Calum ya dick

When they step into the house, she freezes for a moment, letting her gaze sweep across the space. The furniture, the walls, the way sunlight hits the living room window, this is his home, but it isn’t just his anymore. He takes her hand, guiding her through the rooms, encouraging her to touch things, to imagine her belongings in the spaces, to see it as hers too. They go to the store where she picks out throw pillows, a blanket, a few little decorative items that feel like fingerprints of herself. Nick watches with a soft, quiet pride, loving the way her creativity spills into the corners of the home, marking it hers without erasing any part of his own world. 

He even surprises her with a small office nook, tucked into a corner of his study. A desk, supplies, and a stack of canvases, all set up for her to unleash her creativity whenever she wants. Her eyes widen, a laugh catching in her throat. “You did all this for me?” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course,” he says simply, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “This is our home now, so I wanted you to have your creative space too.” 

Then he brings out the sphinx cat, wearing the ridiculous little sweater she had joked about when he talked her down back in her hometown, and she loses it. Tears fall freely. Noah, who had come over to help carry some boxes, mutters under his breath, “Looks like an angry old lady.” Y/N can barely breathe through her laughter and sobs, clutching the cat to her chest, whispering about how perfect he is. Nick simply holds her, lets her cry into his chest, his hands tracing small, soothing circles on her back. 

Sundays become their ritual. Flowers show up at the doorstep, bright and deliberate, every week without fail. Nick and Y/N spend the afternoon arranging them together, debating what looks best in a vase, laughing over ridiculous debates about colors and shapes. Later, the boys come over and the house fills with the easy chaos of board games, video games, shared meals, and laughter. Their spouses join too, and Y/N finds herself slipping into the group naturally, teasing, laughing, sharing stories, becoming a part of this chosen family that’s just as fierce and protective as Nick himself. 

One night, they’re lying in bed. The room is dim, only the city lights bleeding through the curtains. Nick’s voice is soft, melodic, far better than that horrid bar serenade, singing to her low and slow. His fingertips trace up and down her arm, tiny, deliberate touches that anchor her in the present. She presses closer, feeling the safety in his arms, and then she can’t stop herself. Tears fall, sliding down her cheeks. 

Nick freezes immediately, heart tightening. “Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” he asks gently, concern filling his voice. She struggles for words. Finally, it comes out in small, broken bursts, tears spilling with each phrase. She tells him how safe she feels for the first time in her life. How she thought a life like this existed only in the fantasies she scribbled in notebooks or sang into her pillow at 2 a.m. How she never imagined meeting someone who could hold the storm inside her without flinching, someone who would meet her chaos with warmth and strength. She talks about the family she found in his friends, the way they opened their arms and welcomed her without question. She never thought walls could fall like this, never imagined someone could tear them down so gently. 

Nick listens, tracing her tears with his thumbs, pressing kisses to her hair, her temple, her cheek. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. All of you. Every storm, every laugh, every piece you think is too much, I’ll take it. And I’ll keep taking it, every day.” 

She buries her face in his chest, sobbing quietly now, the weight of her past melting against the present. The apartment, the laughter, the small rituals, the way he keeps showing her she belongs, it all becomes a tangible reality. For the first time, she knows what it means to be truly seen, to be loved completely, to be home. 

In that moment, tangled together, tears and laughter mixing, she understands that the fairytales she dreamed of weren’t wrong; they just weren’t the version they convince you about. Hers was rewritten in the form of a career, a chaotic group of friends, and a man who would hold her through every storm. The city hums quietly beyond the windows, and somewhere deep inside, her heart finally feels like it has a place to rest. 

Nick kisses the top of her head, soft and reverent. “Thank you,” he says. “For letting me behind the walls.”  

She looks up at him, placing her hand gently on his cheek. “Thank you for never stopping to get over them.” He kisses her softly. In a way that feels as if he’s too rough, too fast, it’ll break the moment.  

The world felt lighter than it ever had. Not because the past disappeared but because it finally stopped fully owning her. The weight she’d been carrying for as long as she could remember loosened its grip, just enough for her to breathe without bracing for impact. 

Every step that led her here suddenly made sense. 

Every night spent staring at a ceiling wondering what she’d done wrong. 

Every scream swallowed because it was safer that way. 

Every hit, every cruel word, every time her dignity was stripped away by the very hands and voices that were supposed to protect her from the world instead of teaching her how dangerous it could be. 

It all lined up, painfully, perfectly, like a road she never would’ve chosen, but somehow still walked. 

And lying there with Nick, wrapped in his arms, listening to his steady breathing and feeling the quiet certainty of his presence, she realizes something that makes her chest ache in a way that isn’t painful. 

She survived the things that should have killed her.

Because here she is. Loved. Safe. Wanted without conditions. Held without fear. Seen without having to perform or prove or shrink herself down into something manageable. 

She thinks about the girl she used to be; the one who sat on bridges and begged the universe for a sign that it would get better. The one who dreamed of safety like it was some fictional luxury meant for other people. The one who learned how to take hits and keep going because stopping meant breaking. 

She wishes she could go back and tell her: 

Hold on. You don’t know it yet, but someone is coming. Not to save you, because you already learned how to save yourself, but to stand beside you and never let go. 

And the thought hits her so hard it steals the air from her lungs: 

She would do it all again. 

Every bruise. 

Every humiliation. 

Every piece of herself that had been taken, crushed, rewritten by cruelty. 

She would walk through hell barefoot if she knew Nick was waiting on the other side. 

Because he didn’t just give her love, he gave her choice. He gave her a home where she didn’t have to flinch, a future that didn’t feel like a trap, a family that didn’t come with conditions or consequences. He loved her loudly when she needed reassurance and quietly when the noise in her head got too loud. 

He didn’t try to fix her. 

He didn’t ask her to be less. 

He just opened his arms and let her exist inside them. 

Her fingers curl into the blanket as emotion swells in her chest, grief for what she lost, gratitude for what she found, awe at the fact that she made it here at all. 

For the first time in her life, she doesn’t feel like she’s bracing for the next disaster. 

She feels grounded. 

Like the universe finally stopped testing her and started rewarding her for surviving it. 

Nick shifts slightly, instinctively pulling her closer, kissing the top of her head again. She closes her eyes and lets herself believe it fully: 

Every moment that brought her here was worth it. 

Because at the end of all that pain, all that darkness, all that fighting just to exist 

There was him. 

The future doesn’t scare her anymore. 

The future finally feels like home. 

Tag List:

Folio lets you sit in the garage with him for all of 5 minutes before he starts asking you for help. Namely just handing him stuff but god is he impatient. 

“For fucks sake Folio. How do you do this alone?” you try to ask it as a logical thought but your tone matches his. Now you’re both frustrated in the garage, even if just playfully. 

His grease covered hand reaches up and grabs yours. With a little yank, he positions your arm where he needs the flashlight to shine, leaving your wrist streaked with grease when he pulls back his hand. 

“Ew Nick!” 

“You’re going to get gross anyways,” He says it like it’s already settled. It is in its way. You like helping him so you’ll do it.  “Your hands should be able to reach a few bolts that I need help changing.”

“Why don’t you ask Sara for help with those?” 

Your arm feels sore holding the flashlight so still, you hold your breath to steady yourself a bit longer. If the only concern you have staying with Folio is a little forced labor, that’s something you can accept. He also gave the keys to a project cart earlier with the promise, “Someone will get you if it breaks down.” Not very comforting but a car is a car. 

“She only helps me once a week. The rest of the time she just sits out here and reads to me.”

You can’t help but smile at him, the idea of it warms your heart. “That’s the cutest fucking thing.” 

“I know.” 

After the longest few minutes of your life, he climbs out from under the motorcycle and stands beside you. “Ok, you see that red tubing there?” he points as though it should be as obvious as the sky. 

“Sure,” you answer. Not a fucking clue. You see red but you’re unsure if it's the right red. 

“You’re going to take this wrench, untwist the second bolt to the left, and then get it out.”

“You know most people just watch TV for entertainment.”

“If you want to go watch movies, call Noah. See how that goes.” Folio teases and holds a wrench out towards you.

You laugh, yanking it out of his hand, “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m kidding,” he holds the flashlight now, watching you as your arm squeezes into the small space easily. It's a tight squeeze as you position your hand. “No, not that one. Perfect!”

You feel the screw release and then stick your hand in the space to unscrew it easier. 

“Are you going to see him?” 

“I don’t know,” you mutter a few swear words as you struggle to reach. Your arm is slender enough for the space but not long enough. “I feel bad because I’ve made time for everyone else but him.”

“You can go to their place on Saturday.”

Jesse invited you to a get together for the release of his recent project. You’ve actually gotten a surprising amount of texts from people here. Even when Folio mentioned to them that you are staying a bit longer. 

“I don’t know,” you tuck your arm back into the space. 

It’s just Jesse and Noah’s place, you know you can sit in the kitchen or outside the whole time. If you pop in and run quickly, it can all be over in just two hours. You enter a spiral of back and forth with yourself for the second time today. Good idea? Bad idea? There’s only one way to really know. 

“You should go,” Nick says.

“Maybe," you scrunch your nose at him, "But you and Sara aren’t going.”

He chuckles at you, “One outing won’t hurt. It’ll probably help you get rid of that pressure you’re feeling.”

Finally you feel the screw come loose. You roll it between your fingers, feeling the ridges dig lightly into your finger tips. Dropping the screw into his open palm, you both look down at it together. Looks like any other screw to you but Nick inspects it closely then realizes. “Fuck it’s the other one.” 

“See, I told you lefts and rights are hard!” 

“Can you put it back please?”

“No!” you laugh, already taking it back from his palm. 

__

That Sunday you wake up on Noah’s couch, replaying that same conversation you had with Nick. Nick made it sound like nothing. At that point, it felt like it would be nothing but it’s never just nothing anymore. Now there’s no question, this was a very bad idea from the start. 

Last night, you did not drink but Noah probably had enough for both of you. Truthfully, it feels like you’re the only one who paid for it. You stare at the stark white ceiling and hate Noah’s minimalism as the bright morning sun floods the living room. Whatever you should leave early anyways. 

You sit up, looking for water. Noah hands you a bottle from the floor, as though to show no ill will, a peace offering, to prove you’re still friends. You yank it from his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, like a chastised child. 

You sit and wonder if it's a genuine apology or embarrassment that forces it out of him. The threat of you launching the bottle at him might have also gotten it out of him. 

“Just forget about it Noah,” you mutter, drinking deeply from the water bottle. Everything feels so dry; your eyes, your mouth, terribly dry.

Waking up like this makes you feel like you did back in the old days. The fucking crypt where Noah just hides away all the messy bits of himself. Insecurities. Pain. The shit he won’t tell anyone else because he knows you’re air tight. And you’re sitting here already assuming the normal ‘no big deal’ portion of it all. Spare him his guilt so he knows he’s already on the path to being forgiven. 

“I really am sorry,” he says again. 

You stare at him, he looks pitiful on the floor beside the couch. Last night he wouldn’t go anywhere else and you refused to sleep any other place. Noah drunk and you in a room? You can do basic math and know that’s a fucking mess in the making. He looks away from you this morning, the bravery from your time in Nicholas’ kitchen is clearly long gone. 

“It wasn’t appropriate to put you in that situation.” 

Rolling your eyes, you take a second gulp from the water bottle before handing it to him. You’re clearly trying to dismiss the incident but he seems to be caught on it. Noah isn’t typically this masochistic. At least not in this way. 

“You were drunk. Just leave it.” You're more direct now, letting him have the permission to just let you both stop dwelling on it. 

You don’t want to look at him, you don’t want to look at you, you don’t want to be here on this couch. For the first time in a week, you want to be back in your old apartment with boring Leo having some coffee and talking about the same shit you always do. He’ll read the news and comment on things like he even fucking cares and you’ll humm in agreement and things will just be boring. 

Instead, you lay back down on the couch with a groan. Who cares if Noah can hear it. He should know he caused it. He should fucking feel bad even if you tell him not to. You cover your face with both your hands, your finger tips press gently into your eyelids as you try to think about what exactly happened. 

__

Saturday night, you stand in the kitchen with Jesse, teasing him about his new album for a good while. It's a good release. One of your favorite's if you're truthful.

“Look, I understand you’re trying to ask the listener a philosophical question. You’re trying to unpack something or whatever but just spit it out Jesse!” you both laugh. “Always so wordy!”

“Not everything is meant to be so direct. Quit acting like you don’t have to put an abstract at the top of your shit just so people can figure out if it’s worth reading.” 

You both truly erupt in laughter. You’ve congratulated him properly, of course, but can’t let his ego get too inflated between the party and good reviews. 

Maybe it’s not having Leo, but you really feel like yourself tonight. The nerves from when you first arrived are quickly gone. Spending your time in the kitchen with friends and talking a bit of shit to Jesse, you feel relaxed. 

Drinks flow freely from the moment you got here but you just don’t feel in the mood. You take one shot with everyone as the last of the guests arrive and decide to stop there. By 10 pm, nobody is the wiser that you and a few others are not drinking, a cup of soda is plenty enough to divert any questions. 

It is about this time that you spot Noah outside with his friends. They’re illuminated by the warm light of the fire pit, you can’t fully see his face but you can see the way he’s been throwing back shots and the beer bottles gathering beside them. He’s wearing all black, his cool boy outfit as usual. You try not to dwell on it. He’s an adult and he’s celebrating too, he helped produce this album. 

It’s only once you see him taking a drag from something that you begin to genuinely worry. Whatever, he’s an adult, you remind yourself. The house is big enough to avoid it and you’re perfectly content standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, occasionally interjecting in a conversation with a quip or joke. You try to chase all other thoughts from your mind. 

A lot of the folks around you start to talk about the fall tour plans. Jesse will go out soon, taking a few of the group with him. Others will join Bad Omens, and some other smaller acts. It leaves you there thinking of all the loose ends in your life. It’s a weird feeling, endless possibilities with no clear path defined, it’s scary. There are some things that you can’t procrastinate on. For example, you need to eventually make your way home–or well the apartment you used to call home–to grab your things from Leo. Two weeks is a long time to drag your feet on that sort of thing.

Outside you hear your name being called loudly, suddenly remembering how loud Noah and Matt are together. You can’t even pretend not to hear them, half the kitchen now knows your name with the shouting.

“Can you get your friends?” you ask Jesse. You really don't want to walk into that.

He shakes his head, “They’re not going to stop for me."

He's right. Left with no other option, you take a deep breath and brace yourself. As you walk out side, you try to embrace the chaos, tossing your arms up for a hug, “Is that Dierkes? The Matthew Dierkes?”

Strong arms pull you close, you laugh as he picks you up just slightly. It’s still weird to see all the changes in them, the last time you saw him he felt like half a person. You give Noah a quick hug and a 'hey'. Noah struggles keeping the jealousy at bay. You've spent all night with Jesse, you make a big deal of Matt, and him? An unceremonious hug and a quick 'hey'.

“What’re you drinking? Need a refill?” Matt asks. 

“Coke,” you answer. 

“And rum? Whiskey?” 

“No, just soda,” you shake your head and double down.

“Be right back.” Matt promises before he goes inside to grab more drinks, leaving the two of you alone. 

“How are the interviews going?” 

From this distance you can see the flush in Noah’s face, it runs down his cheeks and paints them a light pink. He smiles at you, teetering despite standing still. 

“Good, I got a few second rounds here,” watching carefully as he seems to teeter again, you start to worry. It’s a whole lot of person to catch alone if he falls. It feels like Matt is taking a fucking lifetime for a soda. 

“So you’re moving back?”

“I don’t know,” you’re honest with him, “For the time being the plan is I go home next week and pack up my stuff from Leo’s. Then I don’t know. Maybe stay with Folio. Maybe stay out there. Depends.”

Noah’s jaw flexes at the mention of Leo. He doesn't even try to hide his disdain. The permanent drunken smile is gone. 

“We can pay for someone to do that.” You know he would too. He can be such a petty little shit. 

“No, Noah. I can do it,” you reassure not trying to end up indebted to him.

He looks ready to argue back but gets cut off.

“Shot time!” Matt calls from behind you.

Suddenly Matt’s long disappearance makes sense. There’s no second soda but Matt has somehow come back with a bottle of tequila. Noah takes a shot from him, you consider arguing with him that he shouldn't but you stay silent. You are not a babysitter. Instead, you watch as he downs it and half his cup as a chaser. Something about the sight makes you angry. Why would he tell you he doesn’t drink anymore then do shit like this?

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself with no intention to come back. You’re only halfway to the door before you hear the crash. You turn quickly and call, “Noah?” 

“He’s fine, just fell,” Matt looks positively pale when you see him. When you look at Noah, he looks dazed, watching blood run down his elbow. Of course, you remember in that moment, Matt can’t deal with the blood. It makes you queasy too but Matt is worse off. 

Noah is still on the floor, sitting on his ass. You cross the backyard quickly, worried about something worse.

“Did he hit his head?” you ask Matt as you stand between Noah’s legs. 

“No, no. Just fell over and hit the side of the fire pit,” Matt sits on the floor now too, trying to avoid the sight of blood. If it wasn’t happening to you, the whole thing would probably be hilarious.

Noah’s face tilts up to look at you, a drunk smile raises your blood pressure as you place your hands on either side of Noah's face. It’s clean, nothing there. He can't help but close his eyes, a content feeling as you run your fingers through his hair making sure there’s no bleeding. One final hand runs along the back of his neck and also comes out clean, thankfully. 

“Ok. Noah, do you think you can get up?”

Noah responds to your words with another little smile. You’re nowhere near strong enough to pick him up yourself. Bringing your lips between your teeth you start to think about what to do here.

Luckily, the shock of the fall begins to wear off and Noah moves on his own. Once he’s up, you grip his hips and push him inside the house, making sure the task at hand is not forgotten. The bleeding looks like it stopped but still you need to clean up that elbow.

He walks you further into the house to a second, less busy, bathroom. The loud thud of the toilet cover gets his attention and you sit him down there to look at injury in the better light. It’s not too bad, it’s a scrap but not much more.

“You spent all night with Jesse." It’s an observation but the tone says it’s so much more. He's trying not to be jealous, if that's what you want then, who's he to stop it?

When you don't answer, Noah’s free hand comes to your waist, looping his fingers into your belt loops, and pulling you closer between his legs. 

“Stop that.” Your voice is firm in a way that even scares you a little bit. “Have respect for Erin.” Suddenly you’re aware you haven’t seen her all night. 

“‘S‘s done.” he exhales a chuckle. The way he slurs a little makes you unsure if you heard him correctly. 

Shaking your head at him, you try to process what he’s saying to you. It’s difficult coupled with the anxiety of his fall. There’s an involuntary shake in your hand.

“What?”

“I broke up with her.” The way he speaks feels callous, he’d never say things like this sober.

“What? When?” 

“When you didn’t leave,” he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Truthfully, he feels like an idiot who blew up his life, waking up to empty beds again has thrown him into a tailspin. He drank today because between you in the kitchen and not having Erin’s hand in his, he feels beyond overwhelmed.

Mentally, you do the math. You only talked to Folio about staying longer three days ago. With the information filtered through Nick, that means it hasn’t been more than 2 days that Noah’s known. 

Your stomach sinks. You look at each other a moment longer. The ease with which he said it is irritating. You hate it. You hate yourself. Erin’s tears probably haven’t even dried and here he is with his damn hands playing around on the waistband of your jeans.

You run the sink and submerge your hands under the cold tap to ground yourself. The mirror over the bathroom sink shows a mess of a scene. Your face covered with anxiety and disgust and Noah leaning carefree against the toilet, his eyes closed.

What you don't know is he sits there wishing he still captured your attention the way Jesse had that night. Noah spent all night watching through the doors to the kitchen, wishing you would just come over. That maybe you’d would let him have the chance to make you laugh like Jesse had.

“Was Leo better than me? Was Jesse?” 

“Stop that. You wouldn’t be asking that if you were sober,” You don’t even know if that’s true but god do you hope so. Without the excuse of this drunken mess, you wouldn’t know how to make sense of this mess. It makes you nauseous as you try to take in everything.

“Do you like him more than me?” he stands now, taking a few steps towards you.

“Don’t ask me that.” There’s no need you both know the truth.

When you turn to face him, his hands find their way to your cheeks so naturally, he pulls your face up to his and leans down. Then he kisses you. The most simple, plain kiss in the world. The kind you might share without thinking, the kind you’ve shared before running out the house or coming home. There’s no need or want, just a ‘hello’. 

Careful not to react too strongly, you pull away. Noah’s emotions take front seat when he’s like this.

“You’re drunk,” you remind yourself as much as him.

"Is that why you kept your distance?" The question is genuine, like it’s the first time it’s crossed his mind that it’s a possibility.

"Yeah, actually," you admit it plainly. the frown on your face would have usually made him feel some shame but tonight, it only makes him wish he could kiss you again and make it disappear. “Where is the first aid kit? We need to get you cleaned up.”

“In the kitchen."

Of course it is. Without another word you leave and come back. You clean him up in record time, before finally applying the silliest space themed bandaid. You press your hand over the band aid to make sure it's well adhered. 

“Let’s go. Back out with you,” he sits on the edge of the tub and looks at you. 

“Just one kiss?” he asks. 

“Let’s go,” you don’t turn around to check if he’s following you. You simply leave the room. The worst he can do from there is sleep in the damn bathtub. 

By the time you and Noah make it back outside, half the party is gone and they’ve produced a bucket from some place and put it by Noah’s chair. It seems like they all know where this night is going for him. 

“Please just sit down, Noah,” Matt pleads once he makes it back outside. He still seems a little scared at the idea that Noah is still bleeding. Truthfully, now the idea is a little amusing. 

Noah doesn’t seem to care much about what Matt needs. He’s insistent on joining the two of you standing by the fire pit. It’s your last straw, you might actually kill him. Does he even realize that?

“Noah Sebastian Davis, sit down,” that does it. He settles in the chair, leaning back and beginning to doze off. 

“I haven’t seen him do this in years,” Matt admits, nervously scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you think it’s because things ended with Erin?” 

Matt’s raised eyebrows let you know that wasn’t quite common knowledge. You could kick yourself, you should’ve known. Matt shakes his head. You might not be the closest of friends but you both know Noah enough that neither of you are surprised at the secrecy. 

Heat floods your chest, you hate making yourself feel so self important but the only other variable is increasingly clear, you sigh hoping that Matt will just be honest. 

“Does everyone just kind of know about…us at that time?” you feel yourself balling your hands and releasing them. it has always felt like such a secret. Noah always kind of used it as an excuse to keep things so lowkey.

The heat abruptly disappears when Matt answers, “Yeah.” 

“Have you guys always known?” It feels like you've been taken from the fire and straight into an ice bath. With all the events of the night, you feel lightheaded at this point.

Matt nods and gives you a tight lipped smile. “Noah would kinda just tell us. I thought you knew.”

You feel stupid. Fucking stupid. You’ve had enough of this party and Noah. With that you turn on your heel and go back inside. You steal a spare blanket and claim a spot on the couch in the now empty living room. 

Sending one final text to Folio before falling into a restless sleep. 

__

Now you’re climbing into the front of Folio’s car in last night’s clothes. You managed to find some face wash so at least your makeup isn’t smeared down your face from the tears that snuck up on you after Noah fell asleep on the floor by the couch. 

“We’re going to get some stuff for breakfast and some flowers for Sara,” Nick says. 

You nod. The tears come now. Nick’s not judging you. You could tell him anything and he’ll find a silver lining for you. He’s been doing it all week but today you don’t want one of his silver linings. You want to wallow.

“I’m so mad,” whisper it as though saying it too loudly will explode the anger in your heart. “Every time I think I’ve had enough of this shit, it just finds a new way to dig in and I’m so mad.”

“Did something happen?”

“Noah got fucked up and he kissed me.”

Nick's face keeps calm, indifferent. 

“And then I found out that everyone knew about this shit back then. Matt told me and I felt so fucking stupid. And the worst part is I panicked at first but Noah just told everyone but I was supposed to keep shit a secret?” 

Nick gives you a sad smile and nods. He was of course filling in all the gaps for himself along the way but he knew long before you told him just the same as everyone else did.

"Oh and he fucking broke up with Erin and said it's because I'm here like how am I supposed to feel after that shit?"

“Did you tell him that?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

There’s a knot in your throat, “What if I do and he never wants to see me again?” 

“Look he might be my friend, bandmate, whatever. If that’s the case, fuck him," he drives calmly, “I’m not saying it has to be now but you need to tell him. For your own sake. Write him a letter, a text, anything. Just stop carrying it.” 

When you get back to Folio’s place, you try to head straight for the shower but Sara’s already in the kitchen. You make an effort to smile.

“Good morning!” her expression is confused as she notices you’re still in last night’s clothing. 

“Didn’t sleep with him,” you shake your head. The look of your swollen eyes clues her into the kind of night you had. The jokes end immediately as accepts your statement with a question, “Blueberry or chocolate chip?” 

“Chocolate chip, please.” 

Now that you’re back someplace familiar and safe, grief claws at your throat trying to find a way out. You want to scream. You want to slam doors like you’re 14 and throw yourself on the floor and throw a tantrum like you're 5 but you tuck it all away for later. 

“I’m going to shower,” you whisper and leave. 

And when you come back, the smell of butter and warm pancakes makes your stomach rumble. It’s comforting to have them both here. You’ve been telling Nick he needs to put a ring on Sara and if these pancakes keep coming, you might do it yourself.  

“You doing ok?” Sara’s question is so genuine that it makes you want to burst into tears again as you sit at their kitchen table.

“I just…,” you start and stop staring at the plate in front of you.

It feels like there’s nothing new to say. Nick turns his undivided attention to you as you start to speak. You look at the stack of pancakes Nick is making on the griddle, the savory smell of toasted butter in the kitchen, and you turn back to them, “Can we just have breakfast and talk about it later?” 

“Yeah,” Nick doesn’t skip a beat, going right back to his griddle. He cooks like he’s feeding a small army even if it’s only three. 

You spend the second half of breakfast laughing, Folio and Sara’s antics are a great distraction. She tells you about the time Folio took them out into the wilderness and forgot toilet paper. The tears go from sadness to laughter as he tries to justify it. There’s no explaining just how he would forget that but he tries his best. Sara lays into him, he remembered a whole tackle box and speciality lures but forgot the one thing they needed. 

Nick looks at you with pride as you help stack the dishwasher after breakfast. With kindness in his voice, he says to you, “I know you think you’re sliding back but you’re not.” 

“Thank you.”

___

Later that morning, as things settle you find yourself typing on your computer. Heart still a mess, you try to focus on work but it’s no use. Something snaps. Your heart is a mess. Somehow here you are burned again. Only this time it haunts you. There’s no running from it. At that moment you realize, you don’t need a letter. You’ve written it in your mind a half a dozen times. Before you can lose conviction, you dial Noah’s number. You half consider hanging up but he answers in the second ring.

“Hey. How are you?” Both relief and fear is in Noah’s voice. 

“Hey.”

You swallow hard and feel yourself falling into the routine. If you apologize for leaving without a good bye, this’ll all be over in a minute. He’ll ask you what you’re up to, you’ll plan a little day together, maybe help Folio with his car so Noah keeps in line. Life goes on. 

You look around Nicks living room. He looks up from his phone and gives you a gentle look. Your breath feels shallow as you hear your heart beat in your ears. Suddenly it all wells up at once. You press the heel of your hand against your eyes trying to figure out where to start. 

The silent too long, it makes Noah uncomfortable. It always makes him uncomfortable. It sounds routine as he starts to fill the space, “Hey I know last night was a lot. I understand why you just left—“ 

“No, Noah you don’t. You don’t understand.” 

“Oh sorry. I thought it was that. Did something pop up?” He still sounds so casual. 

“I’m mad at you, Noah.” 

“Yeah I know.” He says it with a finality. Like it’s a thread you’ve already snipped and tied up but it’s clearly not. It makes you angrier still.

“I don’t think you do,” you force your voice to be firm. “Everyone knew. You knew they knew. I thought…I thought we weren’t telling people I thought it was to keep the friendship together. But the whole time I was just stupid.”

“I wish I’d told you. It’s my mistake.” Again he says it like it fixes everything. As though any part of it can be resolved. You know it won’t but still the pain in your chest demands to be felt, not just by you.

“I’m not finished. To this day, I don't think you’ve ever called it a relationship, Noah. It’s always a situation,” the word drips with venom as you say it, “it wasn’t some situation. We propped each other up, we cared for each other. You said you loved me. We were together somehow even if she didn’t know or other people did. It wasn’t a fucking situation.” 

“It was such a hard time for me–,“ 

"I know. I remember. I was there. We all took turns holding you up then. But somehow I was the only one cut out. It’s like at the first chance, you traded me in for someone cuter, someone fun, someone who you didn’t taint with your own issues.” Your voice trembles and cracks. You don’t even care. You’re feeling emotions you didn’t realize you still held onto. 

Even Nick appears to recoil with that one. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“And then I come to one thing, I try to see if we can be normal about things and you get so fucking drunk– and Erin? It makes me feel like somehow I’m still the issue.”

“You’re not. Listen, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to drink like that.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, Noah.” Tears continue to come as you force your jaw to relax and exhale hard. Before he can respond, you hang up the phone and put it down on the countertop.