The Twins I’m Obsessed With Ended Up Being Yanderes in Reverse World Epilogue

[Chris’s POV]

Eighteen candles burn bright on my birthday cake, each fla a year of my life flickering in the dimly lit dining room. Everyone's singing, voices lding into that familiar, slightly awkward birthday tune. I take a deep breath and blow, watching the little fires vanish in a single exhale.

"Make a wish, Chris!" Victoria calls out, her cara flashing so bright it leaves spots in my vision.

I already did. Sa wish as always. The sa one I've made every November 14th since I was nine years old.

Bring Seth ho.

"Great job, birthday boy!" Margaret swoops in, wrapping in one of her signature hugs. "I can't believe you're eighteen already. Where did my little man go?"

"Still right here, Mom," I say, patting her back. "Just taller now."

The family living room is decked out in blue and silver strears, my favorite colors. It's weird seeing the place so festive when most days it feels like there's a ghost haunting every corner. Not just Seth's ghost, but Rose’s and Evelyn’s too. Nine years since everything fell apart, but sotis it feels like yesterday.

Greg tugs at my sleeve, his hazel eyes, just like Seth's eyes, looking up at with barely contained excitent. "Can we have cake now? Please, Uncle Chris?"

I still get thrown by being called "uncle" by a kid only nine years younger than . "In a minute, buddy. Let just cut it, alright?"

It's strange how much Greg looks like Seth. He’s the sa age I was when Seth disappeared. Nine years old, still believing the world makes sense, that the people you love stay around forever. Sotis I catch myself watching him, trying to rember if I was that innocent, that trusting, before everything shattered.

I've figured out how to talk to him by channeling Seth, mimicking the way my brother used to treat . The patience, the jokes, the way he'd ruffle my hair when I got sothing right. Though I'm definitely easier on Greg about math howork than Seth ever was with . Where Seth would drill tables until I wanted to scream, I let Greg use his fingers sotis. Life's hard enough without torture-by-arithtic.

"Here you go, first slice for the birthday boy's nephew," I say, sliding a generous piece onto Greg's plate. The frosting is sared a bit where I cut it, but his eyes light up like I've handed him solid gold.

"Thanks, Chris!" He digs in imdiately, getting blue frosting on his nose sohow.

I glance over at Lilly, who's watching from the doorway. Her green eyes follow every move I make with Greg, assessing, calculating. She's always been strict with him, bedtis are non-negotiable, vegetables are mandatory, howork cos before TV. But oddly, she never objects to anything I give him, even when it's clearly against her rules. Like the ti I let him have ice cream before dinner, or when I bought him V-Bucks.

It must be guilt. What else could explain it?

"Who else wants cake?" I ask, forcing cheerfulness into my voice as I continue cutting slices.

Victoria steps forward, cara still in hand. "I'll take a small piece, honey."

I'm halfway through serving Victoria when the doorbell rings, cutting through the birthday chatter like a knife. Everyone freezes.

Margaret and Victoria exchange confused glances across the room.

"Are we missing soone?" Margaret asks, checking her phone as if she might have forgotten an RSVP.

"Mom isn't coming," I explain, setting down the cake knife. "Diane said she's too swamped at work this week. Said she'd take to dinner next weekend instead."

Lilly, who's been quietly observing from near the hallway, raises an eyebrow. "I wonder who that could be," she says, smoothing her perfectly pressed blouse before heading toward the front door.

I follow a few steps behind, curious. Greg trails after , frosting still sared across his face. We hover at the edge of the entryway as Lilly pulls open the door.

The gasp that escapes her is unlike anything I've ever heard from her, raw, unfiltered emotion cracking through her usual composed exterior.

My heart stops when I see why.

It's Seth.

My brother is standing on our doorstep after nine years of nothing. Nine years of birthdays with an empty chair. Nine years of wondering if he was even alive.

But the man before is nothing like the brother I rember. He's wearing an eye patch over his left eye, the skin around it puckered with scar tissue. His right hand, gripping the doorfra for support, is missing several fingers, just stumps where his pinky, middle finger, and index finger should be. Scars crisscross his exposed arms like a roadmap of suffering, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his baggy shirt that hangs off his fra.

"Seth?" I whisper, the na feeling foreign on my tongue after so long.

Lilly throws herself at him, wrapping him in a tearful hug that nearly knocks him backward. "You're ho," she sobs, clinging to him like she might never let go. "You're finally ho."

Seth doesn't return the embrace. His arms hang limply at his sides as Lilly clutches him. His one good eye, still that familiar hazel I rember, stares over her shoulder, hollow and vacant. There's no thought there, no emotion at all. Just emptiness.

His body trembles constantly, a fine, persistent tremor that seems as much a part of him now as breathing. Not the shaking of fear or cold, but sothing permanent, etched into his nervous system.

"Seth?" I try again, louder this ti, stepping forward.

Lilly's grip loosens, and she steps back, her eyes still wet with tears. Seth's vacant gaze shifts from over her shoulder to my face. Sothing flickers in that hollow hazel eye, recognition, a spark of awareness breaking through whatever fog has consud him.

"Chris?" His voice is barely audible, raspy like he hasn't used it in years.

Before I can respond, he lurches forward, his movents jerky and uncoordinated. His trembling arms wrap around , nearly crushing , pulling against his emaciated fra.

"Thank God," he whispers against my hair, his voice cracking. "You're safe. You're actually safe."

Tears spring to my eyes, hot and sudden. The brother I've wished for every birthday for nine years is holding , and it feels like both a miracle and a nightmare. He's alive but broken in ways I can't even begin to understand.

"Seth," I choke out, my voice thick with emotion. "Where have you been all this ti? What happened to you?"

His grip tightens almost painfully for a second. I feel a shudder run through him, and when I pull back slightly to look at his face, I see sothing strange happen. His expression shifts, the brief flash of emotion draining away, replaced by that sa vacant stare. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

"I don't know," he mumbles, but he's clearly hiding sothing.

Behind us, Lilly clears her throat. I turn to see her guiding Greg forward, her hand gentle but firm on his shoulder.

"Seth," she says softly, "this is our son, Greg."

Seth's eye fixes on the boy, widening with recognition. More tears well up instantly, spilling down his scarred cheek like a river breaking through a dam. He drops to one knee, his movents stiff and awkward, arms outstretched.

Greg flinches at the sight of him, lurching backward to hide behind Lilly's legs. His small fingers clutch at her pants, his face a mask of fear and confusion.

"Greg," Lilly says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, "that's your father."

The tension in the room is suffocating. I can see Seth's heart breaking in real ti, watching his son recoil from him.

I kneel down beside Greg, getting on his level. His eyes are wide with uncertainty, darting between and the scarred stranger before us.

"Hey buddy," I say quietly, "that man is my brother. The one I've told you all those stories about." I place my hand gently on his shoulder. "He's the one who taught everything I know about hanging out with you. All those gas we play? The way I make your sandwiches with the crusts cut off? That's all stuff Seth showed ."

Greg's eyes remain fixed on mine, searching for reassurance.

"He's the best person I've ever t," I continue, my voice cracking slightly. "Even when I was your age, he always made feel safe. Do you think you could give your dad a hug? It would an the world to him."

Greg hesitates, glancing up at Lilly, who nods encouragingly. Slowly, he steps out from behind her legs, taking tentative steps toward Seth.

Seth remains perfectly still, as if afraid any movent might scare the boy away. His one good eye is overflowing with tears, his virbraiting montarily subsiding as Greg approaches.

Greg wraps his arms around Seth's neck in a cautious hug. Seth's remaining eye closes, tears streaming freely as he gently, so gently, returns the embrace with his mutilated hands.

Victoria and Margaret stand in the doorway, both wiping tears from their eyes. The mont feels sacred, fragile, like the slightest disturbance might shatter it.

The next few hours pass in a blur. It's like watching a movie in fast-forward, Seth getting settled in the living room, Victoria calling the police, officers arriving with notepads and skeptical expressions. I barely register their questions about where he's been, what happened to him. Seth's answers are vague, disconnected fragnts that reveal nothing while sohow making everyone even more concerned.

Now we're in the back of Lilly's car, streetlights flashing across Seth's scarred face in rhythmic pulses. The police finally left after taking statents, promising further investigation. Lilly's driving us to get Seth a check-up at a hospital.

I can't stop staring at him. It's like looking at a ghost made flesh, the brother I've dread about for nine years sitting right beside .

"Are you okay, bro?" I ask, imdiately regretting the stupid question.

Seth turns to , and the laugh that bursts from his throat is jagged and raw. It doesn't sound like laughter at all, but sothing broken trying to mimic the sound.

"No," he says, his voice cracking around the word. "I'm not okay, Chris. Not even close."

The streetlights illuminate his face in flashes, catching the wild, almost feverish gleam in his one good eye.

"By the way," he says suddenly, his voice dropping to sothing sharper, more lucid than I've heard all evening, "where the hell is Mom?”

"I shot her a text a few hours ago," I explain, pulling out my phone to check. "But she just replied with 'Happy Birthday: sent by Siri' like she didn't even read what I wrote."

Seth stares at my phone screen for a mont, then throws his head back against the seat. That broken laugh erupts from him again, louder this ti, bordering on manic. In the rearview mirror, I catch Lilly's eyes flicking toward us, concern etched across her face.

"Our mom really sucks, doesn't she?" Seth says, his laughter trailing into sothing that might be a sob.

I can't help it, I start laughing too. It's absurd and terrible and sohow the funniest thing in the world right now. Nine years missing, mutilated, traumatized, and our mother can't be bothered to read a text ssage about her son being found alive.

"Yeah," I manage between fits of laughter, "she really does."