Nick watches you over the flames of the firepit. He scans your face: your bright smile, that pretty flash of teeth when Luke says something that makes you laugh. A rare sound these days.

No one really talks to him, besides you. Nick knows he’s a liability to the group. But you don’t treat him as such.

When he goes to look at you again—already feeling creepy, but unable to help it—his face flushes with heat when he finds you already looking at him. Smiling, even. Nick wishes he could bury his head in the ground. He forgets to smile back.

Likely disheartened, you look away.

“Shit,” he breathes out.