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They had been up late, again. They both had considerable amounts of work to tend to, but generally it was only one of them that had the work that needed to be completed late into the night. Neither of them truly had to stay up with the other, but they always seemed to have their reasons. For Jay, he was considerably blunt about it; he wanted to keep Nick company, and make sure that he didn’t fall asleep at his desk. Nick insisted that he was staying up to work on one of his personal projects, or that he was reading. Regardless, though, the pair consistently remained awake longer than anyone else in the building.
Maybe that was why Nick had been plagued with night terrors for the past several nights.
The vision from three nights ago had been especially hellish, with the worst being enough to startle him awake. Gatsby had asked, of course, but Nick had insisted that he was fine, and left to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the couch. He knew the man just wanted to help, but part of him was terrified of showing that vulnerability to the other.
In the morning, Nick had already started a pot of coffee by the time Jay drowsily wandered out of their shared bedroom. He was hunched over his typewriter, staring blankly ahead at the sheet.
“Are you alright, Nick? You look like you’ve been awake for a while.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“And you’re sure? I know you tend to try and bear these things on your own, but-”
“I said I’m fine.” His tone was a bit harsher than he had intended it to be, and Nick mumbled a soft apology before burying his head back into his typewriter. “... The coffee’s almost done.”
“Thanks for starting it old sport.”
The two fell silent. Normally their silences were comfortable, but this one was tense and even unnerving; Nick wasn’t typing, and Gatsby wasn’t moving. Both wished that the other would do something.
The silence was briefly broken as Jay pulled out two mugs from the cabinets, and Nick listened intently to the coffee being poured into them. He didn’t need more; he’d already gone next door and had several cups with Margaret two hours prior. She’d insisted on making him some tea instead, but he declined with the excuse of not wanting to trouble her.
Of course, Gatsby didn't know nor did he need to know this information as he returned to the living room with the now full mugs, gently tapping Nick's desk before he placed his down. Jay waited for a few moments for something, but he sat down on the sofa after receiving nothing except tense silence.
"Are we going to talk about what happened?"
"There's nothing to talk about." Nick's tone was flat, dismissive. He only glanced over at the other after taking a sip of coffee. "Unless you're my therapist now?"
"Well, you're awfully-"
"Bitchy?"
"Hostile. It's like you're looking for trouble."
"Am I now? Or are you just being sensitive?"
"Sensi-- Nick! What is wrong with you today?"
"Nothing is wrong!"
"Well something obviously is, considering how snappy you are right now!"
"For once in your life could you just stop fucking talking?!"
Both men froze in the silence that followed, staring at each other in shock.
Jay was the first to move, rising from his seat on the sofa and going into the kitchen to finish off his coffee and place the cup in the sink. When he came back out he completely ignored Nick in favor of walking out of the apartment, harshly shutting the door in the process.
Fuck, he was exhausted. Nick couldn't even stare straight at the paper anymore. He'd been trying to write a single cohesive sentence for hours now, but it just wasn't working. Sighing, he stood again - another pot of coffee wouldn't hurt.
The man got dressed into something more presentable before heading out of the apartment and making the short trek next-door, lightly knocking.
"Miss Margaret? Are you there?"
A commotion from inside. "Where else would I be dear?"
The door was opened by a small lady with tightly curled grey locks pulled under a headwrap. He smiled tiredly at her. "You might've been out getting your groceries, or you might've taken up hiking."
She chortled, and laugh lines became distinguished against her dark brown skin. "Boy, the day I take up hiking is the day I'm at the Lord's gate."
The woman laughed again and ushered him inside of her apartment, and Nick inhaled deeply once inside; she always had some kind of incense lit.
Margaret had moved into the tenement building that had originally been there with her late husband Stephen back in 1872, and with him saw the renovations and eventual teardown of their first home in 1893. They moved into the new apartment complex that was built in its place, and she'd been there since. The two quickly became building grandparents among the tenants, and the majority of the building mourned Stephen's passing in 1915 with her.
Of course, she had been doing wonderfully on her own, and a good amount of the children had grown up with their Momma Margaret there.
"I heard you and Jay arguing this morning."
"Oh, n-no, we weren't arguing, just… ah…"
"Just arguing dear." He watched her disappear into the kitchen, and heard her rummaging around. "What happened?"
"He was asking about what happened last night."
"Well, what happened last night?"
"I had another nightmare, and accidentally woke him up because of it. I didn't want to talk about why it's been happening, and he did." He sighed softly and rubbed his eyes tiredly before continuing. "He said I was looking for trouble, and started pressuring me, and… I told him to shut up for once in his life."
Margaret didn't respond for a bit, leaving Nick to silently stew in his words.
"Well did you mean it?"
His eyes widened. "No! God, no! Never!"
"And was he right when he said you were looking for trouble?"
"... I don't know."
She tutted and returned to the living room to sit down next to him.
"I think you actually do know. So?"
A deep sigh left him before he would answer.
Nick still hadn't written more than a paragraph in the last few days - days? Hours? Week? Time had begun to blur - and the two men still hadn't spoken to each other. He only had the courage to open his mouth once Jay was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his lips pursed and brow furrowed as he stared intently at a few papers. Good lord, he always looked wonderful when he wore his glasses.
"... So are you proving a point, or waiting for me to apologize?"
Well. That wasn't at all what he'd wanted to say, but it was a start.
"A little of both, I'd assume."
"I see."
"So are you going to apologize? Or will you keep staring at me?"
Nick flinched, and quickly turned his attention back to his desk.
"I'm… sorry, for being so hostile that morning."
"Hmm? You don't think it was bitchy anymore?"
"Do you?"
"No. No, I'm just teasing you old sport."
Jay was very clearly amused by himself, a smile peeking at the corners of his mouth. Begrudgingly, Nick allowed himself to smile as well.
Sleep still wasn't an option. Even after… however long it had been - what day was it even? How long had he been awake now? - the memory of those visions were enough to keep him reluctant to sleep. So, he got out of the bed as quietly as he could so as not to wake Jay, and made his way to the kitchen to make another pot of coffee.
As it brewed, his weary mind managed to catch up with him. Did Gatsby really forgive him? Nick loved to hear him talk, why had he told him to shut up? Then he didn't even have the decency to apologize for days! What was wrong with him? How long would it be before Jay finally grew tired of his company and left? Was this the breaking point?
Nick distantly heard something like water pouring before he was crying out in pain, scalding coffee spilling onto his hand - hadn't he gotten the cup out? When did he grab the pot? - before he dropped it onto the ground, wincing when he heard the glass crack.
Gatsby entered within moments - presumably trying to find the source of the loud clatter. All that was there was Nick clutching his hand painfully as the broken pot of coffee pooled on the floor. Jay ran over to take the other to the sink, and they spoke as he ran cold water over Nick's hand.
"Nick, are you alright? What happened?"
"It's fine, I just… I'm fine."
"It's three in the morning, what were you even doing?"
"Making coffee to keep me up."
"Why on earth were you doing that old sport?"
"... I'm scared to sleep."
The admission made him nervous. What would Gatsby say about it? Would he find Nick weak for it? Jay sighed softly.
"Oh, Nick.. Just how long have you been doing this for?"
He thought for a moment.
"Three days?"
"Three days?"
"Maybe four. I can't remember clearly."
"God, Nick, you can't do this to yourself…"
The man felt himself being lifted, and he tensed. "What are you--"
"It's off to bed with you old sport - doctor's orders."
"And which doctor would that be?"
"Why, Dr. Jay-knows-best of course."
With that he was hoisted into Gatsby's arms and was carried across the apartment and through the threshold of their bedroom.
Nick half-expected him to make a snide comment about said threshold, but if Jay had anything to say he kept it to himself as he gently placed the other on the bed, pulling the blanket over him.
"Get comfortable alright? I'll be back soon."
"You don't have to do all this you kn--"
"I want to."
Nick's face went red.
"Oh."
With that Jay smiled and left the man on the bed to begrudgingly settle in.
He listened to Gatsby across the apartment and sighed, appreciating the warmth of the blankets at least.
It was another ten minutes before Jay returned and he smiled at Nick again upon entering, climbing into the bed and taking the man into his arms without a word.
"So? Care to tell me why you're scared to sleep old sport?"
"... Night terrors."
"Night terrors?"
"Yes. Night terrors."
"What about?"
He took a deep breath. There was still time to clam up and hide his vulnerability, all he had to do was take it. He didn't.
"About you. You in that ridiculous mansion, dying right in front of my eyes and me - completely powerless to help." Gatsby was silent, and so he continued. "Sometimes you drown in the pool, and I've forgotten how to swim. There've been a few times where you got hit by your own car, and I'm simply not fast enough. Others where you killed yourself from the stress of the day before, and I can never find the words to stop you. But more often than not it's Wilson holding a gun to your head, and I'm trying to get him to let you go but he never does, I say all the right things and at the last moment he changes his mind and he blows your head off anyway." Nick's voice was surprisingly calm, even to himself, and whatever shock Jay might've felt, he was keeping it to himself. "It's always that same day."
"Nick my dear… it's alright. I survived that day, and it wasn't your fault it--"
"Well I never knew! I blamed myself for almost six years, Gatsby… I wanted to die."
This time the shock was clear on Jay's face - as well as the sorrow bubbling beneath the surface as he tightly held the other. Nick felt his body tremble in Jay's embrace, each caring circle rubbed into his back drawing out more emotion than he ever would've liked to expose otherwise. It wasn't long before the man was sobbing, and Gatsby held him all the same.
"I thought you had died… and from there life didn't have meaning anymore. You meant so much to me… you still do." Nick held tightly to him, and looked away in something almost like shame. "And since you've been back I've had these-- feelings stirring inside of me, I-I don't even know the words to describe them…" There was no response from Jay, and he tentatively laughed, wiping at his wet eyes. "God, this must sound horrible, I'm sorry."
"It's alright Nick; I understand what you mean, I just suppose it's… well it's a bit late to be saying so, don't you think?"
"I… what?"
He looked up and Jay laughed with a shake of his head, smiling warmly. "It's nothing, forget about it."
With that Gatsby lightly kissed his forehead and resumed rubbing circles into Nick's back. It didn't take long for him to start drifting off, warm and comfortable in his arms.
As sleep overtook him, Nick had one final thought:
Did he love Jay?