Noah

In truth, though, I was feeling depressed. Frustrated, stifled, rattled, and depressed.

I barely slept. I got two or three hours a night and spent the rest of the time talking to myself. That fucking dream… I'd had it on a few more occasions, and it shook me every time. Realistically, I knew I dreamed about Julian more because I was obsessing. If I'd been able to let it fucking go, maybe it wouldn’t be an issue.

Maybe I wouldn’t wake up hard as a rock for all the wrong reasons.

"Did you forget you're not the actor in our group of misfits?" Daniel asked dryly.

"Don't mother me, buddy," I chuckled. "I get enough of that from Sophie and Brook."

Tennyson was a man of his word. He hadn't told Sophie about my…fucked-up state…but that didn't mean she was blind. She could tell I was more tired than usual, quieter—or what she called broodier.

"I hear ya. Still, you know we're here," Daniel said. "Same goes for Julian. How's he doing?"

Same as me, which was worse. I hadn't wanted him to be hurt by me pulling away for no apparent reason, so I had been honest with him. Kinda honest. I'd told him about my concerns of codependency and how relying on each other too much could ultimately keep us from moving on.

From that moment on, we had both pretended. Everything was fine. Forced smiles, conversation too casual, insignificant topics. We remained close, but another type of distance had been wedged in between us. And that was on me.

"He's playing a lot," I told Daniel, which was true. Julian did play. Every night, I heard him on the baby grand. His sheet music and scribbled notes were all over the loft. I dug that. "I think he's formed some strange friendship with Tennyson, too."

It wasn't strange in that sense; I'd just figured he'd connect more with Sophie, for some reason. But Tennyson and Julian appeared to enjoy discussing film and music together.

"How's that strange?"

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. "I don't know. Maybe the age? Julian should be interested in finding friends his own age. Sophie and Zane are the only ones who come close in our group."

Daniel laughed. "Right, but the rest of us are fun-loving cradle robbers. How could he resist?" Rather than finding him funny, I couldn’t help but cringe. Cradle robbing hit too close to home today. "I can't believe I'm telling you this," he went on, "but unclench, Noah. We don't always find what we want in our own age categories."

No, that was becoming painfully fucking clear.

*

When I came home and parked in the garage, I saw my truck in its spot. It meant Nicky was here, or he had returned the truck. Grabbing my stuff, I headed for the elevator and went up to our floor.

As soon as the doors opened, I was hit by bass from loud music and the smell of both cigarettes and weed.

There was no way Tennyson and Sophie were home. They would've noticed and called me. I hoped.

I dug out my keys and unlocked the door, torn between being irritated and worried. I found Julian in the middle of the couch. He lit up a joint as hard-core porn played on the flat screen.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Slamming the door shut got me his attention, but he was too stoned to be shocked. He had no expression whatsoever. He calmly lowered the volume on the stereo, and instead of turning off the porno, he poured a glass of vodka and soda.

He'd bought alcohol. Fucker.

"Welcome home," he said lazily. "How did your meetings go?"

I didn't answer, too fucking pissed. But the worry didn't go anywhere, 'cause this wasn't him.

"What the fuck're you doing, Julian?"

He smirked. "I'm having some courage. Want some? We have the liquid variety, and Nicky hooked me up with the marijuana variety. He also gave me a bowl, but I don't know how to smoke it."

I stared at him, debating internally, then sighed and set my bag and poster tubes on the floor.

"Have you ever gotten high before, kid?" I asked.

He scowled as I joined him on the couch. "You need to stop that crap, Uncle. I know you think I'm all innocent and sweet, but we have weed in Germany, too." He shrugged and leaned back.

I shook my head and looked at the coffee table. A bag of weed, tobacco, two packs of cigarettes, rolling papers… One bottle of vodka, one bottle of my favorite mainstream whiskey, mixers all over…

"Just how much courage do you need?" I wondered.

He leaned forward again and placed a glass in front of me. "It's for you, too. So you don't get mad." He scooped a spoonful of crushed ice into my glass and recreated the Jameson and ginger I taught him weeks ago. "There's something I need to tell you, and I was nervous as hell about it. But then Nicky showed up."