Nick Jones had a lot of friends. Born and raised in Poplar, Kansas, a small town an hour away from Wichita, the only thing that Nick had going for him was a group of incredibly close friends, gathered from high school and scooping up more as they aged. It started off just him and Peter, then Damien, and Matt, then Ash and Allison, Drew, and Sebastian. The group got a little bit bigger each time one of them found their true love, or whatever the hell he heard Peter drunkenly call each other’s spouses. But no matter how many people were added, how many new great friends that got roped into their small circles, one thing always stayed the same—none of them were there for Nick.

Nick didn’t mind that, not really. He’d tried, sure, of course. He’d gone on dates and fallen for men with strong jaws and stronger hands. Did Nick want a husband? Someone to love him, to remark snidely when a customer at the bar he worked at said something rude, someone to hold his hands and make him coffee? Of course. Nick might have been a gay man in rural Kansas, but enough of his best friends were also gay men in rural Kansas, so that really didn’t affect his strong desire to find love. He wanted a husband and, yeah, probably a kid or two—but he didn’t mind that he was the one, perpetual single guy in his group.

Not much, at least.

He didn’t mind in high school and he didn’t mind in his early twenties. He minded a little bit in his late twenties but, hey, that’s okay—everyone panics a little in their late twenties and yeah, Nick liked his life and his friends, but there was only so much romanticizing he could do about being a single, twenty-seven year old man still waiting bar and breaking up homophobic fights.

But now—now, Nick is twenty-nine years old, two months away from his thirtieth birthday, and he would really not mind much if his life managed to get some meaning into it.

He blamed Ash for the newest existential crisis curling around his ribs.

She blinked up at him, a wry grin pulling her lips into a knowing, calculated expression. “I’m just saying, Nicky, that it’s about time you give me another chance.”

“The last guy you set me up with was straight,” Nick pointed out, drumming his fingers on the countertop. He’d closed the bar an hour ago but since it was Sunday, it was still only about one-thirty and his friends had all refused to leave, sitting at the only unclean table in the joint. Their beers were warm and stale by now but, hey, Nick’s off duty. They should have brought their own if they were going to complain.

“A minor mistake,” she waved his complaint off.

“He wanted me to play football with him, Ash,” Nick shook his head. “You don’t get much straighter than that.”

“Could have talked about tits,” Drew said, lifting his bottle to point it at Nick. “That’s way straighter.”

Damien, the only straight guy in their group, nodded his head sagely. “It’s true. Boobs top sports, every time.”

Allison raised an eyebrow and shot her boyfriend a look. “Mine better.”

Damien grinned and kissed the top of her head. “Always, baby.”

Nick scrunched up his nose. “You guys are gross.”

“Nauseating,” Peter agreed.

“Anyway,” Nick continued. “You don’t get to set me up anymore.”

“One straight guy,” Ash complained.

“And a guy with a Dear John. And also that anti-vaxxer.” Nick reminded her.

“Okay, that one was bad.” Ash shrugged. “But, I do my best.”

“We know you do,” Allison patted Ash’s hand and offered her a smile. Ash sighed dramatically.

Nick took a long pull of his beer. It was warm and unappealing but he drained the bottle anyway. “I don’t need to be set up.”

“You’re almost thirty,” Ash interrupted, hands in the air. Everyone could see she was about to go into a huge rant and Peter intercepted immediately.

“Speaking of!” He said boisterously, slamming a hand on the table. Everyone jumped except Peter’s husband Drew, who just watched him with a smirk. “What are we doing this year for the Big Day?”

Drew’s amusement stayed on his face as he tore his eyes away from Peter to look at Nick. “I’m thinking of an orange and dark mocha chocolate cake. Triple layered.”

Nick’s mouth almost started drooling. If he didn’t think Drew was such a fun guy, he’d still be halfway in love with him because he was such an amazing baker. Drew riding into town and taking over as Peter’s husband and baker at their restaurant Amelia’s was the best thing to happen to Nick’s taste buds and the worst to his waistline. “Drew, make me that cake, please.”

Drew winked. “All in good time, my friend. All in good time.”

They continued discussing his birthday plans—dinner with all of them, cake from Drew, brunch the next morning at Peter’s—before turning over to work. Nick mostly tuned it all out. He had been working at the only bar in Poplar for nearly a decade. It was always the same shit, and, yeah, he liked the job—he was good at it and it paid well. He didn’t hate it but it wasn’t all that interesting either.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his life. It was just that it lacked—something.

Nick wasn’t sure what it was that his life lacked. He wasn’t naive enough to say career and he wasn’t romantic enough to say a husband. But maybe it was just—meaning. Maybe it was just that his life, full or empty or good or bad, only mattered to the people that already loved him. Nick realized that he wanted more than that.

He wanted his life to have meaning.

He wanted to do something worth doing.

He didn’t realize he spoke aloud until all his friends quieted at once, like a blanket had been draped over them.

Damien cocked his head. “Like—right now?”

Drew hit him on the back of his head, rolling his eyes. “Obviously not, dumbass.”

“Hey,” Peter sat his head on his fist, elbow on the table as he leaned in closer to Nick. “What’s up?”

Nick felt his cheeks heat up, the blush he liked to pretend he didn’t have burning his face until he was half sure it was as red as his hair. “Nothing.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, are we supposed to believe that?”

Nick rolled his eyes. There were a few chuckles around the table and he relaxed a little at the sound of them; even when he was being a bit too dramatic, his friends were still there for him, unwavering.

It made his desire to leave them twitch; guilt surged beneath his skin.

“What are you going to do?” Damien asked, taking a drink of his beer. He scrunched his nose up at the taste but wisely didn’t complain.

“Not much to do,” Nick shrugged.

Drew leaned forward, looking between Peter and Nick. “Well,” he said slowly, “You could always leave.”

“Traitor!” Ash cried out at the same time as Peter said, “What the hell, Drew?”

Nick, though, couldn’t look away from his friend. “Leave?” he repeated.

Drew lifted one shoulder before letting it fall. “Yeah,” he said, his regular nonchalance coming off just a little bit forced this time. “It’s an option.”

Nick considered it. Leaving Kansas—hell, leaving Poplar. People here didn’t really leave. Matt left—but he came back all the time now that he was head over heels with Sebastian. And that one soldier left—he came back, too. He couldn’t really imagine leaving.

“Not, you know, permanently,” Drew said, lifting his hands. The mock surrender made a few of them chuckle. Nick couldn’t see him, but he assumed Peter was shooting daggers at his husband. “Just like a trip. Spend some time away from the wheat fields.”

“I like the wheat fields,” Nick protested. It sounded weak and hapless even to his own ears.

“Sure,” Drew agreed easily. “But do you like it here?”

Silence filled the bar. There was barely the sound of breathing, of shifting in chairs. His friends sat quietly, waiting for him to say something.

“Yes,” he answered after a pregnant pause.

“Take a trip,” Drew said, this time more firmly. “You can take my car.”

“The junker?” Peter perked up, head whipping between the two. “Yes, take it far away.”

“It’s a good car,” Drew sighed, as if he’d said that a hundred times before.

“It’s literally nicknamed the junker. By you!”

“I have a truck,” Nick pointed out.

Ash waved a hand, dismissively. “Your truck could never make it anywhere worth going.”

“But a junker can?”

Drew pointed a finger at him. “Don’t be a dick,” he said. “That car took me all over for years. It’ll get you wherever you’re going.”

Nick drummed his fingers against the table top. He could feel his friends’ eyes on him.

He wanted meaning. He wanted a life worth living.

Running from Poplar wasn’t going to get him that.

But it could be a start.

“Where should I go?”

His friends let out various whoops and cheers.

“Go to New York!” Damien suggested.

“Chicago’s close enough,” Allison countered.

“Go to Texas! Find a real life cowboy.”

Drew lifted his eyebrows, quietly gathering everyone’s attention. “California,” he said, firmly.

“Ooh, or you could go to Canada. Leave the whole goddamn country behind.”

Nick considered the options they had suggested.

“California?” Nick asked.

“California,” he nodded. “It’s where I was headed.”

Nick hummed, grabbing his beer. “What stopped you?”

Peter grinned, leaning on the table and wiggling his eyebrows. Everyone laughed and Drew jerked a thumb towards his husband. “Met this oaf. Didn’t feel like it after that.”

The two smiled at each other, one of those small grins that practically shoved everyone else out of the room. It was the kind of look that had a small curling of jealousy working around Nick’s ribs, quiet and disconcerting.

Ash started in on a story about her boyfriend and their cats, distracting the rest of the group. Nick tried to keep up with her but his mind kept snapping back to an empty highway and a beach.

He imagined himself on the road, sun blaring in through the windshield while music kept him company. He thought about not being at the bar—not serving drinks, sweeping up peanut shells, not existing in the same Groundhog Day loop he’d been in since he was eighteen. It wasn’t a bad life that he lived, but it was stationary. Stagnant.

Nick wanted—not an adventure, really---butsomething like it. Something exciting to start his day with a new challenge every morning. He wanted something that changed in time with him, instead of holding him back.

“Drew,” he asked quietly, leaning over the table a little. Nick put one elbow on the table, slightly hiding his face. Drew leaned towards him as well and shielded himself the best he could to allow for their private conversation.

“Please be aware that I can hear you,” Peter said from between them, eyes still on Ash as she continued her story. “Don’t hit on my husband where I can hear you.”

Drew rolled his eyes and swatted at him. “Shut up,” he said to Peter before turning his attention back to Nick. “What’s up?”

“How okay are you with me actually borrowing the junker?”

“Don’t just borrow it,” Peter interrupted, “Take. Steal. Keep. Abandon it.”

Drew smirked but otherwise ignored his husband. “Very okay. Here.” He sat straight and fished in his pockets, pulling out his keys. He looked at them and frowned. “Where is it?”

Peter cleared his throat and glanced between them. “I might have hidden it.”

Drew rolled his eyes. “Stop by sometime and I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, wow. Okay. Thanks,” Nick fought the urge to hug Drew. It never really turned out well when he did.

“‘Course,” Drew said. “Have fun finding your meaning or whatever.”

Nick grinned and tried to ignore the buzzing he felt in his head.

The rest of the night passed in a blur and before he knew it, it was three in the morning and he was taking out the trash. His friends piled into their cars and drove off, leaving Nick alone in the bar.

He stood there, looking around the place. He knew every chair, every crack in every table, every drink and where to stow it, and who would order it. He knew this place better than he knew anything. He knew this place, almost exclusively.

His world felt small.

The possibilities, if he left this bar, were endless.

He wondered what was waiting for him if he’d just take the chance.

Nick wanted something bigger than himself. He wanted to do something that mattered, something that was more than just pouring drinks. He wanted to find someone that clicked with him, the way his friends clicked with their loved ones. He wanted to find a place that felt like home and not just familiarity.

He turned off the lights and locked the bar up. He went to his truck and thought that if he could just be a little brave, maybe he could find the things he so badly wanted.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to Drew’s number.

Hesitating for just a moment, Nick let his fear war with his hope, and he typed the message.

I’ll stop by for the keys tomorrow.