16. Luke

The door slammed shut behind Nick.

Luke sank into the sofa.

What just happened?

He spent the next day trying and failing to pay attention at work, working himself up.

How could Nick think that he’d ever hit him, no matter how angry he got?

He tried to regain some of the anger he had been feeling at the time, but it just wouldn’t. Guilt happened, shame happened, but he couldn’t summon anger for anyone but himself.

He couldn’t sleep. The night before he had conked out, exhausted after fighting with both Sofia and Nick, but now he just lay awake staring at the ceiling while his insides twisted into tangled knots.

When Phyllis brought him coffee the next morning at work, his smile wavered and fell, but he took it.

It was only when she placed a plate of biscuits at his elbow at the end of the day that he realised he hadn’t eaten anything.

He ran a hand over his eyes, too tired to do anything, and pushed the plate away.

He wasn’t hungry.

He needed a drink, definitely.

He finished later than he usually would, diving into his work, pushing late into the night.

By Thursday evening there was little left for him to do.

Phyllis and the team kept asking him if he was feeling alright and casting worried glances his way.

He needed to get out of there. Even his computer shut down before he was ready.

The flat was empty, of course, but it hadn’t hit him this hard since last Wednesday, when he realised Nick hadn’t been there for a few days. He had gotten used to food and humming and a warm body in his bed.

He sat down in front of the television and let himself drift.

Man, he wanted a drink. But they only had vodka and rum, and nothing to mix it with. Nick bought the mixers, because he had better taste.

Luke. Luke only had vodka and rum.

He went to bed. It didn’t matter. He was tired anyway.

Of course now that his schedule outside of work was remarkably emptier, work had let up. Sod’s law.

Luke found himself staring at the television for the third night in a row, which would have been fine if he had thought to turn the damn thing on.

He missed Nick. He felt guilty. He really didn’t know what to do next. So he did what he always did when he screwed up. He called his best friend.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Luke could feel the tension start to unravel already.

“Yeah,” Lucas sounded amused, “I can see that. Your name is on my screen as we speak.”

“I need advice.”

“Jesus Christ on a hoverbike, when did I become your gay hotline?”

There was a snort in the background. Donna, presumably.

“Don’t you have someone of a more flexible sexuality you can call when you need LGBT advice?”

“Lucas,” he took a deep breath, “I fucked up.”

His friend must have heard something in his tone, because instead of mocking him he just said, “From the beginning.”

So Luke recounted everything, including things he already knew, Sofia, the hectic schedule at work, Nick’s incredible patience, but also his concealed bitterness because he felt second in Luke’s attentions – which he wasn’t, by the way, although, yes, maybe in attentions, temporarily, but never in affections – Sheila’s insistence with staying late and working through lunches, Sofia again, Sofia and her meddling.

“She came by the flat?”

That was definitely incredulity and anger in Lucas’ voice.

“Yeah, the day before the locksmith. Nick was here.”

“Shit. She messed with his head,” he guessed, “Look, I’m going to put you on speaker, because Donna’s better than me at feelings and things.”

True.

“Fine. And yes, she messed with him. She made him think I was cheating on him.”

Donna sucked in a breath, “Like the douchebag ex.”

“Exactly, “ Luke nodded, even knowing they couldn’t see him, “Except she implied that I was sleeping with her.”

“That bitch.”

Donna never cursed, so to hear her do it with such fierceness was surprising.

“Quite. So we argued.”

“First fight?”

Luke shrugged, pulling a cushion closer to himself, “First one that mattered.”

“And? What happened? What did you say?”

“I don’t know,” he said, frustrated at everything, but mainly himself, “I just… I said something stupid about his ex being around the Epiphany and him all the time and I took a step towards him and he flinched, then ran.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, so the words barrelled out to fill the hole.

“Like, proper full-on threw a hand up in front of his face in defence, tried to make himself smaller, looked down and away. He looked terrified. He flinched. Like I was going to hit him.”

Still no response. Luke could feel the nausea starting in his stomach.

“You don’t think? Not you too.”

“No,” said Lucas firmly, “We know you wouldn’t.”

Donna piped up with what Lucas called the “class voice”, the one she used to soothe people.

“But he doesn’t know that.”

Luke must’ve made a confused sort of sound, because she continued.

“Look, he obviously likes you and trusts you, but look at all of this from his point of view. All he can see is the pattern. You’ve been busy, almost distancing yourself, right? Has he been a bit too close recently, clinging on a bit too hard?”

“It’s work,” Luke tried to protest, “And maybe he’s been a bit more touchy-feely than usual, but-“

“Luke, love, he thought you were going to break up with him. Then you got angry at Sofia, then with him, and if I remember right, heat of the moment anger is what happened with his ex. Which all makes it especially frightening if his instincts were screaming at him that he couldn’t fight you off.”

Luke tried to disappear into the sofa, “What?”

“He’s smaller, thinner and weaker than you.”

That was all true. Luke had to tilt downwards to kiss him, not a lot, just enough for it still to be comfortable, but he was taller. Nick had a dancer’s figure, slim and flexible, but it had started from a fairly reedy sort of kid, if past Facebook pictures were anything to go by. Which meant that Luke, with his swimmer’s shoulders and school-rugby built torso was bigger and stronger.

“Fuck.”

“At the most, what he has on his side is speed. Which he ended up using.”

Luke put a hand over his eyes, ashamed, “He ran.”

Donna’s voice was still pitched low, soothing even in telling him exactly how he had fucked things up worse than previously thought, “Because it was the only option. Fight or flight.”

“Shit. Shit, Donna. What do I do?”

“Leave him alone for a little while,” she said, the voice of reason, “Maybe text him to let him know you’re sorry and worried about him. Be careful though, you’re concerned but you don’t want to guilt him into anything.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“People are tricky,” she reminded him, “and texts don’t always come through the way you want them to. Just let him work through his anxiety for a bit. Text him, and when he’s ready he will text you back.”

Yeah.

“Ok.”

Luke could do that.

Apparently he couldn’t. Composing the perfect text message was hard, and he had spent far too much time over the past few days trying to coax the words into something that conveyed concern and hope, but nothing negative.

How did one say “sorry, I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose and I want you back because you’re perfect and wonderful and I don’t deserve you, but if you don’t want to that’s ok too, I hope we can keep in contact and please be ok” without coming off as a little bit psychotic?

Although it wouldn’t be ok.

If Nick didn’t want him back, that is.

He wouldn’t bring it up or anything, but he would have to stop seeing everyone for a while, hide in his flat (if it still belonged to him at the time, which, with the way things were going, there wouldn’t be any point to), dive into his work even further, cry and mope and pine until Lucas or Edo slapped him into trying to move on.

What if Nick ended up with someone Luke knew via Mitch and Tash and he had to go to the wedding and give a speech about how good the grooms were for each other and not talk about his regret for fucking it up?

Jesus motherfucking Christ.

It was just a text message. He could do this. He needed to pull himself together.

Maybe after he’d sent it he would go down to the Old Boot for a pint. He deserved a nice relaxing pint.

Ok. Writing the text. Go.

The phone rang.

It was Edo.

“Hello?”

“Hombre, are you free?”

He could barely hear him over the background music. He was definitely at the Epiphany.

Nick was on shift tonight.

“You need to come here.”

“No, Edo, I can’t.”

The background music got louder, he could hear people laughing and shouting along.

“I will pay for the couple's counselling,” said Edo, sounding exhausted, “just come and pick him up.”

“Deal with it. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Luke. Please. He needs you.”

And Luke could almost see Nick again, with the tears threatening, the look of utter betrayal and it actually, physically hurt.

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

When he walked in, Nick was in a corner of the further bar, sitting on one of the stools. He knew Nick was supposed to be dancing that night, and he knew Nick loved it, but he was meant to be behind the bar. It wasn’t eleven thirty yet.

JT glared at him from behind the first bar, so Luke stopped to receive the hate.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” said JT, “Because it wouldn’t do any good. Just remember that I work in a lab and I have access to some pretty nasty chemicals.”

“Understood.”

Luke gave him a half smile and walked to the other bar, not letting the early dancers get in his way.

Edo nodded at him as he came closer and stared at him like he was trying to convey just how much of a fuck-up he was just with his eyes.

He already knew, thanks.

But Edo pushed a glass of water at him before serving his next customer like he was trying to press manners into him, so Luke picked it and his courage up, and walked over to Nick.

“Hey.”

Nick didn’t look up, just kept on drawing patterns on the counter with his fingertips.

“I’m fine, JT, we’ve had this conversation. I’ll get up and dance in a minute ok?”

Luke put the glass down next to his hand, “I’m not JT.”

At that, Nick did look up.

“Luke. Shit.”

“I can go, if you want.”

Nick’s hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, stopping him, “No, no, I’ve been meaning to call, I just-“

“-Edo called, told me to come here, but if it’s easier-“

“-it’s difficult to explain if you haven’t been through it-“

“-I mean, I miss you, but we can talk some other time-“

“-but I want to talk about it.”

They stared for a moment. Luke took comfort in the point of contact between then at his wrist.

“Do you have to stay for the rest of your shift?”

Suddenly, Edo was there.

“No, Linda took dancing away from him until he stops moping. He doesn’t have a shift.”

Just as suddenly, Edo left.

Like a gremlin, or a four year old.

“No shift?”

Nick shook his head, letting go of Luke’s wrist, “I just came so I wouldn’t be alone in the flat. JT’s working all the shifts Linda will give him and all of my non-College friends are here, so.”

Luke caught Nick’s fingers before his hand was back on the table and laced their fingers together.

“Come home? We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now I just want you back with me. No sex,” he was quick to clarify, not wanting Nick to jump to conclusions, “just sleep. In our bed. With me.”

Nick took a moment, looked at him as though searching for something.

“Ok. Yeah,” he squeezed their hands together, gave a small, soft smile, “Let’s go home.”