#carmxchaels

Nate didn’t knock. Honestly, with how close he and Eli were, he never felt like he had to. The door gave its usual half-hearted creak before he pushed through, boot scuffs echoing on the tile. The place still smelled like sugar and browned butter and nostalgia—warm and heavy, the kind of scent that made memories taste sweeter than they probably were.

“Still smells like your Nana in here,” he said, voice low and a little scratchy from the heat. “Hope you haven’t changed the recipe.” A pause, as he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. That’d be a shame.”

He leaned against the counter like he belonged there—because he did. There was a small smear of flour near the register, and something about it made his mouth twitch into a smirk. There was a time Nate would’ve questioned his place, didn’t feel like he deserved the luxury of having his friends—his people who actually gave a damn. Not anymore.

“You get taller, Deveaux, or am I just shrinking from carrying the weight of my tragic past?”His eyes narrowed teasingly, tone light, but his eyes had that familiar weight. He didn’t need to say he missed this. Missed him. It was written in the quiet way he looked around the space like it was still home. Maybe it was.

His jeans were soaked up to the knee, cuffed lazily. He’d waded in earlier, maybe to feel something, maybe to not feel anything at all. The water had been cold, shocking in a way that should’ve helped. It hadn’t, not by a long shot. His sneakers were a few feet back in the grass, next to his truck keys and his Motorola—screen lit up with missed calls, mostly from his mom. A couple from people he didn’t want to hear from. One from Eli. He hadn’t opened that one. Couldn’t.

The scrape across his knuckles still stung, raw and pulpy. He’d hit the cinderblock wall behind the ER after they told him. After his mom broke down and his sister stood frozen like she couldn't quite land on what to do next. After a nurse tried to hand him a plastic bag of his dad’s things like it was a damn takeout order. He didn’t cry. Not there. Not then.

The wind picked up slightly, finally, rustling the trees behind him—and in that moment, he thought he heard footsteps. He didn’t turn around, and didn’t say a word, but his shoulders tensed just enough to betray him. "Did the cavalry send you?" // @carmxchaels