" Angel, we're home."

Nick said this, and I thought back to all those old t.v shows where the husband walked into the house with his jacket tucked into his elbow, one of his hands cupping his mouth as he called, " honey, I'm home!" In a very handsome, very rich voice that would ring all the way upstairs, where a petite lady with corkscrew curls would rush towards him, take his jacket, and kiss him on the cheek while welcoming him back and asking how work.

My situation, and the tv show's situation, were much different. a) Nick and I were arriving home together, in a run-down but beautifully memorable faded blue hippy van with a peace sign plastered to the front, b) I wasn't kissing Nick on the cheek while taking his jacket and asking how work was, partially because I wasn't sure what he did for a living, nor was I sure I wanted to know, c) the people in the tv shows were always happy, but I felt like I was dying inside. I was about two seconds away from slapping Nick and three seconds away from throwing up.

" angel?"

I couldn't respond yet, I couldn't feel my tongue. My feet felt leaded to the bottom of the van as we drove down a twenty-mile speed limit road, going fifteen miles per hour. Nick's gaze was jumping from me to the asphalt, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. I was stone still, gripping my knees tightly. Roughly one second from slapping him and two seconds from throwing up.

" Angel, you okay?"

That nickname had haunted me for a few years, at least four-hundred days. Now I folded myself in it, practically bathed in the syllables created from Nick's unconditionally soft lips. He rarely called me Carter, and any time he did I corrected him on it. Almost any time.

" Carter Grace, are you with me?"

He was fading into background noise, soft undertones and metal pinches making his voice very easy to ignore, at least for the moment. I could see my house, two roads down. It wasn't anything great, but it was where I grew up, where I was left, and where I didn't have the ability to pay the bills but tried my hardest anyway. Next to it was Nick's house. Neither was extravagant; They both had a very homey look, two story but not that big. Suburban houses on the outskirts of New York city, very generic. Nick was slowing down.

" Hey, Angel, answer me."

He wasn't asking anymore. He was demanding. I turned to look at him, giving him one of my medal-worthy frown/glares, " what, Arson?"

" You zoned out on me." He said, worry contorted his lovely features. Things I hadn't noticed about Nick were jumping out at me: the small cut near his hairline, probably from a fall, the space between his nose and his cupid's bow, the dip beneath his lower lip, the way one of his canine teeth sat a little higher in his mouth than the other. Small blemishes, all things I enjoyed noticing.

" and?" I said, crossing my arms to keep my hands from shaking. He knew something was bothering me. He could read me like a book.

He arched a brow, something of a habit when it came to him, " what's wrong?"

I shook my head, looking out at the road at the advancing houses that we owned. One street away now, looming over me even though they weren't that big nor were they that close. He slowed even more, going roughly ten miles per hour, half the speed limit, " I know you, Angel." (a/n for boo)

" Nicholas Dean Arson, please shut your beautiful mouth for a moment and let me wallow in my distraughtness." I blew an imaginary strand of hair out of my face, trying to depict to him that I was quite alright when I really was quite not-alright.

" Distress. wallow in your distress." He corrected, picking at my verbal flaws.

" oh fuck, I'm sorry. Distress. Wallow in my distress. Can we just get to our houses now? if you go any slower it'll take a god damn year." I didn't really mean to blow up, and it's not like it was a nuclear explosion. It was more like a really shitty bottle rocket that popped into the air and went about ten feet before shrugging and giving up and hitting the grass with a displeasing fwish.

" um, sorry?" He was confused, and was right to be so, but that didn't really help my bubbling anger and distress. As soon as we stepped through our individual doors Nick would realize he liked someone else and would bounce off. I wouldn't be able to stand him and his loud music, and hate would rekindle it's fire and whatever little road trip we had would burn away in it's flames. He had picked up speed, pulling our houses closer.

" Just... just shut up." I muttered.

He parked, in front of my house, " Then say something." Because he really didn't like silence. He liked noise, and sound, and anything else that changed his course of thought from down.

" what do you want me to say, Nick?" I said, quietly. I just wanted to lie down, or turn the van around and go back. We weren't enemies in California, but that was all I had ever known him as in New York: a bloody musical villain.

" why are you upset?" He asked, hands loose on the steering wheel. I expected him to at least get tense, uncomfortable, something. Instead, he sat passively in the driver's seat, watching and waiting for an answer. It kind of pissed me off, though it was irrational of me. Mainly because it was a good question: why was I upset?

I reached over, took his hand, " I'm not, I'm just... nervous."

He laced our fingers, like breaking through water, " about?"

" going home."

" we're already home."

" you know what I mean."

" I do."

" are you?"

" nervous?"

I nodded.

" yes."

That was reassuring. My stomach slowly untied, my intestines weren't the work of a boyscout's rope tricks anymore. He opened his door, " come on, I'll help you with your things."

--

We got all my bags inside, in my room, tucked away. Awkwardly, I stood across from him. Last time we were in my room together, I had thrown a pillow at him and told him not to look at me naked. It was a very harsh intervention, but necessary, in a way. I sat on the end of my bed and grabbed a pillow, tucking it into my chest and holding it tight, " We should go get your stuff now."

Nick nodded, fingers drifting through his dark hair. He could feel the awkwardness too, standing uncomfortably in the center of my room, body unable to relax. I stood, dropped the pillow, took the lead. We trotted downstairs, headed out to the van. His stuff was in the steps, ready to be loaded back into his house. I reached for it; he did too. All of our motions were choppy, out of sync. We kept bumping into one another and making bigger messes than we had to begin with. I couldn't breath like this, let alone live.

It took a solid half hour for us to actual situate everything. I said goodbye - there wasn't even a goodbye kiss. Suddenly, it felt like an ocean of difference was placed between us, both parties trapped on an island on either side. Nick was waving, possibly building his raft, and I was finding the other side of the island, in hopes that it was actually bigger than I first realized.

It hit me that maybe part of my problem was me not stepping away from him to realize that there was more than Nick after my grandma passed. She left a hole, and he was right there to fill it. He was convenient, and now I was paying for something that felt so cheap at the time. It wasn't fair of me to play Nick. Or maybe it wasn't fair of Nick to play me.

Maybe Nick felt bad for me, and that was why he stuck around.

I didn't press the matter. Instead, I headed to the coffee shop. I hadn't been there in what felt like a year. Behind the counter, Chasity's petite frame danced from costumer to costumer, flower girl smile showing pearly white teeth while pastel pink lips pulled away from them. Her chocolaty hair was up in a signature bun, and the light eyeliner and mascara around her eyes made them even wider. The little bell rang as I walked in, drawing her eyes towards me.

She gasped, hands hitting her cheeks before she slipped around the counter and ran into me. The breeze outside felt amazing, and her warm figure did nothing to erase its feel from my skin, " Carter you're home!"

I was home, and yet it felt like home was miles behind me. I laughed, faintly, " good to see you too."

Her dainty hand tossed a strand of my hair from my face, " you need a haircut." A flirty smile, " how's Nick?"

I blew at my hair, self consciously running my fingers throw the white-gold locks, " yeah... He's fine. Happy to be home." I had no idea how Nick was. We didn't really discuss it upon our arrival.

" come on Carter, I want details! You promised to tell me how it happened between you two when you got back!" She was way too enthused about my love life; if I could call it a love life. A new fear had bred in my stomach, a fear of talking to Nick. He felt the awkwardness too, though maybe for different reasons.

" aren't you working right now?" A small cluster of people had gathered around the counter, shifting from foot to foot impatiently as they gazed up at the chalkboard menu.

Chasity hardly seemed fazed by their appearance, waving them off like school children, " them? A bunch of usuals. What's unusual is you and Nick. Details, Carter, stat."

If it wasn't already obvious, I didn't want to tell her. I was pushing one way, but she was pulling closer. I sighed, " it didn't happen," I replied, " we're just friends."

--

Jericho called me twice. On the second ring, I answered, " yes love?"

" baby girl!" He was always so enthused, spastic nearly, " do I have a question for you."

I could picture him on the other line: chilling by his house, an overview of the lake reflected by a pair of maroon tinted aviators, faintly gold skin soaking up sun as his bare chest revealed itself to the clouds, always wearing jeans with a hole in them. Jericho was a picture nomad, always drifting but never actually leaving his comfy cabin. It was his dream home. I smiled, Jericho was an infectious disease, side effects included: happiness, smiles, and a feeling of unbreakable friendship. I hated him too, at one point. He'd fucked up. So had i. I guess that made us even on some level, " don't call me that, Jer."

" sorry sweetness. Hard to resist." I could hear the teasing, feel the goosebumps from a wink. He was easy to read in the most puzzling way.

" the question." I implied, leaning against the wall. Window was open, along with Nick's, a steady stream of indie music tying our houses together. My stomach knotted.

He seemingly jumped, " right right! How do you apologize to someone?"

That was a powerful question, especially from Jericho. I always figured he wouldn't ask for anything. He always seemed so sure of himself, even when his girlfriend - excuse me, ex-girlfriend - showed up on his doorstep with her doe eyes and short hair. She faintly reminded me of a faerie. I sighed, ran a set of digits through my hair, " I don't know. The best I can tell you is be honest. A good apology comes from the truth, not from something you've rehearsed."

There was silence on the other end. It was a full silence that said he was thinking, rolling over what I said. His voice had dropped, lower in his throat then it had been previously, " I'm not that good at words, Doll."

" bullshit, I've heard you talk." He had a threesome with a dictionary and a thesaurus. Not that good with words my ass.

" apologies. I'm not good with apologies." And maybe that was true. Jericho never apologized - really - for driving us out of his house, for his behavior.

My eyes narrowed, even if he couldn't see my suspicion, " you're in love with her." It was obvious he wasn't talking about Nick. He knew Nick Arson better than I did. He had a girl problem. I'm sure he turned beat red on the other side of the line.

" excuse me?" He said, though with less annoyance than he should've had if I were wrong, " you don't even know who I'm talki-"

" Jericho, when's her birthday."

" soon."

" a few days soon?"

" ... Yeah." He didn't fight me - brilliance, " she won't talk to me."

" you were kind of an asshole." I said, with the tone of someone who cares. Someone only slightly being me. He done fucked up - even I wasn't sure how to dig him out of that one.

" thanks for the reminder." Stark static sound.

I sighed, " sorry." Then I continue my ploy, " on her birthday, see her in person and tell her. Just let her know you remember."

" why?" He sounded confused - like he sort of got it but he didn't.

" girls like it when boys remember things."

• • •

I could hear Nick next door. Window open, smooth indie sliding between dusty glass panes. I could see him lounging in his beanie, folding himself in the sound. It drew a sigh from my lips.

The sun was banking towards the horizon, silky shades of yellow and orange and purple and blue dancing across the sides of our houses in a beautiful natural mural. I wanted to see Nick in that light, much to my displeasure. I wanted to see his dark hair catch the golden hues, his eyes move with the vibrancy of the sunset, his skin highlight under the midnight sky, laced with the white of the moon. I really wanted to see his lopsided smile, flashing pearly white teeth and caging his million dollar laugh.

I felt stupid.

Nick was uncharted territory that I tried to map in a few weeks. He was a dead woman's rebound, my replacement for the gap she had left.

And the gaps.

We didn't really have gaps, did we? That would be silly, dropping organs as soon on someone dies. It's the cycle of life, the yin to the life yang. We couldn't change that - we could only accept it. Granted, his parents weren't at fault, and neither was he, but it didn't take his lungs away. It was wrong of me to trick Nick into thinking there was a chance when all he really was was a backup plan.

And really sweet.

He was really sweet. He was kind of an ass sometimes, but I got to know him. After I got to know him, he wasn't so bad anymore. It was a game changer. He wasn't just Nick the asshole neighbor. He was Nicholas Dean Arson, a music prodigy, the helpful hand, the should-be model, the person who would make you life with his childish stupidity, throw fits of anger with his boyness, cry tears with his stories, and fall head over heals with him. All of him. All hate-worthy inch of him.

It didn't matter what I did. I couldn't talk myself out of Nick.

The sky turned deeper shades of purple and blue as the sun slipped down out of side, leaving red and orange streaks against grey clouds as a reminder of it's journey across the sky. I stepped closer to my window, sitting cross legged under the pane. The song changed, Cat's Cradle, and older tone I'd only heard once or twice. It made my skin numb. I wondered what Nick was thinking. He wasn't as worried as I was, that was true. He seemed uncomfortable for different reasons, though I couldn't pinpoint what.

Meanwhile, my mind liked to travel to the idea that Nick wasn't a rebound. Maybe I was just being stupid, crawling over my own doubt like such. I was trying to convince myself of a different reality, but I really did like Nick.

It was dark before I could blink.

The sky was dotted with milky stars, twinkling like searchlights. I changed my attire for something looser - a pair of sweatpants and an old sweatshirt I found in the back of my closet. Crawling under the covers, i watched my wall, realizing how much I didn't like the dark blue paint. It made it look like I was staring into darkness waiting for something to reach out at me. Something with claws, and oozing wounds, and razor teeth. I pulled my covers closer.

Those were childish thoughts, things I wouldn't worry about on a normal basis. I was overthinking sleep.

I thought of what Chasity had said earlier.

" just friends? what happened?" She asked, very clearly confused.

" Nothing happened, that's the point." I tried, tilting down my chin to look less defiant. I used my stubborn personality as a lie protector - she would see past that. I had to try a different approach. Innocence.

" Oh? it just seemed..."

" seemed like what?" I asked, drawing my brows together. I wanted to appear as confused as she, like the whole prospect of Nick and I being in a relationship was too silly for my to comprehend.

" Seemed like you two were the real deal... Not like, weddings or anything... just like... like honesty, you know? Like maybe, even if it didn't last, it was something good for the meantime, for both of you. Like you finally got over the whole hating Nick thing." She played with her towel nervously, fingers pink from holding hot mugs and wiping wet counters.

" You hated him too."

" I didn't, I just wasn't fond of him. He wasn't bad, I liked teasing you two. You always amuse me." present tense, like she's still laughing at our shenanigans.

She just wasn't fond of him. I hadn't honestly hated anyone ever before. There was Benny Matson, the little boy who pushed me off the swing on multiple occasions when we were younger, but I was far to young to understand hate then. Maybe I didn't hate Nick. I wasn't jealous, I wasn't mad, I wasn't annoyed, I wasn't amused.

Hell, was I in denial?

Nevermind that, it didn't sound like me.

I rolled over toward the window, where Nick was now listening to one of the songs off my playlist. I realized then it was the third song he had played that was based on my list. Against my will, I smiled.