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There are places Nick can’t go now.
The Hollywood Ghost Club is an obvious one—or that whole part of town, he should say, since he no longer has the unwanted privilege that possession once afforded him to be able to find the place. Others are harder to explain—the lacrosse field, the alley outside the Orpheum, Carrie Wilson’s balcony.
(Julie’s house was impossible to even look at, until Willie introduced him to the studio like a feral cat to its bed. Now he’s more comfortable there than in his own home. But he still politely declines when Julie or her dad invites him into the house proper.)
But of all the places Nick can’t go now, the one that poses the most inconvenience, the one hardest to avoid, the one most likely to send Nick into a dissociative panic and make him forget where he is and who’s in control, is anywhere—everywhere—with a mirror.
He waits outside the dance studio to meet Carrie after practice. He makes Willie short out the lights before using a public restroom. At home, he showers in the dark, gets dressed by muscle memory, and if someone takes a picture of him, he never asks to see it.
The body Nick inhabits once belonged to Caleb Covington. As long as he doesn’t have to look at it, Nick feels like himself.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, face hidden in his knees, when Willie finds him.
“Oh, bro,” the ghost breathes. Nick hears more than sees him crouch in front of Nick’s hiding space in the corner of the hotel bathroom. “Can you take a breath for me?”
Nick tries and almost chokes on it. Coming back to himself always happens in tingly fits and starts, but he thinks it’s been a long time since a panic attack left him this dizzy.
“There we go,” Willie says softly, like Nick’s done something good. “Keep doing that. Nice and slow. Stay here for a sec, okay?”
Nick would laugh if he were with it enough to find the idea of him going somewhere funny. As it is, he just tries to focus on doing as Willie said. Deep breaths, nice and slow, in and out until some of the feeling returns to his extremities.
Some time later, Willie comes back, touching his toes to Nick’s so as not to startle him. “All right, man. I swiped one of the tablecloths from outside, so you’re all good now. Do you think you can look at me?”
Nick slowly raises his head. He’s all prepared to cringe away, but sure enough, the bathroom mirror has been covered by one of the thick red tablecloths Nick’s dads got for a steal at Williams-Sonoma. The relief at no longer having a reflective surface in the general vicinity melts the rest of the icy static gripping Nick’s skin and brings frustrated tears to his eyes.
But he doesn’t cry, and Willie’s face a few safe feet away has not an ounce of pity. “There we go,” he says again, a soft smile painting his pretty lips. “Good job, man. You back with us?”
Nick nods, swallows, and manages, “Think so.” Willie’s smile widens, proud, and Nick feels a little surge of pride himself. Usually, it takes him longer, and a change of scenery, to talk again, to remember how and convince himself he’s allowed to.
Willie scoots closer, his hands loose and open at his sides. “Can I touch you?”
Nick hesitates, then croaks, “Yeah. Please,” and stretches out a shaky hand. Willie takes it and links Nick’s fingers with his own, gentle and warm.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” Willie rubs his thumb along the back of Nick’s hand, and the steady back and forth feels so good it almost makes Nick dizzy again. “You know they’re throwing a party for you out there.”
Nick shivers. That’s right. A party. His dads threw him a graduation party in this big hotel ballroom, invited half his grade, and the whole lacrosse team, and all his dads’ extended family and friends. His aunts and uncles drove up from Albuquerque. His bio mom flew in from Florida.
Nick took one look at all the pictures of him his dads hung up, to show who he was and how he’d grown, and couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, all he could think about was all the strings his dads had had to pull for Nick to graduate on time at all, after the year he lost to Caleb, all the pain and fear that face up on the wall had put his friends and family through. The grinning boy with the lacrosse State Championship trophy didn’t exist anymore. The battered boy holding his college acceptance letter with a shy smile didn’t deserve all this fuss.
The proud and sexy Prom King with Julie held tight to his side wasn’t even Nick, and that’s what put him over the edge.
He’d just meant to step into the bathroom for a minute, to escape from the enthusiastic crowd, take a moment to breathe, maybe text Julie and Carrie and beg them to take the pictures down. But he’d barely closed the door behind him when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and for a second—for an instant—he swore he saw the purple fire of Caleb’s magic dancing in his eyes.
He doesn’t remember much after that.
“Take your time,” Willie murmurs, and Nick startles a little, realizing he must’ve spaced out again.
“Pictures,” he chokes out. “Of…”
He stumbles, his mouth working without any sound coming out, and Willie gently prompts, “It’s just a name. Only has power if you let it.”
“Caleb,” Nick spits. “Prom pictures with Julie.”
Willie nods, understanding, and holds Nick’s hand a little tighter. “Julie called me. When you didn’t come out right away. Do you want me to tell her to send everyone home?”
Guilt flips Nick’s stomach. “I don’t know.”
“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to know yet.” Willie moves closer and slowly pulls Nick into his arms, giving him every chance to protest or pull away. He guides Nick’s head onto his shoulder, and undoes Nick’s tie with nimble fingers, popping his top button so it’s easier to breathe. Then he buries his hands in Nick’s hair and calms him with firm but gentle strokes until Nick relaxes into his touch. “We’re gonna stay right here until you know what you wanna do. There’s no rush. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Nick wants so badly to believe him. “But my dads—”
“Julie’s got them. They know you’re okay.”
“All those people—”
“Fuck ‘em.”
His bluntness startles a laugh out of Nick, and the realization that he can laugh now startles another one, and then another, until he can’t stop and he’s giggling breathlessly into Willie’s chest, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Willie holds him tighter and presses a feather-light kiss to Nick’s temple. “I got you, bro. I’m right here.”