— NOLAN'S POV —
The ceiling above me had a faint crack running through it. I stared at it for what felt like hours, unmoving, still wrapped in the silence left behind by last night.
I held him.
I let him fall apart in my arms.
And now... I didn't know how to face him.
What was I even thinking?
There hadn't been any logic in that moment. No plan, no therapist mask, no carefully built distance. Just instinct. Just the unbearable sound of him breaking. And me, letting him fall into me like I was the only place left for him to go.
My phone screen lit up—blinding in the dim light. A reminder: reality still existed. And I was late.
Great.
I couldn't just lie here forever and pretend the world outside didn't exist. With a quiet groan, I sat up, rubbed my face, and forced myself to move.
I walked toward the door, hoping maybe he'd still be asleep. Or maybe he would've vanished like a bad dream, the kind that leaves the sheets cold but your chest still aching.
But the second I opened it, I froze.
He was standing inches away, hand mid-air.
About to knock.
Frozen in time, just like me.
His silver hair was a mess, and the shadows under his eyes looked darker in the hallway light. But his gaze—steady and unwavering—wasn't like the others. It wasn't hungry or desperate.
It looked... satisfied.
Like something inside him had finally settled.
I opened my mouth to say something.
Anything.
My throat tightened.
"I—"
No sound.
"Breakfast is ready," he said quietly, voice softer than I expected. "I was coming to wake you."
"I'll shower first," I mumbled, already slipping past him. My shoulder brushed his arm.
Too close.
I shut the bathroom door behind me, leaned against it, and exhaled like I'd just survived something.
God. I couldn't even look at him. Not after last night.
After a long, too-warm shower and far too many failed attempts to collect myself, I dressed and stepped out. The scent of eggs and toast and—was that coffee?—wrapped around me like a net.
He was already seated when I entered the kitchen. Calm. Composed. Casually sipping his drink like we hadn't shattered something unspoken between us just hours ago.
Like this was normal.
It wasn't.
—
— VAREK'S POV —
He was unraveling, and it was absolutely lovely.
Nolan was usually unreadable. Quiet. Careful.
But this morning? He could barely hold himself together.
His eyes were darting everywhere but mine. He moved like someone avoiding landmines in their own home.
Adorable.
He didn't sit beside me, of course. He chose the chair across from me. like the width of the table could act as some kind of barrier.
Like it would protect him.
"I wasn't sure what you liked," I said, gesturing toward the food. "So I made a few options. Hope that's okay."
He glanced at the plates, then looked away again. His lips twitched upward—just barely.
"You don't know what I like?" he murmured, voice dry. "That's funny. Considering how much you stalked me."
I could've taken offense, but I didn't. There was no venom in it. Just sarcasm. His defense mechanism.
But still... he wasn't looking at me.
Not really.
"Nolan," I said, quieter this time.
Still no response.
I reached across the table and touched his chin, slow and deliberate, turning his face toward mine. His skin flinched at my touch. like I'd struck a nerve.
"Look at me when you talk," I said. "Don't run from me."
His eyes widened—panic flashing through them like lightning.
And then he recoiled, fast.
Stood up so abruptly the chair scraped across the floor.
"I'm not running from anything," he snapped. "I don't care about eye contact or whatever twisted test this is. I'm just... late. For the hospital."
The door shut behind him a second later.
I stared at the empty space where he'd stood. Then leaned back in my chair, letting the silence settle again.
He can deny it all he wants.
But the tremble in his hands... the heat on his face... the way he didn't mention last night...
He's slipping.
And I'm the only one he'll fall toward.