Chapter Three: Wednesday.

It's Wednesday. She has hockey practice.

At least that's what she keeps telling him between the kisses that she presses against his neck. (He really really likes the ones along his collarbone. They make him shiver.) He doesn't quite believe her seeing as how she's been murmuring those same words for the past twenty minutes but hasn't made any move to detach her lips from his skin and leave their special spot (one of a few—a little recess along the outside wall of the gym building) for the girls' locker room.

His right hand grips her hip and the other is curling around the nape of her neck as he draws her closer, his mouth trailing from her jaw to her lips. He swallows her moans and they fill his tummy with so much good feeling that it only makes him deepen the kiss, making her chances of escape drop from slim to none. He needs her to feed his hunger, that horrible ache in his gut.

(He wants to be normal. He wants to be normal. He just wants to be normal. Is that so bad?)

But her hands find their way to his shoulders and with a small gasp, she finally manages to push herself away from him. It's really unfair of him, but he plays dirty and uses his puppy dog eyes to get her to stay. Her fingers flutter at his jaw and he shudders slightly (and he feels everything, he feels alive).

"Hockey practice!" Macy exclaims and points a warning finger at him with his other hand.

He playfully grabs her finger, drawing the others along with it to intertwine with his own. "Don't leave?" Ever, he wants to add.

"Nick!" she admonishes him, but not before she gives in and kisses him softly on the lips. "I'm gonna be late and I haven't even changed yet! If I'm late again the coach is gonna be so mad. It doesn't help that was also late last week because you suddenly showed up with frozen yogurt—with gummi bears even!—and you knew how hard it would be for me to resist that. On top of which, I was late the week before that because you—"

She is silenced by a finger. Her finger no less, care of one Nick Lucas who has unwittingly accosted her other hand. She puts her "game face" on (the one she only uses when the competition is fierce) and he can't help but wrap his arms around her, gathering her tightly to him.

"Okay, okay." He takes a deep breath of her apple-scented hair and finally lets her go.

Smiling up at him, she pushes her finger against his nose. "You're so weird, acting like I'll be gone for forever. It's just a couple of hours, silly bunny." And with one last kiss and a room-brightening smile, she waves goodbye and prances off to the locker room.

He, in turn, slings his schoolbag over one shoulder and makes his way toward the parking lot where his brothers and Stella are waiting while his mind wanders to that night two weeks ago when Macy those first kisses were exchanged. If he closes his eyes, he can recall exactly how her lips moved (each curve, each nuance) as she told him that she liked him. She ignited something in him and he spent the entire of that night stamping it down. There's just too much guilt involved in knowing that he can't reciprocate what she feels. But the next day right before hockey practice, she pulled him into the janitor's closet and before he could even say anything those lips are on his and all thoughts of feeling guilty left his body (comfortably replaced by her gentle hands and delicate fingers).

(He's too weak to stop himself, he's realized.)

Hence, he rationalizes it.

He makes her happy. He really really does. (He can tell by her smile and she's giving all of those to him now and only him.) And she… She makes him… feel alive. So he kisses her back, all the while thinking that what they have is good for the two of them. It's a good thing. A really good thing.

(And God has yet to smite him so he takes that as a good sign.)

But they decide not to tell anyone. Keep it secret. Just between the two of them. It makes it more special, Macy told him in the quiet of the janitor's closet, she doesn't want to share just yet. He agreed. He doesn't know how he'll answer everyone's questions (especially the one that goes "So are you a couple or what?"). But mostly because he doesn't want to talk to Kevin anymore about Macy.

(And that terrible part of him feels victorious. Like he's the better brother. But better at what, he's not entirely sure.)

"Finally, Nicholas!" Joe shouts from across the parking lot the minute Nick's shoes come in contact with asphalt. "Where've you been?"

He forgoes answering until he's closer to the group of three. "Library," he explains quietly. Then he promptly ignores Kevin's raised eyebrow by throwing his stuff in the trunk.

"Shotgun!" Joe cries, throwing himself into the front passenger leaving the others no other choice but to climb in after him and head home.

Stella, apparently, decides at some point to spend the entire ride home staring at Nick. It's a little more difficult trying to ignore her (because Stella Malone will not be ignored!) than it is to ignore Kevin. He tries to fix his face into one of those blank, disinterested looks and turns to fix her with it but she answers with a knowing smirk and it really throws him off-guard.

He knows for a fact that Stella doesn't know anything for certain. He's not being a jerk when he says that Stella cannot keep a secret. Two seconds and she's texting it to Joe. But now she's acting like they're in on something and it's scaring him a little that there's a something in his life that he's not aware of.

(Because his life is already full of little somethings that another one will just… just... It's too much.)

He changes his look to a questioning one and Stella mimics him before giggling silently and it works like a stun gun on him, leaving him frozen in place and trying to digest what it all means. (Frankly, he's tired of trying to think of what things mean but that's who he is. At least, the only part of himself he still recognizes when he looks in the mirror every morning.)

What exactly does Stella Malone know?

"I know what you're up to!" she announces but in hushed tones once she's managed to corner him near the bathroom.

"I need to pee, Stella."

In a blatant disregard for Nick's (and his bladder's) wellbeing, she ignores him and even pokes a finger into his chest. He can feel her fingernail digging into his uniform and tries to shake it off. Big mistake, of course. Stella on a mission never takes well to being brushed off, though. Certainly years of being her friend has taught him that, but the impending topic is something he'd really rather not talk about it. For all intents and purposes, he intends to sweep it under the rug (where lies broken guitar strings, promises and dreams).

"Nick Lucas! Will you stop being so avoidy with me? I just want to talk!"

"Avoidy? That's not even a word, Stell."

Her eyes narrow to tiny slits that make Nick fear for his life. (On the other hand, he also wants to goad her further to see if he can push her and provoke her to commit murder. You know. Just to see if he can.)

"Listen, Nicholas. You and Macy can deny things all you want but I know when something is going on! You don't think I can smell it when it's happening right underneath my nose?" One of Stella's brows is arched at him now and Nick thinks that it's infinitely better than having her death glare trained on him. He could lose a curl of hair with those laser eyes of hers.

(Which is also why he refrains from pointing out that Stella can be a little self-absorbed sometimes. That'll secure him a painful death for sure.)

He scratches his forehead in feigned wonder and even resorts to lifting a stoic eyebrow for added effect. The conversation is travelling down a road that Nick does not want to be on and if it means he has to lie (like he always does to himself) to get out of it, then he will. (He tells himself that it's because he's tired but he doesn't know how long that excuse will last—see; lies.)

"Stella, I seriously need to take a piss. If you don't move out of the way, I'll likely wet my pants. I don't think either of us wants to see that happen," he says, giving her a pointed look.

Before she can get another word in, he quickly pushes past her into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him—effectively painting himself into a corner. He doesn't really need to pee (because he's a liar-liar-pants-on-fiiiiiiiiire!).

"I can hear you not peeing, Nick!"

He groans, all the while trying to refrain from banging his head against the door. "Performance anxiety, Stell! Go away! I can hear you breathing from the other side of the door!"

Because he should have known better—but he never does, does he—after just a few moments, Nick opens the door slightly, peeking through the crack to see Stella looking a little blue in the face. Holding her breath in. Pretending not to be there. (Sometimes, he can totally see the attraction between Joe and Stella.) He gives up and smiles at her for trying so valiantly to force him to talk. She takes this as a good sign and expels all that pent-up air. Then she gives him a smug little smile because she can never resist an opportunity to do so.

"Are you gonna start talking?"

"What am I supposed to be talking about?"

Hands are thrown in the air in apparent exasperation. Nick dodges them easily.

"You and Macy? Two of my best friends? Are you guys, like, together or something? Because if you are that'd be—whoa. I can't even imagine…"

"I honestly don't know what to tell you," he replies honestly, not really knowing what to tell her. "Macy and I… We've gotten closer. We're really good… friends now."

"Friends… Friends…" Stella repeats the word, as if trying to test it out and study how it rolls off her tongue. "Friends, Nick? You expect me to buy the whole 'just friends' thing?"

"Yes, friends. Like you and Joe are friends. I buy that."

(Nick of JONAS, one; Stella Malone, zero.)

(Wait wait wait. Nick Lucas. Nick Lucas. NickLucasNickLucasNickLucasNickLucas.)

"Don't you dare go there, Nicholas! That's a totally different thing. Completely different situation with completely different people involved and it's just different, okay?" Stella announces all this emphatically enough that he is all but compelled to nod in agreement.

"Okay, fine. We've kissed."

"You've "kissed" her? "Kissed" implies that it only happened a handful of times." Stella really has an affinity for air-quotes. "Nick, no girl goes to town with her lip balm before lunch because of a small peck on the lips. Oh yes, I know you've been making out. Kevin told me."

Kevin?

"Kevin?"

And she gives him another smug look. "Yeah, he told me a couple of weeks ago that he caught you two up here in your room, making out on your bed… Seriously, Nick. What's going on? Macy's all avoidy with me and you're all 'I don't know what to tell you' and Joe's like 'Is there something going on that I should know about?' and Kevin's been pestering me to pester you and Macy and—" She pauses to take a much needed breath. "It's driving me nuts!"

Nick stares at her hard, knowing that there's no way he can explain things to Stella (when he can't even explain things to himself in words that make sense) and not come off as a complete jerk. The answers she's looking for won't be as pleasant as she might hope. They won't elicit girly little Awws and Ooohs. They may, in fact, lead her to punch him in the gut and he'll probably deserve it. How can he tell her that he's just using her best friend to be able to just… feel. Something. Anything. Because his life has made him hungry for crowds of screaming fans and lime lights and special treatment and in Macy he gets a fan and some special treatment and one-and-a-half out of two isn't bad.

(But it really, really is.)

(Really is.)

So Nick tells his best friend, Stella, what she wants to hear.

"I like Macy."

"Like… Like like?"

"Sure."

(And someday he'll look back on this day and think that this is where it all went wrong. A Wednesday.)

It's after dinner and he's taking out the garbage (because they're really just a normal family yadda yadda yadda) when a slim pair of arms wrap around his waist, fingers slipping into his pockets. He drops the garbage bags unceremoniously and leans back against the warm and welcoming body.

"This is a holdup," is whispered in his ear. It's rather the opposite of threatening.

He grins, grabbing hold of the thin wrists pressed against his pelvis. "You already have your hands deep enough in my pockets to know that I've got nothing in them, Macy."

"I know," she replies softly. "They're sad pockets, Nick."

"Sad pockets?"

"Yup! Empty pockets are sad pockets."

It's so weird, but it's so Macy and he has learned never to argue with her logic. He turns in her arms and finds her studying him intently. It unnerves him a little because her eyes seem to be looking for answers but he doesn't know what the questions are.

"What about your pockets? Got anything in 'em?" He mentally crosses his fingers, hoping to distract her from whatever has been going on in her head. "Or do you have sad pockets, too?"

She smiles and pulls out her mobile phone from one pocket, her house keys from another, a wadded up piece of tissue from her back pocket and a guitar pick. A familiar-looking guitar pick, actually. A guitar pick that used to sit near the edge of his equipment table but suddenly vanished a couple of weeks ago. He didn't give it much thought then—he's more than capable of losing picks than he wants to admit—so he's more amused than anything that she's the culprit.

"Isn't that mine?"

"Maaaaybe?" she answers, titling her head to the side and opening her eyes wide to appear all innocent—appear, being the operating word. He's noticed that it's a facial expression she gets when she knows that she's touched him in a way that will make him physically unable to resist touching her back.

(He likes that look. A lot.)

"Looks like I've got myself a little thief." He draws her to him, arms wrapping around her tightly. It's the small sigh of contentment that he feels against his neck that makes him believe that what this is (whatever this is), is a good thing.

A very very good thing, he thinks when he feels Macy's hands slip into his back pockets this time. However, Macy is only a girl and girls like to ruin moments by talking.

"Nick?"

The way his name drips off the tip of her tongue like honey tells him what he needs to know. His little thief has been talking to his best friend/stylist/Stella-Malone-who-can't-keep-her-mouth-shut. Although, admittedly, it would have been a little far-fetched to hope that she didn't immediately call Macy to share her conversation with Nick earlier.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" is the question that takes him by surprise but he supposes that standing in front of a garbage bin really isn't suitable for any sort of conversation. Which gives him all the more reason to stay right where he is, except Macy doesn't wait for him to answer as she grabs his hand and drags him in the direction of a nearby park.

The neighborhood is quiet save for their sneakers scuffing along the pavement as they walk hand-in-hand in the night. Nick looks at Macy looking up at the stars, squinting as she connects them with her finger.

"Only children know what they are looking for…"

He's startled by the poignancy of her words before realizing that they sound a little familiar.

"The Little Prince," Macy supplies helpfully. She sighs and continues to trace the stars as if she were mapping something out—a destination of sorts. "My dad used to read it to me when I was a child. I didn't quite understand it then but I loved it nonetheless. Still do. So every now and then, when the skies are clear and the stars are out, I try to guess where he is and what he's doing… That sounds really silly, doesn't it?"

See, one of the things he likes about being with Macy is that she has these rather profound moments and that, coupled with her soft, sweet voice, often lulls him into a feeling of contentment. Albeit briefly, it's a welcome escape to all those warring thoughts in his head.

Everything about Macy is an escape, he thinks, as he pulls on her hand to bring her closer to his side.

"It's not silly," he assures her, matching the softness in her voice. Because it isn't silly. Because he's the same way. He's also holding on to things that remind him of who he was.

She smiles up at him then, a smile that is just as bright in the evening sky as it is during the day, and he's starting to think that maybe he doesn't really deserve those smiles that she gives him with her whole heart because he doesn't give her anything with his whole heart.

(But he stuffs that one smile in his back pocket.)

(It makes his pocket a little happier, he justifies to himself.)

The second they step foot on the green grass of the park, Macy breaks into a run toward the swings, bringing Nick along with her. Her fingers are tight around his as their feet pound loudly against the ground and his heart pumps loudly in his ears. They stop when they reach their destination, both out of breath and both with cheeks tinged pink.

This is what he wants—a one-way ticket into Macy's world. Where everything is just so much more than what it is. Even in the dark, he knows that the grass is greener here and he grips her hand tighter because it's a gift, this moment, and he doesn't quite know how to thank her. So he just pulls her to him and buries his face in the crook of her neck, hoping that his vulnerability is enough thanks.

(But nothing he can give her will ever be enough.)

In that single moment, Nick thinks that maybe he can do this. That he can really like Macy the way she deserves to be liked. He thinks that maybe now that she's stopped seeing him as Nick of JONAS that he can stop himself that way too. Then they can just be Nick and Macy. In Macy's world. Where the frogs are really really green. Where all his feelings are true.

(Where he doesn't have to lie to himself.)

When he finally releases her and looks into her eyes, he almost doubles over. He wants to run away as fast as he can, for as long as he can and then throw up once he's done. Because there's just too much love and hope swimming in her eyes and there's just a large part of him (that's just too too large) that wants to take it all and push it down his throat. He wants to swallow it all down and then maybe he can look at her the same way. But he can't. He's not ready.

And Macy knows this.

"Why'd you have to tell Stella that you like me?" Her voice is devoid of any bitterness or accusation. It's just full of curiosity and, somehow, understanding. (She's just all of these things that he doesn't deserve. Including the rainbows and the frogs.)

It's in him to feign ignorance, it really is, but this Macy who has already given him so much and so he hangs his head, ashamed. "I don't know," he finally answers after an eternity.

Whatever reaction he thinks she'll have (anger, disappointment, resentment) doesn't come. Instead she just sighs and rests a hand on his cheek. "I won't lie," she whispers, as if she were sharing a secret with the night, "When she told me what you said, I thought I was going to pass out but the coach was like 'Misa! Head in the clouds much?' and so yeah, that didn't happen. But…"

"But?"

"I'm not stupid, Nick," she tells him plainly. She shakes her head and removes every part of her body away from him, warm fingertips and all. "I have these moments when I think that, maybe, yeah, you could feel the same way. But those moments are just that—a few moments in each day that I never dwell on for too long because if I did…"

He reaches out to her then and even when his fingers curl around her wrist it feels like she's a million miles away (and maybe it wasn't a one-way ticket after all). But she looks at him with and there's still all that love there, mixed with despair, mixed with hopelessness that eats at his heart.

"If I think about things for too long, I'm afraid that I'll just hate you and I don't want that… So I tell myself that you're not ready. That maybe we've moved too fast and you're overwhelmed. And I tell myself that when we're together, when you touch me, everything you say is true. But you know what the problem with that is?"

Not knowing what to say, he remains mute, hoping that it'll be enough to encourage her to continue. The words will be painful, he knows, but he thinks that of all the things that she's ever given him, he deserves the pain most of all.

"You don't say much. In fact, you don't say anything, Nick." She pulls away from him again, quite deliberately this time as she flings his hand away. Walking the few steps to the swing set and sits down dejectedly. (And there's nothing left of his heart at this point; all her emotions have eaten it all up.)

"Macy… I'm sorry," he attempts lamely at an apology. But it's so empty, so… weak that he tries again. "I didn't mean to… I mean… I wish…"

But her eyes arrest him in the middle of his awkward sputtering. So he tries again, to get the words out, to make her understand.

"There's something wrong with me, Macy. I can't explain… I wish I could."

"Try."

Shoving his hands into his empty pockets, Nick does as he's asked. "I'm out of control. Man, that sounds stupid…" and he would have stopped there had she not reached over and placed her hand on his. "Have you ever felt like you're losing yourself? This life—I feel like I have to be two people at the same time and I look at my brothers and they're the exact opposite, you know? Kevin and Joe… they do it so effortlessly. They're always real."

Her fingers slowly intertwine with his and he takes a deep breath before continuing. "Me, I hold back. Nick of JONAS, I push him to the back of my mind where he likes rocking out on his guitar and banging on his drums. He likes being the center of attention, the leader. He likes the screaming fans and he secretly revels when they get a little overeager and tear off his sleeve." Nick gives Macy a rueful smile and he's glad when she returns it with a slight blush.

"I hold myself back because every day I want to be more Nick of JONAS and less… me. And then there you were on a particularly bad day and you just… made me feel good. I sang you songs and you smiled. I sat beside you and you're like a kid on Christmas day. With you, I don't need the crowds of fans…"

They sit there for a while, letting the words hang in the air before a breeze comes and blows them away. He's a little afraid of the silence, afraid that it means that whatever he has or had with Macy has been rendered irreparable. But he's already said too much, too much truth to be able to take it all back and pretend that it hadn't happened. Except it did and he doesn't know how to save himself.

(There are no lifesavers for this kind of drowning.)

His only hope is that maybe, in the grand scheme of things, he isn't really meant to save himself.

"So…"

Nick turns to Macy, who's looking back at him, eyes shining with a billion unasked questions and a few unshed tears. It makes him ache, a worse ache that he's ever felt and it propels him to stand, pulling her along with him as he begins to walk. The pace gets faster and faster until they're running again but this time without a destination in mind. He thinks maybe they can run forever and that the world will just be a blur.

"Nick!" Macy shouts when they've almost cleared the park and are stomping on pavement again. She tries to shake off his hand but he only lets go when she adds, "You're hurting me!"

(He wonders when he'll be able to stop hurting her altogether.)

"I'm sorry!" The words come out harsher than he intends.

"Nick…" That's when he notices that she's crying, her glistening tears making her cheeks sparkle. "I don't think I can do this… not anymore. I won't be Macy the fan to your Nick of JONAS, okay? That's how you see me, right? Just some fan… some fan who makes you feel good, who makes you feel like Nick of JONAS without having to feel guilty."

And he's breathing hard now, frozen as she reads all the thoughts in his head and in his heart. She's tearing the words out of his body and he knows that when she's done he'll just be an empty shell. But she takes his silence as a quiet confession and she begins to step away from, feet moving backward as she launches another emotional missile at him and it hits him with such precision and force.

"You stopped being Nick of JONAS to me a long time ago and I thought that you'd finally started to see me as being more than a fan. Now I find out that all this… you and me…" Her voice falters and she sounds so weak, so unlike Macy that he wants to take it all back. But it's just too late. "I know that what you're going through—I know it's hard. You don't know who you are, Nick of JONAS or Nick Lucas or Nick whatever. But you know what, Nick? I know who I am. I'm Macy. Macy."

Her hands come up to her face to wipe away the tears. "I really like you. I really really really like you… So please… Leave me alone."

This is not what he wanted, Nick thinks as he watches Macy walk away.

This is what he gets—her heart. Broken.

(It'll be a while before he'll like Wednesdays again.)

Author's Notes:

Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter. I have a great deal of love for each and every one of them! :] Keep them coming! (Because I honestly don't know if I'm doing this right!)

Two things:

1- At this point, I know everyone's like "Huh? What is wrong with Nick?" but I'll put him on some path to redemption eventually!

2- This might feel a little rushed. But I only have seven chapters to tell the story! :D Haha!