Nick Peterson's day starts with waiting tables, and he doesn't mind.

At ten past five in the morning, there's Martin with the silver hair and his cane, who takes a newspaper from the stand before he occupies his regular booth, and orders his usual classic eggs Benedict meal: Canadian bacon, two poached eggs on an English muffin, topped with creamy Hollandaise sauce and served with a side of hashbrowns. He tips his hat to Nick with a kind smile whenever he walks in.

There's also Sophie, the blonde cheerleader in the year below Nick who comes in between six and six thirty, her books and her beloved leather-bound planner in her hands. She usually sits by the window, far from the door, and her orders are different. Yesterday, it was the Steak & Scramble Bowl. The day before that, it was the Biscuits & Sausage Gravy. Today, she asked for the Specialty Breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, hashbrowns, and a short stack of pancakes. She always gets coffee.

There's also Susan, a teacher from the preschool two blocks away, and Roy, who owns the flower shop across the street. Sometimes, students from the dorm next door drop by, too. But it's always slow mornings at Mo's—the diner across North Aiken University which serves hot and greasy breakfast from five to eleven, lunch from eleven to three, and alcohol, wings and fatty meat, and televised sport games five onwards. Nick has been a busboy since his freshman year in college.

His day starts with waiting tables, and he doesn't mind—it's his job. It's also quiet, and he gets to sip his hot chocolate in the break room in peace.

What he does mind is waiting tables for the other two 'regulars' (parasites) of this place, Yves Grimaldi and Orion Hirsch—who otherwise classify themselves as Nick's best friends.

"Good morning, Nicholas!" Yves greets loudly, pushing open the door, striding inside like he owns the place. With a smile that reaches his ears, the brunet winks. "And good morning to you too, Gail."

Nick only lets out a petulant sigh from behind the counter. Gail, at the register, blushes profusely. "Hi," she mutters, head bowing.

Nick shoots him a warning look. "Please leave."

Leaning against the counter, Yves clicks his tongue and taps his chin. "Hm. Let me think about it." He meets Nick's eyes, grins, and says, "No."

"Hey, dipshit," Orion calls from the door, one hand waving around in the air, and the other holding his white cane as it slaps against the tiles. "So much for helping the visually-impaired, asshole."

"Oh, come on." Yves rolls his eyes, turns around, and tugs Orion by the elbow. "As if you don't know where you're going by now."

"I don't, I'm blind!"

Gail looks at Nick, a sympathetic smile on her still-flushed face. "Mornings got interesting ever since they started coming by."

"You mean annoying," he answers, sighing, pushing his glasses up his nose as he watches his so-called friends bicker and push each other to a booth. Orion wants the refillable gravy station to be on his right so it's easier for him with his cane, but Yves wants to stay on that side of the couch so he can be a creep and stare at Sophie Schultz with hearts for eyes. It's a battle every morning. "And loud."

His co-worker rubs his shoulder. She's younger than him by a year, now a junior like Sophie, but she and Nick have been through the rough shifts—they've cleaned up alcohol spilled on tiles and vomit together. That's as good as any bonding experience. "They're just looking out for you," she tells him softly.

Nick sighs again. "They don't have to."

Orion orders a Three Egg Breakfast with turkey sausage as his choice of meat. Yves takes his time, flipping through the menu, being an annoying piece of shit, until he finally settles with the Fried Chicken & Waffle. They both get a hot chocolate.

As soon as Nick serves them, the brunet pulls him down to the sofa and grasps his face, thumbs on his cheeks, features pulling together. "How's your eyes?"

"Fine," Nick answers robotically, slapping his hands away with a scowl. "Guys, look."

"I can't," Orion says, smartass that he is, hand moving around the table to find his fork.

Yves snickers, and he reaches out and gives it to him. He also takes the knife and curls it around Orion's other hand.

Nick exhales heavily, not amused. "Sorry. I meant—listen. I don't need you guys to check up on me every day. It's been five months and I'm fine."

"That's what O said too," Yves points out with his mouth full, chewing loudly. "He said he was fine. Look at him now, does that look fine to you?"

Orion smiles, looking straight ahead. Nick groans, leaning back against the seat. "I—seriously. There's a reason why we broke up in the first place. I'm not going to get the Disease. You know who's going to get it? Gail—if you keep dazzling her."

Yves doesn't blink. "I dazzle everybody, she's not special."

"And you—if you don't stop staring at Sophie Schultz."

He sighs dreamily, propping his chin on his fist, staring at her. The blonde is focused on her studies, planner wide open on the table, breakfast half-finished and coffee cup empty. "She looks beautiful today. Don't you think, O?"

"Yup," Orion says, nodding. "She looks very beautiful today, Yves."

"Thank you." The brunet turns his attention back to Nick, sugar on his lips from his waffle. "Just looking out for you, bro. It's been a week since we started our first semester."

"It's also the first ever semester you're single," Orion adds, grinning.

"Right." Yves puts a hand on Nick's shoulder and blinks at him. "And if you say you're fine, then you're fine. Doesn't matter if you're probably going to see Kaia for the first time in months at Hansen tonight."

Because she will be there. It's Kaia—ace lacrosse player, star student, life of the party, talented conversationalist and has a general way of making people feel like they've been best friends with her for years—a way that, although Nick has been on the receiving end of it, he'll never be able to understand. She's the one person in the group that listens and tells the others to shut up when everyone else is talking over you, she's that person talking to and dancing with at least five different groups of people, and then she'll somehow be crying with a sixth group, and if one of your earrings get lost in the middle of the field, she'll stop the game, turn on the flashlight on her phone, and demand the rest of her teammates to "fucking help me and find it".

She was always the one who dragged Nick to parties. He didn't know a quarter of the people Kaia knew, and it's not his scene, but there was a reason why Nick always came anyway.

But it's been three and a half years, and they broke up, and it doesn't matter if Nick sees her tonight.

"Who said I was going?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"We've been going since freshman year," Orion points out, tearing bacon with his teeth.

"We've been going with Kaia since freshman year," Nick corrects.

"I did," Yves says. "What I say goes. That's how friendship works in our case, boys. One is stupid enough to go blind, and the other is on his way going blind—sorry, no, the other is just stupid."

The door jingles open. Grateful, Nick stands up, rubbing his hands together. "I don't know about friendship, but I'm going to to do my job now. You know, the one I'm actually paid to do."

Yves shoves his hand inside his pocket and slaps a crumpled piece of dollar on the table, chewing and looking up at Nick.

He grabs it before Yves takes the dollar back and heads back to the counter.

It's Garrett who walked in, and he orders his usual veggie omelet: mushrooms, onions, asparagus, cheddar cheese, and tomatoes—served with toast and grits and a glass of orange juice.

*

It's not that Nick makes an effort to avoid his ex-girlfriend. It's really not—even though Yves would argue otherwise.

They don't have any classes together considering their very different majors, and the social sciences building is across the campus beside the library—very far from the science and engineering building. It's also not because of Kaia that he decides not to pass through their usual shortcuts anymore—he just feels like he needs the exercise from walking the longer routes, and he no longer visits the gazebo behind Goshawk Hall where he used to study, take pictures, and nap with her. His reason for that is...well, he hasn't thought of a reason yet.

Fine. Nick would rather not see his ex-girlfriend of three years—three whole years of his stay in North Aiken University, not because he'll crumble on the spot, but because it's awkward. What is the etiquette for bumping into your ex on at a shortcut you discovered together, or in a spot you used to share? Do you wave? Shake hands? Smile? Or pretend you're focused on your phone as you walk past but you're really just pressing buttons on your calculator? There's no guide for this, and Nick has always been a personal fan of ignoring his problems.

So he hasn't seen her since the breakup, since the last few months of their junior year. It doesn't mean he's going to have a heart attack when he does.

The party, as is tradition, is at Hansen House—where the shots are cheap and there's plenty of weed to go around. Nick has has had his fair share of parties thanks to Kaia, and those at Hansen were always too wild, too crowded, and too infested with freshmen doing dumb shit. Maybe he's gotten old, being in his last year of college, but parties like these always gave his anxiety anxiety.

Especially now, not knowing anyone except his friends, and not having a girlfriend to drag him to games and dance. So he does the only sensible thing: drink.

With a blank stare, Orion pushes his shot glass forward, but it only meets air. Nick scoffs out a laugh, directing his wrist, and clinks his whiskey cola with his. "I'll tell you who throws up in the vase this year."

"Thanks," he says, knocking back his shot. "Pass me a joint, will you?"

Nick hesitates, scrunching his nose.

"I'm blind, not dying. C'mon, Peterson."

"Fine." Nick passes him one. "I'm not responsible for this."

Orion huffs out a laugh, pressing the stick between his teeth. "It's our senior year, Nick. Smoke with me."

"Yeah, no. I appreciate my lungs—you know, the things that do the breathing for me. I like it when they do their job, thanks."

"Hey, losers," Yves pipes up, finally back from the bathroom, also smelling of weed and flavored vodka. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, hair tousled, zipper opened. "Has anyone thrown up in the flower vase yet?"

Nick shakes his head, throwing his head back and drinking some more, feeling the burn in his throat. "Nah. But George keeps dancing next to it. How was your piss?"

A wicked grin passes through his face. He orders three more shots and sits next to him. "It was great. I think she's the one."

When Yves talks about new people, they're always 'the one'. Doesn't matter he's never had a decent conversation with any of his 'the one's. What matters is that they're good at being used for sex and using him for sex.

Orion knows this too. He scoffs. "Ah, yes. The eleventh 'the one'."

"This year," Nick adds.

"Eleven in a week? That's a good record." Yves winks, and then his eyes widen slightly, and he says, "O, incoming."

Cassia Finch comes running in her heels, tackling Orion from behind, throwing her arms around his neck, mouth open in a huge grin. "Hi, baby!"

"Hey," Orion breathes, hands going to her waist, spreading his legs so his girlfriend can step in between them. "Thought you weren't coming."

"Finished my essay early," the brunette says brightly, leaning down to kiss his cheek. She steals the joint in between Orion's teeth and puts it in her mouth. "Hey, Nick."

Nick raises his glass to her.

"Cassia," Yves drawls, leaning against the bar. "Drink?"

She keeps her grin, hand curling around Orion's neck. Still eyes on Nick, her features soften. "How are you doing?"

Cassia's one of Kaia's actual close friends that Nick still talks to, and it doesn't hurt that she's also Orion's girlfriend. But this means that she's another person who's worrying about him, when she should be just worrying about Kaia.

And even though she's asking if he has the Disease, he shrugs, smiles, and answers, "Good. Fine."

Her eyebrow raises. "So if she were here right now, you'd be fine?"

"It's been months, Cass," Nick mutters, downing the last of his drink. Is there nothing else to talk about rather than his miserable breakup? "I don't care if she's here."

"Well, good. Because she is." The brunette grabs the drink Yves slides to her and hauls her boyfriend to his feet. "Dance with me, babe."

Orion shakes his head, biting his lip, but he's already standing while Cassia drags him across the sea of bodies, swaying her hips.

Yves whistles lowly, cup to his lips. "I think she still hates me. I mean, I don't care that she doesn't, but she's wrong."

"She ignored you and took your drink without a thought. She hates you. Still."

"Ignored? What's that?" Yves blinks. "That can never apply to me. Besides, what did my existence do so wrong that makes her not appreciate it?"

Nick rolls his eyes.

They stay by the bar until Yves is a little more drunk than sober, and then he goes off to dance, and Nick grabs a bottle of tequila sitting on the counter and heads out to the balcony with his glass.

It's here that he sees her, side pressed against another warm body, the last few seconds of her laugh floating in the air, and Nick's fingers loosen on the bottle but it doesn't fall.

When she turns around and sees him, the smile on her eyes and lips doesn't fade. "Nick," she says. Breathes.

It's the same way she used to say his name when they kissed, on the phone, after crying, on the bed, arguing, while washing the dishes, dancing, when they held hands, cooking breakfast, in the grocery store, under the shower.

One word—it's one word and it brought back a million memories in a split second.

It's then that he's reminded he needs to respond. In an actual human conversation, he's supposed to respond. "Hey," he says.

Nick recognizes the person next to her—it's Mark Wallace. One of their many fights. "Hey, Nick." He takes his glass with him and steps near the door, looking back at Kaia. "I'll see you inside, you still owe me a dance."

"Got it," Kaia says, still smiling. And then her eyes return to Nick's. "I'm surprised you came."

"Yves," he says by way of explanation, struggling to maintain eye contact. He only holds it for five more seconds before he looks away, pushing his glasses up to his nose, and he sets the bottle on the table. It shakes for a moment, and then it stills.

Kaia gets it. She breathes out a laugh. "Yves. Of course. How are you?"

"Fine," he answers automatically, meeting her eyes, and then focusing on the wall, and meeting her eyes again. He's not doing this because it's Kaia—Nick just...he hates salad and he hates eye contact. Kaia knows that. "You?"

"I'm fine, too."

And this—of all the million good things about Kaia, this—her voice. She doesn't stutter, even when they're arguing, she keeps it stable, and firm, and honest. Her words—good, terrible, clear, honest. And Nick knows that she was telling the truth when they broke up.

She really didn't—doesn't love him anymore. She's fine.

Her eyes are solid, colored, and alive. "You look good, Nick."

That one's the truth, too.

He looks at her. She's wearing a black tube top with a black bomber jacket over it, ripped jeans low on her hips.

And then he looks at her. Charcoal, curly hair that's actually a mahogany brown, fallen leaves brown, baked mud brown, bark of an oak tree brown under sunlight. Trimmed eyebrows, pointed chin, thin lips filled with her favorite shade of blushed red lipstick (420—that's the shade number), long nose, honey skin that grew darker over the summer, calloused hands, bony fingers.

"Thanks," Nick says, smiling a little. He scratches the back of his ear and mutters, "You too."

That one's truth. He's always liked looking at Kaia—back when his bones felt crushed and his heart felt too heavy for his chest whenever she smiled, cried, laughed, slept, talked. Every turn of her mouth, every crease of her brow—Nick recognized.

He's always liked looking at her. He just does it less often now.

"I have to go back inside," she tells him, biting her lip. This is truth, too. She's not just saying it to get out of talking to him. Unlike Nick, Kaia prefers facing her problems head-on. "And drink some more and dance some more because I'm still—"

"Moderately functioning," Nick finishes quietly, staring at her. "It's, uh, not something you want to be at parties."

This is the first party Kaia's moderately functioning without him. And then she'll be 'temporarily out of service' without him.

"Right." She laughs, shaking her head, and then her hand goes to her hair to tuck it behind her ear. Nick looks away. "Yeah, that's right. And I wanna be temporarily out of service before we start practice on Monday."

Like everything else she loves, she takes lacrosse seriously—especially now that she's captain. No drinking, no fast food, enough rest if she can help it.

Nick nods, stepping aside so she can reach the door. "Yeah. Uh, take care. I'll see you around."

She smiles at him, eyes shining. "You too. Tell Yves and Orion I said hi. See you."

And then she's gone, and Nick's only company is a bottle of tequila.

He scrapes back a measly garden chair and slumps on it, feeling like his body's been bruised and battered, and pours some in his glass. When he takes a sip, his fingers are shaking, but he doesn't drop it. He simply sets it on the table, and the liquid shakes for a moment. Two moments. Three.

And then it stills.

*

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