29. Noah

My chest hurts the way I imagine a heart attack would feel like. I feel like all my essential organs are being squeezed, each beat of my heart an attempt to escape.

I cage it all in by pressing myself harder against Lane, focusing on feeling his heartbeat instead. It's fast and hard, as easily distinguishable as my own.

I hold him until both of our heartbeats slow, merging into an easy, single rhythm. He's slumped against me with his eyes closed, but I don't think he's asleep. And his lips aren't blue anymore.

When he ran out last night, I didn't think, I just chased him. I wanted to talk him down, make him talk to me. I was upset that he wouldn't talk to me. When I finally made it back to our room, I sent him a text, resolved to give him space to process. But it didn't take long for my upset to become worry, and then anger, and then worry again. I kept texting, kept hoping he'd respond. But the messages stayed on read, and the longer he was gone, the sicker I became with worry.

Noah: I'm sorry.

Noah: Come back. We can talk about this.

Noah: We don't have to talk if you don't want. Just come back.

Noah: Where are you?

Noah: Just come home, please.

Noah: It's after 2AM, Lane.

Noah: Seriously, where are you?

Noah: Are you coming home?

Noah: Please, Lane, come home.

Noah: Can you just let me know you're okay?

Noah: Let me know you're okay, please.

Between texts, I paced. I got dressed and paced downstairs. I called campus police, but they said they couldn't do anything unless he'd been gone for twenty-four hours or if there was a concrete reason to worry—like if he was inebriated or suicidal. I said no to the first, because he's never drank or done drugs. But the second one really freaked me out. The security guard on the phone had to talk me down, and asked me a series of questions that led him to believe we didn't have any reason to worry, but said that he'd alert campus security to be on the lookout.

I passed out on the couch for a few hours, waking up with a sick, sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn't meant to fall asleep. I was trying to figure out what to do next and thinking about whether I should wake Miah to borrow his car. By that time, it was late enough in the morning, so I called him after I called Lane again and sent a few more texts, letting him know I was going to come search for him if he didn't let me know he's okay. I had to go down and beat on Miah's door.

Finally, Peters opened the door, ready to chew me out, but I pushed past him and barged into Miah's room to swipe his keys. He was groggy, but as soon as I told him Lane was missing, he jumped out of bed and offered to drive. Peters came with us.

We started with the campus, driving around every place he could have gone, me dodging questions the entire time.

"We got into a fight. It was worse than usual. He stormed out and hasn't come home. Isn't answering his phone. I'm worried." That's all they need to know.

We drove past the campus church, which looked to be filling up for a second service of the day. Miah pulled up next to a campus police officer and asked if he'd seen a black Jeep with a big blonde guy, and I was able to take my first breath of relief. He was here, only a few hours before. He was looking rough, but alive and well. No, he didn't know where he went.

I told Miah to do one more lap around campus, but then I got a text.

Lane: I'm fine.

That's it?He's fucking fine?

I was pissed, and let Miah know to just take me home. On our way there, we passed the sports center, and I saw the Jeep in the parking lot. After promising that I wouldn't do any permanent damage to his legs, because we have a match on Friday, they dropped me off, and I stomped through the building.

But then I found him curled up on the floor of a shower stall having some sort of attack. It was similar to his nightmares, but surely he wasn't sleeping in the showers. And fuck, the water was freezing. His lips were blue, and he was hyperventilating.

And as if finding someone you love collapsed like that, after they've been missing for almost nine hours, isn't scary enough, he was muttering crazy shit. I couldn't catch all the words, but what I did catch was enough. "Can't love him." "Sickness." And my name, said in the most cracked, heartbreaking tone.

"Lane! Lane, wake up! Jesus Lane, you're ice cold. Fucking wake up, damn it! Lane!"

I yelled his name, smacked his face, and pried his eyes open until I got him to focus on me. He was practically catatonic when I pulled him out of the shower and brought him over to where his locker is, hoping he had extra clothes because the ones on the hook were wet.

I'm not sure how long we stay like that, but eventually his eyes flutter open.

"Hey," I whisper, reaching to lift his face up to look at me. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, with darker circles than I've ever seen on him. "You're okay."

He shakes his head and turns his body towards mine. "I'm not okay," he whispers, eyes down, looking at my mouth rather than my eyes.

My hand softly caresses over his jaw, around to the back of his neck. I pull him close, pressing my forehead to his. To my surprise, his face angles towards mine. The heat of his lips pulses so close to mine, stealing my breath.

A surge of aching need, different from anything I've felt before, makes my lips tingle with the need to press them against his. It's not sexual. It's something deeper. Something inside me that responds to the pain inside him, wanting to take it away, to soothe him. To kiss it all away.

I press my lips together to keep myself under control.

Lane mutters something about his breath, and my eyes shoot open in realization. He wants me to kiss him, but he thinks anything but his permission would stand in my way?

Before he can change his mind, I close the minuscule distance, pressing my lips against his. A little whine escapes him, one that sounds sad, but his lips part and lock against mine. He kisses me back in such a way that I can feel something breaking inside us both. I know now why he didn't want to kiss me.

Because this is fucking it. The last barrier between what used to be hate and fear, and has become so much more.

This kiss is his confession, and I feed him mine in return.

When we finally make it home, I know there's no way I'm letting him out of my sight. He's functioning, but seems spaced out.

I sit on the sink while he takes a hot shower, stealing his phone to email his professors and Coach Carr that he has a stomach bug. I do the same on mine, giving us an excuse to stay home tomorrow. When he gets out of the shower, I make a very concerted effort not to stare at his body, pretending to be engrossed in my phone while he dries off and brushes his teeth.

I text Miah and tell him I found Lane puking in the bathroom at the sports complex, so our stomach bug lie is at least believable without me outright lying to him.

After all of that is done, and Lane pulls on a pair of shorts, I take his hand and guide him to my room. I strip off my wet clothes and put on a pair of dry boxer briefs. Then I push him down on the bed, slowly crawl over his body, and lay next to him.

He lays there for a while, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion. When he turns on his side to face me, I can't help the smirk on my face.

"Expecting something, little brother?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's a shadow of a smile on his face. He's spacey, but he's in there.

Leaning forward, I press my lips to his in a lingering, but chaste, kiss. Because I can do that now.

"Get some rest," I say before laying back on my pillow, smiling that he let me do that. He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes.

I watch him for a few minutes, wondering what will come next. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to help him, or what he wants me to be to him. Am I his boyfriend now?

Rolling the word around in my mind, it feels silly, but I don't hate it. I definitely like it better than stepbrother.

Without opening his eyes, Lane reaches for my arm and pulls me onto his chest, like I'm nothing more than a blanket. It makes me chuckle, and I can see his lips turn up before his face relaxes and his breaths even out.

Whatever this is, whatever he needs, we'll figure it out.