His Muse

Running marathons whilst drunk & in emotional pain

Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved

Nic was crying before he even realized it, and maybe that was because it was still drizzling out and blending against his hot skin and burning eyes. He half-ran out of the apartment complex even though he knew Ronan's window was on the other side of the building, and there was no way Ronan could see him now.

He felt sick in every sense of the word—from his headache to his stuffy nose to the way his chest hurt and his stomach ached. He was exhausted and hungry—mostly hungry—and tried to tell himself he was being overdramatic because of his lack of food that day, but rational thought couldn't even convince him of it. He was always so damn emotional. He couldn't keep his head fucking straight he couldn't do anything right he shouldn't have gone there he shouldn't have been brought in by fancy free art supplies he'd never get to touch in half a millennia.

He stood under the domed ceiling of the bus stop and tried to calm his rapid, panting breaths. He had the fold-up easel tucked under his arm and his art bin was clenched in his white-knuckled fist. His eyes filled with tears again because of all the water dripping from the domed roof and he was all alone so who fucking cared anyways. He was a broke college students with starry hopes of getting by in life with a goddamn fine arts degree.

Nic tipped his head back and yelled, "What the fuck is wrong with meee! Fuuuck!" at the top of his lungs, his voice giving out and shaking at the end.

When the bus pulled up, the easel nearly slipped out from under Nic's arm as he hurried to the door. He caught it and scrambled up the rain-slicked steps, scourging around in his pockets for his wallet and the probably-damp checks he should really put in his wallet. The bus driver waited for him, but it felt like she was tapping her finger against the wheel in annoyance, and the few people on the bus were glaring at him to hurry the fuck up already.

"S-Sorry," he stammered out, feeding in the dollar and searching for coins.

"It's no problem," she said.

"I d-don't have any quarters," he confessed, completely aware that his teeth were clattering—not just from the freezing rain, but also the fact that he was so sure he was going to break down in the front of that bus.

Thankfully, he didn't bawl his eyes out. Someone from the back came forward with a few coins and fed them into the machine for Nic since his hands were full of art supplies and his wallet with the two checks. "Thank you so much," he blurted, and the woman just gave him a small smile and said, "Don't worry about it. I had some spare change on me."

He sat in the back seat for the forty-five minutes it took to get to Kingsley with public transit. He spent that time in between brief spurts of panic where his eyes suddenly swelled with tears again, and it took long, heavy breathing exercises to shove them back down and into his chest where he'd probably store them for later, or at least until he got some food to binge-eat.

When he was a stop away from Kingsley, he realized that the dining hall wouldn't even be open. He stayed on the bus for a few more stops before stepping off at the one nearest the Co-Op. He had his wallet safely stored in his art bin, so he stood outside for a while hoping that the rain would calm him down.

It did calm him down, for a little while, until he got around to knocking on the door of the Co-Op, realizing too late that the party was starting at nine. It was past eight by now.

He didn't recognize the guy who answered the door, and he suddenly felt like he was at some fast food restaurant asking the cashier for a hug. "I, um, I'm just looking for Kieran. He doesn't know I'm c-coming at all," Nic confessed.