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Taye liked to think that he could understand things. He could understand math, in all its wonderful glory. He could understand war tactics—how to kill. He could understand old movies and how the world behaved before witchings ever came to fruition. One thing he could not understand, however, was why people he loved were constantly getting hurt.
As a child, first going into the Level IV program, there’d been a lot more people to fill the silence of the boys’ dormitory. Taye could remember plenty of faces, some of which graduated from the program and some died in a battle that was useless and unnecessary. Then there were fewer, fewer, fewer until it was just Taye Washington and Dara Shirazi being the only boys in the program to share the room.
Dara had always struck worry into Taye. Well, not at first, when he was just a shy kid who had been eager to learn more. But that excited boy had grown into a more distant young adult. Dara was like a brother to him, he just wished he would’ve let Taye more into his life.
He’d convince Taye and Ames to go party hard on a Wednesday night, even if skipping basic the next morning wasn’t an option. Dara would leave them five minutes into the night, and would shoot one of them a text that was usually something along the lines of “Go home whenever, I’ll be a few more hours behind you guys.” Taye and Ames would cut their losses, go home and the next day, they would see Dara in class, just like always.
And some nights, Dara would try to sneakily hide the empty bottles under his bed, but the clinking and rattling were a dead giveaway. And other nights, he didn’t try to hide the bottles in the first place. Dara would cradle one in bed and down all of it in less than an hour. It was always up to Taye to take it away from him after he’d passed out with it in his arms.
Or, more frequently than clubbing on a school night or blacking out, Dara would disappear right before dinner, letting one of them know that his father had arranged plans for them to catch up over some feast he’d prepared, so don’t bother making him a plate. He’d always spend the night, then the morning and then the next day all together. Eventually, even Taye didn’t have an explanation for Dara’s antics, so Bethany stopped asking about him.
Then something shifted entirely when Noam Álvaro came into their lives. Noam was a teenager from the poorest end of Durham that was immediately placed into Level IV because his presenting power made him too good to send to Charleston or somewhere where his talents would be unused and unappreciated.
Noam was like Dara, in some ways. Dara, the boy Taye had grown up with. Who he had lived with and treated like a brother. Dara never had to prove his worth, but Noam put himself in all the positions that nobody wanted him to be in. He made himself a cadet and gave himself a space to be among the others. He refused to be ignored. He got tutored by Calix Lehrer. It made Taye proud to see someone sticking up for what he believed in. It reminded him of Dara when he was younger, full of so much more brightness than he had lost in recent years.
When Dara had…disappeared? Left? Died? Gone AWOL. When Dara had gone AWOL, there were no longer three male cadets that slept in the barracks. It was just Taye and Noam to fill up the rest of the space. It made him wonder, sometimes, what Level IV would be like after he and Noam left. Would there be anyone else here to keep Bethany company? She wasn’t going to graduate for years—she’d be all alone.
Noam had taken to occupying Dara’s bed instead of his own after it was apparent that Dara wasn’t coming back. He didn’t remove the bottles of whiskey that bumped against each other with every shift in the mattress, nor the half-read books that littered Dara’s bedside table or the clothes that were still inside the dresser drawers.
Taye would’ve judged Noam, would demand answers about why he insists on keeping memories of someone that obviously didn’t care if he abandoned them if it weren’t total hypocrisy on his end. Taye had done the exact same thing when other cadets before him disappeared, when he was still too young to be out on the field but they were about to age out of the program entirely. His upperclassmen that went missing with no trace. It wasn’t apparent now, their belongings tucked away into the dressers and cabinets that they also once owned. Dara once used to help him clean up the memories of them, but had eventually stopped indulging Taye once he wasn’t even there to know that a cadet disappeared.
Taye hadn’t realized that Noam and Dara actually cared for each other, considering the fact that they were at each other’s throats at all hours of the day. But it was obvious when Noam chose to sleep curled up in Dara’s bed sheets, Dara’s comforter, with the smell of his liquor and his cigarettes and whatever other substances that lingered and Noam had refused to wash away.
Then the night terrors started. That was another similarity between Noam and Dara. Dara did get nightmares sometimes, but not so much that Taye even considered talking to Dr. Howard about it. Looking back on it, maybe reaching out would’ve made Dara stay.
With Noam…it was every night. Every night. On multiple occasions, Taye almost did knock on Howard’s door, explain the situation and beg her to help Noam because it was horrible hearing him cry and talk in his sleep. Not for Taye’s sake, never for his own quality of sleep, but for Noam. Noam, the teenager who had nothing but empathy for others in his heart. It was fucking torture. He almost went to Lehrer about it but decided that he probably already knew.
Taye had, in fact, been in the same situation once when he was a fresh, new cadet and had to wake up in the Red Ward after feverwake. When he was a child, the bloody, bloated bodies that were seeping magic through their eyes, ears, noses and skin had carried with him for months. He recalls having frequent nightmares about them, and the time that an upperclassman interrupted such a dream. Sometimes he still had the Red Ward nightmares, so he didn’t leave out the possibility of that being a source of Noam’s problem.
Tonight was one of those rare nights where Noam was there to stay. He might not go clubbing every other night as Dara used to, but he was out doing other things like being a liaison or having dinner with a “coworker,” or whatever other excuse he could make up while Bethany was watching. Taye doubted that liaising was a job that occupied his time two days and three nights a week, two of which being on the weekend.
Taye retired earlier than Noam had that night, but had still been wide awake when he came into the room. His feet had padded silently across the linoleum, the only evidence of his existence was his slow, quiet breaths, the creak of the bedsprings as he slid into Dara’s old bunk, and the fact that Taye was watching from where he lay in his own bed. He watched as Noam began his usual routine: tossing and turning, stilling for a few minutes before he entered REM sleep. Taye knew the cycle all too well. He tried to fall asleep faster than the nightmare could start, tried to ignore the scared words that Noam mumbled through the haze of the dream. But, like always, the words started first.
“I said….was sorry..” Noam started, like he was dreaming that he was arguing with someone. Taye tucked his head under his pillow and shrugged his comforter higher over him to try and wait it out before the crying started. “..didn’t mean…hurt…you…jus' a kiss...” Taye tried not to pay attention. It’s none of his business. Whoever Noam wanted to kiss that made someone sad or mad was his deal, not something Taye was meant to know about. It would’ve just been another nightmare, just like the rest, if he hadn’t muttered Dara’s name after. It was broken with his exhausted voice smushed against his pillow, talking to his own mind; it sounded more like “Derr-ha” because of it. He didn't usually do that, no. Taye tightened his grip on the pillow that wasn’t blocking any of the frenzied words that Noam was babbling. He didn’t want to hear.
Then the pleading started. “No…no…no…no…no…” off into the darkness of the bedroom. This part of the cycle happened often enough, no matter the dream and conversations he had. This checkpoint usually went hand-in-hand with the crying stage. The crying was fucking horrible. Sometimes the cycle would go on to repeat itself, reflecting back on some past that demanded Noam’s mind to relive. Other times, Noam would wake with a start, lurching upwards and leaving the dorms entirely to…do something. Maybe smoke or drink or something that would ease whatever pains caused such a dream. He doubted it was the Red Ward.
Taye gathered his pillow and comforter off of his bed and sleepily left the dorm, instead opting to curl up in the living room sofa to the sound of the nightly news with reporters with soft, boring voices lulling him to sleep. None of them started sobbing to themselves at two in the morning.
<><><>
The next day, after getting sick of constantly throwing worried glances at Noam all during classes, he went to Ames after school. She wasn’t hard to find, these days. She didn’t want to go home to her now-empty, inherited family mansion or go out to the bar because she had enough booze at the barracks. Bethany, on the other hand, was usually still stuck with after-school clubs or extra courses on medicine or something that didn’t involve her needing to come home at her usual time. That meant Ames was free to day drink. She never said anything about feeling guilty about drinking around Bethany, but Taye assumed she wanted to leave a better impression on her than Dara had.
As per usual, she was curled up by the window in the living room watching a movie with a cup of brown liquid swirling in its glass. A pack of cigarettes was open and next to empty—only three or four were left in there. Taye could tell where the rest had gone, with the full ashtray that Ames had been building over the past few days.
He took a seat next to her. “Can I ask you something?”
Her eyes swung over to him lazily. “You just did.” Taye resisted the urge to groan and Ames smirked. “What is it?”
“You know Noam a lot better than I do.” He started. Ames sucked in a long, tired breath of air.
“I don’t wanna talk about him.” She muttered, taking her gaze away from Taye’s worried face creating a frown and taking a sip.
“He needs help,” Taye said. Any tones he was using to cover up his worry were long gone now. “You don’t sleep in our dorm, I know you have no way of knowing, but he…he has these nightmares. They sound terrible, just listening to them. We sh—” but he was interrupted.
“That must suck.” She stated shortly, obviously not carrying any sympathy for Noam. “Especially because I’ve tried to help him and he doesn’t give a fuck.”
It was silent for a few more moments. Taye tried to let the pieces connect faster than they had been, but it felt like a jigsaw puzzle that was missing half the pieces.
“I know you two are going through a bit of a rough patch right now and you kinda want Noam to die,” Taye starts, before Ames juts in.
“Yeah, you’re right.” She says, then snorts. “I do kinda want Noam to just fucking shut up for a while. He should just stay at ‘work’ all week long.”
Taye musters up enough strength to not react to that, to Ames wanting Noam to be gone and stay gone. “But I think that…I think that these night terrors are hurting him more than it brings you pleasure.” He finishes, a steady, careful air slipping into his tone. Ames doesn’t react. “We could talk to Lehrer about it.” That does get a reaction out of her. She set down her glass hard on the end table next to her seat and looked back at Taye, locking her eyes on him.
“No.” She says sternly. “Don’t fucking talk to Lehrer. He can’t—he won’t help.”
Taye just stares back at her. “Of course he’d help. He’s Noam’s goddamn teacher or father figure or some weird shit like that. He can get him pills, he can get him shrinks, he can get him—”
“Fucking no, Taye!” She barks again. “Don’t talk to Lehrer, don’t talk to Howard, don’t even talk to Noam.”
“Why not, though?” Taye was at the end of his rope. “Noam…he—last night, he was going on about…about Dara. He hurt him, somehow. Lehrer was—still is—his dad, he would know how to help, right?” He was about to start pleading with her. “Let me—let us—help him.”
Ames shook the thought off of her and stood. “Taye. Lehrer doesn’t do that shit. He doesn’t help people.” She grabbed her box of cigarettes and her drink. Her voice was laced thick with emotion. “If Noam doesn’t want to think of himself as someone who—who needs help, I’m done with forcing him to seek it out. He can do that on his own time.” Then, without another word, Ames shut herself in the girls’ dorm, the lock clicking as soon as the door closed. Taye imagined that he probably wouldn’t see her until after school the next day when she would pretend that nothing happened.
That night, Taye followed Ames’s instructions to not talk to Noam about it. Noam was sleeping in the barracks for the second night in a row. Taye slept in the living room again.
<><><>
It wasn’t until later that week that Noam slept in the barracks again. Taye had tried to fall asleep before Noam could come in, but it was unsuccessful. He attempted to try anyway, like this’ll be the first time since before Dara went MIA that Noam had a good night's sleep. But, like always, it was futile. As soon as the sleep talking started, Taye lurched out of bed to take the covers off. He didn’t pay attention to the words being spoken—he wasn’t sure he could handle it if he heard.
Taye had almost finished freeing the comforter from under the mattress when he heard Noam call out “Stop it.” Taye, admittedly, did freeze up when he said that, glancing back around to see if he was talking to him. Noam was laying still on his back—the blankets tangled between his legs being the only evidence that he was ever thrashing around like a fish out of water in his sleep. His eyes were shut tight like he was in pain. A small voice in Taye’s mind told him not to intervene because Ames said not to and that Ames knew Noam better than Taye did. A louder voice told him that Ames was too high and too drunk to make accurate decisions. “No…!” Noam’s sleepy voice said again, and the decision was made.
He considered the chances of Noam killing him or setting something on fire with his technopathy due to already being in a vulnerable, frightened state, then being woken up and thrust into a different setting. Despite the chances of being exploded via Noam Álvaro, Taye approached him anyway. The boy mumbled something, but he couldn’t make it out.
“Hey. Noam.” Taye whispered. “Noam.” Noam made a noise, a small one, but he doubted it was related to Taye’s pestering. “Wake up, man. It’s time to wake up.” He lightly grabbed Noam’s shoulder to shake him, but the boy’s hand flew to Taye’s wrist, clutching him there.
“Stop touching me, Calix,” Noam said, the half-asleep delirium quickie escaping his voice. Taye, despite not being Calix (as in Lehrer? He made a mental note to approach Ames about this again later.), he tried to jerk his hand away, but Noam’s hand was gripping him hard. Taye grabbed the wrist that was keeping him there and yanked it off of him, grabbing the other one, as well, to stop it before it happened. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me!” He could see Noam’s legs in the corner of his eye trying to come up to kick him off.
“Noam!” Taye yelled, raising his voice before lowering it again. Noam’s eyes popped open, quickly focusing on Taye and stopped struggling. He took his hands off of Noam like he’d been told to. “Sorry, you just—you looked like you were in pain.” He sat on the foot of the bed—of Dara’s old bed—waiting for Noam to...do something.
Noam put his head in his hands. “Ugh,” He groaned, sweeping his hands across his face as if he was wiping the excess adrenaline that was still stuck in him from his fight or flight moment.
“Sorry,” Taye said again. “You were having a nightmare.” He stated awkwardly, as if Noam didn’t know.
Noam paused for a few more moments. “Sorry. I…woke you up, didn’t I?”
Taye shrugged it off. “Not really. You do this a lot, actually.” Noam’s face went through several different emotions in a span of a few moments. “Do you want water or anything? I can go get a cup for you.” He offered.
Noam shook his head. “No, I–I think I’m good.” He pushed his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t realize I did that. Have night terrors, I mean.”
Taye looked down. Anywhere but Noam’s sad ass face. “I used to get them.” He said. “When I was younger and had been in the Red Ward. I guess it just disturbed me a lot more than I had thought it did. It’s probably not on the same level of…” Whatever the hell I just saw.
Noam looked like he was in a different place. “Yeah. I felt that, too. The Red Ward was…scary, for me. I can’t imagine it was any better when you were just a child, though.” “Just a child” as if Noam wasn’t a seventeen-year-old child having nightmares on par with something that a decorated war vet would get.
“Just…get some sleep, dude. It’s really late.” Noam nodded slowly sliding back down under the warmth of the comforter.
“G’night, Taye,” Noam said quietly.
Taye paused for a moment while walking back to his side of the room. “Goodnight, Noam,” Taye whispered back. “Sweet dreams.”
He was happy that he didn’t need to sleep in the living room that night.