Alex
“It’sfuckingbusyashell here,” Nico mumbles, his shoulders tightening more as he slams to a stop to let a wave of loud, rowdy college athletes pass by us. My hand finds his lower back, and he leans into my touch.
The airport is definitely much busier now than when we arrived here in San Jose on Friday evening, and though heishandling himself, I probably should have expected that traveling today would be harder on him.
“We’re almost to the gate,” I reassure him, and though he nods stiffly, I can feel him shaking. “You’re doing great. We’ll find a quiet place to sit until it’s time to board. Okay?”
He nods again, and we start walking. I stay just behind him, my hand on his back, and I hope that helps him feel at least a little safer. He hesitates and starts and stops a few more times, clenching his hand into a fist when another person cuts in front of him, almost bumping into his bad shoulder.
“Can’t they watch where they’re going? Jesus,” he complains, and then he grimaces. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just not feeling good. Wh-which gate again?”
“Nineteen. Just ahead on the left there. And you’re fine. You’re doing great.”
“I’m not doing great. I’m gonna puke.” He glances back at me over his shoulder, frowning.
I give him a small smile and rub my hand up and down his back. “Come on,” I say, tipping my head toward the gate. “There’s plenty of seats over by the window. It’s quieter over there.”
He swallows and nods, then starts walking. Again.
A moment later, he drops his backpack on the floor next to one of the open seats along the window and nearly collapses into the closest chair. With a groan, he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, which is a bit awkward with his arm back in the sling. I take the seat next to him, and he immediately falls into me, his arm stretching out across my midsection.
“It’s better over here, yeah?” I rub his back gently, and he nods into me, though he doesn’t otherwise respond. So I start talking quietly, telling him all of the things about the tour I had yesterday at Stanford that I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. He listens, and gradually, his shoulders loosen up and he relaxes. At least a little.
We fall into silence again after a few more minutes, but it’s a comfortable silence. He’s lifted his eyes and is looking around, watching people walk past, his expression taut.
“I hate that I’m like this,” he says finally, and he shifts a bit to sit up more. I start to protest, but he shakes his head. “You being here with me, though, it makes everything tolerable. Or, I mean, mostly. Sometimes.” I don’t even say anything and he’s rolling his eyes at me. “Shut up.”
I laugh, and he does too. Then he leans against me again. “For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m extremely proud of you for everything you’ve done this weekend.”
He looks up at me, arching his eyebrows. “Everything was nearly impossible. And it made me so exhausted.”
“I know. I had to wake you up this morning, remember? Youalmost took my head off.”
He swats at my chest. “Did not.”
“It wasn’t safe in the hotel room until you’d hadat leasttwo cups of coffee.”
He groans at my tease and rolls his eyes.
“Anyway, as I was saying...” I slip my arm around his shoulders and squeeze gently. “I’m proud of you, and I’m glad I was here to support you. I want to... always be here to support you.”
His chest rises and falls slowly, like he’s taking a careful breath, and then he nods. “I want that, too.”
My heart stutters, and I close my eyes and rest my cheek against the top of his head. “So I guess you’re stuck with me, then.”
“Poor me.”
I laugh and hug him to me more, and I hope he’s feeling the same things I am—warmth, love, certainty. It’s such a different feeling than what I had right at the beginning of summer break, when I was having to seriously face the possibility of leaving him behind.
“I don’t think I could have done it,” I blurt out, and it’s only when he straightens up a bit to look at me, confusion in his expression, that I realize he hadn’t heard the whole of my thoughts.
“Done what?”
I frown and drop my eyes to where my hand now rests on his forearm. “I don’t think I could have left Nebraska without you.”
“Alex—”
“I’d have rather stayed and gone to UNO.”
