#raedear

“Then it seems we have no more need to keep up the charade, as you called it.” Nicky says quietly. He might as well be sitting in an office meeting with strangers.

“Nicky, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“I’d like you to leave now.” Joe thought he had heard the worst of Nicky’s coldness during the first fight they ever had. The ice in Nicky’s voice now would have shredded him that first day. It’s all he can do to look at Nicky long enough to nod and turn away.

-

He walks home, even though his hands are shaking and his legs feel weak. The cold air is an unpleasant sensation and he thinks he might be in trouble if it’s still better than the feeling he has after that fight.

When he gets home he walks past Nicky's shortbread and eats leftover takeout that smells questionable at best.

Maybe there was something to his false bravado about not needing Nicky, because after an hour of crying to himself he falls asleep on his couch, alone.  

-

The next day he can barely get any work done, and the Nicky painting sits in the corner, staring at him as he struggles with the other canvas – the one he was so close to finishing yesterday.

Around dinnertime, Quynh sends him an email with the options for an appointment at the sleep clinic – detailing the merits of the place, and asking for a response when he’s able. When they’re able actually. Nicky is the other recipient of the email, and though he hasn’t responded with his availability yet, Joe knows he’s seen it.

Nicky is always checking his phone – Joe’s seen him do it so many times he could paint the gesture from every angle. He would want to do one from just behind, and capture the privacy of the moment from over Nicky’s shoulder, highlighting the angle of his nose as the screen lights it up, and the clench of his jaw that he never seems to notice. Maybe Nicky would sleep better if he looked at his phone less.

The email stares up at him from his phone, and Quynh’s impatience is clear in every perfectly chosen word. There are implications there: Quynh and Nicky have spoken since last night, or Andy and Nicky. Maybe Nicky didn’t say anything and Quynh saw his mood at lunch. She’s been suspiciously quiet towards Joe since this whole thing started and it hasn’t escaped Joe’s notice that Andy introduced her to Joe after she was already friends with Nicky.

Joe’s pulse spikes at the idea of losing Quynh or Andy over this. But then he remembers the time that Booker almost hit Joe outside the nightclub, and the time that Andy disappeared for a week in the middle of her own wedding preparations. Joe doesn’t make friends with people who would turns him away over a single fight. Even if he feels like he might deserve it right now.

None of this matters in the moment, however. Joe had asked for a solution to his sleep problem that doesn’t include Nicky, and that’s what’s being offered.

With a sigh, he sends back his availability, and he only barely resists throwing his phone when Nicky responds less than a minute later with his own confirmation of a date that will work.

Before he can stop himself, Joe opens a text message to Nicky, and he gets halfway through his first sentence before he realizes that he doesn’t know what he could say that would even start to address everything that’s happened so far.

Instead he shuts his phone and pulls out an old canvas he once left half finished out of sheer annoyance. He paints until the sun comes up, and then he paints some more.

-

The sleep clinic is small. Joe only sees two assistants and one clinician. The assistants have Joe fill out forms when he arrives, perched awkwardly on a plastic chair next to Nicky.

Between the staff’s polite and distant demeanor, and Nicky’s stoic compliance, Joe feels like he’s alone in the room. It isn’t until they’re asked to detail what’s been going on that he feels a semblance of normalcy.

“So that’s why we’re here to see you,” Joe finishes, having taken point on explaining the situation.

The clinician behind the desk looks at Nicky. “Anything to add?”

Nicky shrugs, “Joe covered it all more or less accurately. I have been struggling with sleep for longer than him, but sleeping beside him has let me sleep regularly and more easily.”

“How much longer have you had trouble sleeping?” The clinician asks, looking down at Nicky’s chart.

Joe watches the lines of Nicky’s shoulder lift – tension clear in his jaw, “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

The clinician responds coolly, “I can’t help you without the proper background information.”

Glancing at Joe, Nicky lets out a sigh, “I stopped sleeping well in my late teenage years.”

Joe tries not to visibly respond, but he can feel his mouth drop open. Beside him, Nicky seems to tense more - as if he can sense Joe’s reaction.

“Any idea what caused the change?”

“I don’t think Nicky needs to share that,” Joe says, speaking before he thinks about it. The idea of Nicky being asked to tell a strangers details that he hasn’t even been able to tell Joe after a week of sleeping in the same bed feels inappropriate at best. This was not a part of his plans to get some sleep.

If Nicky has anything to say about the interruption, he doesn’t get the chance as the clinician addresses Joe, “We are not mind readers Mr. Al-Kaysani. We can’t tell you what is going on with you if we don’t have context for the things you’re experiencing.”

“That may be true, but Nicky didn’t want to share any of this with me before, and I don’t-“

“Nothing changed,” Nicky interrupts Joe with all the calm that Joe can’t feel, “I could not even guess why I stopped sleeping. I’m sorry if that hinders any part of this study.” Something in his voice sounds off, but the clinician doesn’t seem to notice as she nods.

“Okay. Well thank you for telling us what you could. I can’t promise any results tonight, but we will do our best with what we get.”

As the woman rises from her chair, Joe turns to look at Nicky. The other man is gathering his coat and his bag – avoiding Joe’s eyes.

It’s all Joe can do not to grab him and ask him if he still wants to do this at all.

-

When they’re led into a room with two twin beds, Nicky still isn’t looking at Joe.

They were directed to put on their own sleepwear before they came in, and Joe notices that the shirt Nicky picked is different than the worn out ones he usually wears to bed. Joe himself is wearing sweatpants that he normally works out in, and he isn’t even close to feeling relaxed as they get into their respective beds.

The woman speaks over the intercom to them, instructing them to try and sleep but not to feel pressure. They have time, according to her.

For a few minutes, Joe and Nicky lay in silence.

“Quynh didn’t come,” Joe observes at last, “I thought she might.”

“Her meeting ran late,” Nicky responds, voice stiff.

And with that, they return to silence.

Another few minutes pass by, and Joe knows they can’t have been there long, but he’s distinctly aware of how slow time is moving based on how loud Nicky’s breathing feels – uneven and overwhelming over the distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” Joe says, suddenly.

In the silence, Nicky’s breathing has changed, “Scusi?”

“I’m sorry that they asked you about your past, and that you have to be here at all. This wasn’t where I thought we’d end up.”

For a long time they lay in silence.

“Where did you think we’d end up?” Nicky asks.

Joe opens and closes his mouth several times before Nicky shifts in his bed and says, “We should try counting down again.” The lights of the room are dim but not completely dark and Joe can see Nicky laying stiffly under the sheets – looking as uncomfortable as Joe feels.

“Alright. 10, 9, 8,”

Nicky joins him on 7, and this time Joe is still awake when he gets to 1, so he hears Nicky’s voice slow down and drop off during the countdown. For a moment the only sound in the room is the unnatural hum of a different air system, and the steady inhaling and exhaling of Nicky’s sleep.

-

The clinician wakes Joe up, and after a moment of feeling disoriented, he looks over at where Nicky is already sitting up – waiting for one of the assistants to finish pulling the sensors off his face.

“Did you find anything?” Joe asks the clinician, not bothering to let her say anything before he sits up and reaches to help her pull the sensors off.

She catches his hands and tells him to be patient and to relax a moment, but he only lowers his hands and asks, “Did you get what you needed?”

“We got what we needed, but I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed with what we discovered.”

Joe can’t see Nicky’s face but he can feel the tension radiating off of him.

The clinician steps back to more clearly address them both as she says, “We’ve confirmed that there’s nothing unusual about your physical readings when you sleep beside each other. There’s nothing specific going on biologically that we can point to right now.”

Joe wants to scream. “What does that mean?”

For the first time all night, the woman looks a little soft as she addresses him, “It means I don’t have any answers for you, Mr. Al-Kaysani.”

"So why cant I sleep without him?" He can’t stop himself from asking.

The woman gives him a patient look as she responds, "It could be any number of things. External or internal. Rhythms of your apartment, lack of sound, a pet, nightmares, anxiety-"

Joe doesn’t know why, but the very word makes him choke. “Are you saying that being without Nicky gives me anxiety?" Before he finishes the question he’s looking over at Nicky, and Nicky turns to look back. His face is intense and his gaze unwavering. It’s the expression he made the night that they talked about his nightmares – scared and determined and so unbelievably vulnerable that it makes Joe choke on the last word. Something in Nicky’s jaw ticks, and Joe wonders about it for a moment before Nicky speaks and the moment dissipates.

"Impossible. Anyone who feels anxiety when I'm gone has never lost an argument about something as stupid as whether or not [team] will make it to [tournament]."

Joe crushes the urge to argue and takes the offering for what it is, turning to the doctor and asking, "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

The doctor hums and looks down at her chart, "if you don't have any more questions, I'll let you both go. We have all we need for now and you'll get results in your email within a few days."

-

They leave the lab in relative silence, and as they step out of the doors, Joe asks, “Will you come back to my place?”

Nicky looks startled at the question, and Joe remembers just as suddenly what day it is.

“Oh. Right, you have that thing.”

After a brief look of confusion, Nicky’s expression turns to something that might be either frustrated or fond, “That’s not tonight. I’d be happy to come back to your place.”

The radio keeps them company on the drive back to Joe’s apartment, and it isn’t until they get inside that Joe thinks to ask, “Did you cancel your mystery guests?”

“I did,” Nicky says, sounding tired. For a moment, they stand in the hallway together – Joe leaning against the wall and Nicky with his hands on his hips. They must paint a rather sad picture – half in and half out, of both the apartment and this peace that could be something deeper if they let it. If Joe let it, maybe.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you said,” Nicky replies, one corner of his mouth lifting, “Show me where your kitchen is. I think we both could use something to eat.”

Once Joe’s gotten Nicky acquainted with the space and convinced him to keep the cooking simple, he settles himself the counter he thinks will be least in the way.

“You know don’t have to cook for me. I wouldn’t exactly want to feed me right now after everything.”

“That is why it’s good that you don’t make decisions for me,” Nicky says, digging around in the fridge, “You could do something for me though.”

“What?”

Standing up straight, Nicky turns to meet Joe’s eyes. “Tell me what this has all been about.”