SOULMATE(s) - 9. Nothing Happened

Nick woke late Saturday morning with his phone beneath the pillow and the dull, swollen ache that followed a night of crying.

For several seconds, he remained still beneath the blanket, caught in that brief, merciful space before memory returned. Pale sunlight pressed through the curtains, laying a narrow stripe across the opposite wall. Somewhere downstairs, a cabinet door closed, followed by the soft murmur of his parents talking in the kitchen. Everything around him felt ordinary enough that he might have believed the night before had been a dream.

Then he became aware of the clothes he had dropped beside the bed, the overnight bag still sitting unopened near the door, and the soreness behind his eyes.

Luke’s house returned to him all at once.

The movie playing unnoticed in the background. Luke’s nervous confession. The warmth of his first kiss. The brief, impossible happiness of believing that someone he had wanted might actually want him too. The intimacy they shared together in Luke’s bed.

Then the awkwardness afterward.

He reached beneath the pillow and found his phone. The screen lit his face in the dim room, and for one hopeful second, he expected to see Luke’s name waiting among the notifications.

There were two messages from the group chat, an email from school, and a reminder about an assignment.

Nothing from Luke.

Nick unlocked the phone anyway and opened their conversation. Luke’s last message remained visible above the empty text box, sent the previous afternoon with the time Nick should arrive. Beneath it was nothing. No question asking whether Nick had made it home. No explanation. No awkward joke attempting to make the silence less strange.

Nick stared at the screen until the letters began to lose their meaning.

It was still early, he told himself.

Luke might be asleep. He had said his parents would not return until Saturday afternoon, and perhaps he had stayed awake after Nick left. Maybe he had lain in bed trying to understand what had happened between them, just as Nick had. Maybe he needed a few hours before he knew what to say.

That seemed possible.

It had to be possible.

Nick placed the phone on the mattress beside him and sat up slowly. His head throbbed when he moved, and the inside of his mouth felt dry. He rubbed both hands over his face, then glanced again at the dark screen as though a message might appear the moment he looked away.

It did not.

He showered longer than usual, standing beneath the warm water until the mirror had disappeared behind steam. He tried not to think about Luke while dressing, but every ordinary action seemed connected to the night before. Pulling a shirt over his head reminded him of getting dressed in Luke’s room while Luke moved around without looking at him. Tying his shoes brought back the cold pavement beneath his feet and the tears he had wiped away whenever headlights approached.

By the time Nick went downstairs, he had arranged his expression into something he hoped would not invite questions.

His mother stood at the stove making eggs, while his father sat at the table with a mug of coffee and the Saturday newspaper folded beside him. Both looked up when Nick entered.

“You’re home,” his mother said.

Nick paused near the doorway.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were staying the night.”

“I changed my mind.”

She studied him more closely.

“Did something happen?”

The concern in her voice made his throat tighten. Nick crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pretending to look for juice so she would not see his face clearly.

“No. I just wasn’t feeling well.”

His mother touched the back of her hand to his forehead when he sat down.

“You don’t feel warm.”

“I’m better now.”

That was not true, but the lie came easily. It was the first of many.

His father lowered the newspaper.

“Did you have a good time before you started feeling sick?”

Nick looked at the plate his mother set in front of him.

“It was fine.”

The word settled heavily in his mouth.

His parents accepted the explanation because they had no reason not to. His mother told him to rest, and his father returned to an article about local construction. The conversation moved on without him, but Nick barely heard any of it.

His phone rested in his pocket against his leg.

He could feel its weight throughout breakfast.

Whenever it shifted, his pulse lifted. Twice, he thought he felt it vibrate, only to discover that nothing had happened. By the time he carried his plate to the sink, disappointment had begun to feel foolish. Luke had not promised to message first thing in the morning. He had not promised to message at all.

Except that he had promised something more important.

He had promised not to pretend the night had never happened.

Nick returned upstairs and sat at his desk with his homework open in front of him. He read the first paragraph of his history assignment three times without understanding it, then reached for his phone again.

Still nothing.

He considered writing first.

The text box waited beneath their conversation, empty and accusing. Nick typed slowly.

are you okay?

He looked at the words for several seconds, then deleted them. The question felt too gentle. Luke had been the one who pulled away. Luke should have been asking whether Nick was okay.

He tried again.

about last night…

That was worse. It sounded as though Nick were beginning a confession Luke might not want to hear.

He erased it and typed a third message.

did i do something wrong?

The moment the sentence appeared, shame washed through him. Nick deleted it so quickly that his thumb struck the wrong part of the screen.

He had not done anything wrong.

He knew that, or at least he wanted to. Yet Luke’s sudden distance had planted doubt in every part of the night. Nick began replaying their time together, searching for the exact moment when Luke’s feelings might have changed. Perhaps Nick had become too nervous. Perhaps he had asked too many questions. Perhaps Luke had only wanted the excitement of crossing a line and had regretted it as soon as the reality became unavoidable.

That thought hurt most because Leah had warned him.

Maybe he likes knowing you’re attracted to him.

Maybe once you fall for him, he’ll pull away.

Nick had believed he was being careful. He had asked Luke what would happen afterward. He had told him that he could not bear being treated like an experiment.

Luke had looked him in the eye and promised.

By noon, Nick had checked his phone often enough that he began leaving it on the desk across the room. He lasted fourteen minutes before getting up to check again.

There was a message from Will asking whether Nick wanted to play online later.

No message from Luke.

Nick answered Will with a vague excuse about having a headache. Will sent back a thumbs-up and told him to feel better.

A few minutes later, Tobey messaged.

you okay?

Nick stared at the question.

Tobey had an unnerving way of asking simple things as though he already knew the answer. Nick wondered whether Tobey had sensed something the previous day, or whether Nick’s early departure from Luke’s house had somehow become visible from miles away.

He replied:

just tired. not enough sleep.

Tobey did not push. That almost made it worse.

The rest of Saturday passed in small, empty pieces. Nick attempted homework, watched half an episode of a show he normally liked, and helped his mother carry groceries from the car. He moved through the day while part of his attention remained fixed on his phone.

Each time it remained silent, another explanation formed.

Luke might be with his family.

Luke might have practice.

Luke might have lost his phone.

Luke might be frightened and unsure how to begin.

Nick understood fear. He had spent years hiding from it, arranging his life around it, and pretending it did not control him. He wanted to be patient with Luke because he knew how difficult it could be to admit something about yourself when the people around you had made that truth feel dangerous.

But patience became harder with every passing hour.

By Saturday night, the hope that Luke might send a message before bed had become painful enough that Nick turned the phone facedown and forced himself not to touch it.

He slept badly.

On Sunday morning, Nick woke before his alarm and reached for his phone almost instinctively.

There was a message waiting for him.

For one brief second, his heart jumped before he saw the name.

It was Kit.

morning. you doing anything today?

A second message followed before Nick could answer.

because i’m bored and apparently that’s your problem now.

Nick smiled despite himself. He typed back that he had no idea when that had become his responsibility, and Kit replied almost immediately with a ridiculous GIF and a demand that Nick come up with something entertaining. The exchange was pointless, ordinary, and familiar enough that some of the heaviness from the night before loosened for a little while.

But once the conversation slowed, Nick’s eyes drifted back over his notifications.

There was still nothing from Luke.

The small lift Kit had given him faded, leaving the uneasiness underneath exactly where it had been. If anything, the contrast made Luke’s silence harder to ignore. Kit had texted him simply because he felt like talking to him. Luke, after everything that had happened between them the night before, had not sent a single word.

Nick still resisted the conclusion forming in the back of his mind. One quiet morning did not necessarily mean anything. People became overwhelmed. People needed space. Luke had admitted that he did not know what liking another boy meant for him, and perhaps the reality of what had happened had frightened him more than either of them expected.

Nick could understand fear. He could understand confusion, and even regret if that was what Luke was feeling.

What he could not understand was being left to guess.

He could explain Luke needing time. He could explain confusion. He could even explain regret, if Luke would only say it.

What Nick could not stop wondering was whether Luke had already decided that whatever had happened between them was something he wanted to pretend had never existed.

Nick tried to hold compassion beside hurt.

The two feelings did not fit comfortably together.

He avoided the group chat for most of Sunday. Leah posted three possible films for the next movie day, while Will argued that one of them had an inaccurate soundtrack. Tobey contributed a single message saying that none of them had yet selected a date.

Nick read everything without replying.

Around midafternoon, Leah messaged him privately.

you’ve been quiet. everything okay?

Nick typed that he was busy with family and left it there.

The lie made him feel worse, but telling the truth felt impossible.

Leah would not blame him. Nick knew that. She would probably hug him, become furious with Luke, and insist that Nick had done nothing wrong. Will would threaten to confront him. Tobey would listen quietly and say something gentle enough to make Nick cry again.

The problem was not that Nick expected cruelty from his friends.

It was that kindness would make the humiliation real.

As long as no one knew, he could continue pretending that he had not ignored every warning. He had not trusted Luke. He had not mistaken attention for affection. He had not given someone the power to make him feel wanted and then erase him before the weekend ended.

So he remained silent.

Monday morning arrived with gray skies and a cold tension in Nick’s stomach.

He took longer than usual to get dressed. He changed shirts twice, then became angry with himself for caring what he looked like. Luke had already seen him in ways no one else had. A different shirt would not restore whatever had disappeared between Friday night and Saturday morning.

At breakfast, Nick barely ate. His mother asked whether he was still feeling sick, and he said no. His father reminded him to take an umbrella, though the forecast only mentioned light rain.

The walk to school felt both too long and far too short.

Nick rehearsed possible conversations with Luke the entire way.

Luke might be waiting outside class. He might apologize and say he had panicked. He might explain that his phone had broken or that his family had returned early. He might simply smile and ask Nick to sit down, allowing them to begin the week with an awkwardness they could eventually work through.

Nick did not need a perfect explanation. He only needed proof that Friday night had not become something Luke intended to bury.

When he reached the Algebra II classroom, he paused outside the door.

Voices came from inside, followed by laughter.

Nick tightened his grip on his backpack strap and stepped into the room.

Luke was already sitting at their usual pair of desks.

Another boy occupied the chair beside him.

Nick recognized him as one of Luke’s friends from his grade, though he could not remember his name. The boy had dragged his chair close enough that their shoulders nearly touched while Luke showed him something on his phone. They laughed together, relaxed and familiar.

Nick stopped just inside the doorway.

Luke looked up.

Their eyes met.

For one suspended second, Nick waited.

He waited for surprise, guilt, or some small sign that Luke understood what he had done. He waited for Luke to move the other chair, raise a hand, or at least acknowledge that Nick had sat beside him every day since the beginning of the semester.

Luke looked away.

The movement was quick and deliberate.

Nick felt something inside him collapse.

He forced himself to walk.

An empty seat remained near the windows, several rows away from where Luke sat. Nick crossed the classroom with careful steps, aware of every sound around him. He heard another burst of laughter behind him and could not tell whether Luke was part of it.

He sat down and began arranging his supplies.

Notebook in the center.

Pencil on the right.

Textbook beneath the desk.

His hands remained steady only because he concentrated on each movement separately.

He would not cry.

Not there.

Not while Luke could see him.

Nick pressed his thumbnail into the side of his finger until the sharp discomfort gave him something else to hold on to. He stared at the blank page and counted his breaths, keeping each one slow and quiet.

Mr. Daley entered a minute later and began writing an equation across the board.

Nick copied it without understanding anything.

The numbers appeared neatly in his notebook, each step aligned with the one above it, but the lesson passed around him like noise from another room. His attention remained trapped behind him, focused on the empty space where he used to sit and the boy who had replaced him before Nick had even arrived.

Luke did not speak to him when class ended.

Nick packed as quickly as he could and left.

He told himself that one morning did not prove anything.

By Tuesday, Luke still had not messaged.

The same boy sat beside him again, and Luke behaved as though the arrangement had always been that way. He spoke to other students, laughed at Mr. Daley’s jokes, and left class with his friends without once looking toward Nick.

On Wednesday, Nick passed him in the hallway.

Luke noticed him.

Nick saw recognition flicker across his face before Luke turned toward someone else.

That was when Nick stopped searching for explanations.

Luke had not become busy. He had not lost his phone. He had not needed a little time to think. He had chosen silence.

The ghosting was complete in a way Nick had not imagined possible. Luke did not argue with him, reject him, or admit regret. He simply removed himself from every part of Nick’s life where he had recently appeared. The messages stopped. The tutoring ended without discussion. The chair beside him belonged to someone else.

It was as though their conversations, the chocolate milk, the private teasing, and the kiss in Luke’s living room had never existed.

As though Nick had imagined all of it.

That was the thought that hurt most.

Not that Luke regretted him, but that Luke seemed capable of continuing his life without acknowledging that Nick had ever mattered.

By Wednesday lunchtime, Nick’s friends could no longer ignore the change in him.

He sat with Leah, Will, and Tobey at their usual table, staring at a sandwich he had barely touched. The cafeteria was loud around them, but Nick felt separated from the noise, as though he were sitting behind glass.

Leah watched him for nearly a minute before speaking.

“You’ve barely said anything all week.”

Nick looked down.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Will said. “This is different.”

Nick tore a small piece from the edge of his napkin.

Leah leaned closer.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Tobey’s gaze lifted from his lunch.

Will looked toward the football table, then back at Nick.

“Is it Luke?”

Nick’s chest tightened.

“No.”

He kept his eyes on the napkin.

“What happened with him?” Leah asked.

“Nothing.”

That word had become useful. It was both a denial and the truth Luke seemed determined to create.

Nothing happened.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing existed.

Nick swallowed.

“It’s family stuff.”

Leah’s expression changed immediately, concern replacing suspicion.

“Did you come out to your parents?”

Nick shook his head. “No.”

“Are you thinking about it?”

“No. It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?”

Nick felt Tobey watching him from across the table. Tobey did not look convinced, but he said nothing.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His voice came out softer than he intended.

Leah reached across the table and placed her hand over his wrist.

“You know you can tell us anything.”

Nick nodded. “I know.”

The words nearly broke him.

He did know. That was what made the lie feel so ugly.

These were the people who had stood beside him after Jack outed him. Leah had challenged anyone who whispered too loudly. Will had walked with him between classes for weeks without ever admitting that he was doing it for protection. Tobey had sat beside him in silence on days when Nick could not bear conversation.

They would not judge him.

But Nick could not tell them.

He could not say that Leah had been right. That Luke had pulled him close, promised he would not disappear, and then done exactly that. He could not describe the walk home or admit how desperately he had checked his phone all weekend.

The shame belonged to Luke.

Nick knew that logically.

Emotion did not always care about logic.

He felt foolish, exposed, and somehow responsible for believing what Luke had said. Keeping the truth hidden allowed him to preserve a small part of himself from everyone else’s pity.

Leah squeezed his wrist once before letting go.

“Okay,” she said. “But we’re here.”

Nick gave her a small smile.

It felt fragile and false.

Chemistry should have been easier because Luke was nowhere near it. Instead, it became the class Nick dreaded most.

Because Kit noticed him.

Not only in the casual way classmates noticed when someone forgot a book or arrived late. Kit watched Nick with the steady attention that had once made him feel understood. Now, that same attention made hiding more difficult.

Nick tried to behave normally.

He greeted Kit when he sat down. He completed the assignments, answered questions, and smiled when Kit showed him another picture of Sunny sleeping inside a cardboard box too small for him.

But the effort exhausted him.

His smiles disappeared too quickly. He lost his place while reading instructions and stared at simple questions without answering them. More than once, Kit had to repeat something because Nick had not heard him.

On Thursday afternoon, Nick erased the same answer three times.

Kit placed his pencil down.

“What happened?”

Nick’s hand stopped.

“Nothing.”

Kit remained quiet.

Nick could feel his eyes on him.

“You’ve said that before,” Kit said.

Nick looked toward the board.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

There was no accusation in Kit’s voice, only concern.

That made the shame worse.

“I’m sorry…”

“You don’t have to be sorry about your feelings, Nick.”

Right then, Nick imagined telling him everything. He pictured Kit’s expression changing as he understood where Nick had gone Friday night and what had happened there. Kit had defended Nick when Luke remained silent. He had stood in front of Jack without hesitation, then messaged later to make certain Nick was all right.

Nick had ignored Kit’s message.

Then he had gone to Luke anyway.

The facts felt connected inside Nick’s mind even though they were not. He felt as though he had chosen the wrong person and now deserved the consequences.

He knew Kit would never say that.

Nick still feared seeing disappointment in his face.

“It’s family stuff,” he said.

The lie sounded weaker the second time.

Kit’s expression shifted slightly.

He did not believe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nick shook his head. “No.”

The answer came out sharper than he intended, edged with all the fear and humiliation he had been carrying since Friday night.

Kit looked hurt for a moment.

The expression disappeared quickly, but Nick saw it.

Regret rose immediately.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to catch Kit’s sleeve, the way he had when asking about Madison, and tell him that none of this was his fault. He wanted to admit that Luke had broken something Nick had barely understood he was giving him.

Instead, he lowered his gaze to the worksheet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I just don’t want to talk… yet.”

Kit remained still for a second.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

He did exactly what Nick had asked.

For the rest of the class, Kit gave him space. He did not ask again, did not watch him too closely, and did not try to force the conversation back into normality. When Nick needed an answer checked, Kit helped him quietly. When the bell rang, he packed his bag and offered a small goodbye before leaving.

Nick sat alone for several seconds after everyone else had gone.

He had wanted space.

Now that Kit had given it to him, the distance felt unbearable.

Nick stared at the empty chair beside him and understood, with a sudden ache, that being left alone could happen in more than one way.

Luke had done it to escape him.

Kit had done it because Nick asked.

Somehow, the difference made him want to cry all over again.