The VOID

He entered the tiny store. Different souvenirs littered the shelves. Tiny snow globes with a cathedral in it, keychains, bottle openers. One rack was filled with the classic I heart- shirts. And in the back, a selection of clothes so small it was hard to imagine someone could ever fit in them. 

Noah reached for the one he’d seen in the window. White cotton, adorned with little red traditional folk patterns. It was labeled for six month olds. Six months? Noah frowned. If this was for a six-month-old… just how tiny was a newborn?

After that, it just kind of happened. Whenever he found a souvenir shop with a onesie in the window, he’d buy it. Noah got one from Leipzig and one from Derby the day after they’d played Download. He picked one up in Milan, one in Warsaw, another one in France. Jolly insisted that he’d get one in Stockholm. He rounded out the whole thing by buying one in Helsinki. 

It wasn’t until Noah started packing after the final show that he realized he’d somehow bought eight onesies in less than a month. A tiny smile played across his face. He was sure of two things. The first one was that you’d laugh at him, even though he was certain that you would secretly love it. The second one was that his little Blueberry would look ridiculously cute in all of them one day. 

When he got home, Noah insisted that he could unpack his bag by himself. You, however, insisted that he couldn’t. And that was how you found yourself picking up a small, blue paper bag. 

”What’s this?” you asked.

”Oh…” a tinge of pink flushed his cheeks. ”Don’t laugh, but it kind of just… escalated.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and opened the bag. Your heart ached in your chest when you realised what it was. 

A tiny beige onesie with a little wooden sailboat on the front. A small Swedish flag fluttered from the stern, blue waves curling around the boat. Across the chest, it simply read Stockholm.

”Jolly insisted I’d get that one too.”

”Too?”

He smiled sheepishly at you. 

”Look in the bag.”

You did. And then you pulled onesie after onesie out. Some adorned with different motives, others simply sported the name of a city over the chest. 

”Honey…” you whispered. 

”Yeah?”

”Did you get one in every county…?”

He gazed down at the pile of onesies on the bed. 

”No… not every county,” he said. ”Just… most of them?”

You laughed softly at him, brushing your fingertips over the printed castle on one of the onesies. 

”Look at this one,” he said, pulling one from the pile and holding it up in front of him. ”It’s my favourite. Look at the little cow!” 

You couldn’t help but look at him. Tousled, dark hair falling across his forehead. The gentle slope of his nose. The slight part of his lips as he slept. The tattoos climbing up his neck had long since become as familiar to you as the freckles on his shoulders. The little scar under his eye from the dermal he had as a teen. The even smaller scar from his lip piercing. The way his eyelashes cast tiny shadows under his eyes. You knew every inch of his face, but somehow still found yourself looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. 

You tried to not count how many mornings would pass before you woke up next to him again. 

Noah’s eyelashes fluttered, like he could sense your gaze. Before he had even opened his eyes, his hand reached for you. You placed your hand in his, giving it three fast squeezes. Your code for I love you. He opened his eyes. The moment they found you, he smiled. 

“...Morning.” 

“Morning.” 

He noticed you staring. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re staring.” 

“Am I not allowed?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

He laughed quietly. 

“I mean… you are.” 

“Good.” 

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. 

“What time is it?” 

Without letting go of Noah’s hand, you twisted at the waist, stretching awkwardly across the bed until your fingers brushed against your phone on the bedside table. You gave it a hard tug, charger falling to the floor with a clatter. 

“You need to stop doing that,” Noah said. “No wonder why all your chargers break within months.” 

“Oh shut up,” you mumbled, squinting at the screen. 

“Too early,” you stated. 

“Hm. Five more minutes?” 

He opened his arms and you scooted closer, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped one arm around you, hand coming to rest on your waist. You lifted one leg over him, his free hand stroking your thigh. You sighed deeply as you settled against him. Leaning down, he placed a small kiss in your hair, closing his eyes again. 

His heartbeat was slow and familiar beneath your ear, like a song you knew by heart. Neither of you spoke. There was nothing left to say that hadn’t already been said a hundred times before. Neither of you wanted to acknowledge the day ahead of you. In the soft morning light, the tattoos on his chest stood out against his pale skin. You absentmindedly traced the outline of the skeleton and the woman on his chest, over the roses and down to the lettering across his midriff. 

Noah smiled without opening his eyes. 

“You’re doing the tattoo thing.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Is it working?” 

It wasn’t. Usually, it would help calm you down. Usually, tracing the artwork that adorned his skin gave your restless mind something to focus on. This time however, it failed to drown the thoughts swirling in your head. 

“...No.” 

He squeezed you harder, placing another kiss in your hair. 

Then, from opposite sides of the bed, both of your alarms began to ring. 

Noah sighed into your hair.

“…I hate that sound.”

“Me too.”

Eventually, you reached blindly for your phone while Noah reached for his. The room fell quiet again.

You slowly rolled onto your side, turning your back towards him. Then the mattress shifted.

Noah moved closer until his chest rested against your back. One arm slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His fingers laced with yours where your hand rested on the duvet.

He buried his face against the back of your neck.

“…Just one more minute,” he whispered.

You nodded.

“One more minute.”

One minute turned into two. Two into three. Neither of you spoke. You almost felt like as long as you stayed in bed, time was not real. As long as you stayed in bed, you’d have all the time in the world. 

Three and a half weeks. You’d spent way longer apart before. It had always been hard, but it had always felt manageable. In the grand scheme of things, three and a half weeks was easy in comparison. Or, it should be easy. But now, it wasn’t. 

”We should get up,” you sighed. 

“We should,” he agreed. “But I don’t want to.” 

Fifteen minutes later, you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrushes in hand.

Noah caught your eye in the reflection.

You smiled.

He smiled back.

Neither of you looked away.

After a few seconds, you leaned your head against his shoulder without breaking eye contact through the mirror. Noah tilted his head until it rested against yours. 

“…You know,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, “Your toothpaste is disgusting.”

“It’s literally mint flavoured.” 

“Yeah. But like… not enough?”

You could do nothing but roll your eyes at him. 

Back in the bedroom, silence returned. Not an uncomfortable, awkward one. Just… heavy. 

You zipped your toiletry bag shut, complete with “disgusting” toothpaste and all, and tossed it into your weekend bag. 

Noah was folding his clothes, placing them into his bag, when he stopped. It was the hoodie he’d worn the day before. He held it out to you. 

“You can take this.” 

You looked up. 

“Really?” 

He shrugged. 

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You took the hoodie from his outstretched hand. The fabric was soft beneath your fingers, worn from countless washes. One of his favourites. It felt heavier than it should have. Not because of the hoodie itself, but because you understood why he was giving it to you.

You folded it carefully before bringing it to your face for a second. It smelled like him. 

“Thank you.” 

You tucked the hoodie carefully into your bag before zipping it shut. 

"Is this yours?” Noah said, holding up a phone charger. 

You looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know it is.” 

“I know,” he said, grinning. 

You took the charger from him, tucking it away into your handbag before looking around the room. There was nothing left. Nothing that belonged to either of you.

Noah looked at you.

You looked back.

Then you crossed the small distance between you and walked straight into his open arms. You could feel how tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

Your hands fisted the fabric of his T-shirt, holding on a little tighter than you meant to.

One of Noah’s hands cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your back. His chin rested on top of your head.

You breathed him in.

“I miss you,” you whispered.

Noah let out the softest laugh.

“I’m right here.”

You tightened your grip on his shirt.

“You know what I mean.”

“…Yeah.”

He pressed a kiss into your hair.

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence. Neither of you wanted to speak. To move.

”The bus can drop you off at the airport,” he said casually.

You looked up.

“Noah…”

“It’s on the way.”

”It’s not.”

”It could be.”

”Honey…” you untangled yourself from him, looking into his brown eyes. ”It couldn’t. First of all it’s actually the exact opposite of on the way. And secondly, a tour bus has no business trying to get into airport traffic.”

”So? We’ll manage.”

”So… I’m taking a taxi.”

”It’s just a few extra minutes. It’ll be fine,” he said, an almost pleading tone in his voice.

”I’m not making the crew drag that bus to an airport.”

”I’d do it.”

”I know you would, Noah.” 

You reached up, smoothing a crease from the front of his shirt.

”That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

Noah sighed.

”…Fine.”

Both of you reached for your weekend bag at the same time.

”I’ve got it.”

”Noah—”

“I’ve got it.”

You watched him sling it over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing. He hoisted his own backpack onto his back. You were left with your handbag. 

He held the hotel room door open for you.

A few minutes later, the cool morning air met you as the automatic doors slid open.

The tour bus was already waiting by the curb.

Nick spotted the two of you first.

“There she is.”

He pulled you into a warm hug.

“Three and a half weeks, my darling,” he said. ”That’s nothing.” 

You nodded.

“Three and a half.”

Jolly wrapped you in a hug that lasted just a little longer.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you smiled.

Folio squeezed you so tightly your feet almost left the ground.

“Folio…”

“What?”

You laughed despite yourself.

“Nothing.”

Noah handed his backpack to Jolly. He grabbed it and climbed the stairs of the bus with a last nod to you. 

A cab pulled up in front of the bus. Too soon. Noah took your bag from his shoulder and lifted it into the trunk. The driver closed it with a dull thud.

Noah turned back towards you.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then he crossed the distance between you in two quick steps and pulled you into him.

”I’ll see you soon.”

You nodded against his chest. 

”Soon.”

He kissed your forehead. Your hairline. Your cheek. Your temple. The corner of your mouth. Your nose. Then, finally, your lips. 

He rested his forehead against yours as you pulled apart. 

”Call me when you land.” 

”I will.”

”Promise?”

”Promise.” 

”I love you, angel.”

You smiled, reaching up and cupping his cheek in your palm. 

”I love you too.”

Noah gave you a sad little smile as he reached for the backseat door. 

You slid into the backseat. Noah leaned in, reaching for your seatbelt. 

”I can fasten my own seatbelt, you know.”

”I know.” 

The buckle clicked into place.

But instead of pulling away, he stayed there. Close enough that your foreheads almost touched.

“…Three and a half weeks,” he murmured.

You smiled sadly.

“That’s nothing.”

He nodded once.

“Nothing.”

Then he kissed you. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for one last second.

He stepped back and gently closed the door. Through the window, your eyes found each other immediately. Noah lifted one hand in a small wave. You blew him a kiss. He caught it with a faint smile, pretending to put it in his pocket. 

The cab pulled away from the curb, you kept looking back for as long as you could.

Noah never took his eyes off the car. Not even after it had begun to disappear into traffic. You turned in your seat, watching him through the rear window. He grew smaller and smaller. 

Then, just before the taxi turned the corner, his shoulders sagged. He slowly lowered himself into a crouch, one hand pressed hard against his eyes. Nick was beside him almost immediately, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Then, the taxi turned and Noah was gone. And you felt sick to your stomach. 

The flight home passed in a blur of airport announcements, turbulence and unanswered thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house, unlocking the door. Home. You stood in the hallway for a long moment, listening to the kind of silence that could only come from an empty house. 

You dragged yourself to your bedroom, hand lazily trailing across the banister as you climbed the stairs. You could unpack tomorrow after work. Still, you pulled Noah’s hoodie from your weekend bag and draped it over the back of your desk chair.

As the hot water ran over your skin, you tried not to think about how it washed away the last traces of Noah’s touch.

The next few days settled into a strange routine.

Work.

Phone calls.

Counting down.

Missing him.

And then Tuesday morning came. 

The waiting room smelled slightly of disinfectant and coffee. You placed a hand on your knee, trying to stop it from bouncing up and down. A small television mounted in one corner played a daytime talk show no one seemed to be watching. Magazines lay neatly stacked on the coffee table, untouched. Every few minutes, the receptionist called another name, followed by the soft click of a door opening and closing somewhere down the hallway.

To your left, a couple sat close together. He had one arm around her shoulders, the other rested on the visible curve of her stomach. They spoke quietly, occasionally breaking into soft laughter. You looked away. 

Being with Noah meant getting comfortable with your own company. It meant being okay with spending long stretches of time alone. Going to weddings, birthday parties and family gatherings by yourself. Most of the time, you were.

But not here.

Not today.

Most of the other women weren’t alone. Partners. Husbands. Someone’s mother.

You smiled politely when another couple caught your eye before looking back down at your phone.

Noah: Good luck today, angel. Call me as soon as you’re done? I’ve left my phone on. 

You read the message, smiling softly to yourself. 

Before you had the chance to reply, your name was called. 

A woman with a kind face greeted you outside the examination room.

”Hi, I’m Anne. I’ll be your midwife today.” 

She closed the door behind you and motioned for you to take a seat in front of her desk. You sat down on one of the two plastic chairs, crossing one leg over the other. 

Anne sat down on the other side of the desk, clicking her computer mouse a few times. 

She smiled warmly at you. 

”How are you feeling?”

”Tired, mostly. Nervous. I'm a little nauseous in the mornings.” 

”Is this your first pregnancy?”

”Yes.”

She typed a few words into the computer. 

”Do you remember the first day of your last menstrual period?”

You thought for a moment.

”January sometime… 13th? 14th? Somewhere around that.”

Anne nodded, putting it into your chart. 

”That would put you at about eight weeks.”

Eight weeks. Further along than you thought. 

”…And it would give you an estimated due date of October twentieth.” 

The questions kept coming, all routine. Medical history. Medications. Allergies. Family history. Whether you’d had any bleeding or cramping. Whether you smoked or drank alcohol.

”Was this pregnancy planned?” she asked. 

”…Not exactly,” you replied, a little taken aback. ”But very much wanted.” 

”And the baby’s father?” 

”He’s very much involved.” 

You heard the defensiveness in your own voice the moment the words left your mouth. 

”He’s a touring musician,” you continued. ”He’s headlining an arena tour at the moment.”

”That must be difficult,” Anne replied with a sympathetic smile.

You looked down at your folded hands where they rested in your lap. 

”Sometimes.” 

“Have you started taking prenatal vitamins?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“…My boyfriend bought me some the day after I told him, actually.”

”It sounds like he’ll be a good father.”

You could only smile at her, blinking rapidly to stop the burning feeling behind your eyes. 

”We’ll schedule your first ultrasound in four weeks, and we’ll take a blood sample before you leave.”

Twenty minutes later, with a cotton ball taped to the inside of your elbow and a folder full of information tucked under your arm, you walked back across the parking lot.

You slid into the driver’s seat, placing your bag and the folder on the passenger seat. You let your eyelids fall shut as you rested your head against the headrest. You opened them again after taking a deep breath, gaze landing on the folder you’d been given. You picked it up again, flipping through it. It mainly contained the same information that the midwife had just given you. One page was filled with colourful illustrations of fruit, each given a corresponding week. You smiled disbelievingly. How could something so small already mean so much? 

Noah answered before the first ring had even finished. He appeared on your screen, one earbud only half in place, brows already knitted together. You could tell he was laying in his bunk. 

”How’d it go?”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“Do people not say hi anymore?”

“…Hi.”

“So…How’d it go?”

You laughed quietly.

“It went well.”

Noah studied you for a moment, his expression softening.

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I’m not.”

“Angel…”

You looked away for a second.

“…Okay.”

You let out a quiet breath.

“I just felt a little alone.”

His shoulders dropped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I wish I’d been there.”

“I know.”

“I really wish I’d been there.”

You smiled gently.

“It feels better now.”

He smiled back, tilting his head slightly

“So…”

“I’m a little further along than we thought.”

His brows pulled together.

“…Yeah?”

“I’m eight weeks.”

He blinked.

“Eight?”

You nodded.

“My due date is October twentieth.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you.

“…October twentieth.”

You nodded again.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes already beginning to glisten.

“Wow…”

You laughed softly.

“Just before Blueberry’s dad’s birthday.”

He let out a breathless laugh.

“Blueberry’s dad?”

“Well…”

You shrugged.

“That’s your official title now.”

”I can’t think of a better title. Or birthday gift.”

You glanced over at the folder. 

”I’ve also just found out that Blueberry is currently the size of a raspberry.”

Noah laughed. 

”What?”

You flipped the camera around. 

”Look,” you said, pointing at the illustration labelled with a small number eight. ”Just a tiny raspberry.” 

He smiled at the screen for a second.

“Well…”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Trying, and failing, not to grin.

“I think you should go buy some raspberries.”

You laughed.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Feels appropriate.”

You turned the camera back towards yourself.

“Where are you, anyway?”

Noah glanced out one of the bus windows.

“Somewhere in the middle of Canada.”

He paused.

“…Absolutely nowhere.”

“Helpful.”

He chuckled.

“There’s trees.”

“Wow.”

“A lot of trees.”

You nodded. 

”Ah, yes. That really narrows it down.”

”I saw some cows an hour ago, if that helps?”

”Loads.”

Somewhere in the background, someone called his name. Noah looked to his side.

“Noah? We’re pulling in to eat.”

“Yeah, coming.”

He looked back at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

”I’ve gotta go.”

”I know.”

”Call me tonight?”

”Always.”

He studied you for a moment.

”Love you,” he said. 

”Love you more.”

"Love you most.” 

You smiled. 

”Bye.”

”Bye, sweetheart.”

You lowered your phone into your lap, the silence inside the car suddenly settling around you again.

A slow breath escaped you.

You laughed quietly to yourself.

Resting your hand against your stomach, you reached for your keys.

“Come on, Blueberry. Let’s go get some raspberries.”

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