“But he sent a night sky emoji,” I told Aisling. “What do you think that means?”

“Um, that he likes the stars?” Aisling looked at me like I was being purposefully idiotic. “That stars are a thing you see at night? I don’t know, Eli, but I’m pretty sure what he did not mean was that you should spend the next two weeks obsessing about it.”

I glared, but the look rolled off of her like water down glass. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. Those texts were the only thing I had to hold onto.

Nick hadn’t been at youth group the past two weeks. First, he’d been asked to swap shifts with someone at that clinic he volunteered at, and the next weekend, he’d been sick. And if you’re wondering whether I’d wasted hours of my life contemplating whether Nick would still be hot with snot dripping out of his nose (verdict: definitely), the answer is yes, yes I had.

I knew better than to think Nick was avoiding me, except, well, I also didn’t. Because he might have been, right? He’d said I’d put him in an unfair position. And the longer I went without seeing him, the more important those last few texts seemed, and the more I pored over them, digging to unearth some previously unnoticed piece of information that probably didn’t exist.

“But he didn’t have to send that, you know?” I said stubbornly. “He could have just left it at ‘sleep well,’ right?”

Aisling snorted and pointed at my phone. “He didn’t say ‘sleep well,’ he said, ‘get some sleep.’ I really wouldn’t read so much into all of it.”

“God, you’re the worst,” I whined. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You, approximately twenty times a day, every day, since junior school.”

I sighed, looking down at my phone, and then across the lunch table at Caden, who’d been surprisingly quiet through all of this. I kicked him under the table, and he looked up, confused.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to weigh in and rain on my parade too?”

“What—no, I uh—” Caden glanced back down at his phone. “Sorry, I just got distracted. Are we still talking about Nick’s use of emojis?”

The fact that Caden was right to emphasize the ‘still’ in that sentence, the fact that it had indeed been two weeks and I still hadn’t moved on, was infuriating.

“God, I’m pathetic,” I muttered.

“Aww, you’re not pathetic,” Aisling cooed. “You’re just in loooooove.”

“What? No! I’m not in—not—that.”

“Sure.” Aisling wiggled her eyebrows. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m just… I mean, don’t you think it’s possible that he sent that emoji because he—well, not because he likes me, I get that he doesn’t, but like—like look at it this way. If he knew that I liked him, and he didn’t want to encourage that, he definitely wouldn’t have sent it, right? There was no need for him to send it. So either he doesn’t realize I like him, or he does, but either way he’s not trying to actively push me away. So that’s good, right? The fact that he sent more than the bare minimum?” I looked helplessly between Aisling and Caden, then put my face in my hands. “I’ve lost it, haven’t I? I’m officially insane. There’s no coming back from this.”

“You’ll be okay,” Aisling said, laughing. “You’ll get over him eventually. In like, ten years. Maybe even five.”

I shot her a dirty look.

“Either that, or you’ll graduate and then you’ll track him down and meet him on the top of the Empire State Building and you’ll both realize you’ve been in love with each other the whole time and then you’ll get married.” Aisling shrugged. “That’s an option too.”

“Don’t say that,” I begged. “Because you’re joking but that’s way too close to something I’m trying not to let myself imagine.”

“Well, if you want some help forgetting him,” Caden said slyly, “you could come into the city with me again this weekend. Andres told me last weekend that it’s his friend George’s birthday this week, and they wanna go out Saturday and celebrate. He sent me a picture of the two of them, and the guy’s cute.”

“Is that who you’ve been texting?” I said, suddenly understanding why Caden had been so glued to his phone.

“Wait, who’s Andres?” Aisling asked.

“Sergeant Pepper,” I reminded her.

When we’d first seen the guy at Adriatic, he’d been wearing this weird double-breasted jacket with brass buttons, which, combined with his muttonchop sideburns, handlebar mustache, and honest-to-goodness pocket watch that he’d carried had made him unbearably insufferable. He wouldn’t stop talking about the screenplay he was working on, and Aisling and I had spent the whole night silently making fun of him. I had no idea what Caden saw in him, but then, I never really did, with Caden’s guys.

“Ohhh.” Aisling smiled. “Wait, he has a cute friend?”

“Yeah.” Caden passed his phone over so she could see the picture. “Unfortunately for you, he’s gay. But if Eli’s interested…”

“Eli’s not interested,” I said, “but thanks all the same.”

“You sure?”

“Sadly, yes.” I frowned. “Wait, Sergeant Pepper told you about his friend’s birthday last week?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aisling and I exchanged worried glances. Caden had always been the most likely of the three of us to do something stupid, but he’d never tried to keep it a secret before. And since we’d talked after the night we’d seen Nick outside Adriatic, I’d thought Caden was on board with holding off from going into the city again.

“Did he tell you that by text? Or did you see him in person?”

“I mean…”

“Caden, you told us you were doing family stuff all weekend!” Aisling protested.

“And you guys don’t know me better than that?” Caden retorted. “I’d rather die than spend a whole weekend in their homophobic world.”

It was true that where Aisling’s dad supported her no matter what her sexuality was, and my parents were largely indifferent, Caden’s family was a lot more conservative. They seemed to believe that by sending him to enough bible study classes, they could make him straight. That was one of the reasons he took such joy in doing things he knew they’d disapprove of. But the more I’d thought about it, the more I’d begun to think Nick was right. It was pretty dangerous, Caden going home with whoever he happened to meet that night.

“Besides, what am I supposed to do when you guys decide to go all puritanical on me?” Caden complained. “Saying you don’t wanna come out with me anymore and just generally being anti-fun.”

“We’re not anti-fun,” I protested, but Caden wasn’t having any of it.

“Yes, you are. Aisling never wanted to come out anyway, and now you don’t wanna do it anymore because it’ll upset a guy you’re not even dating and who you don’t actually owe anything to, I might add.”

“It’s not that simple,” I grumbled.

“It actually kinda is,” Caden said with a smile. “But I’m not trying to tell you what to do. You wanna be anti-fun, go ahead and be it. But I will be seeing Andres and George this weekend and if you’re not there, that just means more fun for me.”

If the week had ended then, everything might have worked out differently. But it was only Wednesday, and things only went downhill from there. On Thursday, we got the results of our last calc test back—one I’d really, truly actually studied for—and I’d gotten a C-. And right after calc, I walked into physics, only to discover we had a pop quiz. There was no way in hell I’d get anything close to a C- on that.

And then on Friday, in English, one of the few classes I actually liked, Nancy held me after class to talk to me about the college essay she’d told me she’d look over. Apparently, it was terrible. She’d torn the thing to shreds, telling me it wasn’t my best work, and the fact I knew she was right was cold comfort.

I’d known it was trite and dumb when I wrote it, but my mom had insisted that I write an essay about this random volunteer day I’d done for Habitat for Humanity back when I was 14, and then she’d insisted that she read it over and edit it herself. It had been easier to just say yes—except now I had to go back to the drawing board.

I knew I should start working on something when I got home from school that afternoon, but I was too annoyed to do anything useful yet. Instead, I pulled out a book of Borges short stories that my Spanish teacher had lent me and figured I’d read that until I got so frustrated by all the words I didn’t understand that writing an essay seemed fun in comparison.

But surprisingly, I understood more than I expected, and liked the writing better than I’d thought I would, too. It was different, reading in my second language, but I almost felt like I was able to appreciate the writing and language better, instead of just getting swept up in the story. I found myself savoring words and phrases, playing them over on my tongue, and I was shocked when my mom opened the door to my room and informed me that it was six o’clock and she wanted to know why I wasn’t downstairs doing school work.

“This is schoolwork,” I said. “Señora Gomez gave it to me.”

My mom looked at the book with distaste. “Is it going to be on a test?”

“I don’t know. But it’s kinda cool that I can actually read it? And the author does a lot of—”

“Eli, honey, I’m sure it’s lovely, but if it’s not going to be on a test, then why are you reading it? There are better uses of your time, things that will actually help your grades. This is a really critical time for you, right now, and you really need to make an effort.”

“I am making an effort,” I said. “I already asked Ms. Raleigh if I could do some extra credit to offset that last test in calc. I’m really trying, Mom.”

“Sweetie, there’s no need to get upset. I’m not criticizing.”

That was exactly what she was doing, but pointing that out wasn’t going to do me any good.

“Don’t you have your applications to work on?” my mom continued.

I sighed. “Yeah, about that…”

“Remember that you need to leave time for me to review everything before you submit any of them.”

“Yeah, no, I—I know you want to do that. I just—I have to tell you something.”

My mom’s face blanched.

“Oh no. Are you okay? Is everything alright, honey? Oh, gosh, I knew this would happen, I knew the pressure would be to much for you. Look, I already asked your dad to write you another antidepressant prescription, but we’ll get one for ADHD too, that’ll at least help get you over the—”

“Mom, I don’t need medication, I don’t need anything. Will you just calm down and let me finish?”

“Eli, darling, I’m perfectly calm, there’s no need to get emotional.”

I ground my teeth together and made myself take a deep breath before continuing.

“I was just trying to tell you that I got my essay back from Nancy, and she thinks that maybe I should write something different.”

My mom stared at me. “Well, she’s obviously mistaken.”

“She teaches AP English, Mom. She’s been doing it for years. She’s seen tons of application packets. I think she knows what she’s talking about.” I refrained from adding, ‘better than you do,’ which I thought was rather big of me, frankly. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m probably going to write something different.”

My mom just stared at me in silence.

“It’s not that big a deal,” I went on. “Nancy even gave me some suggestions, and I’m already working on a couple of ideas, and Mom, you know I had to submit more than one piece to Wrenville anyway, so this was only ever going to be one part of the package. I promise, I’ll come up with something better.”

“Well, if you’re going to change it, I want to see it by the end of this weekend,” my mom said, finally.

“But there’s still weeks until I have to—”

“Eli, this is your future. I can’t take the risk of you not treating this with the seriousness it deserves. If you want to write something different, we’ll need time to make sure that it’s up to snuff. Now why don’t you come downstairs and we can get started.”

I thought I might actually choke.

“I—I’m not sure I can,” I said, stalling. “Get it done this weekend, that is. There’s this church lock-in tomorrow, so I’m going to be gone all night, and—”

“Then you’ll just have to work around that,” my mom said. “Now put the book down and come downstairs.”

Gritting my teeth, I closed the book. There was no lock-in on Saturday. But the thought of sitting at home and trying to write something while my mom breathed down my neck was my personal version of hell, so I’d lied on instinct, just to buy myself some time away.

But now I needed to come up with something that would get me out of the house tomorrow night. I snatched my phone off my bed as I stood up and followed my mom out. Looked like Caden was going to get some company after all.

“Eli? Eli, are you still here? We have to go!”

Caden’s voice came out of the dark hall in Sergeant Pepper’s apartment and I jumped up off the couch, happy to have an excuse to get out of, well, the position I’d been in. Which had been, up til that moment, sitting at the very edge of Sergeant Pepper’s couch, acting as interested as I could in the books in the bookcase to the left, while George, Sergeant Pepper’s friend, leaned in close and acted very interested in me.

Five minutes ago, I’d been on the other end of the couch, examining a potted plant on the end table, while George scooted closer and closer to me across the cushions. Before that, I’d been in the arm chair, intently studying the remote for the TV. I’d thought I was safe there, since there was only room for one person, but then George had come to stand behind me and bent down, breathing into my ear.

It wasn’t that he was being aggressive, exactly. He hadn’t once actually touched me. And he’d only suggested once that we go down the hall to Sergeant Pepper’s guest room. But he seemed to think that if he just placed himself in close enough proximity, eventually I’d decide I might as well be interested in him just because he was there.

I didn’t want to be rude, but the guy could not take a hint, so even though part of me was worried about the note of panic I heard in Caden’s voice, most of me was grateful I had a reason to get off the couch.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I said, crossing the living room and meeting Caden as he reached the end of the hall. “Is everything okay?”

“We have to leave. Now.”

I peered at Caden in the dim light. He looked disheveled, and drunker than I remembered, but he didn’t look hurt or anything.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Of course we can go, but is everything—just tell me what happened, okay?”

Caden pulled away, but only to bend down and grab his shoes. I hadn’t even taken mine off. He swayed as he moved, and swiped at his shoes twice before he actually managed to pick them up. When he looked at me, his eyes were wide and he spoke so quickly and quietly that I could barely pull the words apart.

“I puked. On his feet. While I was blowing him. And if we stay here, I think I might be sick again. Now can we please get out of here?”

It wasn’t quite as simple as that. George got up and joined us, for one thing, and by the time I explained that Caden was feeling sick and we needed to go, Sergeant Pepper had made it down the hall. He looked more grossed out than concerned, but both he and George insisted that we could stay if we wanted, so Caden could sleep it off.

“It’s okay,” I told them, trying to hurry Caden along as he tied his shoes. He appeared to have forgotten what the laces did. “Really, we’ll be fine. I’m sure he just needs some fresh air, and there’ll be plenty of that on our walk back to the train.”

“But Eli, we missed the—”

“No, nope, we didn’t—” I said, talking right over Caden and grinning determinedly. “We can still make it, if we leave now. So, yeah, we’ll be going. No, really, thank you, but we don’t need to stay. See you, uh, later.”

I shoved Caden out the front door and dragged him down the hall, his laces still untied, before George could decide to be even more solicitous and follow us into the elevator. I didn’t want to think about how close he would stand in an enclosed space.

“Where are we going?” Caden asked as he practically tripped out of Sergeant Pepper’s building. Somehow he managed to slur the sentence even though there were no S’s in it. So much for vomiting helping to sober a person up. “I’m telling you, we missed the last train.”

“I know we missed the train. I just said that so that they would stop asking us to stay. Now come on, I don’t want them to see us standing out here if they look out the windows.”

Not that I thought they would, really, but I wasn’t going to risk letting those guys know we had nowhere to go. I just needed to think, and it was surprisingly hard to do that after being chased around a living room for the past hour by someone who’d actually described himself as a ‘nice guy,’ who didn’t seem to realize that just because he was ‘nice’ didn’t mean I wanted to sleep with him.

Honestly, was it too much to ask to be allowed to nap on a stranger’s couch in peace while my best friend gave a blow job in the next room? Why had George had to come with us at all?

“We can’t go back there,” Caden said stoutly, somehow missing the fact that I was leading us away from Sergeant Pepper’s building. “It’s too embarrassing, you can’t make me.”

“I know, drunky, that’s why we’re leaving. Now shush for a second while I think.”

It was especially annoying because I had the feeling that it wasn’t just George who thought I should be into George—anyone else would have thought so too. He was actually kind of cute, and if he was a little too eager, well, he wasn’t any creepier than the rest of the guys who Caden seemed to attach himself to. When he’d asked what I was majoring in and I’d started blathering about 18th century English literature in a panic, he’d actually listened. He didn’t have any idea what I was talking about, but he’d listened.

Why couldn’t I just sit still and let him kiss me like he so clearly wanted to, and see what happened?

Well, I knew why. But the answer was pathetic, and at least 50% of the reason why I was in a bad mood now. It just felt so absurd, getting slowly chased around the room by an overly polite, successful banker who probably wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable, all because I was hung up on some guy who didn’t want anything to do with me.

“I mean it—we’re not going back there,” Caden said again as I guided us around the corner. “It’s way too mortifying, and I—”

I stopped listening as I pulled out my phone. I loved Caden, but sometimes I wanted to strangle him. Then again, I really only had myself to blame—I was the one who’d decided to come into the city tonight after all.

“How the hell did you get so drunk, anyway?” I asked as I searched for the number I was looking for. “We weren’t at the bar for more than an hour, and there’s no way two beers is enough to get you this wasted.”

“There was vodka in my soda on the train,” Caden said, not looking even the least bit sheepish. “And I might have taken two shots with that guy with the knuckle tattoos when you went to the bathroom.” He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe three. It’s a little hazy.”

“The guy with—Jesus.”

I didn’t know why I was surprised. Just because Caden had been practically plastered to Sergeant Pepper’s side once he and George had shown up, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to flirt with any guy who gave him the time of day up until that point. Even one he had made fun of.

At least it explained why Knuckle Tats had looked so confused when we’d walked by on the way out of the door, Caden draped all over Sergeant Pepper. He’d probably thought he was going to get laid.

“Where are we going then, huh?” Caden asked, poking me in the side. “Don’t try to make me get food. I’m not hungry. Why don’t we just go back to the bar? Maybe the guy with the tattoos is still there.”

“We are not going back to the bar. Not when you’ve had so much to drink that you puked on Sergeant Pepper’s dick.”

“Not on his dick,” Caden said, poking me again. “It wasn’t on. It was just, you know, next to his dick. And on his feet.”

“Because that makes it so much better. Anyway, I’m not taking you back to the bar, but I’m trying to take us somewhere where you can actually sleep, if you’ll be quiet long enough for me to make this phone call.”

‘Trying’ being the operative word. I wasn’t entirely sure Nick would answer, let alone agree, but it was worth a shot. But if Caden thought he was mortified, that was nothing on what I felt, having to ask this favor. I sighed as I pushed ‘call.’

Nick picked up on the second ring and, in typical Nick fashion, immediately began worrying.

“Eli? Why are you calling? You know you can’t just—I thought we agreed to—I mean, I understand that this might be difficult but I just—wait. Why are you calling? You never call, you only text. Are you okay? Is everything alright? Where are you?”

I winced, trying to decide which of those questions to answer. “Um. Chelsea?”

“Chelsea? You’re in the city?”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and forced myself to keep going. “I know this is a big ask, but is there any chance Caden and I could crash at your apartment tonight? We went home with these guys—well, no, he went home with this guy, and I was just there waiting in the living room, but there was this—look, it doesn’t matter, the point is, we had to leave unexpectedly, and the last train already left and Caden isn’t really in any shape to go back to a bar, so I know you probably hate that we’re even here, but I was wondering if we could—”

“Oh God.” Nick sighed heavily. “Yeah. You can come over.”

As soon as he said it, I regretted asking. It wasn’t that Nick sounded angry. Or even reluctant. It was that he sounded completely unsurprised—like he’d expected me to get myself into trouble.

“Maybe I shouldn’t—”

“No, you should. Do you have my address? Let me give it to you, but then can you give me Caden’s number too? Just in case you get separated. I don’t want to worry about either of you wandering around the city by yourselves.”

I was fucking scarlet by the time I got off the phone. We had a place to stay now, but at what cost? Nick already thought I was too young for him, but now I’d gone and proved myself to be completely incompetent, too. Grabbing Caden, I squared my shoulders and set off in the direction of Nick’s apartment.

“You made it,” Nick said as he bounded downstairs to let us in the door to his lobby. “Is everything—are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” I said, trying to make my voice unconcerned and not at all like I was begging the guy I was head over heels for to let me stay with him for the night. “It was just—it’s stupid.”

“Well, come up and tell me about the stupidity, at least,” Nick said, cocking his head at me oddly, before turning to Caden. “Hey, Caden. I’m Nick. It’s nice to meet you. How’ve you been?”

“Sick,” Caden said, his smile wobbly as he stepped past Nick into the lobby. He pointed at a door on the other side, then glanced back. “Those the stairs? Apartment 6C, Eli said? You wouldn’t happen to have an extra toothbrush, would you?”

“Uh, yeah, 6C,” Nick answered, his tone still a little off. “Go on up.”

“Don’t lend him a toothbrush unless it’s really one you don’t use,” I said, stepping in as Nick closed the door to the street behind me. “His mouth has had various unsavory things going into —and coming out of—it tonight.”

“Jesus, what were you—” Nick put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from following Caden up the stairs. “Eli, I didn’t want to ask on the phone, but really—is everything okay? Is Caden—”

“He’s fine. We’re both fine.”

Or as fine as we could be, under the humiliating circumstances. The worst part was that even in this context, part of me was turning cartwheels over the fact that Nick’s hand was on my shoulder. I couldn’t help it, though. It’d been weeks since I’d seen him and it just felt good, getting to be around him again.

Nick gave me a quizzical look, but gestured up the stairs, and followed me up. He must have left his door open, because Caden was already inside when we reached his apartment. He was staring at the bookshelves lining every open bit of wall in Nick’s apartment.

“Shit, you really like to read,” he said as Nick and I entered.

Nick smiled. “Yeah. Though some of those are for school. I can’t bear to get rid of any books, once I’ve gotten them, so they just kinda pile up and I—” he cut off, noticing Caden swaying as he stood there. “We can talk about books later. Let’s get you some water for now, huh?”

Caden opened his mouth like he was going to protest that he didn’t need water, but I glared at him, and for once, it seemed to work. Caden let Nick shepherd him to the couch. Nick darted into the kitchen, then came back and handed him a granola bar and a glass of water.

“I can make tea,” he offered, “if anybody wants some.”

Caden mumbled something incomprehensible around the granola bar that he’d immediately begun eating—so much for not being hungry—but Nick seemed to take it as a yes.

“Help me get the kettle on?” he asked, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

Taking a last glance at Caden, I followed him in.

“Okay, so what happened?” Nick asked, as soon as I entered the room. “Seriously.”

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare. “Nothing, honestly. It was just like I said—we missed the last train.”

“Because you went home with people?”

“Caden went home with someone,” I corrected him. “I just came to make sure he didn’t die. But I guess Caden got drunker than I realized, and he ended up, uh, well, don’t tell him I told you this, but he puked in the middle of giving a blow job—”

“Jesus Christ, are you sure he’s—”

“—I mean, I think he’s okay now. It’s been half an hour and he hasn’t thrown up again.”

“And the guy kicked you guys out?” Nick frowned. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

I winced. “Actually, it’s not so much that he kicked us out as that Caden got really embarrassed and insisted we leave. Not that I was really that mad. The guy’s friend was being kinda creepy, so—”

Nick frowned. “What guy? What friend?”

“The guy Caden went home with. He’s—I think I told you about him actually. The one with the weird military coat who looked like Sergeant Pepper?”

“He had a friend?” Nick’s face darkened.

I looked at him, confused. “Yeah, this guy George. But that’s not—I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Nick said quietly, “that you let someone who’s God-knows-how-much older than you take you home and—

“Oh, God, Nick, no,” I blurted out, comprehension finally dawning. “Nothing happened. Between me and George, I mean. Nothing like—like that. Trust me. I wasn’t interested.”

“You’re sure?” Nick looked tense.

Did he really trust me that little? Did I need to spell it out for him?

‘Definitely didn’t hook up with that guy, you idiot, because I’m too hung up on you.’

“Positive,” I said. “I wouldn’t lie. Not about that.”

Nick didn’t say anything, just watched me silently.

“Nick, I swear.”

I took a step forward, looking into his eyes and willing him to believe me. The last thing I needed was for him to think I was lying and for this to be the straw that finally broke him, finally made him come clean about everything to Gwen. But he still wasn’t saying anything. Desperate to convince him, I reached out and took his hand.

“I wouldn’t do that. You really, really don’t have to worry, or tell Gwen, or call my parents or—”

“Call your parents?” Nick jerked his hand away from me like I’d burned him. “You think that’s why I’m—fuck.”

He spun around and grabbed the kettle off the stove, then brought it over to the sink to fill it. What the hell was going on? What had he been trying to say? He moved the kettle back, turned on the burner, and then walked to a cabinet to get some mugs, all without saying a word.

“Nick, what’s wrong?” I asked, confused. His body language radiated that he was upset, from the set of his shoulders to the very precise way he set the mugs down on the counter, lining all their handles up exactly. Not to mention the fact that he still wouldn’t turn around. “God, I’m sorry I called. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not fair, you told me you didn’t like being put in this kind of situation and then I went and did it anyway. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize for that,” Nick said, still resolutely facing the cabinets. “I’m glad you did. I’m not glad you’re in New York tonight, but given that you came into the city at all, I’m glad you’re not sleeping on a bench in Penn Station again, or doing God knows what with that guy.”

“I told you I wasn’t—”

“Just forget it, Eli.”

Nick nodded once to himself, then finally turned around to look at me. I almost wished he hadn’t. The look on his face was so distant, so removed, it was like looking at a stranger. His smile was perfectly opaque.

“Why don’t you go check on Caden while I find my tea bags?” His voice was tight.

A dismissal if I’d ever heard one. I sighed and walked out of the room.

Nick insisted that Caden and I take his bed while he slept on the couch. Caden was practically passed out anyway, and it took all of three seconds for him to flop down and start snoring. I wished it were as easy for me.

It was weird, lying in Nick’s bed, in Nick’s room, without him here. I’d wondered for so long what his apartment looked like, fantasized about being right here, and now that I finally was, I’d somehow made Nick mad enough that he couldn’t even look at me.

I could see a thin strip of light coming from underneath the door. Apparently Nick’s admonition to me and Caden to sleep it off didn’t apply to him. I wanted to go out there so badly. Just to be with him. He was so fucking close and all I wanted was the chance to just be where he was.

I just wanted him to want me. As a friend. As someone he wanted in his life.

I wanted to hear about his day, tell him about mine. Ask him how things were going in his classes, and what he thought I should do about my application essay. I wanted to know if he’d really read all the books on the shelves out there, and why he had so many pothos plants, and if that really was a tiny balcony that I’d seen outside the living room windows, and if he could see the sunset from there.

Typical me, doing something stupid and then being upset when there were consequences to my actions. I wanted Nick to want me, but what did I actually do? Something that was guaranteed to make him angry. I seemed to do that a lot.

Only, when I wasn’t actively pissing him off, it really did seem sometimes like Nick did like me. Like he enjoyed my company. Was I just imagining that he enjoyed our conversations? Was I reading too much into them, like I had with that fucking night sky emoji?

Maybe I was, and maybe Nick knew it. Maybe that was why he’d jerked his hand away from me in the kitchen. Because I hadn’t imagined that, that was for sure. Shame roiled in my stomach when I replayed that moment. What was it Nick had said?

‘You think that’s why I’m—’

What had he meant to say? Why had he stopped himself? It didn’t make sense. Nick had never censored himself around me before, never hesitated to tell me I was being an idiot, or reckless, or unfair, or—

My jaw dropped open.

Right before he’d cut himself off, we’d been talking about Sergeant Pepper’s apartment, and I’d been explaining—trying to explain, anyway—that George and I hadn’t done anything. I’d thought he was upset with me because he thought I was putting myself in a dangerous situation. But what if…

It couldn’t be. Right?

There was no way that—

It just didn’t make sense that Nick would—

Except, I couldn’t figure out anything else that did make sense. Unlikely as it seemed—more than unlikely, actually, try completely fucking impossible—completely fucking impossible as it seemed, could it be that Nick maybe… liked me?

I replayed the conversation in my mind, filtering it through this new lens and it all fit. The only thing that didn’t make sense about it was just the fundamental improbability of Nick returning even a part of the feelings I had for him.

Because, yeah, maybe once upon a time I’d thought he liked me—but that was before he’d known how old I was, before he knew anything about me, back when I was just a guy on the train who liked donuts.

Needless to say, he hadn’t brought me any donuts since he’d learned who I was. I’d figured that once he’d learned my age, he’d been horrified by the thought that he’d ever been interested in me—not to mention angry with me for lying, and for continuing to put him in positions that compromised his ethics.

I couldn’t blame him for that. The best I’d thought I could ever get from him was friendship—during those few times when he seemed to forget how old I was, and the context in which we knew each other.

But Nick liking me? I’d never considered that.

And before I knew I’d moved, I was sitting up and scooting out of bed. I pushed the door open silently and stepped out into the living room, my heart pounding. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was still half-convinced I was wrong. But this beating, wild hope filled my chest and there was no way I could keep lying on the other side of that door doing nothing.

Nick was sitting on the couch. His legs were stretched out lengthwise, completely covered by a striped, knit blanket, except for the bottom, where one corner was kicked up, exposing his flannel-clad ankle. And not to get all 1700s or anything, but damn, even just that inch of ankle was enough to make me want him.

Nick was wearing reading glasses, and a gray t-shirt, and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he read. God, I wanted to wrap myself up in him, wanted to bury myself between the blanket and his body. I wanted to be little spoon to his big spoon and surgically attach myself to that couch. And at the same time, I just wanted to stand there and watch him until dawn.

I shifted slightly and the floor creaked. Nick looked up, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Eli! What’s up? Is something wrong?”

I shook my head, opening my mouth to speak as I walked towards him. It took three tries before I could make words come out.

“No, everything’s fine.” I cast around for an excuse for why I’d come out. “Just couldn’t sleep, I guess. Caden’s snoring really loudly.”

“You need anything?” Nick asked, starting to push off the couch. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “I’m fine. Just… do you mind if I sit out here with you for a little bit?”

I watched Nick’s face for a reaction, but he just blinked in surprise.

“Sure.” He smiled. “Can’t promise I’ll be the most scintillating conversation partner at 2 a.m., but I can try.”

“That’s okay.” I glanced down at his book. A biography of someone I didn’t recognize. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading. I can just sit here for a bit, or—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Nick shut the book and tossed it on the coffee table, then swung his legs over to make room for me on the sofa. “I wasn’t making much headway anyway.”

“How much reading do you have to do for class?” I asked, glancing from the book on the table back to the shelves around the room. “I thought I read a lot, but this is like, serious nerd-dom.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

I laughed. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“It’s honestly not that much reading,” Nick went on. “And if school were just reading, I’d be all set. I guess I’ve just always liked keeping books on hand. You never know when you’re going to want to look something up in one of them, or reread them or something.” He laughed. “Maybe I’m just a hoarder. Or a misanthrope. Books will never abandon you, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You’re about the least misanthropic person I’ve ever met,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Nick smiled, but didn’t say anything else, and we lapsed into silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, really, except for the voice in the back of my head yelling, ‘Kiss him! Tell him how you feel! Do something!’ and the other, equally loud voice telling me in no uncertain terms to not be an idiot and make things even more awkward. I fiddled with a tassel on the edge of the blanket.

“Do you believe in God?” I asked after a moment. “Or like, that there’s a purpose to the universe or whatever?”

Jesus, where had that come from? That wasn’t what I’d meant to say at all. Way to not make things awkward, asshole.

I looked up, prepared for Nick to frown and tell me that was a personal question, but he just cocked his head to the side and looked thoughtful.

“I think I do,” he said after a bit. “Most days, anyway.”

“You think you do?” I made a face. “You’re gonna be a minister, don’t you kind of have to?”

“Not necessarily.” Nick laughed. “I mean, if I were still Catholic and trying to be a priest, that might be more of an issue.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.”

I shrugged and turned my gaze back to the blanket, smoothing the tassels of the yarn through my fingers.

“Sometimes I just feel like I’m the most ungrateful person in the world. My mom cares so much about getting me into the ‘right’ schools, making sure I have the ‘right’ future, that she wants to write my fucking college application essays for me. But I know it’s because she thinks she’s helping. And I feel like such an asshole for not appreciating it, but at the same time, it’s not what I want. And if we really are all just waiting for the sun to burn out and nothing means anything, then why can’t I just do what I want?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Nick said slowly.

“Except at the same time, that just seems so empty, you know? I don’t just want to fucking jerk off the rest of my life, I want to do something that matters. But I know I’m never going to find that if I follow the path they pick out for me. If I do that, I’ll just end up living in the New Jersey suburbs for the rest of my life and I’ll never travel, I’ll never grow, I’ll never figure out what I believe or who I am or—or—or anything.”

I looked up at Nick helplessly. “I don’t even know if I believe in anything, but I know I want to make a difference, and not just live a life where all I care about is making sure I have a perfect family portrait on my Christmas card every year. But I don’t even know how to explain that to my mom, because everytime I try, she tells me I’m being unreasonable, that I need to settle for what’s actually attainable in life, and when I try to explain how cold and empty that feels, she tells me I’m being too emotional. And that just makes me want to leave and never come back, but then I’m right back to feeling like an asshole again, you know?”

“Eli, wanting a chance to find out who you are, to explore yourself and the world, doesn’t make you an asshole. It makes you human. The fact that you’re worried about this stuff proves how very much not-an-asshole you are.”

“I think you’re just being nice to me,” I said, darting a glance at Nick before looking down again.

“Believe me, I’m not. I’m being honest.” Nick paused for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve gotten to know you—at least a little bit—this year. And I can tell that you’re caring, you’re compassionate, and you go out of your way to be kind to everyone you meet.”

“Oh.” I could feel my face flush, and I kept my eyes glued firmly to the blanket.

“And I don’t think it’s unreasonable at all to want to do something that matters with your life. Caring about that—being emotional about that? That’s a gift. The world needs more people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, not fewer. Got it?”

Nick reached out and poked my knee, and I looked up to see him smile. “You and your mom don’t see eye to eye right now. And yeah, I agree that it’s a little nuts if she’s trying to actually write essays for you and stuff. But you’re both trying your best. Give it some breathing room. With any luck, you guys will have all the time in the world to find common ground.”

My eyes widened at his words. “Oh, Nick, fuck. I’m sorry. I should have remembered about your mom. God, I really am an asshole, sitting here complaining about mine when you’re—”

“Hey, none of that,” Nick said sternly. “Everyone’s allowed to have their own problems, and playing Sympathy Olympics never got anyone anywhere.”

I looked around the room frantically, trying to think of some way to change the subject, and my eyes landed on a gold-framed photo sitting on a window ledge opposite the couch. It was a black and white picture of a young woman with long brown hair holding a baby. Her head was bent over him and he was reaching up as if to grab a hold of her hair as it fell towards him. Her face, already beautiful, was made radiant by the way she smiled at him.

“Is that—is that her?” I asked, my mouth dry.

I felt like an idiot. Of course it was her, and being reminded of his mother was probably the last thing Nick wanted right now. But he just smiled, and I swore I could see the ghost of her face in his.

“Yeah.” He patted the blanket on the couch between us. “She knitted this for me, when I was about six.”

I gasped, dropping the tassel I’d been playing with, then hesitantly reached down to run a hand along the chunky knit.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Nick smiled. “It is.”

“Do you—” I stopped, realizing I’d been about to ask the dumbest question in the world. “Nevermind.”

But Nick just looked at me, his eyes kind and open. “Do I what?”

I sort of growled and swallowed a sigh--in frustration with myself, entirely. “I was just going to ask if you miss her. But, I mean, of course you do. It was a stupid question.”

“It’s not a stupid question,” Nick said. Weirdly enough, he sounded like he meant it. “And yeah, I do.” He paused. “My mom had this light inside her, and it used to just draw people in and make them feel happy, just to be around her. She saw beauty everywhere, and I learned how to see it, too, looking through her eyes. She was everything to me. Still is, really.”

He pressed his lips together when he finished talking, and looked down at the blanket.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“You didn’t make me sad, Eli.” Nick looked up and smiled. “Yeah, what happened to her was sad. But when I think about my mom, I think about how quick she was to laugh. How she planted herbs in our window boxes. How she used to sing when she cooked dinner, and the way she smiled when she tucked me in at night. My memories of my mom from my childhood are all good ones. And I like having reminders of her around me. Reminders of our life together.” He broke off, but he was still smiling. “Don’t feel bad about bringing her up, and don’t feel bad about what you’re going through, okay? I forbid it.”

I gave him a half-hearted smile. “You forbid it? What are you gonna do, make me stop feeling like an asshole?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a grin. “I will. So watch it.”

“Make me,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him.

Nick laughed, stretched his leg out to kick me gently—and then froze, his face going from cheerful to stricken in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his leg back like I had some kind of shin-disease that he’d catch if he touched me. I could practically see his walls going back up. “I shouldn’t have—I’ll—I need to—”

“Nick, no, wait.” I closed my eyes. This was the best chance I was going to get. “I just—I wanted you to know that really, truly, nothing happened with me and George tonight. I’m not interested in him. I’m not interested in anyone, I haven’t so much as kissed someone since—well—you know.”

Nick looked down at his lap, staring at his hands like they held some kind of answer.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” he said softly. “Eli, you know we can’t—”

“I know. I—I know.” My stomach dropped six stories and landed back down on the street. Why had I fucking thought it was a good idea to say anything? “I just wanted you to know, I guess. But I’ll drop it now. We can go back to normal.”

“What is normal for us?” Nick whispered, so quietly I wasn’t sure he even meant for me to hear. He looked up at me, and his eyes were a mix of emotions I didn’t have the first clue how to read.

“Can I sleep out here tonight?” I asked. “Not with you. Just… here? I wouldn’t ask, but Caden’s really loud, and I think I might sleep better if I’m not next to him.”

I’ll sleep better if I’m next to you.

Nick stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. You take the couch. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I wanted to ask where he was going, but I wasn’t sure he’d tell me, and I was sure that I’d already pushed way more than I should tonight. Nick came back quickly, anyway, with more blankets and another pillow, and he lay down on the floor next to the couch.

And maybe it wasn’t next to me in the way I’d wanted. I wasn’t exactly little spoon in this position. But Nick hadn’t kicked me out. He hadn’t pushed me away. And he’d said—well, it was more what he hadn’t said.

‘Eli, you know we can’t,’ wasn’t what you said to someone you weren’t interested in. ‘Eli, you know we can’t,’ was what you said when you wanted the same thing I did, but you didn’t think you should.

And that was okay. For now. I could work with that.

“Good night, Nick,” I whispered as he turned out the light.

“Night, Eli.”

Through the windows, I could see the faintest sprinkle of stars in the sky.