#and i’m warning u in advance there’s like seven conan gray songs and i’m not remotely sorry

[concreteburialplot]

Intertwined // 04

04 - Snapped Neck

pairing: noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlists: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 5.1k

warnings; VERY SAD 🥲, mild yelling/verbal abuse?, hints at past abuse, reference to past character death, noah is a devastated horrible depressed mess, short time skips, don’t say i didn’t warn you - sorry in advance, don’t hate me 🥲

reminder; THIS IS AU, nothing is meant to be accurate, including family history/events/dynamics/members/names !!

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

i’d like to offer a small playlist for this chapter:

seven - taylor swift

matilda - harry styles

winner - conan gray

hard times - ethel cain

anything 4 u - LANY

if it keeps you up at night - the swoons

-NOAH-

After much-needed water bottles, I’m finally starting to feel somewhat normal again. Folio’s asleep in bed next to me while I lay on a laughably thin blanket on the floor. My eyes fully adjusted to the darkness and all I’m focused on is the popcorn ceiling and counting each plaster peak.

The party rages on the other side of the room and I wonder if anyone out there is sober enough to take me home. It’s almost 1 am and the party hasn’t slowed down. I sigh roughly and roll over to wrap the thin pillow around my head to cover both ears. Even through the cotton I can still vaguely hear the music and a song starts that Nicholas and I were obsessed with a couple months ago.

I chuckle quietly at the lyrics,

“That’s my best friend, she a real bad bitch…”

Such a silly song, even though it’s nothing like what we play or what we regularly listen to – we somehow always get the same pop-y songs stuck in our heads at the same time, then end up loving them unironically.

I shake my head with a stupid grin, thinking about the time we were in the kitchen doing a proper, ridiculous performance while we blasted it through a Google speaker. It started with that song but then snowballed into an entire concert at 2 am – all while his little sister just made fun of us, until she eventually caved in and joined our set.

We were all mic-ed up: me a dustpan, Nicholas a broom, and Stella a spatula.

I dig my front teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a laugh that would definitely wake up Folio.

The memory makes the ground below me that much more rigid.

I’ve already tried sleeping every which way on this god-forsaken carpet, but I can’t seem to get comfy.

The hard floor must be the reason I can’t fall asleep.

I flip back to lay flat.

I don’t really understand why Nick got so upset, but it’s been a long night, so I guess I get it. I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled about getting in the lake. Fucking Folio.

And I know he doesn’t like parties.

I don’t really like them either. I think? Maybe I do now? I don’t know.

But I didn’t want to do this without him.

And I just let him leave like that…

God why did I let him leave.

I want to go home.

I need to go home.

There’s a sharp twist in my stomach when I unlock my dying phone and find no texts from him.

I open my bank app to check my balance. $33.87.

I exit and click on the Uber app, put in our address to see the price. $27.59.

I hit request.

I get home after an Uber ride from a questionable middle-aged man with ridiculous combover.

I fumble with my keys at the front door only to find that it’s not locked. I press my weight against the creaky wooden door to push it open. The house is quiet, if Nick’s car wasn’t in the driveway, I’d think the house was completely empty.

I quietly set my keys down on the wooden dining table across from the kitchen. The bedroom door in the hallway is closed, which I expected. I cross the linoleum and very gently twist the doorknob to peer inside. The small room is illuminated solely by moonlight beaming in through the large window by the bed. I step into the room and click the door closed behind me. When I walk over to the bed, the shimmering white light acts like a spotlight on his face and what I notice churns something deep in my chest. Dried streaks coat his face and look almost like rivers from puffy red eyes.

Surely, he didn’t come home that upset because of the argument we had, right?

I tug at my lip and very gently slip into bed beside him beneath the puffy duvet. The movement causes Nicholas to stir and turn away from me. I stay completely still, not even moving a muscle until he’s completely settled then turn in the same direction as him, just inches away from his back.

If he’s that upset with me, would he even want me here?

Am I intruding?

Is it really intruding if I live here too?

Maybe I should’ve stayed on Folio’s floor.

It’s only then that it really sets in that I really moved out, well more like kicked out, and I live here now. Mostly anyway.

But just because you live somewhere doesn’t mean it’s your home. While I love living with my best friend, and I love his family, and they feel like family – they’re not. As much as they try to not make me feel like one, I am an outsider here.

Even Folio in his frat house, sure he just got hazed and whatever, but he belongs there.

I don’t belong anywhere.

The closest thing I’ve gotten to what I imagine belonging feels like, is with Nicholas. But again, he has no tie to me. We’re friends of course, but if I pissed him off and he wanted me gone… well I’d have nothing. I’d have nowhere to go.

I hate this feeling, this feeling of relying on people.

It’s weird taking up space somewhere you have to walk on eggshells because it’s not yours. Because you don’t belong.  

It’s not like I felt like I belonged at home either, not after Mom passed.

So here is better than there at least.

At least there’s no yelling or slamming doors here.

My eyes drift through the moonlit darkness to the small pile of my belongings in the corner of the room. The sight sends a chill up my spine and my heart rate noticeably rises. I’m reminded that there are still some things waiting for me at my stepdad’s.

I want the ability to truly get on my own, if I don’t want to rely on people, I need to get my stuff so that I can actually make something of myself.

I need to at least try.

And to do that, I need my guitar and my keyboard. I’m nothing without them – and I won’t be able to be anything without them.

-NICHOLAS-

My eyes shoot open when shrill screams fill my eardrums. I nearly jump out of my skin at the noise, especially since I had gone to bed alone.

I don’t have the luxury of trying to figure out how Noah got home, just that he is and he’s having another night terror.

“Fuck.” I mutter.

Because I did such a great fucking job dealing with this last time.

I tug at his freezing cold arm and shake him vigorously but of course, it didn’t do much the first time, why would it have a different result now.

I replicate what I did the last time and straddle his lap, grabbing his wrists and pinning them at his sides to restrain his jerky movements.

“NOAH!” I repeat his name with increasing volume.

He wakes up slowly after a couple times of calling his name.

“Nicholas?” He asks groggily, with furrowed brows and squinted eyes.

I sigh, “Night terror.” I state curtly and pull off him, landing beside him with my back towards him.

“Oh.” He says softly and his eyes falter. “Sorry.”

There’s a twist of guilt in my gut because I should be softer with him after his terror, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. The teary soreness in my eyes reminds me just how much I don’t have it in me. I tug the sheets closer to my body.

He rustles around a bit trying to get comfortable, but I fall back asleep quickly. For a bit.

It’s not long after, maybe an hour or two, that I’m awoken once again but this time to a bunch of noise and the overhead light on at full brightness.

“What the fuck.” I mumble, sitting up and rubbing one eye while keeping the other mostly shut.

I turn to find Noah sitting on folded knees, manically rummaging through the couple bags he moved in with. He’s ripping through each one, tossing pieces of clothing out left and right, shaking out the empty bags as if they have hidden compartments.

“What the fuck are you doing Noah.” I ask, my tone soaked in annoyance, exhaustion, and anger.

“I can’t find some of my shirts. I need to get the rest of my shit out. Today.” He replies, his words rushed.

My brows knit together at his sudden – and poorly timed – bout of bravery and motivation. He’d been putting this off and avoiding it for weeks. And now he’s tearing apart his stuff, throwing shit all over our room at 4:30 in the morning… after a night of drinking?

I yawn and shake my head in confusion, “Wait, wait, wait, how did you even get home?”

“Uber.” He replies simply, his gaze still focused on his third bag not even looking up at me.

“You took an Uber home?” I ask somewhat skeptically, “Why didn’t you just call me?”

His rummaging movements pause with a bundle of shirts in hand, “Didn’t wanna bother you.” Then continues digging through the bag.

Normally I would go on a tangent about how I’d rather call me to pick him up instead of doing something stupid like possibly be driven home by someone inebriated – but I’m much too depleted, both physically and emotionally to do so.

“Well, you should’ve called me.” I tug the cotton sheets closer to my body and bunch the material to my chest. “What is this really about? You’re acting so strange.”

I reach over to the light switch and turn the knob to dim the white-yellow hue of the light above us.

“I just need to get my shit, Nicholas.” He huffs, seeming aggravated by my questions.

“Well, you’re gonna go alone if you keep snapping at me like that.” I retort, even though I’d never let him go alone.

He exhales and deflates with a balled-up band tee in his hands. “I just need to do it today. If I don’t do it today, I might not ever be able to.”

Honestly, this is the last thing I fucking needed after earlier tonight. I just wanted to fucking sleep. And not be around Noah.

Yet here I am, awake, around too much Noah.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Fine, we can go today – but only if you fucking wrap up whatever the fuck you’re doing and come to bed. If we’re really doing this today, you don’t need to be sleep-deprived for it.”

“Fine.” He agrees reluctantly and begins gathering the clothes to shove back into the bags. “But I probably won’t be able to sleep.”

“Well, you should at least try.” I scoot back into my left side to make room for him.

The box spring squeaks under the weight of him when slides in and immediately turns away from me. Normally I would be a tad offended, but tonight, I’m grateful.

Surprisingly, small snoozy noises escape him not long after his head hit the pillow. I lay facing him, watching the rise and fall of his ribcage like a metronome.

Concern and fear suddenly flood my bloodstream like a bad drug. Getting most of his stuff out the first time was no picnic and I just know this last time is going to be even worse. Frankly, I’m a tad worried about the things he’d left behind, I wouldn’t put it past his stepdad to throw them out.

I shake my head and try to focus on my breathing to calm me down. When that doesn’t work, I try counting.

I drift off to sleep before 30.  

My faux-leather steering wheel cover cracks under my fidgeting fingers. Noah can’t seem to sit still, running his hands up and down his thighs probably to self soothe. The anxiety is thick and tangible in the car. He would never admit it to me, but I know he’s scared shitless about going back home. Noah always tried to hide it from me, but I’m not stupid. It doesn’t matter how “anemic” or thin you are, you don’t amass that many bruises that frequently. I always wondered if that’s why he started wanting so many tattoos so suddenly. Maybe, on some level, that’s what made me want to start tattooing in the first place.

The normally 20-minute-long car ride felt like three hours, but when we arrived, I could’ve sworn it had only been 3 minutes.

I park on the curb at the end of the driveway and shut off the car. Just being on the tiny patch of lawn has my heart thumping through my chest and it’s not even my battle.

But I guess if I’m here with him,

If it’s his, it’s mine too.

As much as he wasn’t prepared to do this, neither was I. My gaze lands on the rectangular windows of the small yellow house. From the outside, it looks so normal, so happy even. It’s almost eerie how far from the truth that is.

I look over at him, just now realizing he hadn’t said a word the whole ride. He’s slumped in the passenger seat, one lanky arm wrapped around his own waist and the other stationed at his mouth. His eyes glued to the house behind me as he chews on his thumbnail.

“We can still go back home, Noah. We don’t have to do this today if you’re not ready.” I offer gently, mostly because I don’t think either of us are fully equipped to do this.  

“No. I have to do this.” His eyes finally falter away from the house and land on me.

“Okay. You sure you’re ready?” I ask quietly.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip. “No. But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’m gonna be with you the whole time, okay?” I hold out my pinky. “Always, remember?”

He nods and hooks onto my pinky. “Always.”

As expected, I’ve landed myself in the middle of a brawl between Noah and his stepdad. I feel guilty and useless standing there as a bystander not interfering, but my feet can’t seem to move and my vocal cords have ceased to function.

Noah started off strong, full of adrenaline and blind bravery, but it didn’t take long for George to wear him down.

My heart beats loud in my ears and I can’t hear a word they’re saying. All I see is him waving around Noah’s guitar like it’s a toy, using it as an extension of his exaggerated furious expressions. Noah’s tall, but George is much taller and stronger than him, so Noah just looks like a mouse running around an elephant, scrambling trying to snatch the instrument back.

I’m not sure what they’re even screaming about but the argument escalates further than I ever expected it to. My eyes round as I witness each of George’s hands slide to either end of the guitar’s neck.

No

He wouldn’t

As if in slow motion, I watch the light pale from Noah’s face. His eyes wide and teary, and his brows curled up. I can see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes in real time as he watches his stepdad easily snap the neck of his beloved guitar.

The break is quick and sharp and fills the room with the sound of cords plucking and wood splintering. The noise after is even louder though, just jarring silence.

Until George opens his mouth again. “Get your sad, pathetic little toys and your little boyfriend out of my goddamn house.” Rasps his deep Western accent.

He forcefully tosses the broken instrument at Noah, hitting him so hard it knocks him backwards. The livid man storms across the house and slams the master bedroom door behind him.

Noah’s knees buckle and land harshly on the carpeted floor, holding the guitar in his arms as if it’s a wounded soldier in battle. His face scrunches up around his eyes and tears just begin pouring from him. His chest hiccups with each sob that escapes. He curls the wooden pieces in his arms into his chest and rests his forehead against the curve of the guitar. His cries heave his entire body.

I’m frozen where I stand. What I just witnessed might as well have been a murder. I’ve seen Noah cry, of course, but this is something I’ve only ever seen once before. Besides that one time, I’ve never seen him this bad. At least, he’s never letme see him this bad.

I gently meet him on the floor. For some reason, I feel hesitant to touch him, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

I don’t dare even touch the arms that are gripped onto his guitar so, I rest my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even react to my touch at all, as if he can’t even feel it.

“Noah…” I say cautiously. “Let’s just get you out of here, okay? We just need to grab your stuff and get out. We can figure this out later… later when we’re not here.”

He doesn’t respond and when I try to nudge him even a little bit, he’s solid like concrete where he’s kneeled.

“C’mon Noah we gotta go.” I stretch up to double-check that the bedroom door is still closed. “I’ll get the rest of your stuff. We just need to get you out of here.” I urge and squeeze his shoulder a bit.

His fingers dig into the instrument as he takes a deep sniffle and screws his eyes shut tight, shoving the salty tears out. He just gives me a little nod against the guitar, letting me know that he understands but doesn’t move.

“Please, Noah.” I beg and try pulling at his arm again. “Please get up. I need you to get up for me.”

He gives a little of his arm to me and not much more. But I take what I can get and use both of my arms to weakly lift him up from the floor by his underarms. I basically carry him out of the house, his body limp as I drag him backwards across the overgrown lawn. Shards of dying grass cling to our clothes and dust kicks up all over the back of his jeans.

I feebly open my back door and let him crawl into the backseat with the guitar tight in his grip. He immediately lays with it across the cushions and some boxes.

Luckily, we had gotten most of his belongings already so there was just the final sweep left to do.

Thankfully, George is still holed up in his room, though that doesn’t ease my panicked heart-pounding in my ears. Noah’s room is completely bare except for a half-filled trash bag of miscellaneous belongings. I drag the heavy bag across the stained beige carpet, but I stop at something that catches my eye.

In one cubicle of many that make up a huge bookshelf are a couple of photo albums in chronological order spanning over a few years. From the peek-through covers I can tell that they’re filled with pictures of his parents, or maybe at least his mom.

My head snaps at a stir that comes from behind the bedroom door and in a split-second decision, I scoop all the photo albums and throw them into the black trash bag. I use all my strength to heave the now extra bulky bag across the yard as I run towards the car.

I toss the bag into the trunk and slam the door before rounding the car, throwing myself so hard into the driver’s seat that I nearly tip the car over. I take a glance in my rear-view to check on Noah and find his body tightly curled around the instrument sobbing even worse than how I left him. Seeing him like this… gives me an ache in my chest that I didn’t even know could hurt so much. It’s so excruciating that I could almost vomit from it.

I quickly shift the car into drive and speed off so fast that my wheels squeal.

I’m unsure what to do or what to say. It feels like saying anything would only make things worse at risk of saying something wrong. I always feel guilty when situations like this happen with his family because I can’t imagine what he feels. I don’t know what I’d do without my family, and I can’t even fathom someone treating their child like that, especially him. Noah is the last person on earth that deserves that.

I bite my nail as I walk back and forth in the living room lost in my thoughts.

“Honey, why don’t you come sit down?” My mom suggests patting the couch cushion next to her. “Pacing around the living room isn’t going to help anything.”

I sigh and meet her on the couch, “You should’ve seen him, Mamá.” I run my fingers through my sweat-coated roots. “Oh my god, it was horrible.”

She begins rubbing small circles into my back, “I know Gatito.” She tries to soothe, using her Spanish nickname for me – she always told me I resembled a small cat. “But we know what his family is like, I’m surprised something like this hadn’t happened sooner.”

“Yeah…” I trail off, biting down hard on my thumbnail thinking of all the things we never told her his stepdad had done. If she knew the things he’d done to him – especially in front of me – who knows what she’d do. She’s a Hispanic single mother, nothing would be able to stop her – and a George vs. Mom battle royal is the last thing we need.

“I’ve just never seen anyone that… defeated before. That guitar was everything to him.” I hang my head and use both hands to cover my face.

“Well, you know, maybe we could pull together some extra money by Christmas?” She offers. “I could pick up some extra shifts at the hospital.”

“No, no, Mom, you don’t understand.” I sigh and turn my head to her against my propped palm. “His mom gave him that guitar.”

“Oh.” She replies solemnly in understanding.

“There’s a music store in town where I get my vinyls, they do repairs there.” My sister speaks up from across the room, resting on the column that separates the living room from the kitchen. “Maybe you could see if they could fix it?”

I blink blankly as I process her words and it’s like a lightbulb illuminates above my head. “You actually might have a good idea for once Stell.”

 She rolls her eyes, “I’m trying to be helpful, you don’t have to be rude.”

“I’m your brother, it’s kind of my job to be rude.”

“Whatever.” She takes a sip from her obnoxiously sized water bottle. “There’s a really cute guy that works there, I think he does most of the repairs. His name is Jolly, tell him Stella sent you.” She winks.

“Augh.” I groan in disgust and wave her boy craze away. “I’ll be sure to do that.” I add sarcastically.

A serious stillness falls over the room like everyone is equally unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you gonna do about Noah?” Stella asks softly, her voice laced with concern.

My leg bounces in anxious uncertainty as my eyes drift over to my closed bedroom door.

“I don’t know.”

I gently knock on my door and slowly creek it open. The room is pitch black with just Noah on the bed curled up around his guitar, his shoulder length hair splayed across the pillows, and the duvet wrapped around him like a cocoon. He’d been hidden away in my room like this since we got home.

“You awake?” I question timidly, readjusting the tray in my hands.

It takes a moment, but he replies with a tiny, short groan.

“I brought you soup. You know, the chicken noodle my mom makes that you like so much?”

Another brief pause followed by a slightly more intrigued grumble.

I take it as permission to enter and precariously make my way over to him. There’s a sliver of mattress left behind him, and I fit half my ass on it.

I allow him the space to be quiet with me for a bit.

“How are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s an asinine question.

He just sniffles.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I sigh quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

He sniffles again and scooches further into the bed, onto my side.

I silently tap my index finger on the plastic tray, pondering what that could mean before I speak. “You want me to lay with you?”

He gives a small ‘mhm’ groan.

“Okay, I can do that. But can you eat for me?”

He replies with a ‘nuh-uh’ whine.  

I exhale knowing this was going to be an uphill battle. “Noah, you’ve gotta eat.”

He shakes his head in resistance again.

“C’mon, just a couple bites…for me?”

A pause before he lets out a defiant but agreeing sigh.

“You’re not gonna move, are you?”

He shakes his head.

I breathe out trying not to sound annoyed because I should be grateful that he even cooperated this much.

Maneuvering around him from behind, I hold the bowl in one hand and the spoon in the other. Thankfully, the soup had cooled down to just a bit warmer than room temperature. I scoop a spoonful of it, making sure to get a little bit of everything: noodle, chicken, and carrot – if he’s only going to take a couple bites, I have to make sure they count.  I carefully bring the spoon over to his lips, he lifts his head just a bit and takes the spoonful into his mouth. He let me give him 4 or 5 bites, which was more than I expected, before rejecting the rest.

I set the bowl on the nightstand, lift the sheets, and nestle into the space he made for me.

“Thanks for eating.” I say quietly. “I know you didn’t want to.”

He nods mutely.

I press my lips together. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”

He’s silent. Slowly but surely sniffles and sobs begin to pour from him again. I immediately feel the twist of guilt in my stomach for being the one to trigger his tears again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-I can leave if you want some priv–“

His hand reaches behind him and firmly captures my wrist.

“Stay.” He begs in a coarse whisper, the first thing he’s said since we came home. “Please?”

His voice is so cracked and hoarse, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was sick.

I falter a second to respond but he must’ve felt the hesitation.

“It helps.” He croaks. “Remember?”

The churn in my chest returns and there’s an ache in my heart that accompanies it. If I could somehow magically take all of this away, I would, even if it meant trading places with him. Even if it meant I’d be the one hurting instead.

I feel so fucking useless, not being able to do much for him.

But at least I can do this.

“Okay.” I respond cautiously and settle further into the bed, now essentially spooned around his body.

His grip on my wrist never left so I let our joined arms rest on his hip. I can’t seem to gather with the right words to say to him, I mean what can you really say after something like that?

So, I offer him the only words that feel suitable.

“I’m not going anywhere, Noah. You know that right?”

There’s a long quiet, so long that I think he may have fallen asleep.

But then he squeezes my wrist.

“Thank you.”

I sense the urge to do something, but I’m not sure how he’ll react. I don’t know, maybe it would help?

I tug at where his hand meets mine and he gives me an upset grumble, like he doesn’t want me to leave.

“I just… is it okay if - can I try something?” I ask shyly, suddenly very nervous, nervous enough to have my heart racing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his brows furrowing. I can tell he wants to be stubborn and keep me latched there, but curiosity always gets the best of him. He slowly loosens his grip on my wrist.

I didn’t notice that my palms were sweating until I’ve retrieved my hand. I press my lips flat and feel like my ribcage could burst open at any minute from how hard my heart beats against it.

My body is screaming at me to do it and as much as I want to fight it, I can’t.

Maybe it would help

I let my arm go where it wants to go. It slithers beneath the covers and through the space between Noah’s arm and his side. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull flush against him.

We both freeze. My ears grow warm as the hour-long seconds pass.

Maybe he’s uncomfortable

Maybe he thinks this is weird

Maybe it is weird?

Is this weird?

Maybe he doesn’t like it

Maybe I’m making it worse

Maybe–

Unexpectedly, he just melts into me. His body molds into my arms like they were made just for him.

He finds my arm and brings it to his face, pressing his damp, swollen eyes against it. Small sobs fall into my arm and his grip on me is so tight I could turn blue.

Maybe he feels safe, and maybe he just needed to feel safe to let the rest out.

My own eyes well up at the sound of him, at the feeling of his body heaving in my arms. I press my forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m always gonna be here.” I reassure him again through my own held-back tears.

He wipes his tears off with the collar of his shirt before pulling my arm back around his chest. He nuzzles into me, and I feel my heart swell so big it fills my entire chest.

I think I already know the answer, but I wanna hear it anyway.

“Does this help?”

He lets out a sleepy sigh as he nestles his back into my chest.

“You always help, Nicholas.”

Next Chapter -> 05 - Girl Crush*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @cryingabtab @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

a/n; I know this was a heavy one 😅 i'm sorry, i hope you were able to enjoy it regardless.

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

#sorry i know this was sad 😬 #or maybe not idk #noah cries a lot im sorry #he won’t always be such a crybaby i promise #i have edited this so many fucking times bro so sorry if it sucks 🥲 #intertwined series #concreteburialplot works #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #noah sebastian fic #noah x nicholas #noah x nick #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah x nick fanfic