Chapter Twenty

The Elsher house had a habit of becoming impossibly quiet after ten o'clock.

Sarah had gone to bed an hour earlier after reminding everyone—twice—that Max's suspension officially ended on Monday and that she expected him to "walk into that school looking like a young man with some sense."

Micah had laughed.

Max had groaned.

Nate had wisely stayed out of it.

Now, with the lights dimmed and the television off, only the ticking grandfather clock in the hallway interrupted the silence.

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Max couldn't sleep.

He rolled onto his side.

Then onto his back.

Then onto his stomach.

The digital clock on his bedside table glowed.

11:42 PM.

He sighed dramatically.

"This is stupid."

He threw the blanket aside and padded downstairs in his socks.

The kitchen was dark, lit only by the small light above the sink.

He poured himself a glass of water.

Still not sleepy.

His eyes wandered toward the dining room.

Nate's books were still spread across the table.

He was forever leaving them there.

Medical textbooks, notebooks filled with tiny handwriting, loose sheets covered in diagrams, stacks of flashcards held together with rubber bands.

Normally, Max wouldn't have touched them.

Tonight, curiosity got the better of him.

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He pulled out a chair and sat down.

The first book was Clinical Anatomy.

It looked impossibly thick.

"Who willingly reads this?" he muttered.

He opened it anyway.

The pages were crowded with colorful sticky notes.

Every few chapters, Nate had scribbled notes in the margins.

"Remember: don't memorize—understand."

"You've got this."

"Review brachial plexus again."

"Coffee first. Panic later."

Max laughed quietly.

"So even future doctors panic."

He kept turning pages.

There were sketches of bones.

Tiny cartoons of organs with smiling faces.

A heart wearing a superhero cape.

A kidney with boxing gloves.

Who drew on a medical textbook?

Apparently Nate did.

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Another notebook lay beneath it.

This one was older.

The cover was bent from years of use.

When Max opened it, a photograph slipped onto the table.

He picked it up.

Two teenagers stood outside what looked like a university dormitory.

Micah had his arm slung around Nate's shoulders.

Nate was making an exaggerated face at the camera.

Both of them looked exhausted.

Both of them looked happy.

On the back, written in blue ink, were the words:

"First day of second year. Still surviving. – M."

Max smiled to himself.

He'd never seen that picture before.

He tucked it carefully back into the notebook.

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The further he read, the more he realized something.

Nate hadn't become a medical student because he was naturally brilliant.

He had worked.

Hard.

Entire pages were covered with mistakes crossed out and corrected.

Some notes had been rewritten three or four times.

One page had a coffee stain spreading across the corner.

Another had a frustrated sentence written in large letters.

"This chapter is trying to kill me."

Max laughed again.

"I believe it."

For the first time, medical school didn't seem like some impossible mountain.

It looked...

Human.

Messy.

Earned.

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He reached for another notebook.

This one wasn't about medicine.

It was filled with lists.

Budgets.

Weekly meal plans.

Study schedules.

Hospital shifts.

Deadlines.

One page was headed:

Things to Remember This Week

· Call Micah. 

· Send Aunt Helen a birthday message. 

· Buy more instant noodles. 

· Finish pathology assignment. 

· Try to visit Mum and Dad. 

Max frowned.

Visit Mum and Dad?

Then he understood.

The cemetery.

His smile faded.

He turned another page.

A pressed maple leaf had been taped inside.

Beneath it, in Nate's neat handwriting, were six simple words.

"Some days are harder than others."

Nothing else.

No explanation.

Max stared at the page for a long time.

He suddenly understood that Nate hadn't stayed away because he stopped loving people here.

He had because he was trying to survive.

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The hallway floor creaked.

Max jumped and quickly looked up.

Nate stood in the doorway wearing an old university T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair sticking up in every direction.

He blinked sleepily.

"...Stealing my homework?"

Max looked guilty for about half a second.

"I was borrowing it."

"Ah."

"Very different crime."

"I was putting it back."

"I can see that."

Nate wandered into the dining room and leaned against the chair opposite him.

"You can't sleep?"

Max shook his head.

"You?"

"I was thirsty."

His eyes drifted to the open anatomy book.

"So..."

He smiled.

"...what do you think?"

"It's disgusting."

"Fair."

"There are way too many muscles."

"There are."

"Who named all these things?"

"People who hated students."

Max chuckled.

"I knew it."

Nate picked up one of the notebooks.

"You know... One of my classmates accidentally attended the wrong lecture for two weeks."

"No."

"I swear."

"How?"

"He wasn't paying attention."

Max laughed.

"You people are terrifying."

"We really are."

For a while, they sat together in comfortable silence.

Nate flipped through flashcards.

Max absentmindedly read a page about the heart.

Eventually, Max spoke.

"You worked really hard."

Nate looked up.

"Hm?"

"These."

Max gestured toward the books.

"I thought..." He shrugged. "...I don't know... I thought you just understood everything."

Nate laughed.

"I wish... I barely survived first year."

"Really?"

"I failed my first anatomy quiz."

"You?"

"Seventeen percent."

Max's mouth fell open.

"No way."

"I still have the paper somewhere."

"I thought you were always...you."

"What does that mean?"

"You know... The smart one."

Nate smiled.

"Being smart isn't the same as never struggling."

He tapped the notebook.

"This is what struggling looks like."

Max looked down at the pages again.

Something settled quietly inside him.

He had spent so long believing that people either succeeded or they didn't.

Seeing the crossed-out mistakes, the coffee stains, the frantic reminders...

It changed something.

Maybe becoming the person you wanted to be wasn't about getting everything right.

Maybe it was about refusing to quit.

"You can borrow them."

Max blinked.

"What?"

"The books."

"I don't mind."

"You trust me?"

Nate raised an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't I?"

"I don't know... I've given you plenty of reasons not to."

Nate was quiet for a moment.

Then he smiled.

"I think you've given me more reasons to."

Max didn't know what to say to that.

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A yawn escaped him before he could stop it.

"There it is," Nate said.

"What?"

"The reason you couldn't sleep."

"I'm tired."

"Exactly."

"You've been fighting it for an hour."

"I wasn't fighting."

"You absolutely were."

"I was...thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

"So you've told me."

Max gathered the books into a careful stack.

"I'll bring these back tomorrow."

"Take your time."

"You sure?"

"They're just books."

"They're important."

Nate smiled.

"So are you."

The words slipped out so naturally that neither of them reacted at first.

Then Nate cleared his throat.

"I mean..."

"I'd rather encourage your curiosity than worry about a textbook."

Max nodded quietly.

"I'll look after them."

"I know you will."

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Later, back in his room, Max opened the anatomy book again.

He wasn't really reading anymore.

His eyes drifted over Nate's notes.

His handwriting.

His little jokes scribbled in the margins.

His reminders to himself to keep going.

For years, Max had imagined Nate living some perfect life in the city while everyone else stayed behind.

Now he knew the truth.

Nate had struggled. He had grieved. He had doubted himself. He had simply kept moving anyway.

Max sat cross-legged on his bed, he read until his eyes burned and the clock on his nightstand blinked past 2 a.m. The words blurred, replaced by the image of Nate leaning over his shoulder, breath warm against Max’s ear as he pointed out an equation. Max closed the book, heart thudding, and slid under the covers still thinking of him.

Sleep came fast, pulling him into a vivid dream.

They were in Nate’s bedroom, the air thick with the scent of old paper and cologne. Nate stood by the window, shirt half-unbuttoned, and Max crossed the room without thinking. He reached for Nate, hands sliding up his chest, and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Their mouths met with urgency, tongues sliding together, teeth grazing lips. Nate’s hands found Max’s waist, gripping tight as the kiss deepened, wet and desperate.

Max pushed Nate back onto the bed, straddling his hips. He kissed along Nate’s jaw, down his throat, tasting salt and skin. Nate moaned softly, fingers threading through Max’s hair. Max worked lower, lips and tongue mapping every inch until he reached the hard line straining against Nate’s jeans. He freed Nate’s cock, wrapping his fingers around the base, and took him into his mouth in one smooth motion.

Nate’s hips jerked, a low groan escaping him. Max sucked slowly at first, savoring the weight on his tongue, then faster, cheeks hollowing with each pull. Nate’s hand stayed in his hair, guiding gently, while Max’s own cock throbbed untouched. He pulled off with a wet pop, kissed the head, then took him deep again, tongue swirling.

They switched places in the dream’s fluid way—Nate now on his knees, mouth hot and eager around Max’s cock. Max thrust shallowly, hands braced on Nate’s shoulders, watching his lips stretch and shine. Nate’s tongue pressed flat along the underside, sucking with steady rhythm until Max’s thighs trembled.

Back on the bed, they kissed again, slower this time, tasting themselves on each other’s tongues. Max’s hand stroked Nate while their mouths moved together, spit-slick and messy. Nate returned the favor, fingers wrapped tight around Max’s shaft, thumb circling the head with every stroke. Their breathing grew ragged between kisses, bodies pressed close, until the dream peaked in shared, shuddering release—Max’s come spilling over Nate’s fist, Nate’s over Max’s tongue.

Max woke with a gasp, sheets tangled around his legs, the taste of the dream still lingering. The books lay scattered on the floor where they’d fallen, and the room felt too quiet, too empty. He pressed a hand over his racing heart, the resurfaced feelings now impossible to ignore.