Be My Baby?...

[Feb. 14th, 2011|10:57 pm]

"Happy Valentine's Day," Nicky read out his card, which was nothing but a piece of cut-out cardboard, lovingly decorated by its sender. He even drew a glittery heart, the cheeky imp! "Love, James." written in his handwriting. That round, girlish handwriting Nicky would normally tease him about.

"Thank you." Nicky said, thinking how he can't possibly accept this valentine, and actually feeling worse about this day than he already had, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

"I thought, you know, that you might appreciate the gesture." James shrugs, grinning self-consciously. As if playing it off as a gesture between friends who deeply care about each other - and love each other, yes, but not in a more than friendly way -  would make Nicky's rejection - or worse, lack or acknowledgement - easier to deal with.

"Look, I know this day isn't easy for you, for any of us, but I thought it might cheer you up."

Nicky thanks James again, tucking the note in his handbag and smiling at James. He's got smiles from now until next year, but he'll be the first to admit 'it takes a lot these days', as Richey would say. It takes something extraordinary to make an adult smile...Nicky has his own way to make himself smile. He thinks about the last time he had a genuine Valentine's Day celebration. Not last year, of course, that's when Richey's car was recovered, two weeks after Richey had gone missing. That is also on Nicky's mind, and he doesn't want to ignore it, he wants to remember it. But there's also one of his happiest memories, from the year before. Valentine's Day 1994.


Nicky had skip-stepped into Richey's Cardiff flat, whistling one of his own favourite tunes, which he woke up to every day during his finals. 'The only one I know, has gone, to take me away...'  And he'd come to take Richey away, for the day. He got him out of his clothes first, fixing him a nice, long, bubblebath. And then he got Richey his jeans and a red tee, helping him with his hair and makeup - Richey even let him put some colourless glitter, for once.  And Nicky made Richey's hair nice and fluffy, the way he likes it, not flat or drawn back like Richey'd do. Then he grabbed Richey and took him to the park, to ride one of these peddling-boats that's shaped like a swan. Richey made faces the entire time and giggled about how 'Valentine's Day is shit', but Nicky thinks Richey had a good day that day. Nicky did it because he wanted to give Richey a chance to enjoy Valentine's Day.

Maybe next year, Nicky'll get his chance to enjoy it. Then, maybe in a couple of years, or more. Maybe never.

Better Than Boredom (part 1/?)

[Dec. 3rd, 2010|11:05 am]

Richey was slinking down on his chair at the lobby, nodding off to his new mix-tape. His legs were hanging off that chair, spread to the sides, the yellow headphones looking especially foreign on him with the way his new bowl cut framed his delicate features.

As if awoken from a dream, Nicky had pulled off his earphones, sliding them down so that the ear buds met Richey's jawbones. He looked up to meet Nicky's gaze, frowning and looking at him intently.

Nicky was having an undoubtedly 'Nicky moment' , looking very stretched out and wriggly today, in an undersized shirt and khaki pants, hand on his hip which seemed to bend his entire posture to form a curve. His expression was slightly pouty, though nowhere near Richey's glorious pout. His eyes looked slightly entranced, from having to move his sleeping schedule around all the time lately, a fact that he hasn't fully gotten used to yet. 'Meet me in an hour, OK?' He sought for comprehension in Richey's dark stare. 'That's two o'clock sharp.'

Richey nodded, gulping. The voice, as well as the speaker, put butterflies in his stomach. Nicky moved his hand to Richey's cheek, stroking it approvingly. Richey knew what that invitation had meant. James and Sean knew it too, but they moved quickly back to the conversation they were having before, digging their spoons in their shared layered cake.

He looked at Nicky rubbing his hands over each other in accomplishment, before turning and walking away.

"June"

[Jun. 2nd, 2010|11:17 pm]

"June?..." Richey looked questioningly at the bundle of joy Nicky was holding.

"I know you're more of a winter type, but we couldn't have possibly named her January, or February...." Nicky shrugged, trying to figure out which one of them the baby looked most alike.

"Or December..." Richey sighed, thinking what a horrible name that is. If anyone had named their baby that. It's not much worse than 'Mercedes....'

"Hey, weren't you almost named Christmas?... Ow!" -Richey slapped his shoulder, playfully.

"Honestly, Nick, you sometimes need to learn when to shut up."

Birthday

[Dec. 22nd, 2009|07:34 am]

"Omnomnomnom..."

"Nicky..."

"Mmmmm?...."

"You've got cake... On the bridge of your nose."

"Right..." Nicky answered, blithely unconcerned. "Why don't you try some? They're delicious."

"Too much sugar... And I don't even mean it in the caloric sense. It's just too sickeningly sweet."

"Right. Then you won't like the gift I got you, either..." Nicky sighed.

"You got me a gift? You really didn't have to..."

"Don't open it, then." Nicky commented dryly.

It was too late, Richey had run to open his gift. "A giraffe plushie?!?"

"I thought you'd like it." Nicky explained. "I thought it would remind you of me"

"For fuck's sake, Jones. You did my interior design, what more could you possibly want?!"

"The one with the window"

15-10-2009, 03:01

Sometimes Nicky felt like he was watching Richey from afar. But loving isn't anything like that. And Nicky loved Richey. 

One afternoon while they were on tour, Nicky woke up in his room with Richey, to find Richey sitting on the window frame. He shifted himself to the other side of the bed, to get a better look at Richey, who'd seem to not nod back or move his head slightly to look at him. Probably in the midst of some deep contemplation, Nicky thought.


Nicky didn't like the silence. To be fair to Nicky, he probably didn't even know what silence means. He could be attentive to a ridiculous extent, putting his mind into things no one else did, be it an object that seemed to be out of its rightful place, sounds that could be traced as coming from outside, too much light, or not enough light. It would all dissolve into one big mess that can only be articulated through his words or paintings. 

And it's not like his head was an empty space for all these things. First there was homesickness, and making sure they got the right hotel rooms, and that everyone got what they need. 

Then there were his deepest, most uncomfortable thoughts that he intended on showing as little as possible of. Those thoughts all seemed to gravitate towards the person he considered to be his best friend, who at the same time seemed like the loneliest person he's ever met. He went about sneakily and subtly making sure Richey was OK, for as long as he was there to watch him, at least, while careful not to break into his psyche, not knowing what he'll find there. 


On his own, Nicky would fill stacks upon stacks of journals, and he had a knack for making new places appear homely, if he knew he was going to stay there for a while. He'd fill silences with escapism, most notably the buzz from a TV set, and replace boredom with perpetual movement, and routines. With Richey though, every moment spent next to Richey, but not focusing on Richey, seemed like a wasted moment. 

--

Nicky hunches over, trying to keep himself small and closer to the ground rather than the ceiling as Nicky possibly could as he approaches Richey. It works as far as he knows, as Richey's small frame is still curled up staring at the window, looking serenely over the city landscape like a postcard.

Nicky is crouching, closer than ever to be sitting on the floor. He puts his hand over Richey's thigh, doing spider-like movements with his fingers tapping, hoping to shift his attention in the slightest. Richey shuts his eyes, in a way which makes his whole face contort for just a second.

"Did I scare you?" Nicky asks worriedly.

Richey shakes his head for 'no', smiling secretively. Nicky was the least scary of things he could think of. He puts his hand down on Nicky's.

Ficlet: London 1990

[Jul. 8th, 2009|09:36 am]

Nicky/Richey (unrequited)
First person POV (Nicky)

I need something. I need another chance, a different life. I needn't stand here awkwardly, like it's all I ever do.

Right now, James has got him. Snuggling up to him, giving him massages. If I were there instead, I might not be able to show as much restraint. I could imagine myself sneaking on him, letting his shirt ride up as I get a feel of his skin, then go on further, sinking myself onto his neck, inhaling him, kissing his exposed skin like only I could.

But right now I'm perfect restraint. Tired, hazy, numb, cold and away from him. Holding on to what the eye can see, instead of what my arms and lips and mouth could feel.

Dear God, I wish I was drunk now.

Another now, again

A tidal wave, 
I’m lost in you.
I repeat myself,
I’m lost in you.

At another place and time,
When there was ‘I and you’,
And we were one with the night skies of dark,
One with the stars that shimmer so brightly,
I have a distant memory of how we used to dream.
Now I’m only dying in my sleep.

I can’t speak, 
And what I see I don’t contain.
So I should shut myself away again today, 
To look at the world through my clear glass windows,
My eyes,
My immovable vision of apathy.

Denied me of reality,
I’m losing all ability.

You flew, grown wings and left me the broken parts.
I guess one of us had to end in pieces-
And you were too beautiful to be destroyed.

December 15th, 2002