Chapter 4 Old Burns #2
Gideon nodded.
Nico waited.
That was one of the things Gideon had begun to notice about him. Nico never rushed to fill silence.
“It was years ago,” Gideon said.
“How long?”
“Six years.”
Nico remained quiet.
Gideon looked toward the window.
“I was with my old crew.”
He stopped.
The words felt heavier than they should have.
“There were five of us inside when the conditions changed.”
Nico listened.
“Smoke spread faster than expected. The roof structure started failing. We got the evacuation order.”
Gideon rubbed his thumb against his palm.
“We were coming out.”
His voice became quieter.
“Then I heard someone calling.”
Nico did not ask who.
Gideon appreciated that.
“I thought one of them was still inside.”
“You went back.”
It wasn’t a question.
Gideon nodded.
“I went back.”
The room seemed to grow smaller.
“I knew the order. I knew what it meant. I knew the building was unstable. I knew I should have stayed out.”
He looked down.
“But I went back anyway.”
Nico’s expression remained calm.
“What happened?”
“I found him.”
Gideon’s throat tightened.
“He was trapped beneath part of the structure. He was alive.”
For a moment, something almost hopeful crossed his face.
“I thought I could get him out.”
Nico remained still.
“I was wrong.”
Gideon swallowed.
“The ceiling came down.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“I remember the sound more than anything. The steel. The fire. His radio. Then I couldn’t see anything.”
He took a slow breath.
“I tried to reach him.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I couldn’t.”
Nico did not interrupt.
“I woke up in the hospital.”
Gideon touched the edge of his shirt near his shoulder.
“I had burns across my shoulder, chest, and arm. Some were deep. I had surgeries. Skin grafts. Months of therapy.”
Nico’s gaze moved briefly toward the scars but returned to Gideon’s face.
“I was the one who came out.”
Gideon laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“People call that surviving.”
He shook his head.
“I hate that word.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds like something I accomplished.”
Gideon looked directly at Nico.
“They died.”
The words hung between them.
“I came home.”
His jaw tightened.
“They didn’t.”
Nico took a slow breath.
“I can understand why the word feels complicated.”
Gideon looked away.
“You don’t have to understand.”
“No.”
Nico’s voice remained gentle.
“I don’t.”
Gideon glanced back at him.
“I wasn’t there.”
“No.”
“And I don’t know what you should feel.”
“No.”
Nico leaned back slightly.
“But I can listen.”
Gideon stared at him.
That answer was so simple that it hurt.
He had expected reassurance.
He had expected someone to tell him it wasn’t his fault.
He had expected Nico to say he was brave or that he had done the right thing.
Instead, Nico gave him space.
Gideon’s shoulders lowered slightly.
“I should have listened to the order.”
“Maybe.”
The answer surprised him.
Nico continued before Gideon could react.
“I wasn’t there, so I won’t tell you that your decision was right or wrong. You made a decision in a situation where you believed someone was alive and needed help.”
Gideon looked at him.
“That doesn’t mean it was the right decision.”
“No.”
Nico’s gaze remained steady.
“But making one decision under impossible circumstances doesn’t mean you deserve to punish yourself forever.”
Gideon looked down.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
“I don’t know how you stop.”
Nico paused.
“But I know you don’t have to do it all at once.”
Gideon sat silently.
Something in his chest loosened.
Not completely.
Not enough.
But enough to breathe.
“I still hear him,” he said.
Nico’s eyes softened.
“Sometimes I hear the radio.”
“What does it say?”
Gideon stared toward the window.
“Nothing.”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“That’s the problem.”
Nico understood.
The silence after a voice disappeared could be worse than the voice itself.
Gideon leaned back.
“I don’t like talking about this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.”
“I don’t.”
Gideon looked at him.
Nico held his gaze.
“I feel sorry that you went through it.”
Gideon’s expression tightened.
“That sounds like pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Pity makes someone smaller.”
Nico spoke carefully.
“Understanding that someone was hurt doesn’t make them smaller.”
Gideon didn’t answer.
He looked down at his forearm.
The scars there were partly visible beneath his sleeve.
Nico noticed but said nothing.
Gideon slowly rolled the sleeve upward.
Nico waited.
“You can look.”
“I already have.”
“I know.”
Gideon exposed more of the scar.
“I used to hate them.”
Nico’s voice was quiet.
“And now?”
“I still do sometimes.”
“That makes sense.”
Gideon looked at him.
“You don’t think I should?”
“I don’t think I get to decide.”
The answer made Gideon smile faintly.
“You really don’t tell people what they should feel.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Silence settled between them again.
This time, it felt different.
Gideon wasn’t fighting it.
Nico remained across from him, close enough to be present but far enough to give him space.
Gideon found himself studying him.
There was something about Nico’s face that made it difficult to look away. Maybe it was the calmness in his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that he had listened to the ugliest part of Gideon’s story without changing the way he looked at him.
Gideon had expected to feel exposed.
Instead, he felt strangely safe.
That scared him.
He shifted closer.
Nico didn’t move.
Gideon could hear his own breathing.
Nico’s eyes dropped briefly to Gideon’s mouth before returning to his eyes.
The movement was small.
Gideon noticed it.
His pulse changed.
He leaned closer.
Nico remained still.
There was barely any distance between them now.
Gideon could feel the warmth of his breath.
His mind went strangely quiet.
No fire.
No smoke.
No alarms.
Only Nico.
Gideon looked at his mouth again.
He wanted to kiss him.
The realization came with a force that surprised him.
He moved another fraction closer.
Nico didn’t pull away.
Gideon could have closed the distance.
His body wanted to.
His mind screamed at him to stop.
The thought came suddenly.
If I let him close, I can lose him.
Gideon froze.
He pulled back.
Nico didn’t reach for him.
That mattered.
Gideon stood.
“I should go.”
Nico looked at him.
“All right.”
Gideon reached the door.
His hand rested on the handle.
He couldn’t bring himself to look back.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“You don’t have to explain.”
Gideon closed his eyes briefly.
That was exactly why this man frightened him.
Nico didn’t demand explanations.
He didn’t make Gideon feel guilty.
He didn’t turn every moment into a question.
He simply let him choose.
Gideon opened the door.
“Thank you.”
Nico’s voice followed him.
“For what?”
“For listening.”
Gideon stepped outside.
He crossed the street slowly.
The firehouse doors were open.
The station looked the same as it had that morning.
But Gideon didn’t feel the same.
He had told Nico the truth.
Not all of it.
Not every detail.
Not every memory.
But enough.
For the first time in years, he had spoken about the warehouse fire without feeling as though he had to defend himself.
He had admitted that he went back inside.
He had admitted that he survived.
And he had admitted, even if only to himself, that he wanted to kiss someone again.
That last part frightened him more than the rest.
Because the fire was behind him.
Nico was in front of him.
And Gideon was beginning to understand that the greatest danger was no longer remembering what he had lost.
It was wanting something he could lose again.
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