Maxwell's heart pounded as he watched the familiar FaceTime screen flash to life. The thought had been gnawing at him all week, this urge to finally tell Nathan how he felt. He didn't have a grand plan, just an impulsive need to say it—to lay his heart on the table and see where they'd end up. Tonight, he told himself, would be the night he'd ask.
Nathan's face appeared on the screen, and Maxwell felt that familiar rush, the way his chest tightened and his breath quickened. But tonight, Nathan looked different. There was a shadow under his eyes, his expression unusually subdued. Maxwell couldn't shake the worry that crept in.
"Hey," Nathan greeted, his voice softer than usual. He glanced away, fidgeting slightly, as though he was barely holding himself together. Maxwell's heart clenched.
"Hey, you okay?" Maxwell asked, his question gentle, though his mind was racing.
Nathan gave a half-smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes. "Yeah... just tired, I guess." He paused, his gaze slipping back to the screen. "Actually, no. Not really. I'm..." He trailed off, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of something far deeper than simple exhaustion.
Maxwell leaned in, feeling his chest tighten with concern. He'd seen Nathan in different moods, but he'd never looked quite like this—like he was drifting, caught somewhere that Maxwell couldn't reach. Maxwell swallowed, pushing down his own feelings for the moment. This wasn't the time for a confession; this was the time to be there for him.
"Nathan, you can talk to me, you know," Maxwell said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm here."
Nathan looked at him, and for a second, something in his expression shifted, as though he was wrestling with himself. "It's... it's just hard sometimes," he began, his voice quiet and halting. "Sometimes, it feels like there's this weight that I can't shake off. Like no matter what I do, it's always there, pulling me down."
Maxwell listened, heart aching with every word. He'd known that Nathan had his struggles, had sensed the darkness that lingered beneath his easygoing demeanor, but hearing it out loud was different. He felt a helplessness he couldn't shake, a desperate wish to somehow take on that weight himself.
"Nathan..." he started, struggling to find the right words, but Nathan shook his head.
"I'm not trying to dump all this on you, Max," he said quickly, glancing away as if ashamed. "It's just... some days are harder than others, you know? And I didn't want you to think that I... that I'm always like this."
Maxwell shook his head, his tone firm. "Nathan, I don't care about any of that. You're allowed to feel however you feel. You don't have to be okay all the time, especially not with me." He hesitated, wanting to say more, to somehow reach him in that dark place. But the words felt inadequate, too small.
Nathan looked back, the tiniest flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You're one of the few people who actually mean that," he said softly, a slight vulnerability breaking through his usual guarded expression. "And I don't think you realize how much that means to me."
Maxwell wanted to tell him that he'd always be here, that he didn't care how dark things got, he'd stay by Nathan's side no matter what. But before he could speak, Nathan gave a small, almost sad smile.
"I don't know how to be better, Max," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it helps... talking to you."
Maxwell felt his own heartache swell, filling his chest with a bittersweet warmth. Nathan's confession left him silent, his earlier intent to ask him out slipping away. All he could focus on now was Nathan's pain, this invisible shadow that seemed to loom between them, making him feel closer yet somehow further away.
"Whatever you need, I'm here," Maxwell said, his words simple, but his tone filled with quiet resolve. "Anytime."
Nathan nodded, and for the rest of the night, they didn't speak much. Instead, they just sat in comfortable silence, the glow of their screens casting gentle light on both their faces. Maxwell felt that unspoken connection deepening, wrapping around him like a thread, fragile yet unbreakable.
Over the next few weeks, Maxwell found himself thinking about Nathan constantly, his concern mingling with an affection he could barely contain. He started checking in on him more often, sending small messages throughout the day just to let Nathan know he was there. Their late-night FaceTime calls became a ritual, something Maxwell began to depend on, even if it was just to hear Nathan's voice in the background while he drifted off to sleep.
But it wasn't just the calls themselves. It was the moments when Maxwell would wake up and find Nathan still on the line, sometimes even staying with him through the night. The comfort of knowing Nathan was there, just a screen away, helped Maxwell sleep better, soothed by the quiet presence that had become a lifeline.
One night, as the call lingered on into the early hours, Maxwell found himself drifting off, lulled by the soft sound of Nathan's voice as he recounted a random story about his day. Maxwell's eyes grew heavy, his phone resting on his pillow beside him as he let sleep overtake him.
On the other end of the call, Nathan continued talking, only realizing Maxwell had fallen asleep when he didn't respond. A soft smile crept onto Nathan's face, a rare, tender expression that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.
Maxwell's face was peaceful, the usual worry and tension absent as he slept, his breathing soft and even. Nathan found himself captivated, watching him through the screen as though he were seeing him for the first time. He felt something inside him shift, a quiet realization settling into his heart.
Maybe it was the vulnerability of seeing Maxwell like this, asleep and unguarded, or maybe it was the trust he felt, knowing Maxwell would fall asleep with him on the line. But in that moment, Nathan felt his own heart begin to soften, an unexpected warmth spreading as he watched Maxwell sleep.
He knew his own struggles, knew the darkness he carried, but seeing Maxwell like this made him feel something he hadn't felt in years—a fragile hope, a feeling of being anchored, if only by a thread. Maxwell had become a constant, a quiet presence that brought him peace, and Nathan realized with a start that he was falling, just as deeply as Maxwell had.
For the first time in a long time, Nathan allowed himself to hope that he wasn't alone in this. As he whispered a soft "Goodnight, Max" into the quiet, he knew there was no going back.
