I drop a kiss on the top of his head and close my eyes. “Good night. I love you, always,” I whisper. I don’t expect a response; I figure he’s drifting off already and probably didn’t even hear me. But I must be wrong because he stiffens up in my arms and presses his cheek against my chest harder.
He holds himself still for several seconds before letting out a shuddering breath and forcing out, “Good night.”
Nolove you, too, like he would normally say. And I hope I’m imagining it, but he suddenly feels like he’s trembling, even as he clings to me.
“Nico? Hey, what’s going on?” I ask softly, letting my hand rub up and down his back.
He blows out a quick breath and shakes his head. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m so tired.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms around him and turn over onto my back, bringing him on top of me. Then I tug the comforter all the way up to his shoulders and resume rubbing his back. He sighs deeply against my neck. He loves lying on me like this; he says it makes him feel close to me and comfortable and safe. I hope that’s the case right now, too. “That’s all, though, right? You’re just tired? Nothing else?” I ask gently.
Tension returns to his shoulders, but he doesn’t answer right away. I guess thatishis answer, though.
“Whatever it is,” I say softly, “you can tell me.”
The last couple of weeks start to replay in my head when he still stays quiet. Little things I shrugged off. A flinch here, a frown there. Going to sleep early, skipping a meal. Things that now seem out of place but that I didn’t really pay enough attention to at the time.
“Nico,” I murmur again, and I kiss the top of his head. My hand stops on his lower back as he inhales a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, his body trembling. “Talk to me, please. Whatever’s bothering you...”
I trail off as he shakes his head against me.
“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, but then he buries his head into the crook of my neck, and I feel dampness on my skin, like he’s been crying. “I just wanna go to sleep. Please. I’m so tired. And it’s not... it’s not urgent. It’s nothing, really. It’s nothing, and I—dammit.”
My stomach drops as he pushes away from me, rolls over, and sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. He doesn’t stand or talk or move, and I’m scared if I say or do anything, he’ll retreat further. So I don’t move, either, not even to reach out and comfort him. After several seconds, his shoulders slump, and he lowers his head into his hands. Shaking, he turns back around and crawls into bed again and back into my arms, and he clings to me, his cheek pressedagainst my chest.
“She called,” he says, his voice muffled and low and broken.
“She? Who? Vera? Or Greta?”
He shakes his head. “My mom.”
“Your... oh, god.” I understand now. Maybe. I hold him tighter. “When?”
“The Saturday you gave that presentation at school.”
That long ago. Two weeks and a few days. And he’s been keeping it to himself the whole time.
A twinge of hurt stabs my heart, but I quickly push it away. He has to be hurting much more than I can even imagine.
I’m not sure whether to ask him the billion questions I have or to just hold him and comfort him. He doesn’t make me decide, however.
“Sh-she called Greta’s office number when I was gone,” he says, and he shifts just enough that he’s not mumbling into my chest anymore. “I-I’m not really sure how she found me, but I’m listed on Greta’s website as her apprentice. That’s my only guess. She left a message with Greta asking me to call her.”
“Did you?”
“No,” he chokes out. “No, I didn’t. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why she called. I’m not sure I can talk to her. It’s been six years, and she’s never reached out at all. She has your number, she knows your mom. If she really wanted to, she could have called you or talked to your mom. She could have tried anytime. Why now? Why wait so long? Was I not—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head angrily.
Or, actually, maybe it’s not anger. Maybe it’s sadness mixed with frustration and doubt and anxiety.
I start rubbing his back again, as I did earlier, and he sucks in a breath and then buries his face against my chest. He starts crying softly, his body shuddering with each quiet sob.
“I had no idea.” I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, willing myself not to cry right along with him. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner—”
“No. Please don’t,” he cuts in. “It’s not your fault I didn’t tell you.”
“Nico... you’re my boyfriend and my best friend.” I squeeze him gently. “I feel like I should have realized something was wrong and made sure you were okay.”
He shakes his head. “You were busy. We were both busy. Please don’t blame yourself. I... deliberately didn’t tell you. This is on me.”
