Things hadn’t been going the best for Nicholas, honestly, he didn’t even know how he was still breathing. The only thing on his mind was Roman and that was the very last thing that he needed right now, he didn’t need the memories of what happened the last time they spoke, he didn’t need the longing of wanting to be in the arms of the only man he could ever love; so instead he found ways around that. Whiskey. Weed. Vodka. Brandy. He couldn’t bring himself to remember that he didn’t even get a goodbye from Roman himself, it was his sister making a promise to be back some time and giving him no date. Weeks passed, months after, soon enough Nicholas was on tour and even if he did want to wait on his boyfriends curb, he couldn’t. The shows were short and honestly he couldn’t remember half of them– he basically turned into a robot, no feelings was better than the rush of pain that would come if he let his guard down for even a minute. After the tour was over he isolated himself even more than before, he wouldn’t even see his brother or friends. Nothing felt right so he’d just lock himself away in his apartment, slamming away on his piano and guitar until his fingers bled. He wouldn’t even go out to buy groceries, he had them delivered. Nicholas was as he felt; pathetic.Â
The day it happened was like the rest– gray, silent, intoxicated, high. He was sitting on his living room floor, face against his knees, so high he couldn’t think of anything other than his breathing. Nicholas got to his feet at some point and ended up on his patio, staring down at the pavement and the people looking like ants. He wondered what it’d be like to fall, though he didn’t dare, he blamed his unfortunate fear of heights along with his overall fear of death. As he leaned over the rail he prayed for a giant gust of wind but instead heard his phone ringing from the living room table. He pushed himself away from the rail and stumbled back inside his apartment grabbing a beer from the fridge as he ignored the ringing. If it was anything important a message would be left, he didn’t actually expect that voicemail though. When the tone played indicating the message he chugged about half of his beer and sat on the couch, staring at his phone. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear it, the number wasn’t one he knew and that could mean a million things. Someone’s dead, someone’s in jail, someone actually needs him. Instead of actually checking it, he lit a cigarette and stared into no where. It took him a solid hour of nothingness to build up the courage to actually check the voicemail and when he did he couldn’t help but break down into tears.Â
What the hell was he supposed to do? Run back to the other like it was nothing, like everything was fine? He couldn’t even face his brother, how the fuck was he supposed to face his boyfriend? He was useless these days, gross, smelly, angry, filled with tears, distant. Was he supposed to ignore all of that and act as he used to? He had absolutely no idea.Â
Another hour passed, then another, and one more. With his hands shaking he slowly scrolled down to Roman’s name in his contacts and called him, waiting for an answer, dreading to hear the voice of the man he loved. God, this was fucked up. –––––– @wineglam
