging past his hands. "What happened?"

"Autumn and Riley slept together," Milo announced.

"We slept in the same bed!" I shouted.

"That is what I said."

"No, it is absolutely not."

Lydia laughed harder.

Riley's face turned even redder.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Willow saved us from everyone's staring by clapping her hands once and declaring that breakfast was almost ready, Halloween was officially happening, and absolutely no one had anything prepared, which sent my mother into an immediate defense of her list-making skills.

From there, the kitchen became loud again.

Brooklyn and Harper started arguing about whether the haunted bakery costumes could actually be finished before trick-or-treating. Lydia complained that she hadn't agreed to face paint. Hudson tried to steal chocolate chips directly from the bag, and Milo attacked the couch with a plastic sword that no one seemed to know where he had gotten.

Riley stood beside me quietly as all of it unfolded around him.

I noticed.

His eyes moved from person to person, conversation to conversation, as if he were trying to keep track of everyone at once. I knew that expression now. Overwhelmed. Not scared exactly, not unhappy, but standing too close to too many people who loved him like history while he only knew them like introductions.

I touched his arm gently. "You okay?"

He looked at me, then around the room again. "I think so."

"You don't look like it."

He exhaled. "There's a lot of people."

My heart hurt, because there weren't, not really. There were only our families, only the people Riley had known his entire life, only the people who had watched him grow up, who knew his favorite foods, his old jokes, his bad habits, the way he sounded when he laughed from another room.

But to him, they were almost strangers. Strangers who loved him. Strangers who knew everything about him. Strangers who remembered pieces of him he couldn't reach.

"Want to go somewhere quieter?" I asked.

He looked toward the kitchen, where Willow was flipping pancakes while Mom argued with Dad about whether a haunted rolling pin counted as a costume, then back at me. "No."

"You sure?"

He nodded. "I should get used to it."

Something about that sentence made me sad. "You don't have to force yourself."

"I know."

"Then why are you?"

His eyes moved around the room again, taking in Willow, Kai, Lydia, Milo, my parents, my sisters, my brother, the noise, the costumes, the proof of a life he was still trying to fit himself back inside. "They're my family."

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"And yours."

"Yeah."

"And apparently they've always been like this."

A small smile touched my mouth. "Unfortunately."

Riley looked at me. "Was that one of my words?"

"You used it a lot."

"Good word."

"Excellent word."

He smiled faintly. "I want to stay."

I nodded. "Okay."

Before I could move, his hand caught mine.

Both of us froze.We looked down at the same time.

His fingers were wrapped loosely around mine, not tightly, not confidently, not even in a way that seemed fully intentional, but enough that my entire heart seemed to stop inside my chest. Riley stared at our hands like he was seeing them at the same time I was, like his body had moved before his mind had given permission.

"Did I..." He trailed off, then looked at me. "Did I do this?"

"Do what?"

"Hold your hand."

My throat tightened. "Sometimes."

"Like this?"

I looked down at our hands. "No. Not usually."

He immediately started to pull away, but I tightened my fingers around his before he could.

"Wait."

Riley stopped.

"You held my hand when I was anxious," I said softly. "With both of yours. You would take my shaking hand and hold it between your hands until I calmed down."

His eyes stayed on our fingers. "Did it work?"

I smiled sadly. "Every time."

He was quiet for a moment before asking, "But you're not anxious now."

"No."

"Then why did I grab your hand?"

I didn't have an answer.

Maybe his body remembered. Maybe somewhere beneath the missing memories and damaged pieces of his mind, some part of Riley still knew that reaching for me was natural. Or maybe I was making something beautiful out of nothing because I needed something to be beautiful.

"I don't know," I whispered.

Riley didn't let go.

Neither did I.

We walked into the kitchen like that, and no one said anything, which meant everyone noticed. Willow looked at our hands and quickly looked back at the pancakes. Kai suddenly became fascinated by his coffee. Mom smiled into her mug. Dad raised one eyebrow. Lydia caught my eye, and when I gave her a warning look, she mimed locking her lips, though she ruined the effect by smiling.

Milo, unfortunately, had no interest in subtlety. He pointed at us and shouted, "THEY'RE HOLDING HANDS."

I closed my eyes.

Riley laughed.

Not a small laugh. Not a tired breath.

A real laugh.

The sound filled the kitchen, and for one second, everyone stopped. Willow froze with the spatula in her hand. Kai looked up from his coffee. Lydia's smile softened. Even Milo stopped yelling, because we all knew that laugh. We had all missed that laugh.

Riley didn't notice the way everyone froze. He was too busy looking at Milo. "You're really bad at keeping secrets."

Milo crossed his arms. "I'm five."

"Is that an excuse?"

"Yes."

Riley nodded thoughtfully. "Fair."

Everyone laughed, and just like that, the room moved again.

Breakfast began in the chaotic way breakfast always did when both families were together. Willow put pancakes on plates. Mom demanded everyone sit before she changed her mind about feeding any of us. Hudson tried to steal more chocolate chips and got caught immediately. Lydia argued that coffee counted as breakfast. Kai told her it absolutely did not. Brooklyn and Harper resumed their costume debate with the seriousness of two women negotiating a national treaty.

Riley and I sat beside each other at the table, our hands eventually separating somewhere between plates being passed around and Milo demanding more syrup. I didn't know exactly when it happened, and maybe that was good. Maybe not every touch needed to become a monument. Maybe some of them were allowed to come and go softly.

Willow placed a plate in front of Riley.

He stared down at it.

"What?" she asked.

He pointed at the pancakes. "Why do they have chocolate chips?"

Willow blinked. "Because those are your favorite."

Riley looked at the plate, then picked up his fork slowly. Everyone tried very hard not to watch him eat the first bite.

He chewed.

Frowned.

Swallowed.

Then looked up, uncomfortable and apologetic. "I don't like chocolate chip pancakes."

The room went quiet.

Willow's face fell before she could stop it. "But..." She caught herself and forced a smile. "That's okay, sweetheart. I made plain ones too."

"You don't have to—"

"I made too many anyway."

"You always make too many," Kai said gently.

Willow looked at him, and something passed between them before she smiled, took Riley's plate, and replaced it with a plain pancake as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Riley looked down at it. "Thanks."

"Of course."

Conversation slowly started again, but something had changed, at least for me. I watched Riley pour syrup over the plain pancake and thought about the journal upstairs, about all the things old Riley loved, all the things he hated, all the things I knew about him with the certainty of my own name.

For the first time, I wondered how many of them were still true.

I had spent every day since the accident waiting for Riley to come back, but what if getting him back did not mean returning to who he had been? What if this Riley hated chocolate chip pancakes? What if he liked different music? What if he never cared about photography again? What if the boy I loved existed only in journals and photographs and the memories everyone else carried?

Riley glanced at me. "What?"

I realized I had been staring. "Nothing."

His eyes narrowed. "You're terrible at lying."

My heart stopped again.

I smiled. "So I've been told."

Riley smiled back, then returned to his breakfast.

And I sat beside him in the middle of our loud, strange, loving families, realizing something that terrified me almost as much as losing him had.

Maybe getting Riley back was not going to mean finding the exact boy who had disappeared.

Maybe it meant learning who he was becoming.