Drown in You

38. Your side of the story

I finally made it home and nearly collapsed in the doorway, but managed to stumble into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed instead. Turns out hitting your head on a countertop and fainting really takes it out of you.

Some time later I heard the front door. Cal must be home. I didn't move as the sound of his footsteps grew louder and louder until eventually he was right next to me. The bed sank with his weight as he sat down on his side of the bed.

"I saw the news," he said. "They didn't mention any staff getting hurt too."

"I'm not hurt."

Cal laughed through his nose. "Coming home to my boyfriend face down in the dark with a huge bandage on his head tells a different story, but sure."

"I just need to sleep it off," I brushed it off with a wave of my hand. Cal wasn't the type to nurse me tenderly back to health— I didn't expect him to dote on me. "You should make yourself something to eat."

"I never wanted you to get the fucking job to begin with," Cal reminded me. The joking tone in his voice contained a hint of anger that gave me goosebumps. "Only one month in and you're out of commission. You should be here, making sure dinner's ready instead of off playing Hollywood. Fanboying and tripping over wires."

"Yeah, ok..." I rolled over in bed and pulled the covers up over my head. I waited for him to keep the argument going, to get even more angry, but for once he let it be. Instead, he just reached over and ruffled my hair before leaving.

•••

After the accident on set, filming was paused for 2 weeks to give Noah time to heal. Thankfully, the sprain was minor so his recovery time would be quick, and there was no need for physical therapy. The tabloids went crazy with the news despite this, and soon there were overexaggerated rumors flying around about the severity of the injury, generating performative outrage about the working conditions on set. Noah made several posts on social media assuring everyone he was perfectly fine, but he was still flooded with messages from fans.

I spent the first week at home, recovering from my own injury and playing house with Cal. After a while, the isolation started to drive me crazy and I began to wonder how I spent so long doing this before.

Thankfully, Kate called me in one day— she told me they'd found a more long term apartment for Noah and asked if I could help move his things in. I gladly jumped at the chance to get out of the house and headed to Noah's hotel.

The suite was somehow even more chaotic than it had been the last time I was inside. How did he accumulate so much stuff in just a month??

Kate appeared from somewhere behind a stack of boxes and waved at me. "Will, thank god. Just grab any box and take it out into the hallway. It might take two or three trips for us to get everything from here to the new place, so there's no time to waste."

"Roger that," I said, and immediately hoisted up a heavy box. "Where's Noah?"

"He's at the apartment. He's not much good for lifting at the moment." She gestured to her ankle for emphasis.

"Oh shit, true. Is he feeling ok?"

Kate laughed. "He's fine. He hobbles around like an old man right now but he'll be up and at 'em in no time."

Moving boxes was a long and tiring process. First, we moved everything into the hall, then into the elevator, down into the lobby, and finally into the car. After everything was loaded up, I sat back in the driver's seat with a sigh. We could only fit about half in the car, so a second trip was inevitable, but for now I was just glad to have a break from the lifting.