1 8 - N O A H

I rush into Mugs and Kisses a few mornings later on a verge of a panic attack. I'm not entirely sure how I got here or when I left my house, but I can't bring myself to care. The moment she sees me, Emma drops whatever she's doing and rushes over. "What's wrong?" she asks frantically, biting her lip as she examines my face. "Why aren't you at school?"

"I couldn't sleep last night. At all. I spent the whole night turning my lights on and off every two minutes because of the walls and the darkness and I had the door open, but I was still freaking out." My breaths come short and rapid bursts, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, and my eyes are burning with the effort of holding back my unshed tears. There's a pain in my chest, too, that's not really related to my heart as far as I can tell. It just hurts.

"What happened?"

"I went to see the therapist person again yesterday. It's not like they did anything bad, but it just made me remember again. Talking with Chance helped me a lot and I was finally able to manage the fear, but then the therapist brought it up yesterday and I just couldn't stop thinking about it." My breathing is a little calmer now, but I can still feel my heart pounding rapidly. It's starting to make my chest hurt even more, and every time it beats, I curl a little further into myself, trying to run away from the pain.

"Why didn't you call me? Or Chance? Why didn't you come here?" she asks accusingly, and I flinch, even though I know she doesn't mean any harm. I just get really jumpy when I'm tired. Everything seems harsher than it normally does, I freak out more easily, and small noises really annoy me because I'm too tired to filter them out, or something. It's like all my senses get heightened, and there's no way to turn them down.

"I was doing so well," I argue, my voice somehow strong and shaky at the same time. "I didn't want to bother you guys and I didn't want to end my good streak by giving in. I had been able to sleep in my room for days, Emma. Days! Three days in a row without freaking out. Three days sleeping all the way through the night. But I guess trying not to give up didn't work very well because I'm as tired as heck."

Emma sighs in frustration. "This isn't about maintaining a good streak, Noah. This isn't Snapchat. This about your health. You really should have called one of us." She must see the uncomfortable expression on my face, because her glare softens. "Look, obviously this therapy thing isn't working out. And that's okay. It's not for everyone. I think it's really great that you were willing to try. But you still need to talk to someone, even if you're not talking to a professional therapist. Can I call Chance and have him come over here?"

I shake my head resolutely. "I don't want to bother him—"

"Has he ever told you that you're bothering him when you confide in him?" I shake my head, reluctantly this time. She gives me a snarky look. "I didn't think so. I'm calling him. Please let him help you. He worries about you, you know. He gets worried when you don't talk to him, and that's more of an inconvenience to him than talking is."

I scowl at her and stomp over to the couch while she calls, curling up next to the fire and grabbing a book in hopes of distracting myself. But I find myself skimming over the words without absorbing any of the meaning, so I put the book down, discouraged, and curl up in a fetal position.

"He's coming over as soon as he can," Emma tells me. "I'm going back to work. I need to do an inventory check. Please don't run off."

"Fine," I grumble, watching her disappear into the back room. She starts making a racket by shifting tons of boxes around, and with each scrape or crash, the sound seems to drill deeper and deeper into my skull until it's so aggravating that I want to scream. I know it's not really that loud, but no matter how many times I tell myself that, each noise gets on my nerves. I feel like a ticking time bomb, and I'm about to explode when Chance finally walks in the door a few minutes later.

When he meets my gaze, he stares at me, frozen, a look of concern plastered on his face. But when I just stare back at him blankly, defiantly, his expression shifts to a look of anger. "Why didn't you call me? Or text me?" he demands.

"I didn't want to bother you," I mutter. He gives me an incredulous look.

"Haven't we talked about this already? I already told you that you're not bothering me. I told you to come to me when something happened, and you agreed. And you don't need to tell me everything, but you need to stop thinking that you're bothering me. Heck, Noah, you're my boyfriend. I care about you. A lot. I want to be there for you, but you have to talk to me."

"Sorry," I murmur, unable to meet his gaze. "Please don't be mad."

He shakes his head, walking over to the couch that I'm lying on and sitting down next to me. "I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed." He leans over me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I relax immediately into his hold.

"Sorry," I whisper again. He shakes his head again.

"Don't apologize. You don't really have anything to apologize for. I just want to make sure you understand that you can talk to me and Emma without bothering us. It bothers us more when you don't talk to us. Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Do you want me to listen now? Talk it out?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It's okay. I'd rather sleep first. I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Do you want me to go up with you?"

I smile up at him gratefully. "Yes, please."

"Hang on a minute," Emma calls from over at the counter. She glances around, making sure the customers sitting in the corner aren't paying attention before she walks over. Though honestly, I don't think they'd care all that much. I recognize them all, so they must be regulars, and if so, then they probably know Emma and I are friends.

"What's wrong?" Chance asks her, confused.

"Is it true?" she asks.

"Is what true?"

"You said you were his boyfriend. Is that true? Are you dating?"

"Yes?" he replies, giving her a weird look. Then he turns to me. "Did you not tell her?"

"I guess I forgot," I mumble, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. "I'm sorry?"

"Traitor," Emma grumbles. But then her whole entire demeanor changes, and she practically shrieks with joy. "I'm so happy for you! Oh my god, I called it. I totally called it. I told you I'd be right, and you didn't believe me! Both times!"

"Yeah, you were right. Both times. But just these two times. Never again," I tease. "Next time, I'll be right. I swear."

"We'll see about that," she says, winking. "I'll let you go take your nap now. The guest room is prepared. I washed the sheets just yesterday, I think, so they should be fresh."

"Thanks," I say gratefully. "And as much as I appreciate you, you know, it's really not polite to eavesdrop."

"Maybe," she agrees, "but then I wouldn't have found out you were dating. And that's very important."

"Why?"

"Because you're happy," she says simply, glancing back at the counter. "Now go. I have a customer waiting. This shop isn't all yours, you know. Even though I spend most of my time talking to you. And you never even buy anything. I'm not getting my money's worth." She pouts, but I can tell she's teasing as she waves us away.

"Wow. I was expecting her to explode. That was a much calmer reaction than I was expecting," Chance comments as we walk past the No Entry Beyond This Point sign and up the stairs. I hum in agreement.

Just like the last time he stayed up here with me, he walks around the bed to close the curtains but leaves the door open. But before he sits down, I ask him, "Can you close the door?"

He raises an eyebrow. Or at least, he tries, but like normal, he fails. That specific expression of his is one of my favorite things about him, I've noticed. There's just something about it that makes me melt every single time, and it's even more adorable because I'm pretty sure he doesn't realize that he isn't doing it well.

"Are you sure?" he asks, and I nod. "Why?"

"I want to show myself I can do it so I might be able to sleep tonight."

He nods. "Okay. But tell me if you want me to open it back up. It's okay if it doesn't work out, you know. Forcing yourself might just make it worse."

"I know. I just want to try."

He walks over to the door, gently swinging it shut. He doesn't latch it, though, as a compromise, which I'm thankful for. I keep my eyes trained on him rather than the door, watching as he sits down on top of the covers and takes out his phone. I frown a little bit, and he notices.

"What?" he asks.

"I can actually cuddle with you now without it being super awkward and weird. Get under the covers and lie down." I pat the space next to me invitingly and hold up the covers so he can slip under more easily.

He laughs, pulling back the covers a little more and tucking himself under them to join me. Grinning, I tuck myself into a ball and move back against his chest. He wraps his arms around me, shifting into a more comfortable position.

"You're so cuddly," I tease him sleepily, tired but not wanting to fall asleep just yet. I just want to savor this moment, sear it into my memory so I can remember it tonight, and all other nights when I can't sleep. And all the time.

"You're so huggable," he responds, poking my cheek. I puff my cheeks up with air, and he pokes it again, pushing air out of my mouth. He chuckles.

"What?"

"You blew on your bangs and now they're standing up." He chuckles again, reaching his hand over and smoothing my hair back down. But when he finishes, instead of removing his hand, he moves it to my cheek, staring me in the eye with a new intensity I've never seen in him before.

"What's up?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know what he's going to say. The anticipation of what I think, what I hope he's about to say is making my heart pound like crazy.

"Can I kiss you?" he blurts out, and as soon as he says that, he looks like he regrets it. But when pause for a moment and wait for him to take it back, he doesn't.

"Okay," I breathe, staring up at him in a daze. And even though I've wanted to do this for a long time—for far longer than he has, I'm sure—I let him come to me, making sure he doesn't feel like he can't back out. The last thing I want is for him to feel pressured to do something that he doesn't want to do just to make me happy.

To be honest, kissing had always sounded gross to me before. But when he presses his lips to mine, gently, chastely, I shiver, warmth rushing through my whole body. I feel so comfortable, so warm, despite the way my heart is beating a hundred miles per hour and my face feels like it's about to catch on fire. And when he pulls back, I'm left breathless, trying with no avail to calm my racing heart.

He opens his mouth like he's about to speak, but then he closes his mouth again and just wraps me in a tight hug, my back flush against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding, and it brings me back to reality, helps me realize that what just happened wasn't a dream. It wasn't my imagination, either—it was real. He kissed me. Chance kissed me.

"Oh my god," I whisper. "I'm never going to fall asleep now."

He laughs giddily. "You will."

"No," I respond, letting out an equally giddy laugh, "I really won't. Feel this." I bring his hand over the left side of my chest and place it on top of my heart.

"I mean, same?" he offers. "I bet you can feel it. But I think you're tired enough."

"Probably," I agree, my voice far lighter and airier than it normally is. "It doesn't seem like it though."

"Then talk to me until you fall asleep," he suggests, a small smile playing on his lips.

"About what?"

"I don't know. Something good. What's the best thing that's ever happened to you?"

I grin. "Meeting you?"

He smacks my shoulder lightly. "I doubt it. Stop being cheesy. If I say best memory, is that better?"

"Aside from you kissing me?"

"Noah!"

"Fine." I fall silent for a while, thinking. It's hard to come up with answer, because it's definitely not something I have on the tip of my tongue. Also, choosing one favorite experience is kind of like choosing a favorite book—I feel guilty prioritizing one above all the others. But finally, I say, "Probably swim team morning practices."

"You were on swim team? And what are morning practices?"

I roll over onto my back so I can see his face and intertwine our hands. I tug our hands out from under the blanket, running my fingers over his knuckles as I talk. It's calming, somehow, with the smooth ridges. "Yeah. I joined swim team in second grade. I was pretty decent, so I was in a training group that I was technically too young for, but they made an exception. They had practices before school in the mornings multiple times per week."

Chance makes a face that's as close to pure disgust as I've ever seen. Even with all the drama with his name. "Before school? Doesn't your school start at seven thirty?"

"Yep. Practice started at five in the morning. I had to wake up at four."

"And you liked it?" He's staring at me, horror evident on his face. It's not an uncommon reaction when people find out how much I used to sacrifice to swim. At the time, I didn't really realize how much it was taking over my life. I only realized that when I had to stop.

"Yeah. It was amazing. It made me feel really powerful. Like I was really capable, like I was doing something good with my life. At least, it did until I came back for a second two-hour practice later that afternoon and could barely move my arms enough to float."

"That sounds awful."

"I loved it." I sigh, feeling waves of nostalgia wash over me. "It was the best. My mom would drive me there, and the roads would be empty. It would be dark, too. We practiced at an outdoor pool all year, so during the winter, the pool deck would be frozen and icy. I had practice when it was fourteen degrees once. It was so fun."

"That was fun?" Chance repeats incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Have you ever jumped in a pool with cold toes? You know, the feeling when your toes are both numb and on fire at the same time?"

Chance gives me yet another strange look. "No?"

I shake my head and sigh. "You're missing out on life. It's the best."

"Do you still swim?" he asks. "I haven't heard you talk about it before, and I don't know how you'd manage it with no sleep."

"No," I whisper.

He picks up on my mood change immediately. "What happened?"

"I got sick. The same sickness that I told you about. I always had a headache, but when I swam, it got way worse. I couldn't only swim for ten minutes at a time before the pain got to be too much for me to handle, so I had to stop. I wanted to quit, but not because I actually wanted to quit, if that makes any sense. I wanted to quit because of the pain, but I also wanted more than anything to be able to keep swimming. And I've regretted quitting ever since, even though I know I was miserable, because I miss it so much now."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "That must've been really hard."

"Yeah." There's a sudden lump in my throat that won't go away, no matter how much I swallow. "I was so lost. I'd dedicated my life to that for seven years, and then it all disappeared."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." He runs his hand gently over my temple, and my eyes begin to flutter shut involuntarily. "I didn't mean to make this sad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I mumble. "I don't mind telling you. If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have. Besides, it's also something that I love. It's not only sad."

"Alright. Do you think you can sleep now?"

I hum. "Yeah, I'm sleepy now. Just stay here and cuddle me."

"Okay. I think I like this side of you. You're really adorable when you're all cuddly."

"Thanks." I nuzzle my head into his chest and finally close my eyes. It's an immediate relief, the pain from having kept my eyes open so long disappearing. "G'night."

"Good night," I hear him reply amusedly. He brings a hand up to my head and brushes it through my hair. I lean into his touch. And then I'm no longer conscious.