Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick adjusted the straps of his backpack and glanced over his shoulder. “You coming or what?”

Aiden trailed behind, kicking at a loose rock with one foot, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his cap. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

The old fire tower loomed just ahead of them, skeletal against the pale orange bleed of early evening. Its rusted beams creaked faintly in the summer breeze, familiar and menacing all at once. It wasn’t the kind of place people stumbled across by accident anymore. The stairs were half rotted out. The warning signs were sun-faded and ignored. But for Nick and Aiden, it was the place—their place.

They’d been coming here since they were thirteen. After games. After fights. After breakups. After everything. When the noise got too loud or the pressure too high, they climbed—up and out and away from all of it. There was nothing at the top but wind, sky, and silence, and sometimes that was exactly what they needed.

Nick shoved open the warped gate and started up the steps, each groan of old metal as familiar as the sound of his own heartbeat. “Bet I still beat you to the top.”

Aiden scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Not with those noodle legs.”

“Excuse you.” Nick pointed over his shoulder. “These legs carried our sorry soccer team to state finals. Show some respect.”

Aiden laughed, quiet and genuine, and Nick felt it low in his chest—the way he always did when he got Aiden to smile like that. It was stupid. He shook it off. Probably just residual stress from this week.

College applications, team rankings, AP exams, another talk with Coach about what it meant to be a leader. Everyone wanted something from him—grades, wins, recommendations, image control. Nick Vercillo: perfect student, perfect athlete, perfect son. Some days he felt like he was playing a character in his own life.
But Aiden always cut through it. With him, Nick could drop the act.

They climbed in rhythm, step by step, up into the sky. The tower groaned beneath them like it always did, a hollow, almost musical sound that echoed through the trees below. A few birds scattered as they passed, startled by the movement.

“You talk to Liam today?” Nick asked, too casually.

Aiden, a few steps below, nodded. “Yeah. He’s been busy. Exams or something. But he said he might come by this weekend.”

“Might,” Nick muttered, the word bitter in his mouth.

Aiden looked up at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Aiden frowned. “You always do that. Make a face and then say ‘nothing’ like I’m imagining it.”

“Maybe you are imagining it.”

“You hate him.”

Nick stopped, one foot resting on a rusted step, hand tightening on the railing. He didn’t turn around. “I don’t hate him.”

“You do.”

“I just don’t think he treats you right,” Nick said finally. “He doesn’t show up. He doesn’t call when he says he will. You’re always the one apologizing. It’s not… healthy.”

Aiden bristled. “You don’t know everything, Nick.”

“Yeah, but I know you.” That hung between them for a second too long. Nick exhaled and started climbing again. “Forget it.”

Aiden followed, quieter now. They didn’t fight often. Not really. But every time Liam came up, something in Nick’s voice tightened, and Aiden noticed it even when he didn’t want to. It wasn’t just disapproval—it was something hotter, sharper. Something unspoken. He didn’t want to ask why.

The wind picked up as they neared the halfway landing, sweeping through the frame of the tower and tugging at Nick’s hoodie. He paused again and looked out. The valley stretched below them like a painting—late-summer green melting into dusk.

“You ever wonder how old this place is?” Aiden said, reaching the platform beside him.

Nick smiled faintly. “That’s part of the charm. Bit of a death wish, bit of nostalgia.”

They stood in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Aiden leaned against the railing, arms folded, gaze far away. Nick glanced at him from the side, taking in the curve of his jaw, the way the golden light caught in his hair. He told himself it was just the lighting. Just a moment. Just curiosity.

Aiden broke the quiet. “Do you ever think about next year?”

“All the time,” Nick said. “College, mostly.”

“Yeah, but… like, us. This.” Aiden gestured around, to the tower, the trees, the space between them. “What happens when we’re not just… here anymore?”

Nick swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t want to think about a future where Aiden wasn’t just a phone call away. Where their weekends didn’t end here, watching the stars bleed through the dark. He didn’t know how to say that without sounding… wrong.

Aiden bumped his shoulder. “Maybe we’ll both end up in the same city.”

“Maybe.” Nick didn’t sound convinced.
He started up the next flight, only a few floors from the top. Aiden followed, a few steps behind again.

Then, without warning, the metal beneath Nick’s foot let out a shriek—a terrible, high-pitched groan—and snapped.

“Nick—!”

The world tipped.

Nick’s foot slipped straight through the collapsing stair. Aiden lunged to catch him just as the rest of the metal cracked beneath both of them. There was a half-second of weightlessness, of panic, of grasping for something solid—and then they fell.

Not far. But far enough. They hit the next platform with a sickening thud. Wood cracked. Metal screamed. Aiden’s head slammed hard against the floor. Nick’s elbow skidded out and hit the beam. Both of them crumpled.

The wind howled through the hollow tower.
And then—nothing.

Chapter Text

Nick blinked. The world snapped back into focus like someone turning on a light. He was lying on something soft—a couch?—not the cracked wood of the tower. His head ached, but not like he’d just fallen two stories. It was dull, foggy. More like waking up after a nap you didn’t remember taking.
He sat up slowly, disoriented. This… wasn't his house.

Across the room, Aiden stirred on a matching loveseat, blinking blearily as he pushed himself upright. “Nick?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

They both looked around. It was quiet. Too quiet. The room they were in looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine—light oak floors, deep navy walls, soft, warm lighting. A large bay window looked out onto a backyard blooming with flowers and a wooden swing set. The air smelled faintly of coffee and vanilla.

Nick stood, wobbling slightly. “Where the hell are we?”

Aiden followed suit, rubbing the back of his head. “I—I don’t know. Did someone… take us?”

“You think we got kidnapped and brought to a suburban Pinterest house?” Nick gestured at the tasteful decor like it offended him. “This place has throw pillows. With stitching.”

“Well we didn’t bring ourselves here!” Aiden snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry. I just—my head is killing me.”

Nick took a cautious step toward the hallway. No ropes, no chains, no blood. Just… a home. Framed photos on the walls. A coat rack with two jackets hanging neatly. A dog bowl in the corner next to a bone toy shaped like a dinosaur.

Nick crouched to peer at the dog bowl. “There’s a dog?”

Aiden was already moving toward the photo wall. “Okay, we have to be in someone’s house.”

The pictures were cheerful—family vacations, holidays, candid shots in a cozy backyard. A man and another man and a little girl with wild hair, grinning at the camera. There was a dog in some of them too, a big, goofy golden retriever with one floppy ear.

Aiden squinted at one of the frames. “Wait… this is the same guy in all the pictures. So he must live here.”

Nick moved beside him. “Yeah, and the other one’s his… husband, I guess? And that’s their kid?”

He paused. He stared. Something tugged at the back of his brain.

There was something uncannily familiar about the men in the photos—the angle of the jaw, the shape of the eyes, the smirk on the one in the hoodie.

Nick leaned closer, but he couldn’t quite make the connection. His mind refused to go there. Too absurd. Too impossible. He shook his head and stepped away.

“We need to get out of here.”

Aiden didn’t move. “What if this is like… a coma dream? You know? After the fall?”

“Why would we have the same coma dream?”

“I don’t know!” Aiden ran a hand through his hair. “But nothing about this makes sense.”

Nick moved to the kitchen—sleek countertops, ceramic fruit bowl, hand-drawn pictures stuck to the fridge with alphabet magnets. He pulled one down: a crayon drawing of two men, a kid, and a dog. Labeled: "My Family."

The two men had labeled names above them: "DAD" and "PAPA."

He stared at the paper, heart beginning to thump in his chest. Behind him, Aiden opened a hallway door. A kid’s room. Soft lilac walls, a small bookshelf, more drawings taped up, a nightlight shaped like a moon.

“What is this place?” Aiden whispered.

Then— the front door opened.

Nick spun around just as the deadbolt clicked, the knob turned, and the door swung inward with the jingle of keys.

Two men stepped in. One tall, lean, dark-haired, tossing a set of keys onto the entry table. The other, a man with dark red hair and tattoos followed, closing the door behind him, carrying what looked like a gym bag. They were laughing at something, low and familiar.

Nick froze. Aiden went still beside him.
The two men looked up—and stopped mid-step.

“…Oh my God,” the taller one said. His voice was older, deeper—but unmistakable. “We were not supposed to be here this early.”

The other man dropped the bag with a heavy thud, staring wide-eyed. “Holy shit.”

Aiden opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Then opened it again. “Okay. Nope. I’m dead. We’re dead. This is hell.”

Taller man smiled faintly. “If this is hell, we’ve really softened our standards.”

Nick moved first. In one fluid, instinctive motion, he shoved Aiden behind him and stepped forward, reaching for the knife block on the counter. His hand closed around the handle of a chef’s knife before he could think twice.

“What the hell is going on?” he snapped, voice sharp and solid even though his hands were shaking. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?”

The taller man—dark-haired, lean, maybe mid-thirties—lifted both hands slowly. “Hey—”

“Don’t move,” Nick barked.

Aiden, still blinking in disbelief, caught Nick’s arm. “Nick—”

“Stay behind me.”

“But—”

“Stay there.”

The other man—the shorter one, muscular and tattooed, red hair streaked with a bit of gray—took a step forward with a calm, maddening smile on his face.

“God,” he said, almost fondly. “Still doing the protector thing at the slightest hint of danger. You haven’t changed.”

Nick’s grip on the knife tightened. “You know us? Did someone send you? Did Liam—?”

“No,” the redhead interrupted gently. “No one sent us.”

Nick didn’t believe him. Everything was too perfect. Too strange. The warmth of the house, the photos, the kid’s drawings, the dog bed, the way these two men looked at them—like they knew every detail already.

“I’m serious,” Nick growled. “I don’t care how nice this place looks, if you don’t let us leave—”

The dark-haired man spoke more so to his husband than them, finally. His voice was soft but carried weight. “It’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

Nick whipped toward him. “What?”

“That your first instinct is to protect him.” His eyes shifted past Nick, landing gently on Aiden. “You don’t even stop to think. You just move.”

Nick glanced back quickly to make sure Aiden was still there—still safe. He was. His eyes were wide, lips parted, frozen in disbelief. Nick turned back to the strangers.
“You try anything with him,” he said, raising the knife, “and I swear I will end you.”

The redhead sighed like this was familiar, like he’d lived it before. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, Nick. Or Aiden.”

Nick flinched. “How do you know our names?”

The man with the tattoos looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, voice low, he said, “Because they’re ours.”

A beat of silence. Nick’s heart thudded against his ribs. “What?”

“We’ll explain everything,” the taller man said, his gaze softening. “Just—put the knife down.”

Nick didn’t move. He looked from one man to the other, his brain rejecting every conclusion it tried to draw.

The kitchen felt too still, too warm, too heavy. He swallowed hard, then finally nodded once. “Living room. You talk. But stay away from us.”

“Of course,” said the dark-haired man.

They all moved slowly, carefully, like trying not to spook a wild animal. Nick never once let the knife drop fully. Even as they walked toward the couches, he kept himself between them and Aiden, eyes flicking to every exit. Every movement. Every breath.
They sat—the older men taking the opposite couch. Nick herded Aiden to the seat beside him but angled himself diagonally, blocking the space, every muscle tense.

He didn’t trust them. He didn’t understand them. But if something happened, they’d have to go through him first.

The redhead folded his hands in his lap, smiling faintly like he’d seen this exact scene before.

And then, with the calm of someone who’d waited years for this moment, he said, “Okay. Let’s start with the part where you’re not dreaming.”

Nick hadn't lowered the knife. Even now, with everyone seated in what looked like the coziest living room this side of a Hallmark movie, he kept his fingers curled tight around the handle. Aiden sat beside him, knees bouncing slightly, eyes darting between the two men across from them like he expected them to morph into serial killers at any second.

The two strangers sat calmly, as if this was all completely normal.

“Okay,” the redhead began. “Let’s just say this outright. We’re you. From the future. You fell off the fire tower, your heads knocked together, and now you’re here, in your future, for a limited time. Think of it like… crossing wires in a timeline. An accident. But kind of a useful one.”

Nick barked a humorless laugh. “Right. So we’re supposed to believe you two are us? Like what, twenty years from now?”

“Eighteen,” said Older Aiden. “But who’s counting?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Aiden muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

“I’m not saying it’s normal,” Older Nick said, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, “but you’re here. In a house full of pictures of the two of you, that you’ve already seen and somehow managed not to connect the dots about.”

Nick’s expression darkened. “A picture proves nothing.”

“Okay,” Older Nick said, then sat back and yanked up the hem of his shirt, revealing a faint, crooked little tattoo just under his ribs. “How about this?”

Nick blinked. It was a stick-and-poke. The same stupid, shaky little mark he and Aiden had given each other when they were fifteen and bored and trying to impress no one but each other. A tiny star, more like an asterisk than anything meaningful, hidden under their shirts where no one could see.

Nick slowly turned, lifted his own shirt—and there it was. His own version. Same spot. Same angle. Same slightly smudged lines.
“What the—?”

“July 18th in the old fire tower, our first tattoo,” Older Nick said, grinning. “But the real reason you decide to it was so that you and Aiden would have something that bonded you forever.”

Aiden blinked hard. “Wait… that’s true.”

“Of course it is,” Older Nick said, clearly proud.

But Nick still wasn’t totally sold. “Okay, so you could’ve known about the tattoo. Maybe someone told you.”

Older Aiden sighed, his voice low and patient. “You sprained your ankle when Nick tried to teach you how to skateboard, you could’ve walked to the car, it wasn’t that bad, but you didn’t say that because you liked that Nick carried you to the car.”

Aiden’s face went pale. His lips parted like he wanted to deny it—but couldn’t. That moment had never left him. He’d never told anyone about it.

“…Only I knew that,” he whispered.

Nick shifted uneasily on the couch. “That still doesn’t prove anything.”

“Okay, fine,” said Older Nick. He stood up, crossed to the entry table by the door, and pulled open the drawer. From it, he pulled two worn leather wallets and walked back, tossing them gently onto the coffee table.

“Driver’s license,” he said, flipping one open and turning it around.

Nick leaned in cautiously, squinting.

Nicolas Vercillo, born the same day, same year. A different face, older and more lined, but unmistakably him.

Older Aiden’s ID sat beside it: Aiden McCaig.

Nick reached forward slowly and picked up the second wallet. Inside were a few creased photos, a library card, a beat-up lanyard for something that read: Public Radio Affiliate Pass. And a folded receipt for dog treats and popsicles.

Aiden looked at the table, stunned. “That’s… that’s your name. Your birthday. Your signature.”

Older Aiden smiled gently. “Want more?”

He held out his wrist. Around it was a leather bracelet—an old one, cracked and faded with age. On the inside was tiny handwriting burned into the leather:
To Aiden, the only person who ever made this place feel like home. – N

Nick’s eyes widened. “I made that.”

“When you were sixteen,” Older Aiden said. “I’ve never taken it off.”

Aiden sat back slowly, his legs folding under him, he stared at his own leather bracelet.

Nick was still trying to fight it, but the edges of his disbelief were fraying fast. There were too many little details, too many specific things that no stranger could fake.

“…So we fell,” Nick said, slowly, “off the tower…”

“Not far,” Older Nick confirmed. “But just enough. Head trauma. Timeline crack. And poof—here you are.”

Aiden stared at the wall of family photos again, slowly putting together what he’d refused to see earlier. “…This is your house?”Older Aiden nodded.

“Our house,” Older Nick corrected.

“And that girl—she’s—”

“Our daughter,” said Older Aiden, voice quiet and certain.

Nick dropped back onto the couch like the air had gone out of him.

The knife was still in his hand. But his grip loosened. And his heart pounded louder than ever.

~~~~~~~~~

Nick followed the red-haired man—himself—down the hallway in silence, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. Older Nick and Aiden decided to talk to themselves in private.

Every step echoed off the hardwood floors like a countdown to a breakdown. They stopped in what looked like an office, sun filtering through a wide window, books lining the walls. A dog bed sat in the corner, well-worn and clearly claimed.

Nick hovered awkwardly near the door until Older Nick dropped into the armchair with a soft grunt, stretched out his legs, and gestured to the couch.

“You can sit, you know. I’m not gonna stab you or anything. That’s your job.”

Nick didn’t laugh. He stayed standing. The older man studied him, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re freaking out.”

“No shit.”

A beat passed. Then Nick asked, like he had to say it out loud just to believe it, “We’re really married? To Aiden?”

Older Nick’s grin widened. “Yeah. We are. Happily. Legally. Stupidly. The best fucking decision of our life, hands down.”

Nick made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke. “You say that like you actually believe it.”

Older Nick tilted his head. “Kid, I’d marry him again right now if I could.”

Nick’s face twisted, horrified. “Jesus Christ.”

Older Nick just chuckled, kicked his feet up on the ottoman, and said, “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

Nick squinted at him. “Figured what out?”

“You’re gay.”

Nick stiffened instantly. “I’m not gay.”

“You are so gay.”

“I’m not.”

“Dude,” Older Nick said, voice dry with disbelief, “you are literally lying to yourself in front of your fully gay future self.”

Nick crossed his arms. “It’s not funny.”

“I mean, it’s a little funny. You should hear yourself.”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “I’m not gay. I can’t be gay. That’s not—”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Nick floundered. “Because I’m Nick Vercillo. I’m the starting midfielder. My dad’s already pissed I don’t want to major in business. I’ve got scouts watching my games. I’ve got a reputation. You think I can just—just be gay on top of all that?”

Older Nick raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you think being gay is some kind of cherry on top of your collapse?”

Nick opened his mouth, then shut it.

“I know what this feels like,” Older Nick said, softer now. “I remember every second of it. The fear. The denial. The nights we spent trying to convince ourselves that it was just a phase or some weird fluke, or that everyone probably looked at their best friend’s forearms and got confused.”

Nick looked horrified. “I don’t—!”

“You do,” Older Nick said, grinning now. “Locker rooms make you nervous—not because you’re modest, but because you’re busy trying not to stare. You don’t like the lights on when you hook up with girls because it’s easier to imagine something else when you can’t see.”

Nick’s face went red. “Oh my God.”

“You only watch porn with two guys and a girl—never just a guy and a girl—because you’re not even watching her. You’re watching them.”

Nick turned and paced the room, breathing hard. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t do that.”

“You literally skipped three classes last month because Aiden wore that black T-shirt that hugs his arms and you didn’t know how to be normal about it.”

Nick froze. Older Nick pointed a finger at him. “Gotcha.”

“I didn’t skip,” Nick muttered weakly.

“Sure. You just… took a scenic route to not spontaneously combust.”

Nick sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, head in his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

Older Nick shrugged. “Yeah, well. I couldn’t either.”

There was a long pause. Then, tentatively, Nick asked, “What about… the team? My family? What do we do?”

Older Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We keep it quiet for a while. Through senior year. We tell Aiden after graduation. You freak out. He freaks out. There’s crying. You both kiss. A lot. It’s all very dramatic.”

Nick blinked. “Wait—I tell Aiden?”

“Technically, you yell it in the parking lot of a Waffle House.”

Nick stared. Older Nick grinned. “But yeah. You keep the relationship quiet until college. Then you get sick of hiding. All you want to do is hold his hand in public, and kiss him on the damn mouth when he says something cute, and post dumb couple photos. Eventually, you just stop caring what other people think. You come out, and guess what? No one drops dead. The world keeps spinning. Your teammates? Still respect you. Some of them come to the wedding.”

Nick blinked again. “We get really get married.”

“Beach wedding. Aiden cried. So did you.”

Nick covered his face. “This is insane.”

“I know.”

“You’re not even making this up to mess with me?”

Older Nick snorted. “What kind of psychopath makes up this level of detail? I know how long you held on to your Blockbuster card. I know that you secretly wanted to learn the guitar but never did because you thought you’d look stupid. I know that when Aiden laughs so hard he cries, you can’t breathe properly for like ten minutes.”

Nick peeked through his fingers. Older Nick smiled, softer this time. “Dude,” he said gently, “you love him.”

Nick was quiet. Too quiet. Then, finally, in a voice that cracked a little at the edges, he asked, “So… we’re really happy?”

Older Nick’s face changed. All the sarcasm, the teasing, the smug grin—melted into something warm and proud and quiet.

“Aiden,” he said, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Nick’s throat tightened. He rubbed his face, sat back, legs stretched in front of him. “So I’m gay.”

“You’re gay.”

Nick sighed. “And we’re married.”

“And ridiculously in love.”

Nick groaned and flopped backward on the couch. “God, that explains so much.”

Older Nick laughed. “I know. Wait until you figure out what it’s like to wake up next to him every morning. It’s the best. Like waking up in your favorite place every day.”

Nick stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide.
“…Holy shit. I’m in love with Aiden McCaig.”

Older Nick grinned. “Welcome to the club, man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aiden sat curled up at the end of the guest room bed, legs drawn to his chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. His eyes wouldn’t stop flicking around the room—taking in the soft yellow walls, the stack of well-read books on the nightstand, the framed photo of the golden retriever on the dresser. The whole place smelled like clean laundry and lavender.

It was too nice. Too quiet. Too safe. He didn’t know what to do with that.

Older Aiden—his older self—sat in the armchair across from him, legs crossed, hands clasped together lightly. He didn’t try to fill the silence right away. He just let it settle, like he knew what it was made of.

Eventually, he spoke. Voice soft. Patient “You’re scared.”

Aiden’s throat bobbed. “This is insane.”

“I know.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand how this is possible.”

“I didn’t either,” Older Aiden said. “But here we are.”

Another long pause. Aiden looked down at his hands. “How does it… work out?”

A smile ghosted across Older Aiden’s lips. “Everything works out, Aiden. I promise.”

Aiden nodded faintly, but the question that had been burning in his chest slipped out anyway, barely above a whisper. “…What about Liam?”

Older Aiden’s expression shifted immediately—gone was the gentle calm, replaced by something sadder. Weary. Like he’d waited too long for this part of the conversation.

“We’re not with him, right?” Aiden added quickly. “In… your time?”

“No,” Older Aiden said, and exhaled like it physically hurt. “God, no.”

Aiden blinked. “But—”

“He never loved you, Aiden.” The words hit like a slap.

Older Aiden leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice still soft but firm now. “He used you. For attention. For sex. For control. And you let him. Because somewhere deep down, you believed that’s all you were worth.”

Aiden shook his head, too fast, too desperate. “That’s not fair—”

“You paid for everything. He ignores you when you try to tell him you don’t want to have sex. You skipped studying for your AP exams because he needed you, for sex. He ghosted you for three days after your birthday, and when he finally showed up, you apologized for being ‘needy.’ He weaponized your anxiety, do you have any idea how many panic attacks you’ve had because of him?”

Aiden’s throat tightened. “You know I’m right,” Older Aiden said, quiet now. “He didn’t love you. He didn’t like you. He just liked what he could take from you.”

“You’re wrong,” Aiden whispered.

“I wish I was.”

Aiden stared down at his hands, willing the tears to stay where they were.

“Dump him,” Older Aiden said gently. “Preferably before he hits you the first time.”

Aiden’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Yeah.” Older Aiden’s voice darkened. “It happens. Not right away. Just once. Then again. Only lasts a few weeks.”

Aiden’s voice cracked. “He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t think he would either. Not even when I saw the look in his eyes. Not even the first time it happened.”

Aiden felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I would’ve told someone.”

“You didn’t. You made excuses. You hid it. You thought… maybe if you were better, it wouldn’t happen again.”

Aiden shook his head. “No. I—I wouldn’t—”

“Nick found out.”

Aiden froze. Older Aiden leaned back, eyes distant. “He saw the bruise. Didn’t say a word. Just left. Next thing I knew, Liam was in the ICU.”

Aiden’s lips parted, stunned. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Older Aiden’s gaze was steady. “And you shouldn’t be surprised. Nick would both kill and die for you at any moment. That’s who he’s always been.”

Silence fell heavy again. Aiden couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t speak. He finally managed, “How did we… how did I end up with Nick? I promised myself I’d never say anything.”

Older Aiden tilted his head. “Why?”

Aiden laughed bitterly. “Because it’d ruin everything. Because he’d find out and then things would be weird and he wouldn’t even want me, so why risk it?”

Older Aiden nodded slowly, then asked, “And why are you so sure he wouldn’t want you?”

“Because.” Aiden looked away. “He’s Nick. He’s Nick. The golden boy. Everyone wants him. Everyone likes him. He has a future. He’s not broken. He’s not… me.”

“You think you’re broken.”

Aiden didn’t answer. “You think you’re hard to love,” Older Aiden said gently. “So you don’t let anyone try. You settle for less. You pretend you’re okay with crumbs, because asking for more makes you feel selfish.”

Aiden’s chest ached. “But you’re not hard to love,” Older Aiden said. “You’re scared. And tired. And hurt. But you’re not broken. You’re not too much. And you don’t ruin everything.”

He paused, then added, quieter: “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for the way other people treated you.”

Aiden’s eyes welled. He swiped at them, angry. “I don’t know how to stop,” he said.

“You don’t have to do it all at once. But start by getting rid of Liam.”

Aiden let out a shaky breath. “You’re not meant to be used,” Older Aiden said. “You’re meant to be loved. Really, truly loved. And Nick…” He trailed off with a small smile. “…Nick loves you in ways we didn’t even know were possible. He loves you like he was built for it. Like every part of him exists to hold you up. And the wildest part?”

Aiden glanced at him. “He doesn’t just love you in the future. He loves you now. Seventeen-year-old Nick? He’s already yours. You just haven’t let yourself see it yet.”

Aiden let his head fall back against the wall. His chest was tight and full all at once. “This is a lot.”

“I know.”

Aiden glanced over at him again. “…You really think I’m worth all that?”

“I know you are.”

He sniffed, blinking back another round of tears. “…Are we happy?”

Older Aiden smiled. “The happiest we’ve ever been.”

Aiden’s chest rose and fell slowly. And for the first time in a long time… he believed it might be true.
————————-

Nick had just barely composed himself after the conversation with his older self—half in denial, half emotionally wrung out—when the door creaked open behind him.

He turned, expecting to see Aiden. But it was Aiden—older.

Nick tensed instinctively, unsure of what to say, unsure how to exist around this version of his best friend. The one who was taller, more grounded, wearing a hoodie that looked like it had seen a thousand mornings and just as many nights. He carried himself like he’d lived through storms and still chose softness.

“Hey,” Future Aiden said, leaning against the doorway. “Mind if I…?”

Nick nodded mutely and gestured to the chair. Future Aiden walked in and sat across from him.

It was quiet for a long time. “You look at me like I’m a ghost,” Future Aiden said finally.

Nick shrugged awkwardly. “You kind of are.”

Future Aiden smiled. “Fair.”

Another pause. Then Future Aiden leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes steady. “Nick… I need to ask you something.”

Nick straightened, instinctively alert. “What is it?”

“It’s about Aiden.” He hesitated, then added, “Young Aiden. Your Aiden.”

Nick blinked at the phrasing. “Okay…”

“I need you to be patient with him.”

Nick frowned. “What?”

“I need you to understand… things won’t always be easy. Not with him. Not at first. He’s not going to believe that he deserves love. He’s going to flinch when you give it. He’ll tell you he’s fine when he’s bleeding. He’ll push you away when all he wants is to be pulled closer.”

Nick’s hands curled into fists in his lap. Future Aiden’s voice was low, even. “He’s going to make you feel like you’re losing him, when really he’s just terrified you’ll realize he’s not worth keeping.”

Nick’s chest tightened. “Don’t give up on him,” Future Aiden said, more quietly now. “No matter what.”

Nick sat in stunned silence. “I… I wouldn’t.”

“I know it won’t always feel simple,” Future Aiden said. “You’re going to try your hardest and sometimes it still won’t be enough to make him see what you see. But I’m asking you to keep trying. Keep showing up. Keep loving him until he learns to love himself.”

Nick swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you’re the first person who ever loved him right. And because your love is what changed his life.” Future Aiden smiled, just a little. “And because I know you—you need to understand what you’re walking into.”

Nick’s eyes burned. “I don’t care how hard it is. I’m not giving up on him. I won’t.”

Future Aiden’s smile softened. “You always say that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He looked down, then back up again. “He’s your person, isn’t he?”

Nick exhaled shakily. “Yeah. He is.” There was a silence that wrapped around them, not heavy but thick with emotion.
Nick glanced up again. “Is he— are you happy now?”

Future Aiden’s eyes warmed. “Yeah. He is.”

Nick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“And… a lot of that is because of you,” Future Aiden added. “Not because you fixed him—because you didn’t. But because you stayed. Because you loved him when he didn’t know how to ask for it.”

Nick blinked rapidly, trying to hold himself together.

“He’s not perfect,” Future Aiden said. “Neither are you. But you’re good together. You’re real. And sometimes that’s better than perfect.”

Nick looked down, a small, stunned smile forming. “So seventeen-year-old Aiden… he’s happy too?”

Future Aiden nodded. “At least when he’s with you.”

That did Nick in. He wiped at his eyes, grinning through it. “Jesus.”

“I know,” Future Aiden said, standing slowly. He hesitated, then looked down at Nick with something so full in his expression it almost hurt to see. “Take care of him for me?”

Nick stood, heart thudding. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

They stood like that for a moment—seventeen-year-old Nick and thirty-five-year-old Aiden—two ends of the same road looking at each other.

And when Future Aiden smiled, it was soft and certain and full of all the things Aiden didn’t know how to believe in yet.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he turned to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aiden was still perched on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around his knees, when Future Nick knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft and easy. “Mind if I come in?”

Aiden looked up. His eyes were a little red, but his shoulders weren’t so tight now. He nodded.

Future Nick stepped inside and sat down on the rug, cross-legged like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

Aiden gave him a crooked, tired smile. “This is… a lot.”

Future Nick nodded. “Yeah. It really is.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds. Then Future Nick exhaled slowly and looked up at Aiden with a gentle seriousness.

“I’m not trying to add more to your plate,” he said. “But I want to talk to you about… young Nick.”

Aiden blinked. “What about him?”

“He’s got walls,” Future Nick said simply. “Tall ones. Steel-reinforced.”

Aiden frowned slightly. “I know he’s private, but—”

“It’s more than that,” Future Nick said. “He’s spent his whole life being the golden boy. The athlete. The one everyone counts on. And because of that, he’s built this version of himself that looks perfect on the outside. The problem is, he’s terrified that if anyone gets too close, they’ll see the cracks.”

Aiden sat very still. “He’s not used to being vulnerable,” Future Nick continued. “He’ll hide behind the word ‘fine’ until he’s ready to explode. He’ll bury every emotion until it leaks out of him sideways. When he breaks—and he will break—it’s impossible to know if he’ll scream or cry. And when he does, he’s going to need someone to pick up the pieces.”

Aiden stared at the floor. “What if I can’t?”

Future Nick tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Aiden’s voice cracked slightly. “What if I’m not enough? What if I say the wrong thing, or don’t say anything, or he breaks and I don’t know how to fix it?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Future Nick—Nick, the same Nick who once clung to control like a lifeline—started to laugh. Aiden looked at him, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Future Nick said through a grin, “it’s just… God, you don’t get it yet, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You already help,” he said. “Even just being in the room, you help. Even just looking at him like you do. Nick doesn’t need you to fix him—he just needs to know someone sees him and stays. And you do. You always do.”

Aiden’s eyes shimmered again, but this time he smiled too.

“You’ll get better at it,” Future Nick added. “Way better. You’ll know how to calm him down when he spirals. You’ll know which touch means stay and which means give me space. You’ll figure out how to pull him back when he starts drifting.”

Aiden hugged his knees tighter. “Any tips?”

“Yeah.” Future Nick’s grin turned soft and knowing. “Nick will never ask to be held. But he wants to be. So do it anyway. Literally hold him together.”

Aiden let out a breathy laugh. “Okay. Got it.”

They sat in comfortable silence again, something warm stretching between them now. Aiden leaned his cheek against his knee.

After a moment, he asked the question that had been buried at the bottom of his chest all day. “Why… does he love me?”

Future Nick blinked at him. Then his expression melted into something so gentle it almost hurt to look at.

“Because you see him,” he said. “You really, really see him. You look at him like he’s more than his stats and his GPA and his ‘golden boy’ image. You look at him like he’s a person, even when he forgets how to be one.”

Aiden stared, wide-eyed. “He loves you,” Future Nick continued, “because when he’s with you, he doesn’t have to perform. He doesn’t have to be anything except himself. And somehow, you love that version of him—the one with the sharp edges and the panic attacks and the fear of not being good enough.”

Aiden’s breath hitched. “And because you love all of him,” Future Nick said quietly, “he learns to love himself, too.”

Aiden pressed his forehead to his knees.
“He loves you,” Future Nick repeated, “because you make him feel like he’s worth loving, even when he’s not sure he is.”

Aiden sniffed, but smiled. “Okay. That… makes sense. I guess.”

“You don’t have to believe it all yet,” Future Nick said. “You just have to trust that it’s true.”

Aiden looked up at him. “You really think I can take care of him?”

Future Nick nodded once. “Better than anyone else ever could.”

Then he stood, stretched slightly, and looked down at the younger version of the person who changed everything for him.

“Take care of him for me, okay?”

Aiden rose too, heart pounding. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”

They didn’t hug. There were no fireworks. Just the quiet, unshakable certainty that something big had shifted.

And for the first time, Aiden believed he could hold something that mattered—really mattered—and not let it break.
—————————————

The four of them gathered in the living room again, the early evening light casting golden beams through the tall windows. Young Nick and Aiden sat on the wide couch, side by side but not touching, both looking a little stunned, a little shell-shocked, but far more settled than they’d been earlier.

Across from them, older Nick and older Aiden curled up in an armchair built for two—Nick’s legs thrown over Aiden’s lap like it was second nature, Aiden’s hand resting on his ankle, thumb idly tracing circles against his skin.

It was, objectively, a little weird.

Young Nick stared at them for a beat “You’re… really touchy.”

Older Nick snorted. “You’re going to be. Don’t fight it.”

Aiden nudged younger Nick with his elbow. “I told you you were a clingy sleeper.”

“I’m not clingy,” Nick muttered.

“You used me as a full-body pillow at that cabin trip sophomore year.”

“You were warm,” Nick snapped.

“You had your nose in my neck, Nick.”

“Yeah well, apparently I marry you, so maybe I was just getting a head start.”

Older Nick grinned. “You’re catching on quick.”

There was a brief, slightly stunned silence, then young Aiden blinked, shifting on the couch. “Can we… ask you stuff?”

“Anything,” older Aiden said.

Nick leaned forward, elbow on his knee. “Do we have a family?”

Older Nick nodded, his face softening instantly. “Yeah. One daughter.”

Aiden’s eyes went wide. “We’re… dads?”

“Yep.”

Younger Aiden leaned back like he’d been hit with a feather. “I never thought—I always figured I’d mess it up. That I wouldn’t know how to do any of it.”

Older Nick’s head snapped toward him, gentle but firm. “You’re an incredible dad, Aiden. Like, the kind of dad people wish they had.”

Aiden’s throat bobbed. “I wouldn’t be able to raise her without you,” older Nick added, voice thick with honesty. “You handle the emotional stuff so well—better than I ever could. You see her. You know when something’s wrong before she even says it.”

Older Aiden flushed a little, but squeezed his Nick’s ankle. “And I couldn’t do it without him,” he said. “Nick’s her rock. He’s her protector. When the world feels big, she runs to him, and he holds it still for her.”

Young Aiden blinked quickly. “What’s her name?”

“Junie,” older Aiden said. “Short for Juniper.”
“You named her,” older Nick added, turning toward his husband with a grin. “I tried to fight it, but he wore me down.”

“You loved the name,” older Aiden said, bumping his knee into Nick’s. “You cried the first time she said it.”

“I deny all emotion,” future Nick said smoothly.

Young Nick laughed before he could stop himself. He looked down a moment later, thoughtful. “Where do we live? I told myself I’d get out of Colorado.”

“You do,” older Nick said. “We live in LA now.”

Nick’s eyes flicked up. “Really?”

“Really. You made it out. You played college ball. Got your degree. Got offered a coaching position out west, and we decided to try it out.”

“You don’t miss running?” Nick asked, quieter now. “You don’t… want to keep moving so no one can get too close?”

Older Nick’s face gentled. “No,” he said. “Once Aiden and I moved in together, I stopped running. I didn’t need to anymore. Home stopped being a place I hadn’t found yet—it became him.”

Aiden’s chest clenched at that, a quiet, pained kind of sweetness rising in his chest.

Older Aiden added, “Sometimes you still get restless. When that happens, we travel. Weekend trips, beach houses, city breaks. But the difference is, now we always go together.”

There was a warm pause. Young Nick looked around the room. “So like… are we happy? Like, actually happy?”

Older Nick and Aiden looked at each other.
There it was again—that look. The one where everything else fell away. Where time folded in on itself. Where thirty-six and seventeen blurred together.

Older Nick reached up, tucked a hand behind Aiden’s neck, and kissed him—slow, sure, full of years of familiarity and affection and want.

Young Nick and Aiden both stared, stunned “Oh my God,” Aiden whispered.

“You kiss him?” Nick asked.

Older Nick pulled back just far enough to glance their way and smirk. “Nick, I don’t just kiss him.”

Aiden choked. Older Aiden rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s charming.”

“I am charming. You married me.”

“I married you for your lasagna recipe and your panic attack playlists.”

Older Nick turned to Aiden, eyes wide. “We have sex.”

Aiden covered his face with both hands. “Please stop talking.”

Older Nick threw his head back laughing. “You’re so screwed, man.”

Older Aiden shook his head but was laughing too, cheeks pink, hand still resting on Nick’s knee like it belonged there.

They let the laughter fade into quiet again. The good kind. The full kind.

Young Nick cleared his throat. “So… what do we do? Job-wise?”

“You’re a basketball coach,” older Nick said. “You work for a college team. You yell a lot. You’re terrifying. The players adore you.”

Aiden grinned. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I’m a clinical therapist,” older Aiden added. “I specialize in trauma work.”

Aiden blinked. “Really?”

“You’re really good at it,” Future Nick said. “I brag about you constantly.”

Aiden looked down, suddenly shy. “That’s… kind of amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Future Nick said softly.
And it was so casual, so effortless, that it stunned the younger versions of themselves into silence again.

Older Aiden leaned forward, locking eyes with his younger self. “We’re not perfect. Things aren’t always easy. But they’re ours. And we fight for them. For each other.”

Older Nick looked at the boys across from him. “You two—us—you’re gonna get it wrong sometimes. But you’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”

Nick and Aiden just nodded, quietly, soaking in every detail like it might disappear if they blinked.

Then older Nick stood and offered a hand to younger Aiden. “Take care of him,” he said, nodding toward young Nick.

Aiden took his hand and stood. “I will.”

Older Aiden stepped toward Nick and placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you take care of him.”

Nick nodded. “I already do.”

“You really do,” Aiden murmured, eyes flicking toward him.

There was a soft flash of light outside the windows then—like a shimmer of air before a storm breaks.

Older Aiden looked toward the window, then back at them. “It’s time.”

“What happens now?” Younger Aiden asked.

“You won’t remember most of this, but you’ll get weird feelings of deja vu, and you’ll have instincts that lead you to exactly where you need to be.” Future Aiden explained, stepping back.

Nick and Aiden looked at each other. At the older versions of themselves. At the life waiting down the road.

“I guess we’ll see you soon,” Aiden said.

Older Nick smiled. “Sooner than you think.”
And then the light swallowed everything.

——————————

Everything was white for a moment. Not bright. Not dark. Just white. Then pain.

Not sharp, but heavy—like waking up after too little sleep and too much gravity. Nick groaned, blinking against the sky above him. The fire tower loomed around them, creaking faintly in the wind. The air smelled like pine and dust and old metal.

He tried to sit up. His head throbbed “Aiden?” he croaked.

There was another groan to his right, followed by a rustle of movement. Nick turned and saw Aiden, half-splayed against the platform floor, blinking slowly. “I’m here,” Aiden mumbled, voice rough. “What the hell happened?”

Nick winced as he pushed himself upright. “Stairs gave out.”

“Right.” Aiden sat up too, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think we blacked out,” Nick said. “Like… both of us.”

Aiden frowned, clearly trying to piece it together. “I don’t remember hitting my head.”

“Me neither. Just the crack—then nothing.”
They both looked around. The sky had shifted—the light a little warmer, the sun a little lower. Maybe an hour had passed. Maybe less.

Nick turned toward Aiden, still sitting in the dust and pine needles, his hair tousled, a leaf caught in the shoulder of his hoodie.
“You okay?” Nick asked, already crawling toward him to help.

“I think so,” Aiden said. “Just kinda... dazed.”
Nick held out his hand without thinking.
Aiden hesitated just a second before sliding his palm into Nick’s.

The moment their fingers touched, a jolt shot through both of them—soft, but sharp, like static behind the ribs. Their eyes snapped to each other.

They didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

Nick’s fingers were wrapped around Aiden’s like they were made to be there. Aiden’s skin was warm. Familiar. Like home.

But neither of them remembered why.

After a second too long, Nick gently pulled Aiden to his feet. Neither of them let go right away. They just stood there, blinking in the strange weight of the moment.

Then Nick cleared his throat and let go, rubbing his palm against his jeans like he hadn’t just felt something shift.

Aiden looked away, brushing off his hoodie, his fingers twitching slightly at his side.
Neither of them mentioned the weird flash behind their eyes.

Neither said a word about the way their heartbeats had jumped.

And somewhere deep inside—far beneath the surface—something ancient and aching and true stirred between them.

The moment passed. But it didn’t really leave.

“Let’s… go home,” Nick said, voice a little unsteady.

“Yeah,” Aiden agreed, glancing at him. “Let’s go.”