#natellis

natellis fic (nate sib x 2hollis)

(request) mlm. angst. soft fluff.

tags: implied sexual content (non-explicit tho), smoking, internal conflict, intimacy, unresolved relationship talk (??), boyliife.

w/c: 1962. intentional lowercase.

summary: after the night they shared, nate and hollis step outside—too sober, too aware, too close. they try to talk; fail a bit, succeed a bit.

nate got out of the bed somehow. wobbling, yeah, a little, but with enough pride to pull his boxers on without struggling and walk barefoot toward the balcony in front of him. on the way, he snatched a pack of cigarettes, slid the glass door open, and let the freezing night air cut through his skin—but he had other sensations in his body way louder than the cold.

he leaned his forearms on the railing, looked down with a hit of vertigo, then to the sides, and lit a cigarette. he stayed quiet, staring at a completely random building. nothing special about it except being a fixed point where he could rest his brain while thinking about what had just happened.

oh, about having sex with his best friend. someone who was basically his brother in every way except blood. about trying to figure out what he felt, or what they felt, while doing it. about trying to decode whatever those brown eyes were saying from above him. about trying to guess what the blond might’ve been thinking while he looked at him like that—with that mix of awe and confusion, like staring at the world’s ugliest expensive shirt. about trying to understand what it meant, what it changed, what it broke open.

as if the night itself had called him, a figure appeared at the edge of nate’s vision. tall, long blond hair barely visible if not for the city lights, jaw sharp as a threat.

—hey —hollis muttered, voice low and scratchy, stopping at one specific spot on the balcony, between the door and nate’s feet—. couldn't sleep?

—no… how d’you feel?

—fine. i’m fine —he stepped closer, copying nate’s posture, leaning beside him, still refusing to look at him; as if making eye contact would ignite him all over again—. what about you?

—i’m okay —nate said immediately. too fast. like he wanted to shut the whole conversation down before it started.

silence took the space between them.

hollis let out a short “hm,” smoke filling his lungs before he even realized he had leaned slightly closer. he hadn’t even noticed nate was smoking. now he did—when he finally gave himself permission to look at him. at the cigarette between nate’s lips. at nate’s lips.

he looked for longer than necessary. ridiculously longer. then tore his gaze away.

why couldn’t he just ask his best friend for a cigarette now? why couldn’t he keep the conversation going? did it even count as a conversation? probably not.

why couldn’t he continue whatever they’d started?

“started what, exactly?” he asked himself.

nate pretended not to notice hollis looking. he did notice. he just didn’t offer the cigarette. couldn’t bring himself to.

the sun didn’t offer light to the sunflower.

or was it the other way around?

maybe the sunflower refused the sun.

—sorry. you want one? —nate finally asked, unable to tolerate the silence or the loud, wordless begging coming off hollis.

—uh, nah, nah. i’m good.

and he didn’t know why, but the rejection hurt more than it should have. it was obvious hollis needed the cigarette more than anything right now.

or did he need something else?

a sudden wind swept their hair sideways like curtains. like the night clearing its throat.

hollis looked at nate again—for the second time in five minutes—and admitted:

—i'm lying. gimme that.

he reached forward, two fingers brushing the cigarette straight from nate’s lips, fingertips grazing the soft edge of nate’s mouth for a brief second. saul and kim in ‘better call saul.’

nate froze, letting himself be touched, shock-soft, like this was something they always did.

and hollis thought it wasn’t a big deal. thought it wasn’t a big deal to take the cigarette from his mouth. oh, but it was.

still, without thinking, he brought it to his own lips. inhaling, exhaling. smoke drifting up.

it wasn’t a big deal when those same lips had touched way more intimate places than nate’s mouth. so why did this hit deeper?

nate tried not to stare. he looked left, right. at the city. the moon. traffic. neighbors. hollis—oh. hollis. there he was. cigarette between his lips, looking anywhere except nate.

—you going to ryan’s tomorrow? —hollis asked suddenly, forming a gray cloud in front of him that the wind carried away like it did all their words.

—i don’t know. he didn’t tell me anything. why?

—thought he told you too. said he wanted me to come over. maybe he only told me.

—hm. what do you think he wants?

—dick. —hollis said it dryly, then let out a short, humorless laugh to show it was a joke… the “dick” part, at least. he was going to see ryan. but for what?

nate laughed, but it felt forced.

sure, it was funny—because it was hollis—but this time it wasn’t as funny. because he mentioned someone who wasn’t nate? come on. it was conceal. literally their other best friend. how could nate get like that over him?

nate ran a hand through the back of his hair.

“ryan gets passed around like a blunt,” he thought.

still, he said nothing. the conversation ended in those three seconds of laughter. and the jealousy burning a hole in his chest.

—you can come too if you want —hollis added, turning fully toward him this time, like he didn’t want nate to feel excluded. like he’d finally lost the fear of looking at him: the same fear he had minutes ago in bed.

nate lifted his gaze from the highway below, listening with his eyes (does that make sense?). and god, he loved being seen like this. included, pulled in, held. especially by him. especially by hollis, who had never excluded him from anything. nate thanked him for that constantly—even if silently. in small ways.

like… well. like earlier. with, like a blowjob, or something.

he didn’t answer. but the “nothing” was loud enough to be “everything.”

hollis understood that “nothing” perfectly.

the blond raised an arm and wrapped it around nate’s shoulders, pulling him in. nate accepted the embrace immediately, arms going around hollis’ torso with a shyness that melted into something firmer. tight. warm. brotherly, except for one detail neither wanted to mention. and realizing that at the same time made the hug soften, gentler, more careful.

nate slid his hands across hollis’ back like he was comforting him—even though nate was the one falling apart inside. hollis dropped the cigarette and focused entirely on him, closing the embrace with his other arm.

hollis rested his head on nate’s shoulder. nate mirrored it, burying his face into the blond’s neck like it was the safest place in the world. instinctive. automatic. right.

they closed their eyes. held each other. let their bodies relax into one soft shape.

until the quiet broke again, in a “question” shape:

—so… you and ryan, huh?

—nate. don’t.

—what? —he fake-smiled, so hard even the wind didn’t buy it—. i’m just asking.

—nah, you're not ‘just asking.’ i know you.

—what do you know?

they still didn’t pull apart.

—i know why you act like this. i know when something hurts you.

nate fell silent. processing. opening his eyes inside the hug like that would help him understand. hollis knew him too well. scarily well.

—hurt me? i’on know what you're talking about.

—you don't have to pretend, man.

fuck.

that sentence.

the one hollis always said at exactly the right time.

the knife disguised as comfort.

it always hit nate’s chest dead center.

because with hollis, nate could do anything—smoke, laugh, break, fuck—

but tell the truth? that was the hardest.

—fuck off. i'm tired.

—it’s okay to be confused, y’know.

—you don't look confused, by the way. —nate teased.

—i know it would scare you.

—the fuck? i don't get scared of you.

—oh, you do —a soft laugh. so genuine it made nate want to die on the spot—. you do when you think about us.

silence.

…about what we could’ve been. or what we could be now.

—what’re you talking about?

the air thickened. heavy, sweet, sad, warm, freezing. could all that fit into a few words? who's saul and who's kim?

—c’mon, nathan. stop playing dumb.

—i ain't playing dumb. i genuinely don't understand.

—fucking hell.

the complaint made nate laugh. both their chests shook with it, still hugging like they were trying to trap that sound between them forever. the laugh faded. the tension returned. the wind brushed past them again.

their arms tightened. softer. more sincere.

hollis breathed in, so deep nate felt it like a tornado pulling him in.

—i'm not saying we are something… —he whispered, walking on the edge of breakable ground—. i'm just sayin’ it's different. that's all.

nate laughed under his breath, not mocking—desperate.

—yeah, no shit it’s different.

he squeezed hollis’ back a little without noticing.

—you literally just–

he stopped. couldn’t say “you literally just fucked me.” too raw, too real. a lot.

hollis finished it anyway, reading him like always.

—i know what i did. i'm not pretending it didn’t happen.

silence. a silence so full it felt like a third person standing beside them, in the same balcony.

—what does it mean, then? —nate whispered after swallowing hard, the words scraping out of him.

—i don’t know, man. i swear i don’t.

pause.

i know what i didn’t mean.

nate’s hands stopped moving. stilled.

—huh?

—didn’t mean i don’t care.

—ah. yeah, i know that. always knew it.

hollis let out a laugh so sad it vibrated through them both.

—good. just… don’t twist it, yeah? don’t make it something you’ll regret later.

nate scoffed, hurt, honest.

—i'm not regretting anything. not yet.

not yet?

oh, nate. when will you regret this? regret everything?

—me neither —hollis said, right as another cold breeze cut through them; but the hug was warm enough to swallow it whole.

nate loosened the embrace just enough to look up, their noses almost brushing. breaths mixing. something soft and sharp between them.

his eyes darted around—the night, the building across with its giant ad on the screen, the city—and finally to hollis.

—where does this leave us? —nate asked, voice aching.

hollis didn’t look away this time. he was the one who dared to look at him the most. he didn't look to his sides, or at the building on the other side, or at the moon, or anything. nate. he was everything to him.

—right here.

—that’s not an answer.

—it’s the only one i’ve got right now.

nate nodded, eyes dropping. a tiny, almost nonexistent “okay.” but hollis heard it. felt it. he watched him. traced his cheekbones, lashes, freckles, lips, the bridge of his nose. like he’d never let himself look before.

so much attention made nate lift his gaze again, reconnecting with hollis’. their pupils blew wide, like they were each other’s drug. their lips parted, like waiting for something. the arrival of something else.

what used to be smoke was now wind. there was nothing left to sign to make the unspoken any clearer.

they closed the small distance with a kiss so shy that quickly turned into a more confident one. so confident it could’ve said out loud what happened without stuttering. so confident his tongue went somewhere it shouldn’t have.

where? whose tongue?

in the other’s mouth?

in the things left unsaid?

doesn’t matter.

they had nothing certain in what they talked about, but to clarify it further would only have obscured it more. so each of them reached their own conclusion: uncomfortable, inevitable, silent. you could say they weren’t a couple, not just friends either, that nothing had been resolved. and they both knew something had changed—they just didn’t say it.