Page 2 of Pippin & Nacho

Nate touched my face and dragged my attention to his. My room was dark, but I didn’t need light to see that his eyes were as dark as his hair and filled with kindness. Kind eyes. Pretty eyes with long, thick, black lashes.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

Focus, Sampson.

“I was thinking about when you’d saved my life back in foster care. You’d been small for fifteen, but you huffed and puffed as you packed our things, vowing to protect me and take care of me. It still makes me smile. I like thinking about that day. It had been a horrible day, but you had this quiet confidence, determined to get us out of there, telling me we’d live on the streets if we needed to and that you’d find some way to get a job. You’re so brave, Nate. I wish I were as strong as you.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m so fucking broken.”

“We’re all broken one way or another, Sam. That doesn’t make you weak.”

I felt weak and pathetic. At twenty-two, I was a grown man who understood enough that it was odd to have my best friend and roommate hold me at night to calm my fears. It wasn’t normal. Why did he even like me, anyway? I brought nothing to the table—nothing but my pain and whining. Yet Nate stood by me, unflinching, with a power I could only dream of. But how could I even dream it when I always drowned in nightmares—

“When you came back to our bedroom, crying with bruises on your throat, I was fucking over it,” he said.

“Why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“Our foster parents hurt you, too.”

“That also made me angry, but I don’t know… Seeing your red and bruised throat just finally did me in.”

“The other kids got hurt, too.”

“They did.”

“Why me?”

Nate kissed my forehead. “Because we were best friends, and I couldn’t take care of everyone, Sam. I had only been fifteen at the time.”

I guess that made sense.

He yawned and pulled me tighter against him. I continued to twirl one of his locks, which was more for my benefit than his, as his body sagged in sleep.

After laying in bed for an hour watching Nate sleep, my mind refused to settle down, so I climbed out of bed and turned off my alarm. I grabbed some sweats off my floor and pulled them on, uncaring if they were dirty or not. Then I headed to the shared bathroom in our tiny apartment. I flicked on the blinding light, blinking several times before my eyes adjusted.

The tile by the tub was cracked in places. It resembled my life—whole in some areas, dirty in others, and broken in places that would never be repaired unless they were completely replaced with something better.

I stood in front of the water-stained mirror and looked at one of the yellow sticky notes hanging there.

‘Smile.’

That was all it said, with a happy face drawn below. Smiling and happiness became my masks. I didn’t only smile to show the world that I wasn’t quite so broken, but when I did it, I almost felt good. And I was happy a lot. I didn’t always have thoughts of worthlessness and wondering if I even belonged on this planet. Nate and my friends brought me patience and joy. I didn’t know what I did to deserve those, but I clung to them fiercely and selfishly.

I smiled at my reflection after reading the other note below the smile one, which was from Nate, telling me I’d be working at Alpha’s Rejects Bar tonight. If I could work there every day, all day, I would. Mixing drinks made me happy. I used bartending as an ‘off-switch,’ allowing me to focus. Measuring, pouring, mixing, and creating that perfect balance was my favorite thing next to skateboarding. I did both often, which helped clear the noise in my head, though I had to wear sound-canceling earbuds to drown out the loudness of the bar. The noise was too much.

When Alpha watched me mixing up my own recipes for drinks one day, he immediately sent me to bartending school, which I failed miserably at. I’d always been a poor student and had dropped out of high school, eventually getting my GED online with the help of Nate and Alpha. At least Baltimore didn’t have requirements to become a bartender, so Alpha just let me do my thing. Now, I worked at the bar four days a week.

After taking a shower and brushing my teeth, I shoved my earbuds in my ears and sat on the living room floor with my legs crossed and my eyes closed, listening to the mellow music Nate said helped neurodivergent people focus more.

It helped a little to keep me focused, and I got the most benefit from it in the mornings before starting my day, especially when combined with breathing techniques. It wasn’t always easy keeping my mind on track. Some days it wouldn’t shut up at all.

My phone alarm buzzed at eight, yanking me out of my solitude, so I turned off the music to start making coffee for Nate and me. As it brewed, I sat down at our battered little kitchen table and went over my calendar for the day. There wasn’t a ton to do, but I often needed reminding of things like taking my clothes to the laundromat, going to the store with Nate to grab some groceries, or even when we were skating that day.

As soon as the coffee finished brewing, Nate came out shirtless and in sweats. His dark curly hair still dripped from his shower, leaving little rivers down his lean chest, curving around a brown nipple. I imagined licking up the long line of water from his happy trail to his throat, quenching my lustful thirst. My eyes traveled along the planes of his smooth, tanned skin sprinkled with little moles that I found so cute. Nate was polka-dotted. Sometimes, I tried to count them, which helped me focus and relax. He had nine of them on his right arm, six of them on his left arm, two on the left side of his throat, two above his mouth on the right side, and one by his left eye. They were sprinkled all over his chest and back, too, like constellations—

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