Chapter Fifteen

The rain began just after ten.

By midnight it had become a storm.

Wind rattled the old windows of the Elsher house, making them tremble in their frames. Rain hammered against the roof with enough force to drown out almost every other sound.

Almost.

Nate couldn't sleep.

He hadn't slept properly in weeks.

Some nights it was Eric.

Some nights it was the guilt of missing hospital rotations.

Some nights it was simply the exhaustion of trying to hold himself together for another day.

Tonight, it was everything.

He gave up sometime after midnight.

Throwing the blankets aside, he pulled on an old hoodie and wandered downstairs.

The kitchen was dark except for the small light above the stove.

He filled the kettle.

The familiar whistle a few minutes later was strangely comforting.

Simon had always insisted tea could fix almost anything.

"Broken heart?"

"Tea."

"Bad day?"

"Tea."

"World ending?"

"Probably still tea."

Nate smiled despite himself.

"I miss you old man."

He poured two mugs out of habit.

Then stared at the second one.

"...Still doing that."

Even after eight years.

Even after all this time.

Some habits never really left.

A floorboard creaked upstairs. Nate looked toward the staircase. Max appeared in the hallway wearing oversized sweatpants and one of Micah's ancient university hoodies, sleeves hanging over his hands.

His hair was a disaster.

His eyes looked worse.

"You make tea at one in the morning?" Max asked.

"I make bad decisions at all hours."

Max snorted.

"Fair."

Nate lifted the second mug.

"I accidentally made two."

"Liar."

"I absolutely did."

"You knew somebody else was awake."

"I really didn’t."

Max hesitated.

Then walked into the kitchen.

He accepted the mug without another word.

The warmth seeped into his cold fingers.

They stood there quietly for a while, listening to the storm.

"You still hate thunderstorms?"

The words slipped out before Nate thought about them.

Max looked over.

"...You remember that?"

"You used to crawl into my room every time it rained."

"I was eight."

"You insisted thunder was giants moving furniture."

Max groaned.

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I have never said anything that embarrassing."

Nate laughed.

"Oh, you absolutely have."

"I distinctly remember you asking Simon if God had dropped his sofa."

Max covered his face.

"I'm leaving."

"You can't."

"Watch me."

"It's raining."

"...Good point."

Despite himself, Max smiled.

It disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

But Nate noticed.

----------------------

They carried their mugs into the living room.

The lights stayed off.

Only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the room.

It felt...

Safer somehow.

Easier to talk when nobody could quite see the other's face.

Max curled one leg beneath himself on the couch.

"You still remember stupid stuff."

"I remember almost everything."

"That's creepy."

"It's medical school... I've trained my brain to collect useless information."

"Like me thinking thunder was giants."

"Exactly."

"What else?"

Nate pretended to think.

"You cried because a butterfly landed on your nose."

"I was four."

"You buried a dead goldfish with full military honours."

"Still four."

"You punched Micah because he told you Santa wasn't real."

Max frowned.

"...That one was justified."

Nate laughed.

"I'll let Micah know."

The laughter faded naturally.

Neither hurried to replace it.

Outside, thunder rolled across the valley.

----------------------

After several minutes, Max asked quietly,

"Do you remember your dad's voice?"

The question caught Nate off guard.

He looked down at the steam curling from his mug.

"...Sometimes."

"What does that mean?"

"Sometimes I hear it perfectly."

"And sometimes..."

He searched for the words.

"It feels like I'm trying to remember a song I haven't heard in years."

Max nodded slowly.

"I hate that."

"So do I."

"I used to know exactly what Dad sounded like."

His fingers tightened around the mug.

"Now I mostly remember..."

He swallowed.

"...how he made me feel."

Nate looked at him.

"Safe?"

Max nodded.

"Like nothing bad could happen while he was around."

Another long silence.

"I keep trying to remember the last thing he ever said to me."

His voice cracked.

"I can't."

Nate's chest tightened.

"You don't have to remember every word."

"It feels like I do."

"Why?"

"Because if I forget..."

He looked toward the rain-streaked window.

"...it's like losing him all over again."

Nate understood that feeling far too well.

"When my parents died..."

he said softly,

"...I became obsessed with remembering everything."

"What she cooked."

"What perfume she wore."

"The songs she sang while cleaning."

"The exact way she laughed."

"I thought if I forgot one thing..."

He smiled sadly.

"...I'd be a terrible son."

"Were you?"

"No. Neither are you."

Max didn't answer.

But his shoulders relaxed just a little.

----------------------

The storm continued outside.

For the first time in weeks, the silence between them wasn't hostile.

It was comfortable.

After several minutes, Max spoke again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already are."

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

Nate set his mug on the coffee table.

"Go ahead."

Max stared at his hands for nearly a full minute.

"When..."

He stopped.

Then started again.

"When did you know?"

Nate knew exactly what he meant.

He had seen that expression before.

On frightened teenagers volunteering at community clinics.

On classmates.

On himself.

Still, he answered carefully.

"Know what?"

Max rolled his eyes weakly.

"You know."

"I think I do, but I want you to say it."

Max groaned.

"I hate you."

"I've heard."

Another minute passed.

Then, so quietly it was almost swallowed by the rain—

"...When did you know you liked boys?"

Nate leaned back.

"I noticed when i was around thirteen.. Maybe fourteen."

"That young?"

"At first, I thought everyone stared at the captain of the football team."

Max blinked. "They don't?"

Nate smiled.

"Turns out... No."

Max huffed a laugh.

"What was it like?"

"Terrifying.. I thought something was wrong with me."

"You did?"

"Absolutely."

"What changed?"

"My parents."

Max looked surprised.

"They brought it up before I did."

"They weren't angry?"

"They were mostly amused."

"Amused?"

He smiled at the memory.

"My dad hugged me."

"My mum cried because I'd been scared to tell them."

"They just..." He shrugged. "...loved me."

----------------------

Max grew quiet again.

Nate didn't rush him.

He had learned one thing during his psychiatry rotation.

Silence wasn't empty.

Sometimes it was where courage gathered.

Finally—

"I think..."

Max's voice shook.

"I think there might be something wrong with me."

Nate answered immediately.

"There isn't."

"You don't know."

"I don't need to."

"I do."

Max rubbed both hands over his face.

"I keep looking at girls and I know I'm supposed to think they're pretty. I can tell when they are... But..."

He laughed bitterly.

"I don't feel anything."

His breathing became uneven.

"But boys..."

He couldn't finish.

The sentence lodged somewhere between his heart and his throat.

Nate waited.

"...I notice them."

The confession hung in the room.

"I always have. I thought it would stop... It hasn't. I prayed it would. I ignored it... I dated a girl once because I thought maybe I just needed to try harder."

He let out a humorless laugh.

"I spent the whole date wishing I was anywhere else."

Tears blurred his vision.

"I'm scared."

Nate moved from the armchair to the couch, not crowding him, just sitting nearby.

"What are you scared of?"

"What if I'm gay?"

"What if I'm not?"

"What if I'm just confused?"

"What if people find out?"

"What if they hate me?"

"What if..."

His voice cracked completely.

"...Dad would've hated me?"

The words shattered something inside Nate.

Without thinking, he reached out and rested a hand lightly on Max's shoulder.

"Listen to me."

Max looked up through wet eyes.

"I knew your father."

"You knew him better than most people."

"He loved you with every part of himself."

"He was proud of you before you could even tie your own shoes."

"He bragged about you constantly."

"He would have loved you exactly the same."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?"

"Because Simon Elsher taught me what unconditional love looked like."

Nate's own eyes burned.

"When my parents died, he didn't hesitate."

"He made room for me at his table."

"He called me his son."

"He loved me before he had any reason to."

"If that man could love a broken sixteen-year-old who wasn't even his child..."

Nate smiled through the tears gathering in his eyes.

"...there is absolutely nothing you could ever become that would've made him stop loving you."

Max broke.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

His shoulders simply sagged beneath the weight he'd been carrying for years.

"I miss him."

"I know."

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"You don't have to."

"I feel lost."

"So do I."

Max looked at him.

"You?"

Nate laughed quietly.

"I'm twenty-four, my fiancé left cheated on me I’m flunking school, I'm grieving people who have been gone for years and I still don't know what my future looks like."

He smiled sadly.

"Growing up isn't realizing you have all the answers."

"It's realizing everyone else is just guessing too."

For the first time since his father died, Max didn't feel like the only person in the world who was scared.

The realization was oddly comforting.

They sat together until the storm began to fade.

Neither noticed when the rain softened.

Neither noticed the silence that followed.

Eventually, Max yawned.

"I should probably sleep."

"You probably should."

He stood, then hesitated.

"...Thanks."

Nate looked up.

"For what?"

"For listening."

Nate smiled.

"Anytime."

Max nodded once before climbing the stairs.

Halfway up, he stopped.

Without turning around, he spoke into the darkness.

"...You know..."

"What?"

"I'm glad you came home."

The words were almost too quiet to hear.

Then he disappeared upstairs before Nate could answer.

Nate remained on the couch for a long time after.

His tea had gone cold.

His textbooks still waited on the table.

None of it seemed important anymore.

Because somewhere during a storm, over two forgotten mugs of tea and a conversation neither of them had planned to have...

Two lonely people had stopped feeling quite so alone.

And for the first time since Nate returned to the Elsher house, it no longer felt like he was simply staying in someone else's home.

It felt, just a little, like he had finally found his way back to family.