Nicholas Chastain

Going on a date with Matthieu was exciting, the kind of excitement that made her forget to lace up her shoes and hum and carefully avoid asking questions. To him, and to the universe or spirits or whatever it was that made her divination work every once in a while. She’d asked about the weather, and checked all possible horoscopes since she had no idea what Matthieu’s sign might be, but nothing more specific. Nothing that might dissuade her. She deserved a nice evening out. 

“It rains at five-ish.” She said, almost evenly. Maybe if the rings weren’t so cool to touch she would’ve managed. But it was doubtful. “But the rest is a surprise.” It was a mystery, but they were similar enough.

It definitely been a few months since Nic went on an official “date”. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d asked, especially given that Sofiya was very cute and amusing yes but also her abilities were terrifying. But he needed a distraction, and some petty part of him probably wanted to prove to Nate that he wasn’t actually as anxious and clingy as he seemed lately. 

“Mind knower?” Tristan hadn’t heard that phrase before, but he thought it was fairly obvious what it meant. To know someone else’s mind seemed like a great compliment and Tristan nodded decisively before adding, “I like that.”

Sugar and alcohol were easy to provide and Tristan set out the tubs of ice cream on the counter before he began to dig around in the cabinets, hoping that Nic would like the drink. Then again, even if he didn’t, he might just drink it in order to deal with his problems. “Each of your problems? How many problems do you have?” It seemed like most of the problems that Tristan dealt with recently were about Xiomara’s poor life choices, so he didn’t know if he could actually help Nic with anything.

“I do not remember what this is called, but a barkeeper showed me. It is something about dirt, maybe?” It made him think of the ground, but Tristan didn’t remember the specifics.

When Tristan repeated it Nic grimaced, unusually sensitive about his mishap in the moment. He waved a hand, many-silvered rings glinting in the light. “I forget the word. Phrase. Mind...” but it was a blank. He let out a small noise of frustration. “You know what I am thinking without the need for me to say it.”

He realized only belatedly that he’d spoken over something Tristan said, and when he paused, backtracking in his own mind, he finally registered the “I like that” from the other man. He flushed, hand dropping. Too late to address it now, he just looked grumpy and ungrateful, probably. Although he was usually grumpy so it wasn’t as if he’d sold himself short or anything. And he’d warned Tristan at their first meeting that he wasn’t a good person. Still, part of him felt bad, even if he wouldn’t move to do anything about it. 

He watched as Tristan dug around in the kitchen, curious about the concoction being made. He wasn’t much of a drinker originally, and he didn’t tend to have a sweet tooth, but human behavior was hardly 100% consistent all the time. At the question about problems, he blew out a hard breath. 

“I have... many problems.” The problem that was Nate, in an of himself, and now specifically his not-boyfriend. The problem of Nic’s magic. The problem of Yuki and Luka, who were still stubbornly trying to get past his walls, and the fact that he was maybe inclined to let them. The problem of working for a homicidal crazy person who’d been angrier than usual, according to the higher-ups Nic worked with, and the fact that his little brother was also wound up with said homicidal maniac with him. 

“Most alcohol tastes worse than dirt,” Nic shrugged, unable to fill in Tristan’s blank. “I am not particular about it. But I appreciate you making this.”

Another beat of silence. Nic slid a bit down the couch,and let his gaze drift to the ceiling while he settled a hand over his chest, the other trailing to the floor, and pulled up one of his legs so it was crooked at the knee. His fingers tapped dully against the floor, frantic. 

If it weren’t for the heat he’d probably be wearing his customary leather jacket, but as it was he looked semi-respectable in the slate-grey button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the fox and shadow tattoo on his forearm. His other forearm was spelled, otherwise he’d be showing off his Dark Mark, too. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was, and was just about to head around a tent when he smacked soundly into someone. 

“What the-” he started in French, the language only a breath away purely because he’d been using it to speak to Nate exclusively since they’d arrived. He stumbled back slightly, blinking at the force of the collision since, apparently, he’d just been walking with that much purpose and obliviousness. 

“Are you French, or do you just speak it?” he asked in the language, looking at her with hungry eyes.

Nate didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to think to deeply about why he ended up at Cas’ place when he found out Nic’s dad was contacting him. He didn’t want to think of what that meant because it really didn’t mean anything. Cassidy Runcorn wasn’t Nate’s boyfriend and examining it further would just make it feel weird. 

“I - that’s not what I meant exactly,Nic,” Nate stuttered out. “I’m not saying we aren’t friendly or don’t get along. I just -” 

Nate didn’t want the conversation. He didn’t want to explain that Cas was gentle and kind. That for a few moments he didn’t feel scared when he was around him. Nate knew that it was physical at best, and that they were using each other but it felt nice. It felt comfortable to know that Cas wasn’t going to suddenly turn mean, and there wasn’t a fear that one night stands sometimes had. He was funny and just overall nice for Nate to be around, even if it wasn’t a real relationship. 

Nate flinched when he continued to speak. After all, it was in some ways true. No one had stayed with Nate, or at least no one that treated him as gently as Cas tended to. 

“It’s not like that Nic. I’m not - if he leaves he leaves and it’s fine. He’s not my boyfriend, it’s just a lot nicer to be with someone that you already know what to expect from okay?” 

It rang a little hollow in his mouth. Nate did think it would be fine if Cas said they were done, but he would be a little sad about it. He was in some ways attached to Cas the way he would suspect the other was to him. There was a sense of familiarity that was comforting. It was like a warm bath, nice and simple and lovely. He didn’t want to complicate it. Nate knew that would mean rejection so he didn’t think about anything else with Cas.

Still he continued. “I’m having sex with him Nic, not dating or marrying him. It’s not the same thing as a romantic relationship and I - don’t know how to explain that better. Like we aren’t going out on dates or whatever. He’s not the type to date anyone. I didn’t figure you would care if I wasn’t romantically involved.”  

Nic didn’t want to be doing this any more than Nate seemed like he wanted to. But his anxiety had him in a vice-grip and he was quite literally unable to let the issue drop. It was like thorns winding around his heart and lungs, iron fingers squeezing his mind. He had to understand. He had to make sure his world was in order. He had to make sure everything wasn’t about to fall down around his ears and leave him shattered. 

Nic didn’t care how Nate spent his time. He honestly didn’t. He wanted his brother to be happy. But sometimes things tripped little red switches in his mind and it was like a full mental meltdown that he couldn’t stop until he was reassured, and learning that Nate had been seeing the same person for a while, while not mentioning it at all, had tripped several switches.

“I... I guess,” Nic managed, running a hand through his hair. He supposed that made sense; a familiar one-night stand was better than having to constantly re-learn people? Nic didn’t do things like this. He knew, but he also didn’t know certain things. He’d have to take Nate’s explanation at face value and trust. But trust had never come easy for him. 

He was like an anxious little bird.  It was sweet, honestly.

This was all new for her as well – she had never pursued a friendship with anyone before.  But Nic seemed like he needed one, and it was about time she threw some good karma into the universe.  “Okay,” she tilted her head to the side to look up at him.  “I like trouble though.  Have I given you any indication that I can’t handle your shit?”  There was no need to sugarcoat it.  He had a lot of shit and he knew it well enough.

It took every single bit of strength she had in her to bite back laughter when he agreed to come even after she let him off the hook.  Maybe they’d make it through a meal without him tormenting the waitress.  “When bacon is involved no mistakes are possible.”  She led the way down the street, eventually holding the door to a small cafe open for him.  “Chair or booth?  Just kidding, we’re going to sit in a booth.”

I like trouble. Normally, Nic loved people who loved trouble. Like that polyjuiced Death Eater he’d met at the Yule Ball. Dieu, the fun they’d had together. But when Yuki said she liked trouble, it almost sounded like a challenge. Like she was daring Nic to do his worst, because she’d just laugh and enjoy herself. It was a novelty, and it was terrifying, and Nic didn’t have a response for it that was even close to articulate. 

“You will regret this,” he said lamely, for lack of any other ideas. Whatever her game was, she’d have to get tired of him eventually, since it looked like she wasn’t about to get angry like people normally did. He followed her to the cafe with all the enthusiasm of a ghost, drifting absently in her direction. He even sat at the booth without comment, although as soon as he’d sat he was drumming his fingers frenetically along the plastic tabletop, rings clicking, small blue sparks flying between them. His leg was jittering beneath the table and it was exhausting but he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t noticed it yet, but the red vinyl of the seat around his was slowly turning black like he was spilling ink onto it, anxiety bleeding out with his magic. 

It had been impulsive. But then, nearly everything Nic did was on impulse. Perhaps his mind could skip a few steps ahead, every once and a while, but he couldn’t often hold on to the conclusions he came to, or really apply them. He just; sort of vaguely felt around for how he thought the future would go if he made this or that choice, and he followed his gut. With this, however, he hadn’t even paused to consider that much. He’d just. Asked her. On a date. 

It had nothing to do with Nate. Nothing at all. 

“So, how will this go?” Nic asked, reaching out with one hand when Sofiya reached him so that he could use one many-ringed hand to tuck a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “Did you look at your cards, or your crystal ball, to find out?”

Eating a donut from a box that had appeared from… somewhere that Tristan wasn’t going to think too hard about, Tristan watched Nic collapse on his couch and wondered if he should pat his back or get him a drink. Whatever he was talking about wasn’t good news and since he didn’t sound frantic, Tristan was going to assume it wasn’t about something Nic did.

His brother again, maybe? Siblings were trouble like that. He thought he heard the word cream, so either Nic needed a cream for an injury, or he wanted ice cream. Context clues said it was the latter, so Tristan got up. “I know how to make an ice cream alcohol drink,” Tristan offered as he made his way into the kitchen, resisting the urge to pet Nic’s hair like he would the cat.

Hearing Tristan speak English was an unexpected jolt that made Nic aware that he maybe hadn’t just been speaking English? But Tristan took it in stride the way he always did and merde, Nic really enjoyed his company much too much to keep indulging in it. It was just so easy to be around Tristan and stop worrying about things for half a second. Really Nic should just cut him off now, insult the other man or maybe set fire to something precious, so he could be run off and forget all about this? 

But he was too tired and upset to think about burning bridges right now. Instead he just hauled himself up on the couch with a groan so that he could see Tristan heading to the kitchen. 

Nic’s reaction seemed a bit… calculated. Which could have something to do with Valentina having been all over the papers when she’d been arrested, or it could have something to do with his general mysterious-ness. Either way, she was going to brush it away at the moment. “Blondes have more fun, I guess.  What do you do?” Nic had said he wouldn’t talk much about himself until the drinks came around, but she felt kind of bad she always seemed to monopolize the conversation. 

Despite how much she’d like to ask more about Nic’s life, his lack of enthusiasm makes her wait until drinks have been drowned. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop complaining about them, but she’s not actively campaigning against them either, so I’m pretty sure that’s a win.” Her mother was annoying and bigoted, but she was also lonelier since her father’s arrest, so Sofiya was trying to provoke her less often, at least until her mother realized that she could go back to russia and hang out with proper purebloods. 

Nic caught her question, but the statement before him made him furrow his brows slightly. “Blondes have... more fun?” he repeated it slowly, as if saying the words himself would reveal their meaning. Perhaps it wasn’t an idiom he was familiar with? It did happen, even though he’d been in this country for a few years now. 

“I am not... typically employed,” Nic said, tone careful around the words as he searched for ones that could convey the specificity of what he meant in English. Which. Was difficult. “I work...” How did he say ‘freelance’ in English?? “I do not know the word. Not for one person or group.”

Juliette snickered along with him. Her head shook and as it did so her hair fell to one side as she combed it over her shoulder entirely, twisting it and pinning it up to alleviate some of the excess heat. “Maybe so… would your brother?” she asked, smirking as she looked over at him. It had been a while since they’d spoken to one another, but she always knew that Nicholas had a rather electrifying personality. People whispered about him, which made it all the more interesting. 

Touchy. Juliette’s brows shot upward, her smirk growing a bit. “When did you become so sensitive, Nicholas?” Stepping closer, she leaned up against the wall with him, perhaps two or three feet away as to slowly approach. If he wanted to speak French and only French, she could accept that. It often became difficult to translate back and forth if one person was using each language, so eliminating the hassle was beneficial all around. “Maybe not… maybe you’re just finishing what someone else started. But I wasn’t talking about destruction of property… your aura is entirely out of place.”

Not that she assumed Nic would know or care what that meant, but it revealed to Juliette that he had a self destructive desire in himself, and perhaps that was why he had sought to burn a building instead. “What’s troubling you?”

Juliette’s laughter and calm demeanor made Nic nervous. She’d always put him on edge, just a little, because he knew she dabbled in divination. It was the same reason that he was always a little bit wary around Sofiya, too. Divination was tricky magic; when it worked, it had the power to see through people, to see into the future. To catch hidden things. Nic didn’t need that kind of scrutiny, especially if it was angled at him. 

“Time changes people,” he snapped back. “Shit happens. People react to it. You’re an only child now, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you haven’t become a little ‘sensitive’ yourself.” It was a low blow. A cruel one. But Nic had been called cruel before and he was willing to do anything to turn her questions away from him, to flip the conversation. 

The minute she mentioned his aura, and asked what was wrong, Nic stopped regretting mentioning her sisters. He didn’t regret it even a little anymore. His “aura” was his own fucking business. As were his troubles. What had gotten into people, lately? He flashed back unpleasantly to most of his interactions with Luka, where the other man seemed patiently and immovable when it came to his seemingly-earnest interest in Nic’s wellbeing. He knew that Juliette’s question came from a place of simple curiosity, not care, but he still bristled at it. 

“Right now? You’re troubling me,” he growled. 

Luka paused and wondered if he did love dancing. He liked being useful in his troupe that was true. It was something he was good at, and there was a bit of pride there he was sure. However, he didn’t love ballet. It wasn’t something he chose it was an opportunity to get out of a horrible situation. He loved dancing, but when it was with other people. 

In all actuality he liked being around other people if he was being honest. Dancing was just how he survived. “No I don’t think I do. At least not dancing itself.” He said with a shrug. 

“I don’t see it as abnormal, or generous. It’s simply how I see it if I’m honest,” Luka said softly. “After all, I care more about your feelings then a jacket.” 

Luka could see the moment of spikes coming back around Nic, and for a moment it just made him blink. He wasn’t shocked at all, however at the question he just said, “I may not be able that is true, but sometimes it’s at least nice to say when something is wrong. I’m not trying to push, Nic. Also because if something is wrong and is hurting you I would like to help.” 

At the statement Luka shrugged slightly deciding the roof was as good as any place to stretch and sat down on the ground. 

“I don’t think you are going to hurt me, Nic.” 

Nic blinked in surprise. It was rare that people surprised him anymore, but he genuinely had a hard time believing that Luka didn’t love dancing, after hearing all that he went through for it. “Why did you do it, then? Why do you still do it?” The panic Nic felt rising in his gut at Luka’s continued overtures of friendship ebbed slightly as he latched onto the curiosity, onto the prospect of continuing to pick apart who Luka was. 

When Luka professed to care about Nic’s feelings, though, Nic just laughed. For an uncomfortably long time. 

“Nice joke,” he grinned, though there was an edge of malice too it. Something just a little too sharp in the tilt of his lips. Luka wanted to help. How nice of him. Nic needed so much help he felt smothered with it. At the same time, he didn’t need any help at all. There was no help for him. The vicious smile fell away, though, to reveal a deep fatigue.