Holy shit.

Nick tried to think of anything to say, anything to think, even—but all that he could come up with was, holy shit.

Occasionally, it was holy fucking shit, but that wasn’t much more coherent.

Joel’s hair was sticking up in a thousand, messy spikes and his lips were parted and bruised a bright red. His cheekbones were flushed a bright pink and his ocean blue eyes were the darkest he’d ever seen them—stormy and unpredictable and holy shit.

He looked half-asleep, eyes lidded and mouth open and he looked like a goddamn dream, and Nick was half-crazy just looking at him.

Kisses weren’t supposed to be that good.

He lurched forward again and cradled Joel’s face between his hands, their lips working together to pull every thread holding Nick together. He was a thousand feet above land and his whole body thrummed with blood and electricity as a small, broken moan was pulled from Joel’s throat.

The sound sent shivers down Nick’s spine and when Joel pulled back, breathing in ragged, desperate breaths, Nick swayed closer and tried to recapture his lips.

But Joel jerked away and Nick’s hands fell by his sides.

Joel pulled back and fell. He slid off the cushion, hands flying to his sides to catch himself. His eyes were wide and he stared up at Nick as if afraid he was going to pounce.

Nick sat back slowly. “Joel?”

Joel flinched. Nick’s stomach dropped like he was diving down in a roller coaster. Where before Joel had looked blissed, his expression an open canvas of surprise and pleasure that Nick had put there—now it closed. A door slammed shut and every flicker of emotion that Nick had greedily been soaking up was gone.

It left his lips and fingertips cold.

“Joel—” he cut himself off at the hard look Joel slid to him. His face was still flushed and his lips were still wet, and even with an angry, closed off expression, he still looked better than anything Nick could ever conjure in his mind—but his eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in a hard line and Nick had been rejected enough to read the answer on Joel’s face.

Joel lifted his chin and his jaw clenched.

Shame coursed through Nick, a heady, hot molasses that turned the electric joy in his veins to agony in a half second. Nick froze every muscle in his body, refusing to let his spine curl and body break from the throbbing regret.

He shouldn’t have done anything. He shouldn’t have kissed Joel. He shouldn’t have pushed.

Horrifying, he could feel his eyes start to prickle. He blinked rapidly and Joel’s hard mask cracked, just a little, when his jaw ticked.

But he didn’t move. His arms looked as locked as Nick’s were.

Nick pushed himself up and stood on shaky, jelly legs. He could feel the blood pound in his head and cheeks and heart, all of him starting to throb with the effort of not breaking down.

“I’ll just—” he jerked a thumb towards the guest room and focused all his energy on not sprinting down the hallway.

He closed the office door behind him and leaned his head back on the wood.

God, I’m such an idiot.

He took as deep of breaths as he could, trying to calm his racing pulse. Nick didn’t know what was wrong with him—why he would have acted so rashly, so impulsively? He liked Joel, yes, but Nick had liked a lot of people. He had always been a bit of an irrational, hopeless romantic, and, sure, it brought on a lot of great stories for him and his friends, but even then—

He usually could guard himself. He might throw himself head first but he did it while looking at the ground, bracing for the fall.

With Joel, he hadn’t even considered that he was technically leaping. He just—he was just so close to him, and his body was so warm next to his, and then Joel was looking at him, and everything felt safe and warm and smelled like the sea.

Nick groaned softly and let his head fall into his hands.

He knew what it was.

He liked Joel, really, actually liked him. Liked his messy daughter and his too literal texting and he liked the way he felt when they were near each other. It was—effortless in a way Poplar never was. Effortless like the way Peter and Drew moved around each other in the kitchen.

Nick should have realized it was just like that for him. He should have realized that while he was leaning closer, Joel was leaning away.

He had to get out of here.

Nick could have stayed, maybe, if he hadn’t actually kissed him. Fantasizing about chapped lips and watery eyes was one thing; knowing how those lips felt warm against his own and how his eyes glazed when Nick pulled on his bottom lip with his teeth—Nick wasn’t strong enough.

He shouldered his bag, thankful he hadn’t unpacked it, and opened the door. He’d get in the junker and drive—he’d just drive until the banging in his chest didn’t feel like pain. Until he didn’t feel so foolish.

He tiptoed out of the room and closed the door gently behind him. He heard the water running in the kitchen and hoped that if Joel was doing the dishes—another pang of guilt at that, he should have offered to help clean up—he wouldn’t notice Nick quietly leaving. It was best this way. He didn’t want to look Joel in the eyes when he explained that it just wasn’t that way. When he explained that Nick was all on his own in this.

He was almost out of the hallway and near the door when he heard the soft, quick breath sounds of crying coming from behind Janie’s door. He froze.

Then the sound shifted into something closer to a sob and Nick’s own guilt and embarrassment melted away as easily and quickly as it came.

He knocked gently on Janie’s door.

“Go away, Dad!” She yelled back. It would have been an angry, furious tone, if it hadn’t come out in a small and pathetic squeak of pain.

His chest hurt for a reason that was entirely not his own and he leaned closer to the door, whispering, “It’s not your Dad, Janie. It’s Nick.”

There was silence and then a hiccup. He waited three more hiccups before she said, so quiet he wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been pressed into the door, “Come in.”

He opened the door quietly and slid inside.

Her room was an atrocious level of pink and he did have the urge to immediately tease her about it, but one look at the crumpled, balled mess she was in made the desire go away instantly.

“Janie,” he slid his bag down by the door and crossed quickly to the bed, sitting down on the floor next to the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“N—nothing.” She sniffled, barely lifting her head from the pillow. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her pink blanket covered her up to her chin.

He raised an eyebrow and smiled, as soft and kind as he could. “I don’t believe you.”

She sighed, put out. It was closer to the girl he recognized and it made a little of the squeezing ease up on his heart.

“I’m okay,” she tried repackaging the sentiment.

Nick nodded. “Yes, you are. But still. What’s wrong?”

She sniffled again and sat up against the headboard. She pulled a pillow into her lap. He gestured towards them. “Can I get one of those?”

Janie tossed him a pillow and he copied her, pulling it to his lap and playing with the edge of the case. “I’m just a little sad. It’s okay.”

“Being sad is okay,” he agreed, trying to keep his frown from pulling his lips down. “But not if I can help.”

“You can’t,” she shook her head. She offered him a small smile and it was sad enough that he almost reached over to hold her hand. “It’s just—tonight reminded me of my mom.”

“Your mom?” Nick sat up, surprised.

Janie nodded. “It’s just that we always used to play games and Dad used to laugh a lot.”

“Your dad still seems like he laughs a lot,” Nick said gently.

Janie lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Kinda. More tonight.”

Nick bit his bottom lip. “My dad died,” he winced at the way it was blurted out. Janie’s eyes widened into saucers and her breath caught. He heard it and started talking quickly. “I was just a baby. I don’t really even remember him. But my mom said he was a nice guy. Good at sports, which I am terrible at.”

“How?” Janie interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nick smiled. “How am I bad at sports? I blame a subpar little league coach, but, you know.”

Janie giggled a little and Nick fought to keep his smile from stretching too much. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean—” She cut herself off and looked at him worriedly.

He kept his smile, though it softened a little as the memory that wasn’t even his started to replay. “A car accident.”

“Mine too,” Janie whispered.

Nick nodded. He could see it, in Janie, the way his mom could always see it in him. “My mom used to say that kids like us,” he didn’t miss the way she sat straighter and her breath hitched again, “were tougher than other kids. We had to be.”

Janie frowned, looking down, and tugged on the pillow again. Nick knew exactly what she was thinking. “I always thought that was bullshit.”

Janie’s head snapped back up. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We aren’t tougher. We’re just regular, right? But when I was a kid and I’d get sad because I didn’t have a dad or something, I’d feel really bad because I was supposed to be tough.”

Janie was nodding, almost imperceptibly. Nick swallowed and kept talking because she wasn’t crying anymore.

“But I realized that that’s really unfair. We’re allowed to be sad. It was okay when I got upset because it did suck that I didn’t have a dad. But you know what made it better?”

“What?” Janie asked, nearly frozen in her bundle of blankets.

“I didn’t have a dad, but I had a great mom. My mom is so smart and nice and she’s always there for me. She really loves me a lot. You know who she reminds me of?” Nick waited until she shook her head. “Your dad. He’s a real good guy. And it really sucks that you don’t have a mom anymore, I get that. You be as sad as you want and that’s okay. Just remember that you’re not alone and you have a dad who really, really loves you.”

Janie stared at him for a moment and Nick held his breath. He didn’t know—now that he wasn’t talking anymore, he suddenly felt like he was overstepping. This wasn’t his place. He shouldn’t have just started talking about her mom of all things. And their situations were different and—

Janie flung out from the bed and nearly tackled him to the ground. She wound her tiny arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Nick hugged her back.

When she pulled away, she was teary eyed but smiling brightly. “I’m glad you’re here, Nicolas.”

Guilt punched into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He was such an asshole. He liked this kid and this kid liked him and instead of respecting that she had somehow imprinted on him when he saved her in the ocean, he’d gone and fucked everything up by kissing her dad.

“I’m glad I’m here, too, Janine,” he said.

Her smile fell as she looked between him and the door. He followed her gaze and saw his bag laying there. He winced.

“Were you leaving?” Her voice was at once both small and accusatory.

“No,” he lied.

She leveled him with a look.

“No,” he repeated. “I was just going to the bathroom to change.”

She lifted her jaw, the small, spitting image of her dad. He waited for her judgement. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He said, smiling. He made to stand up and Janie hopped away, climbing back into bed. She looked small under the blanket and Nick gave into the urge to push her hair off her forehead. “Goodnight, Janine.”

“Goodnight, Nicolas.”

He scooped his bag up from the floor and nodded his head towards the light switch. Janie nodded so he turned the light off and closed the door behind him.

He stood in the hallway with his bag in one hand, the door outside and the guest room equidistant from where he stood.

He should go. He knew that—he had already developed feelings for Joel, ones that burned bright and hurt like the fire they pretended to be, and he had already pounced on the man once. But Janie—he couldn’t just leave after telling her he wouldn’t, couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

He could make it one more night. He wouldn't think of Joel and his warm hands and soft lips and he wouldn’t do anything to make things worse for any of them. Because like it or not, Nick was pretty sure he loved that little girl in there and if she wanted him to stay and say yee-haw to her classmates, then, fuck it. Nick was pretty sure there was even a joke cowboy hat in the junker.

He straightened, determined, and froze when he locked eyes with Joel.

Joel stared at him, his gaze hard and arms folded across his chest. He looked like the powerhouse that Nick had assured Janie he was.

Nick hesitated, and then nodded at him.

Joel titled his head, cocking it to the side, and his lips pursed.

It took every fiber of Nick’s being to turn on his heel and walk back into the guest room.

He was careful to close the door gently before throwing himself on the futon.

Goddamn. He was so screwed.