Maxwell's eyes blinked open, feeling disoriented, the faint light from his phone screen casting a soft glow across his room. He stretched, reaching for his phone, half-expecting to see Nathan's face still on the screen. But as he glanced down, a cold wave of dread washed over him: the call had ended.
For a moment, he lay still, his heart pounding in his chest. He quickly checked his messages, hoping Nathan had left a simple "Good morning" or some kind of reassurance. But there was nothing. His hands were shaky as he typed out a quick, casual message: "Hey! Just woke up, hope you're okay. Call me?"
He watched as the message marked "Delivered" and waited. Seconds stretched into minutes, and a knot of fear tightened in his stomach. His mind ran wild, filling with images of Nathan alone, struggling, unreachable. Maxwell quickly typed another message: "Just checking in, let me know you're okay?" His thumb hovered over the call button, but he hesitated, wondering if he was overreacting.
But then ten more minutes passed, then twenty, and Maxwell couldn't shake the growing panic clawing its way up his chest. Finally, he pressed "Call," the phone ringing over and over with no answer. He hung up, his heart racing as he tried to steady his breathing, but each unanswered ring only fueled his worry, the silence on the other end stretching into something unbearable.
An hour passed, then two, and Maxwell's thoughts spiraled, replaying every detail of last night, every vulnerable look Nathan had given him. His mind latched onto the dark moments, the quiet admission of Nathan's struggles, and the aching sadness that had lingered in his voice. Maxwell had wanted to stay up, to be there in case Nathan needed him, but he had fallen asleep.
What if he needed me? Maxwell thought, his pulse pounding. What if... what if he was alone?
The thought was too much, a dark, suffocating wave that consumed him. Maxwell found himself pacing the room, his mind tangled with panic and guilt, feeling like he was losing his grip on reality. It felt irrational, but the silence ate away at him until he couldn't breathe. He pressed his phone to his chest, as if that could somehow bridge the distance between them, his only lifeline.
Just as Maxwell was about to call again, his phone buzzed, breaking the silence with a single, simple message: "Hey, sorry! Was just in the shower. Long night. Everything okay?"
Maxwell exhaled sharply, relief flooding him so quickly it was almost dizzying. He had to take a moment, grounding himself, forcing his breathing to slow. His hands still shook as he typed, but he tried to keep his response steady, calm: "Yeah, everything's good! I... I just got worried."
He hesitated, then added, "Can we talk?"
Nathan's reply came swiftly: "Of course. Let me call you."
When the call connected, Nathan's face appeared on screen, his hair damp, a towel draped over his shoulders. He looked relaxed, almost surprised at Maxwell's intensity. "Max, you good?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seem... on edge."
Maxwell bit his lip, debating how much to say. But the fear and relief and exhaustion all mixed together until he couldn't keep his emotions hidden any longer. "Nathan, I... I really panicked," he admitted, his voice wavering. "I woke up, and you weren't there, and I don't know why, but I... I thought something had happened to you."
Nathan's face softened, but there was a flicker of something else—an awareness, a heaviness, as though he understood the depths of Maxwell's worry all too well. He gave a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean to scare you. I guess I didn't think you'd wake up and... need me there."
Maxwell felt his cheeks flush, his heart racing as he scrambled to find the right words. "It's... I don't know how to explain it, Nathan," he stammered, his voice growing soft. "You've become... important to me. More than I realized. And I just—I don't want to lose you."
Nathan's expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and something unnameable flickering across his face. He leaned in closer, his voice gentle. "Maxwell... are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Maxwell's breath caught, but he knew there was no holding back now. "I... I think I am," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I think I love you, Nathan."
The words hung in the air between them, delicate and fragile, and Maxwell watched Nathan's face closely, searching for any hint of rejection or discomfort. For a moment, he feared he'd gone too far, that he'd scared Nathan away. But then Nathan's expression softened, his eyes warm but shadowed.
Nathan took a breath, hesitating as though he were weighing his response carefully. "Maxwell, I... I care about you, too," he said slowly, his voice soft. "I... don't know if I can be what you need, though. I'm... complicated." His words hung in the air, and Maxwell felt a quiet pain settle in his chest, a hint of something he couldn't quite place.
"But," Nathan continued, his voice growing quieter, "if you're willing to take a chance on me, I'd like to try. I can't promise it'll be easy, but... I want to be here for you."
Maxwell's heart lifted, a mix of relief and hope blooming in his chest. He felt an almost desperate need to close the distance between them, to reach out through the screen and pull Nathan closer. But beneath his joy, a small, nagging worry lingered—a shadow in Nathan's eyes, a tension in his voice, something unspoken.
"Thank you," Maxwell whispered, feeling his face flush with the quiet thrill of his confession being returned, if only in part. He knew Nathan wasn't promising forever, but he didn't care. For now, this was enough.
They continued to talk, slipping into familiar rhythms and easy banter, but there was a new closeness, a warmth that Maxwell hadn't felt before. His heart ached with a bittersweet happiness, holding on to Nathan's words like a lifeline, even as a small part of him sensed the fragility of it all.
When the call finally ended, Maxwell lay back, feeling both elated and strangely heavy. He replayed Nathan's words over and over, savoring the warmth in his tone but haunted by the hesitation that lingered beneath it.
As he drifted off to sleep that night, his mind replayed the quiet promise they'd made to each other, the fragile beginning of something beautiful yet undeniably precarious. He wanted so desperately to believe it would last, that they'd somehow hold on to each other through whatever came next.
But as sleep claimed him, he couldn't shake the image of Nathan's eyes, the quiet resignation there—a flicker of something he didn't yet understand, but feared all the same.
