NATHAN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - "HIM"

OCTOBER 29TH, MONDAY

"NATE, NICO JUST told me last minute that he needs to buy presents for his sister's birthday." Elliot sighed. "He said we've got similiar tastes or something, and apparently just decided to just not inform me beforehand," Elliot mocked, his voice drifting away from the microphone as I assumed he turned his head and directed the sarcasm towards the said boy.

"I have bad memory!"

"I can tell." Elliot's voice turned back to the microphone. "Anyway, so I need the car for today, and-"

"Is that my little baby Nathan? Hi, Nathan!" Nico's energetic voice made the corners of my lips raise, and I could almost see the boy's short, curly black hair bounce as he laughed at Elliot's annoyed sigh.

Nico was that one boy who was always smiling, and it was a complete contrast to Elliot, who always had a poker face on. I don't know how they became friends in the first place, but he was the only person that Elliot hung out with, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't appreciate his bubbly presence and his not very obvious, but still present, influence on him.

"How has school been for you? I hope good, Elliot is still an asshole, by the way." I chuckled at his insult and smiled as I heard Elliot groan. "We should just hang out and ditch him, what do you say, Nathan?"

Elliot cleared his throat aggressively.

"Now, if the said boy would oh so kindly stop interrupting me, as I was saying, you don't have to wait for me today-"

I held the speaker of the phone away from my ear, barely being able to make out my brother's words as loud, ear-piercing background noises came abruptly from the other end of the phone. It ranged from various yells of frustration to cheers, which I assumed was just from the start of football practice.

After making sure that the noises had paused, I put the phone back to my ear.

"-So just ask someone else to pick you up or call an uber, okay? I'll also make it back before dinner, so you don't have to order anything." I nodded before realising that he couldn't see me, and then replied with, "Okey-dokey."

"Remember, you just fainted two weeks ago, so I don't want you walking home by yourself or anything like that in case you pass out or something-"

"Smith, Quintana, you're up!" A deep voice called out from the phone, followed by a loud sigh from Elliot, and an audibly irritated groan from Nico.

"Okay, coach is calling me, gotta go, love you," He said, ensued by the sounds of beeping as the call ended.

I stared at the screen blankly for a while, not really knowing what I should do next as I held the phone in my hand. I tapped into my contacts, scrolling down and briskly scanning through the names.

Tapping into that contact by muscle memory, I glanced at the name briefly before I paused, my index finger floating above the call button.

Right.

He's not here anymore.

Shaking my head and clicking out of the contact, I stopped leaning against the hard surface that was the door of my locker and ran my fingers through my hair.

I wondered to myself how many times I had called him on instinct in the past two weeks, only to remind myself halfway that he was never going to answer and press defeatedly on the red, end call button.

Two? Four? Seven?

A part of me wanted to say that it was just muscle memory, and that I had only called him because I had gotten so used to his presence, but another part of me wanted to say that maybe if I called him enough, he would eventually pick up the phone.

A part of me had even wondered if I should delete his contact so that other naive, stupid part of me would stop dreaming.

I was embedded with so many emotions that I couldn't begin to part my lips and describe them, but I felt numb and listless.

I knew that all of my friends, who were away by a single press of a button, would be more than willing to listen to me talk, but I felt lonely.

I knew that he was dead, but I also didn't.

It was almost like my body couldn't accept it. My mind had already come to terms with the fact that he was never going to come back, but my fingertips still continued to act on their own and dial his number.

My ears still craved to hear his voice, my eyes still yearned to see him smile and grin at me, and my lips still called out his name, even when he was in a wooden coffin, six feet underground.

It felt unreal.

I would never be able to call or text him about a baseball game again, I would never be able to listen to him ramble on about how much he cried over one of his favourite books, or how the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack was just so, so amazing.

I would never be able to listen to his quiet mumbles to himself as he read, thinking that I wasn't paying attention to him as I smile and watch him out of the corner of my eyes, pretending to play whatever game that was on the screen with the controller in my hands.

And I would never be able to see him.

Ever, ever again.

Huh, maybe I did need a walk after all.

Sorry, Eli.

The sounds of my shoes against the hard surface of the floor rang through the normally crowded and rowdy hallway, it being the only sound other than the faint humming of the air-conditioning.

Having your locker on the far side of the building was really, really fun.

I trailed my hand along with the lockers as I walked past them, my fingers dipping into the crooks and crannies between lockers as I made my way down the corridor and towards the exit of the school building.

I let my gaze wander and drift around mindlessly, only realising how wide the hallway truly was without the constant stream of adolescents trying to push their way through others.

I had never really taken the chance to fully inspect my surroundings, as it had always either been loud and crowded with innumerable teenagers, or I would be sprinting and rushing towards the exit with my bat in my hands, not wanting to keep Elliot waiting in his car.

This corridor was so familiar, but also so distant.

When did that painting get hung up? When did that sticker on that locker get stuck on? When did that wall get repainted?

I continued to look around, paying mind to little details that I had never noticed before, taking in the minor aspects of the usually blurry and foggy area in my head.

That is, until my eyes landed on one particular classroom.

Classroom number 143.

The three numbers on the plaque, pinned to the white wall next to the door stared back at me, the familiar rush of adrenaline and endorphins coming down on me as I stood frozen, continuing to look at the digits carved onto the plate.

"I thought I told you to stop waiting for me every time I finish Maths club." Lucas furrowed his brows as I smiled cheerfully at him, twirling my bat in my right hand. He held his books towards his chest, sighing as he reached out with his other hand, flicking a strand of wet hair from my forehead. "Your hair is still wet."

"I swear, do you never dry your hair?" He asked, shaking his head slightly.

I ran my fingers through my dampened brown hair, shrugging at his question. "Well, yeah, how else will I catch you before you leave?"

Lucas pulled his hand away quickly and wiped the dampness on his fingers on my freshly changed red shirt, his cheeks sprinkled with a light shade of pink as he continued to shake his head, smiling. "Let's just go, idiot."

The grin appeared on my lips again as I trailed behind Lucas, who was already walking towards the exit of the school.

"What are we getting? Oh, oh, can we please go to that new Italian restaurant? I went there with Myles and their pasta was like, woah." I gestured with my hands as I jogged lightly to catch up with Lucas, sighing dreamily at the taste of the dish.

"Hm." He tilted his head to the side, as if considering my suggestion momentarily before immediately saying, "Sushi, now stop pouting."

I huffed, crossing my arms, but couldn't keep up the act the moment the smile appeared on his expression.

"Why do you like raw fish? It tastes gross." I asked. He chuckled lightly, still holding the books close to his chest.

"You say that, but keep agreeing every time I ask you." He raised his brows. "Do you secretly like it, but is just too stubborn to admit it?"

It's not because of the food, it's you.

But instead, I said, "Okay, maybe it doesn't taste that bad."

He smiled.

"Mhm."

Snapping out of the slight trance that I had been in, and as if on autopilot, my hand reached for the door handle. But before I could grasp down on it and pull the door open, I retracted my hand as if the metallic surface burned me.

Somewhere inside of me, a small part expected him to step out of that door, holding his books from Maths club to his chest as he scolded me about not drying my hair properly.

Thump.

And I'd do nothing but grin brightly at him, because I knew that he was hiding a smile as he bit on his bottom lip, a habit that I had taken on from him.

And my heart would pound, my breath would hitch as he'd glance up at me through his lashes, still smiling. My cheeks would flush, and the warmth in my stomach would grow as he dragged me along to his favourite sushi restaurant, his hand around my wrist-

No, no, Nathan, stop.

I shook my head again and turned on my heels, ready to leave, to sprint out of school and away from the overwhelming, confusing memories.

But I didn't.

Thump.

Instead, I turned to see and inspect a large flower pot full of radiant, bright orange flowers, positioned right by the classroom doors.

Gerberas, to be exact.

"Why do you like Gerberas so much? They're so, like, bright and happy and orangey." 

"That's because they are orange, Nate, they're meant to look bright and happy." He took one of the pedals in between his thumb and his index finger, caressing the surface softly.  A tender smile on his lips as he glanced down at the pot of flowers.

I never truly understood his obsession with flowers, but watching him view and talk about the colourful plants with a certain softness in his eyes always managed to make the corners of my lips raise.

The familiar but utterly mysterious warmth appeared in my stomach at the boy in front of me, making my skin hot and my fingertips tingle.

The feeling wasn't unpleasant. Confusing, but not unpleasant.

"Plus, they remind me of someone."

Someone?

I raised one of my brows. "Who?"

He shrugged.

"Someone special."

Someone special.

Someone, special.

Special.

Thump.

The word. That seven-letter word made my heart beat and flutter uncontrollably, my cheeks flush with warmth, and my skin set on a raging, burning flame as countless butterflies swarmed my stomach.

Why?

Why, why, why?

Thump.

Best friends don't think about best friends like this. Their hearts don't skip multiple beats at once when they think of their best friend's face, they don't have to catch themselves before they automatically intertwine their fingers with theirs, and whenever their best friend smiles, they don't have the urge to lean down and-

Thump.

I immediately snapped back into reality, my fingers somewhat trembling as the pot of flowers stood in front of me, the bright, saturated orange pedals, that had previously seemed so lively now glaring and burning into me.

It can't be.

The walls seemed to move closer and closer by the second, and the usual, familiar environment now seemed immensely overwhelming and suffocating as my breath hitched. It almost felt like fingers were tightening around my throat and squeezing, ridding me of every bit of Oxygen.

No, no, no, no.

When did this first happen? When did I start feeling like this?

Thump.

Why do I feel like this?

Thump.

Why him?

Thump.

I sprinted towards the nearest bathroom, pushing open the door and immediately turning on the tap. I placed my hands underneath it to catch the stream of cold water and splashed it onto my features, hoping to cool down my burning skin.

I put my hands on either side of the white sink, supporting my weight on it as I looked up at the mirror.

With water droplets trailing down my skin, the pair of green eyes that stared back at me in the reflective surface seemed unfamiliar. They pierced right through me, and right through all my denial, excuses, and dismissal.

The silver dog tag that hung around my neck now weighed a million suns, and as it shimmered in the bathroom lights, my breathing turned quick and heavy.

My short, brown hair was plastered to the side of my face from the cold, harsh, unforgiving water. I ran my wet fingers through them, dampening them more as I tangled my fingers into them.

There were no scoldings, no lectures, just silence.

Cold, hard, silence.

Thump.

I placed the palms of my hands underneath the stream of water, splattering the collected liquid onto my face once more in a desperate, frantic and hopeless manner.

The water failed to soothe my blazing skin, and if anything, the cold water was relentless. It tore and pierced through the warmth, and replaced one pain with another.

Thump.

If only I could wash these feelings away.

I pulled away from the sink. All of a sudden, I felt like crying.

I felt like sobbing until I couldn't breathe, suffocating in the confused screams that I had encased my own anguish and pain in, torturing no one but myself.

I felt like bawling until it physically hurt, crying tear after tear and another one after that, because, if it physically hurt, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much in my head anymore.

I felt like weeping until I just completely stopped feeling, like a blank vacuum of space, filled to the brim with absolute nothingness, and it'd be so, so much easier.

But I couldn't.

It was him, it was all filled with him, and nothing but him.

The way he'd fidget with the corner of a page when he's reading, the way he'd laugh whenever I made a stupid joke, the way he'd unconsciously read out loud softly while reading.

The way he would let me wrap my arms around him whenever I'm upset, and unconditionally hug me back with no questions of why I had been so upset, or why I liked pulling him into my arms so much.

The way he'd fake his smiles for me, lying to me for no one but my own benefit, telling me another, "I'm fine." or, "Don't worry about it." that I pretended to believe in, just to see him happy.

And they way he'd show me one of his rare, genuine, truthful smiles.

They were nice.

Pretty, even.

Very, very pretty.

I ran back home.