Chapter Text
NICHOLAS
I wake to shrill screams coming from the ground beside the bed. I rub my eyes as my sleepy consciousness is still trying make sense of what’s happening. Then it clicks and I scramble to the edge of the bed to peer down to where Noah is supposed to be sleeping.
The sight I’m met with is horrifying to say the least. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs like a banshee and his body is moving in an alarming way, but his eyes are closed.
“Noah.” I urgently pat his shoulder to wake him, but it seems useless, he’s not even reacting to me. I hop out of bed and click on the lamp on my bedside table.
“Noah.” I drop to my knees beside his makeshift blanket-bed. “Noah!” I take hold of his shoulders and shake my best friend trying rip him from sleep.
His screams remind me of the kind you only hear in horror movies, full of pure terror. No matter how hard I shake him, his teary eyes won’t crack open. His body is thrashing violently in a way I’ve only ever seen on TV when people have seizures.
Is this a seizure? Do people normally scream when they have seizures?
Of course something like this would happen when my family is away for the weekend. My mom would know what to do.
But she’s not here and I have no idea how the fuck to deal with this… whatever this is.
Do I call 911? What am I supposed to tell them? My friend is screaming and crying and won’t wake up?
“Noah!” I shout trying to be louder than his own yells and yank on his arm so hard I think it might fall off. Still nothing.
“Fuck.” I grumble assessing my options, but Noah’s convulsing is making everything so much worse. I decide the flailing is the first thing I need to get under control. So, I hop on top of him, a knee at each side of his hips, grab hold of his wrists and pin them to the carpet. “Noah!” The weak muscles in his toothpick arms are working overtime to break free from my grasp and his legs resemble someone who’s running a marathon. “NOAH!”
Mid-scream Noah’s eyes shoot open and is immediately visibly confused by his own yelling. His eyes blink to adjust to the light of lamp above him. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and tears are still streaming down his pale face. He seems to be analyzing the entire situation, first the room, then himself, then finally me. His brows furrow up at me, “What’s going on?” He asks slowly, putting a perplexed pause between each word.
“Um…I’m not really sure.” I reply quietly, my own heart racing from the panic. “I think you were having a nightmare?” I quickly but carefully pull my hands away from him when I realize that I’m still restraining his arms.
There’s a brief pause where he’s trying to put the pieces together in his mind, but he must’ve stumbled across a terrible answer because dams suddenly break in his eyes. His hands immediately hide his face from me.
I’ve only ever seen Noah cry a handful of times before and each time has been horrific.
I pull off of him and gently hold his arm, “Hey, what’s wrong? Was it the dream?”
He doesn’t really give me an answer and just continues to sob into his hands. Seeing him this way makes my insides twist into pretzels, I want to save him from whatever torment he’s going through.
“How can I help Noah? I want to help.” I say a bit more confidently because maybe if I sound sterner, he’ll actually answer me.
He says nothing but flips away from me, using his pillow to partially cry into. I hate seeing him like this and I’m not just going to go back to sleep when he’s on the floor next to me sobbing.
So, I do the only thing I can think of. I use every bit of strength in my body to lift him up by his arm. I’m shorter than him but he’s rail thin and lighter than he looks. He fights me by trying to yank his arm away from me, but I’m stronger than that and get him somewhat upright. There’s no more fight left in his body when I hook my own arms underneath his armpits and he lets me manhandle him into my bed.
Breathlessly I flop over him to the other side of the bed. He’s already curled into himself away from me and wailing into the pillow closest to him. I’m not quite sure what he’s crying about but I know he’s got an arsenal of things to choose from.
I feel awkward, like I’m intruding on something in my own room. But I know I can’t just lay here doing nothing while he’s sobbing next to me.
I turn towards him and reach out to rub his arm. He tenses beneath my touch for half a second before his hand goes to squeeze mine hard. My thumb gives his fingers a reassuring rub and don’t dare move my hand from his grasp.
With my free hand, I go to do something that always soothes me. I gently run my fingers through Noah’s brunette hair, tucking it behind his ear and smoothing it out. He nearly purrs at the touches and it noticeably calms his cries. I try to take my hand from his hold and he’s hesitant but ultimately lets go. I begin to gather all the stray pieces of his hair and rake through his long hair with both hands. My fingers smoothly glide through his shoulder length locks.
Noah’s cries finally die down and the only noise in the room comes from the gentle rain hitting my window. “I’m sorry about your dream.”
He says nothing but readjusts his head to give me more access to his hair.
My eyes glance over to the small pile of duffle bags in the corner of my room. “Was it about the move?” I ask cautiously.
“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” He says sternly but still soft. I nod as if he can see me from behind. He sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his arm.
“Is this helping?” I question genuinely. I don’t think it would do much good for either of us for me to continue if it’s not helpful. Soothing him like this feels somehow both comforting yet uncomfortable at the same time.
He pauses, “I think so.” Another quiet sniffle. “Yes. It helps.” He confirms.
“Cool.” I’m not sure why I said that, this is definitely not the place to use the word cool.
Thankfully he ignores it. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.” He states meekly and wraps his arms around his frail body.
I tug the fluffy duvet over us but making sure to tuck him in a bit. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you for… helping me.” He drags out the words like he’s not sure what exactly he should be thanking me for.
“Sure.” Three of my fingers split his hair into three parts and I start overlapping each piece over each other into a messy, uneven braid. “It’s not my best work, but it’s something.” I tuck the braid onto the front of his shoulder for him to be able to touch.
His fingers go to feel the braid’s ridges between his fingers and a tiny smile forms on his lips, “I like it. It helps too.”
It helps too
I don’t know why but his comment fills my chest with pride and coats my cheeks with rosy warmth.
“I like it too. I’m happy to help.” That reply seems to narrow and shallow for the situation at hand but it’s all I have to offer.
He yawns, obviously exhausted since his sleep was anything but restful. “Um,” He starts, then plays with the braid a bit. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?” He asks referencing the bed.
“Oh, yeah sure. That’s why I brought you up here.” I suddenly realize how close I am to him and scooch back. “I can, um, sleep on the floor.” I go to jump over him, but he catches my arm and grips it firmly.
“I want you to– Can you stay?” He asks, looking up at me with puffy brown eyes. “It helps.” He repeats from earlier.
It helps
“It helps?” I question.
“Yeah. You help.” He clarifies quietly.
My heart swells in my chest so unexpectedly that it almost makes me dizzy.
It’s got to be from the lack of sleep.
He takes notice of my hesitation and grows impatient. “Please?” His chocolate eyes are large, round and glossy - how am I supposed to say no to them?
“Oh, uh, yeah sure.” I nod and take note of how my voice inadvertently pitched higher than normal.
I return to my original spot beside Noah, lying flat on my back staring at the popcorn ceiling. Noah leans forward and clicks the lamp off, leaving the only light in the room be from the bright moon outside my window. He reaches behind himself and searches for my hand by patting around the duvet. I catch his roaming hand and he holds it partially by just our palms, no interlacing fingers.
So, I let my hand be an anchor for him. He needs someone and I’m here to help. I’m his best friend, that’s what friends do, they help.
It doesn’t take long for soft, small sleepy noises to come from Noah. The room is cold and suddenly darker than I remember it being moments ago. While I could pull my hand from his now that he’s asleep, I don’t want to.
It’s dark and chilly and maybe I like the anchor of his hand too.