cntrfortin:
“ and it’s my treat “ nic starts the engine before will can offer a rebuttal. for a moment all that’s heard is the rumble of nic’s jeep as the two players make their way out of the parking facility. nic’s features settle into a content smile and warm eyes as they greet the small crowd of people still hoping for autographs and photos. a young boy — no older than nine — is hanging back a little from the handful of people that have walked up to nic’s door. nic keeps his responses short — but polite — until everyone gets want they want. it’s after everyone leaves from both sides of the jeep that nic finally speaks to the kid. “ hey buddy. i think i’ve one more signature left in this hand. “ he waves the boy over — his smile actually reaching his eyes as the boy lights up with excitement. “ what your name, bud? “
kyle was an eight year old center for a youth team in the area. something about the kid hit a cord with nic and soon they were taking a couple pictures and nic was fishing a stick and personalized devils shirt from his equipment bag. after a couple more signatures and many thank yous from kyles mom, nic finally pulled away and turned out of the complex in the direction of their favorite dumpling spot. “ hopefully we see him again next season. “
music played softly as they drove — nics fingers drumming along with the beat against the steering wheel. “ so, we’re leaving at the end of the week — for the beach house. “ he peered over to will with obvious puppy dog eyes. they were alone now and nic was going to get will to agree to spending time in the hamptons with his family. “ and if you tag a long — i won’t blow up your phone with hundreds of messages and snaps of all the fun we could have up there. “
they still haven't talked about it : the snatches of blurry moments that will barely remembers ( nic had been in his bed, though, he's sure that hadn't been a hallucination ), confessions in his sunlit kitchen, the way nic's sweatshirt still smells like him but it's no substitute for the real thing, i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry said too many times to still have meaning... he knows nic is giving him space, is thankful for it actually --- but conversations can't be endlessly avoided and silence doesn't last forever, no matter how much he may want it to.
he tries to be present for the fans, he really does, but the thought is like a thorn in his side, impossible to ignore. hopefully any of his aloofness gets written off as a side-effect of his injury. it's over for him soon enough, head turning in time to catch the tail end of nic's interaction with the young boy. he's tossed back into the memory of the learn to play he'd attended at the end of last month, the one where he'd ran into amara again and some traitorous part of him had wished she'd been nic instead. they'd still been fighting at the time, and though barely a few weeks ago, it feels like EONS.
will only remembers to breathe when they're heading down the road again, though it might be suitable to say now he's out of the frying pan and into the fire. he stares resolutely out the window, eyes unfocused on the buildings and trees that flash by. the plan doesn't quite work because he can still see nic's faint reflection on the glass. even with the high transparency the look in nic's eyes is clear enough. will bites his lip --- he always had liked when those brown eyes softened ( especially when they were on him, like he was special ).
" i could change my number, " he threatens unconvincingly. truth be told, the more he thinks about it, the less appealing staying alone in his apartment sounds. it's not like he's going back to buffalo any time soon ( or ever ). and though he's long valued his own solitude, the truth is he's gotten accustomed to nic being around --- even with the new development neither of them seem to be broaching at the moment.
but it's exactly THAT thought that makes him hesitate. the past week or so has knocked so many cobwebs loose, resurrected things he'd thought he'd locked down inside him permanently. there's no telling what happens if he goes to the hamptons with nic, and that's exactly what terrifies him. he looks down at this lap, away from the window, away from the faint imitation of nic ( when the real one is right next too him, so very present as always ). his one hand is gripping his own thigh too tight ; he doesn't remember even doing it. " i don't know, nic, " he says finally, " i just don't think ----- " that i can cope with it ? that i'll be good company ? that i'll ever say what i really want to ? " ----- i just don't think it's a good idea. "









