Nick Peterson grew up in a house with scraped paint on the walls, leaks from the ceiling, creaks on certain spots on the floorboards he and his brothers learned not to step on when they're sneaking in or out, and outdated furniture—especially the hideous gray sofa with mysterious stains (one of them's salsa) and holes in its padding. The screen doors are close to being ripped off (one more tantrum from any of his brothers), and the wire for the oven doesn't work unless you prop it up on a bottle or a toaster, and that's only when the light turns red.

Nick loves it. His family was big and loud, there was never—there couldn't be a quiet day in the house. There were always meals on the table with extra servings because they were all growing boys, and Nick had to share his bathroom, but he had a bike and he could go to school without being bullied (imagine having four older brothers), and nothing else mattered.

And then the house lost its liveliness—one by one.

Harlan, the eldest, the first high school graduate, moved out first. He went to a culinary school down south, and he found a cheap studio to live in with his best friend, and ever since Nick can remember, Harlan has always talked about leaving this small little town where everyone knew each other a little too well. So he did.

The twins—Robb and River—separated. Robb didn't technically move out, his college was just a twenty-minute drive away, but he stayed out most nights and crashed wherever. River went to a Sumac League and took a part-time job at a shoe store to pay rent for the nice apartment he's living in.

Jude got a scholarship in a fancy college a state away—where it's colder, lonelier, newer. Happier.

And Nick, the youngest—lived alone at first, then lived with love, now living with the ghost of that love. Missing home.

There are only five occasions in a year in which the remaining Peterson children are complete: six months ago, 24th of February, their mother's birthday; today, 18th of September, Robb's second death anniversary; Thanksgiving, or else their mother would cut their heads off; 1st of December, their father's birthday; and Christmas, or else their mother would cut their heads off. Birthdays of the children are susceptible to low number of attendees and busy schedules, and Nick and his brothers had an agreement that whoever couldn't make it to their parents' anniversary would have to pay for the expensive gift—because they weren't always complete.

As soon as Nick gets out of his car, bag heavy on his shoulders, he hears it—noise from inside the house, and he smiles, taking a deep breath. Home sweet home.

"Littlest brother!" Harlan yells from the kitchen when he steps inside, pulling his hood down. His brother is wearing his designated kitchen apron he only wears when he's cooking at home. "I missed you!"

"Oh, sweetheart." Helene, Nick's mom, drops everything she has in her hands and jogs a little to hug him. Nick breathes in her scent—his mom always smells of freshly-baked cookies and lullabies and fabric conditioner, hugging her tight. "Nicholas. You're here," she whispers, voice cracking.

She has to rise up on her tiptoes now and to tilt her head to look at him—she's so much smaller than Nick, but when he was young, he remembered thinking that his mother would be able to protect him against anything in the world.

He supposes it's still true, a mother's fierce love never goes away—even to the children no longer alive.

"Hi, Mom," Nick whispers. "Yeah, I'm here."

Helene pulls away, frail hands cupping his face, eyes watering. Nick smiles at the wrinkles, the hair once brown washed out with gray and age, the sagging skin on her cheeks. He thinks his mom is still so beautiful. "How are you? How's Kaia?"

Nick shakes his head, taking her hands into his, and tells her firmly, "I'm fine, Mom. We're fine."

Nick hasn't told his family yet. He's not sure when he'll be able to—not when it will break their hearts. His mother's heart—thinking she might have to lose another child to the Disease.

He'll tell them. Someday. But not today—not on Robb's death anniversary.

"Nicky!" River's voice shouts, and heavy steps come running down the stairs. His brother's grinning widely. "Whoa, you're so tall."

"You saw me six months ago, Riv."

"I know. Tall. I think you're taller than me now. How you doin', bud? I missed you!"

His mom's fingers come up again to cup his face.

"Mom, come on, I'm fine," Nick stresses, raising his eyebrow. "Honestly. And I missed everyone, too—"

The door leading to the backyard opens, and his father and Jude come inside barefoot and drenched in water. Or sweat. It's hard to tell.

"Feet on the rug now!" Helene shouts, about to have a breakdown on the droplets messing up her floor.

"Baby bro!" Jude shouts, mouth curling wide, and he raises his hands, palms up. "You doing okay? Still treating Kaia well?"

Alex, Nick's dad, rushes wiping his feet on the rug so he can run up to hug his youngest son, nudging his wife out of the way. "How you doin', son?"

"Hi, Dad." Nick sighs, hugging him. He smells like sweat. He and Jude probably played some football on the grass. "Can I please put my bag down so we can eat? I'm hungry."

It's been two years, but Helene still sets the table for seven; the seat on the right, in the middle, in between Jude and Harlan, used to be Robb's. His favorite meal is also on the table.

It's noisy, with everyone grabbing their own helpings, talking over each other, and Nick smiles, content. It's always so quiet in his apartment at North Aiken, and since Kaia moved out, he's been eating alone. He never noticed how lonely it was until now.

They talk about Harlan's promotion to head chef at this five-star restaurant none of them can pronounce correctly, and his plan to propose to Emily, his five-year girlfriend. They also talk about River's child welfare social work and this girl he's seeing, and Jude's current project to design this huge house for a wealthy family and how he hates his partner because they've been butting heads a lot recently.

"How's school, baby bro?" Jude asks, wagging his eyebrows. "And by school, I mean your relationship. Kaia still keeping you on your toes?"

"It's still so fucking weird to me that you're living with your girlfriend," Harlan says, chuckling. "It's been, what, three years? And I know you're twenty-one, but damn, it's just—I see little nerdy Nicky." He reaches over to ruffle his hair, and Nick smacks it away, glowering at him. "You're still nerdy Nicky, but nerdy Nicky with a girlfriend. Amazing."

"Stop teasing him." Their dad clicks his tongue, and then focuses back on his youngest, grinning. "She's captain of the lacrosse team now, right?"

When they broke up, Nick told them she and her family were out of the country for the summer, which was why she couldn't come down and visit. Sometimes, Nick would pretend he's speaking with her on the phone in his room, and sometimes, at dinner, he'll say, "Oh, yeah, Kaia says she misses you guys. And she's doing great."

She is. Just. Not with him anymore.

"Yeah," Nick answers his dad, putting some enthusiasm into his voice as he picks at his food. "Yeah, and we're still...we're still okay, busy with school. She's still working at her family's shop, and she, uh, she gave me some space. For today, she knows—um, she knows what today is."

River whistles lowly. "Well, damn. Three years and strong. When's she coming back to visit?"

"Christmas, right?" their mom says, grinning. She reaches over and takes Nick's hand, squeezing it. "She promised me."

Shit. Nick's grin is frozen on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, Christmas."

And then they ask him about his preparations for his thesis and pretend they know what molecular medicine is, and after dinner's when they put on their suits. Being the youngest, Nick shares his room with the twins. He used to sleep on the pull out bed under the double-deck, River had the top bunk and Robb had the lower bunk.

Nick pushes the door open, and it makes a loud sound. Multiple movie posters decorated the cream-colored walls, and a few photographs Nick took when he didn't know what he was doing with a camera yet. River's bag is dumped against the wall beside the double oak cabinet that stood near the doorway of the bathroom. The sheets on the beds and the pillow cases are clean, newly-placed, as if their mother hoped one of them would stay the night.

Nick is staying the night. He usually doesn't, but he thinks he owes his parents to—especially his mother.

River opens the wardrobe and sighs. "Time to put on the suits, Nicky."

They do, and even though he's old enough, his brother still puts on his tie for him like he always does—prom, Robb's funeral, parents' anniversary, fancy family occasion, formal party. While River's putting his own, Nick stares at him in the mirror.

Robb and River had the exact same face structure, facial features, smile, eyes, nose, cheeks, hair—except for the time Robb grew it longer during their last year in high school. When Nick was younger, it was impossible to tell them apart, and sometimes, they would pretend they were the other just to mess with him and their parents. Harlan always figured it out, and Jude learned to figure it out, and Nick—he figured it out when Robb was gone.

River's eyes are kind and trusting; Robb's were piercing and mischievous. River's smile is welcoming and friendly; Robb's was disarming and goofy. When River laughed, he did it clapping his hands, a deep chuckle from his chest; when Robb laughed, he did it with a howl.

And Nick just noticed this last year—River puts on his right shoe first. Robb put on his left first.

In Jude's SUV, his family is quiet. It's the only time they're ever quiet—on the way to Robb.

It's also the only time Nick sees his brothers mad. Last year, River screamed so loud—raw and devastating and so angry, Nick still hears it in his sleep.

"Hey, dickhead," Jude says, and it's laced with quiet rage.

"Hey, jackass," Harlan says, resentful. "We had bacon-wrapped pesto pork tenderloin. Remember that? Your favorite?"

River is quiet, but his jaw is set, breathing ragged, and Nick knows, even after two years, he's not angry with his twin for killing himself. He's angry that he understands why.

Because Robb grew lifeless, and lifeless, and lifeless—when he became blind.

Nick puts an arm around his crying mother, and reaches out his hand for his crying father to hold.

"You asshole," River whispers. His face is wet with tears.

River leaves as soon as they get home. He changes back into his regular clothes, grabs his bag, hugs each of his brothers. To Nick, he cups his face, kisses his forehead, and says, "Don't you ever break our hearts, Nick."

Then he hugs his parents—their mother closes her eyes when he does, she still can't bear to look at him knowing how much he looks like the child she lost—and then he's gone.

Harlan hangs around for a while. And then he's gone, too.

Jude and Nick stay over. Jude's flight is at nine in the morning, and Nick doesn't have to be at work until the evening.

He climbs on the lower bunk and lies down. Sleeps to the sound of his mother sobbing in the next room.

*

It's loud and crowded at Mo's tonight, which means aching bones, complete exhaustion, and tips. Lots of 'em.

"Philly Cheese Steak and Big Mike's BLT," Nick says with a smile, holding up the plates.

Also means having to deal with useless customers.

No one answers. Nick's standing there like a fucking mug with a smile.

The daughter looks up from her phone and looks around the table. "Who ordered that?"

"Not me, I ordered the French Dip," a useless woman says.

"Oh, that's for Joe," one of the kids say to him.

Like Nick knows who Joe is. The hot plates are burning his hands off.

"That's me," the gruff, bearded male on the other end of the booth finally speaks up.

"Great," Nick says as enthusiastically as he can, and then he leaves the table. From the register, Gail sends him a sympathetic smile.

Holding up three plates in one arm and one on the other, Nick serves another table. "So we have the Short Stack."

The four ladies sit up straight. Table is small, no one moves a damn thing, there's not enough space.

Nick's moving the plate around with his hand, gritting his teeth. "Uh, you might wanna move your phone—yeah, thanks."

Also means having to deal with drunk customers.

"Sir, we're about to close the bar, is there anything else I can get for you?" Nick asks slowly.

"Close? I want one more!" he yells. Then proceeds to throw the bottle, and it shatters on the wall, and if Nick hadn't ducked, it might have cut open his face.

And then it also means having to deal with some sort of harassment.

The woman smiles at Nick. "Well, they made sure to give me one of the handsome servers, huh?"

Nick looks down at his notepad. "Uh, thanks," he mutters, awkwardly smiling. He scratches the back of his ear. "Can I get you started with something to drink?"

"Oh. You could at least appreciate the compliment," she says, laughing, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Damn it. Nick looks up, sighs, and smiles again. "Thank you, but I'm just trying to do my job, Ma'am. What can I get you to drink?"

"Huh." She leans back and crosses her arms over her chest, staring him down. "You must really not want a tip, huh?"

"Ma'am, my job is to make sure you have a good dining experience. How can I help you with that? Can I start with getting you something to drink?"

He doesn't get a tip at all, but that's fine, because Nick relaxes once the woman leaves—after trying to brush her hand over his while handing him back the bill.

He's just catching his breath for one minute, pushing his glasses up his nose, when the door opens, and Kaia and her friends from her study group come in.

"Crap," Nick hisses, turning his head back around, shoving it in his hands.

Matt grabs the plates next to him. "Want me to get that for you, Nick?"

Kaia knows it's his section where they're sitting. If he doesn't serve them, she'll think something's wrong.

And nothing's wrong with him. With them. Nothing at all. She can come in at the diner across campus for a bite where her ex-boyfriend works, it's not a big deal.

Nick stands up straight and breathes out heavily. "Thanks, man, but I got it."

She's with Ronnie, Safaa, and Georgina. As Nick approaches, all of them smile at him. "Hi, girls."

"Hey, Nick," Safaa says. "You good?"

"Yeah, thanks." He scratches the back of his ear and clears his throat. "What can I get you started with? Some drinks?"

"Yup. I'll just have Coke."

"Freshly brewed iced tea," Georgina says.

Ronnie adds, "Just Coke for me, too."

Nick looks at Kaia. She's already smiling. "A large orange juice would be great," she says.

"Right." Nick looks away. "I'll be right back to take your orders."

Nick keeps himself busy while they eat and laugh and talk. Sometimes, while cleaning or waiting tables next to them, he'll hear Kaia laugh, and his hand will falter and shake a bit. The sound just...it just triggers something in him he's not willing to admit.

They stay half an hour before they have to close. They're one of the last ones to leave, and like always, Kaia stacks up the glasses, and the rest of the girls clean the table, too. They also fish out their wallets to leave him generous tips.

Nick's wiping the bar with a wet cloth as they head for the door. "Thank you so much, have a great night!" Georgina calls, and the other girls echo it, and Nick almost sags against the bar stool, catching his breath, when Gail's eyes widen. She looks at him, and behind his head, and at him again.

"Nick?"

Nick turns around. Breathes, "Hey."

"Sorry," Kaia says, chuckling, holding her books in her arms. "I'm just—can I talk to you for a sec?"

Nick doesn't know what she wants to talk about, but he swallows it down, nods, and follows her outside.

Her friends are already in her car, far away from the entrance. Nick doesn't know if he finds that touching, that they know they're going to talk and they'd rather not eavesdrop—or weird, because, what the fuck would they even be eavesdropping on?

The wind brushes Kaia's face and her hair gets in the way. She brushes them out, grinning, and rocks on her heels. "You look exhausted."

"I've had worse nights," Nick answers quietly, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Uh, what is it—did you forget something at the apartment, or—"

"No." She shakes her head, and her hair gets in the way of her face again, and Nick's hand raises in the air before he can think about it.

Kaia blinks at him, slowly brushing her curls away. Nick's arm just...falls to the side awkwardly. His torso moves, away from her, and he clasps his hands together and clears his throat. "Sorry, habit. You were saying?"

"Right. I just wanted to see how you were doing," Kaia murmurs. "I know yesterday was an...it was tough for you and your family. I was going to message, but..."

Nick's eyes cut back to hers. They're dark and wide and sincere.

Kaia is a lot of things. She's a lot of things but she's not cruel, never cruel, and never insincere.

Nick knows this. Still, coldly, he says, "I'm fine. We're fine, yeah."

When Robb died, Nick spoke to no one for days. It was Kaia that got him to talk, when she cried in front of him because it was hurting her that he was hurting.

And last year, when Nick came back to North Aiken after his brother's first death anniversary, he cried in Kaia's arms, sobbed—utterly wrecked, and clawed at her arms and she kissed his hair and rocked him, also crying because he was hurting, and whispered, "I'm here, baby. I'm here, Nick, I love you."

Kaia picks up on his tone. She bites her lip and murmurs, "I'm sorry, I know it's not my place, but I care about you, Nick, and I'm still—"

"Still what?" Nick cuts in quietly, raising his eyebrows, mouth pressing together in a thin line.

Kaia sighs. She keeps his stare. "I'm still here for you."

"Thank you, but you don't need to be," Nick says, his voice stable and even. He looks at her for a few more beats, hands fisting into balls behind his back, and then looks at the door behind her. "I know we said we can try to be friends, be mature people about breaking up because we no longer loved each other—but not about this. Not about—not about my family, Kaia."

"Not about anything, you mean," she whispers. "I understand that, it's not my place anymore, done. I'm glad you're holding up fine." She takes a deep breath, jaw setting. "But I don't think you want to be friends at all, Nick. We can be mature about it, accept the facts, but you—you don't want to be friends, you want us to avoid each other—"

"I gave you me," Nick interjects angrily, seething, whole body shaking. Meets her eyes. "It may have been in pieces but I gave you me, Kaia, me, and you're right, I don't think I can be friends with someone who just throws that away and decides to leave the next day."

Even as the words leave his lips, Nick thinks: but how do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen, touched, felt, trusted, held, and loved your soul?

"I said I didn't love you anymore and you said the same," Kaia snaps, eyebrows furrowing together. "I didn't throw anything away, Nick, and I did not leave—I left the apartment I shared with you but I did not leave you, what are you so angry with me about?"

Nick stares at her. A tear goes down her cheek, and she angrily swipes it away with her thumb.

Water. No stars.

Nick steps back. He swallows thickly, looks at the wall beside him. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath. "Sorry, I'm just tired, I didn't mean to snap. Um, thanks for checking up. Get home safe, alright?" He moves past her and goes back inside.

*

Nick walks up the steps to his friends' apartment and finds Yves seated on the floor outside the door.

Nick pulls his hood down, slowing his walk. His friend raises his head, a blank expression on his face, and mutters sullenly, "Hey."

"Sexiled?" Nick asks.

"Sort of." Yves sighs, rolling his eyes. "Cassia ignored me again. They went to his room, and I don't want to hear it. Orion wouldn't want me to hear it, either. What're you doing here? And have you told your family already?"

Nick pushes his glasses up his nose and bends down, sitting next to him. He lays his head back on the wall and shuts his eyes. "No. I couldn't. And Kaia came by Mo's."

"Oh."

"And I didn't want to be alone in the apartment we used to share."

"Oh, shit." Yves grabs his face, eyes wide. "Did you—?"

"No." Nick slaps his hands, annoyed. "No, I just didn't want to be alone."

The brunet clicks his tongue. They stay in silence for a few seconds, until Yves asks, "Have you cried since the breakup?"

Nick thinks about it. "No," he mutters.

Yves purses his lips and looks at him. "Then how do you know you don't have it?"

The front door pulls open with a loud sound. Nick and Yves stand up, and it's Cassia, only wearing a shirt over her underwear, and she's crying, helplessly looking at Nick. "Nick, help, he doesn't—he doesn't remember," she chokes out.

Ah. He squeezes her shoulder once, gives her a tight smile, and heads to Orion's bedroom.

His friend is shirtless on the bed, hair mussed up, staring blankly in front of him, hands shaking by his sides. "Who's there," he demands, inhaling shakily.

"Orion," Nick says, cautiously stepping inside the room, careful not to make sudden and loud movements. "O, it's me, Nick. Nick Peterson, one of your best friends."

Orion pants, breaths coming in short, and his head moves around, eyes blank and colored gray. "Where—where am I," he whispers.

"You're in your room at home," Nick answers, approaching the bed. "You're okay, you're not in any danger."

"The, um." Orion inhales another staggering breath, and he raises his finger slowly, shaking, and points to the left. Near the door. "The girl who left. She was—she was touching me and I screamed at her, pushed her. Who was that?"

Nick sighs. Carefully, he takes Orion's hand and curls it around his own fingers, squeezing it. "That was Cassia. Cassia Finch, your girlfriend. You love her, and she loves you."

Yves hovers near the door. He looks pained.

Orion swallows. Whispers, "The one who made me blind."

Yves shuts his eyes.

Nick nods once. "Mm. The one who made you blind."

He stays with him until he passes out in exhaustion. Nick pulls up the covers to his chest, puts on his boxers for him, and brushes the hair out of his forehead. "You're okay," he whispers, leaning down to kiss his eyes.

That's what he and his brothers and parents used to do to Robb.

Nick turns off the lamp and shuts the door quietly.

Cassia's hugging herself on one end of the couch, sinking her teeth into her lip, and she stands up when Nick comes into view. Her face is swollen and her eyes are red, and her voice is croaky when she asks, "How is he?"

"Fine. Asleep now. He'll be okay, Cass."

The brunette breaks out into a sob. Nick pulls her to him, and she cries in his shoulder while he rubs her back.

On the other end of the couch, Yves stands up and meets his eyes.

Nick gives him a nod.

His friend turns around to head to the door, but Cassia hears his steps, pushes away from Nick, and reaches her hands out to shove at Yves's chest.

It's powerful and angry enough to make him stumble, back hitting the wall. Cassia pins him there, arm plunged into his neck. "Orion can't hate you," she whispers. "Orion can't hate you but I can. This is your fault, you made him like this, you made me like this, you son of a bitch."

It's been a year. Nick doesn't stop her.

Yves doesn't try to fight back. "Cassia," he whispers back, struggling to breathe, "it wasn't me who—who couldn't love him in time."

"I was waiting for you!" Cassia shouts, enraged, and then she remembers Orion is asleep, and she repeats, hushed, but equally as angry, "I was waiting for you, Yves, I was—I was waiting for you, you prick." Her shoulders shake, and she cries, hands sliding down from his neck to his chest. Cassia's head bows.

"I told you not to," Yves mumbles, panting. His neck is marked red. "I told you I couldn't give you what you wanted."

"And yet I still waited," Cassia whispers, chest heaving. "I couldn't return his feelings because I was waiting for you and then I returned them too late. When he was already blind."

Nick steps forward and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Cass."

"I tried to love him when he was already crying the stars, I did," she sobs, shaking her head, turning around to look at Nick. "I did but they wouldn't stop, they wouldn't stop, he wouldn't stop crying them, Nick—"

"I know, I know," Nick murmurs, tucking her into his shoulder. Cassia fists his shirt. "I know, Cass."

Like Cassia, Kaia wasn't cruel. She's not.

The Disease is.

*

thoughts :>>>