Work Text:
New York, March 14th, 2004.
"I love you, Rod."
People hear what they want to hear, Rod is sure he's heard that before, or maybe he just wanted to. People imagine up the things that make them feel all light and giddy inside, even if there's no chance that what they think they heard was real. They make up hopes, things they shouldn't think, and think them very hesitantly.
"I love your little laugh."
He couldn't have imagined that. "Nicky, are you awake?" as soon as the words left his lips a sense of hope seemed to grow in his stomach, feather-light and gleaming and somehow overlooking all the ignored side-glances and the girls Nicholas seemed to bring home. Fantasies came true. It was a pleasant, tranquil thought, one that had crossed his mind on occasion but not anything he had ever really believed. Had he been shy all this time? Turning in his sheets, but this time not due to restlessness, he found his gaze shifting to the other, eyes shut in what appeared to be tranquility.
Was he talking in his sleep, admitting his true feelings in the only place he felt free to do so? Rod would've been concerned; worried for his friend, had he not done the same thing most nights in the hopes that something about their situation would change. Oh, Rod had been dreaming. Dreaming of nights when Nicky reaches out to hold him despite their differences, despite the mud on Rod's chair and despite the freshly ironed underwear sitting in his dresser drawer. It was Hell, in quite a few ways; hiding your feelings for fear of not being accepted, hiding your feelings to make sure things stay the way they are. But every once in a while he'd do something right and Nicky would notice; he'd give a small smile or an idle comment and suddenly Rod couldn't help but feel like everything burned so beautifully if that was true.
"Take off your shirt."
The signs, he'd missed them all. The thought almost caught him off guard as memories flooded back; knowing smiles as Rod was told that it was okay to be gay, that Nicky wouldn't be going anywhere either way. That he wouldn't be judged if he really did say anything. At those words, every ounce of his blood seemed to turn into a wildfire; hot and passionate and full of a sort of energy that he couldn't recall ever having. Coming out wasn't too hard, he could tell Nicky how he felt and everything would work out. Half-awake in the dark, he couldn't help but wonder what would become of them now. Couldn't help but wonder how long the other had kept it in; couldn't help but wonder how long he'd have to wait before the ice-cold silver of the moon was replaced by the glorious sun's light, and he could ask Nicky all these questions himself.
The male laying in the bed next to him rolls over, his shoulder now obscuring any view of his face as quiet murmurings continue to pass his lips, unheard. I dream about you, sometimes, when the night becomes quiet and the moonlight paints everything silver. Rod heard what he wanted to hear, and the hope swelled in his chest. I dream about wandering the streets with our hands entwined, about sitting together and hearing your heart beat in time with my own. It felt like Rod's heart was a vicious warrior now, pumping adrenaline through his body as if he was able to tell Nicky all these things with the other fast asleep. As if he was able to confess how much his chest ached on nights like these, where the two seemed so close but were still miles away. But he'd never let Nicky feel that way, not if he could help it. Rod would be there for him when no one else was, no matter what he needed. As his feet connected with the cool flooring of the apartment, however, it almost came as a bit of a shock.
"Hey, Rod buddy! You were talking in your sleep."
Just like that, it was over.
"I thought you were talking in your sleep."
A pause.
"No, I just came to bed. You were dreaming, is all."
Oh.
"It sounded like a nice dream, though."
Apologies lumped up in his throat, tore at his heart. Rod's blood seemed to turn to ice. His mind was working a mile a minute, trying to find ways to fix this, if this could be fixed, before realizing it was all a dream. All of it. He smiled, then, despite it all; face masked in the moonlight. Nicky was smiling, but it was one of slight confusion, his head tilted ever so slightly with an inquisitive look in his eyes. If the male's other smiles could easily warm him, burn so pleasantly, this one scorched and seared red-hot. This one burned and scarred and melted and made Rod feel as if there was nowhere left to go, nowhere to turn to. The sheets moved above him, softly, as he rolled over to hide the tears beginning to form in his eyes.
"Yes, it was a nice dream."