Burning Sage

Life pulls strings in ways no one can predict. One morning, you’re a kid, running through the dirt with scraped knees and two best friends who feel like forever — and the next, you’re shipped away, living a different life with only one of them by your side and your little kid’s heart once again - broken in half. It happened that fast for Maddox and Nash.

From poor to privileged overnight — a miracle, they called it. A new beginning none of them had ever asked for a second chance - but no one told them how heavy that could feel - how hard it would be for them to leave her behind and start fresh.

Change never sat well with Maddox. It wasn’t in his blood to adapt; it was in his nature to fight. The children’s home had taught him to hold on to what was his — and what he lost. The streets, the noise, the chaos, her ginger hair— those had been real, for all his life, that was what he knew. Wealth wasn’t, and neither was a loving family.

Now, the polished walls and clean air of his new house only made him itch and be angry. The only thing that kept him from burning it all down was Nash, the brother he’d chosen long before adoption papers made it official, the one that his shitty life hadn’t separated from. Nash had always been his anchor, quiet where Maddox was loud, light where he was storm. They survived it together — the awkward smiles, the charity looks, the forced gratitude, and the heartbreak of living her life behind, and all of that was about to change.

Because from an inseparable trio, they became a duo, a duo, ready to morph again.

The Martinez Family, his adoptive parents, had said - was again another change. Smiling as if they were offering them something precious, they walked into their lives like they had the right to. Maddox had seen it differently. They were another symbol of the world he didn’t belong to — manicured, perfect, dripping in money and manners - all things he couldn’t care less about.

And in the middle of them stood Sage Xavier Martinez—the preppy boy with designer clothes and leather shoes.

He was nine - just like Nash - and only a few years younger than Maddox, with calm eyes and quiet confidence — like someone carved from marble and holding secrets. Maddox had hated him on sight. Hated the composure, the soft voice, the way Sage could look at him and see too much - the way he was a kid, whether Nash and he had their childhood ripped away from them. Along with him, his half-brother Brody Ray Maritnez - but at least he was older and they weren’t expected to be his friends.

With Sage, it was all a different story.

For the first year after their move, Nash spoke only to Maddox, retreating behind him as if the older boy could shield him from everything else. His outspoken personality slowly died, morphing into something quieter, lonelier, and darker.

Maddox hated everything, and his anger was evident day after day as he destroyed everything in his path.

Sage lingered at the edges, observing. There was something in Sage’s calm, precise gaze that felt like assessment and curiosity rather than judgment. And that was the only thing that sparked Maddox’s little interest.

Sage didn’t rush. He didn’t push. He simply existed in Maddox’s periphery, patient and steady, as if he could wait out Maddox’s fury until the walls themselves tired of holding him in. Maddox hated that about him, hated that calmness could feel so infuriatingly close to comfort.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sage carved his presence into Maddox’s life. A quiet word when Maddox snapped. A hand when Nash faltered. A look that spoke without speaking. Maddox, who trusted almost no one, began to lean on him. He didn’t admit it—couldn’t—but he began confiding in Sage. Not the world, not even Nash sometimes, but Sage. And it was dangerous. Because Maddox didn’t just need Sage. He needed him to be steady, needed him to hold pieces of his hurt that he could never show Nash.

The pre-teen years were messy. Mischief, pranks, fights, quiet alliances formed in whispers behind closed doors. Maddox still tested Sage, still pushed him away, still made it clear he wasn’t easy to reach. But Sage met every challenge with a quiet endurance that Maddox didn’t know how to fight. By the time they hit their teens, the unspoken lines had been drawn. The duo of Maddox and Nash had grown into a quartet: Maddox, Nash, Sage, and Cole — Nash’s closest friend. They were a pack now, a self-made unit with their own rules and unbreakable bonds, but Maddox’s walls remained highest, sharpest, around Sage.

Except that Sage had learned to navigate them. He knew Maddox’s anger was a shield, that his isolation was a trap for everyone who got too close. He didn’t try to break the walls down; he just waited for Maddox to let him in. And Maddox did, slowly, in pieces — confiding his fears, his anger, the guilt of what he had lost. Sage absorbed it all, never judging, always steady.

By the time they were seventeen and fifteen, many things had changed.

The four of them had become inseparable — four pieces of a pack bound by unspoken codes, laughter that echoed through hallways, fights that healed as quickly as they broke, and a bond that felt stronger than blood.

It was the time of first love, curiosity, and restless hearts trying to understand who they were. Late nights, stolen music, bruised knuckles, whispered dreams — the kind of years that burn bright and fade slow.

And then came the time for college.

Once again, life pulled the strongest string.

For the first time, Maddox and Nash were separated — brothers who had never been apart for more than a day now faced the distance neither of them had wanted. Nash had Cole to lean on, to fill the spaces Maddox left behind.

But Maddox… Maddox was left with his anger, his moods, and the gnawing quiet that came whenever the world shifted under his feet.

This time, though, Sage was there.

The calm to his storm. The one who never flinched when Maddox snapped, never looked away when he fell silent. The one who stayed.

And oh God, none of them were ready for what was coming