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Gatsby was pacing his room. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. This was beyond abnormal. Absolutely unheard of.
He had a large party planned for tonight. One of the big ones, he’d told his guests as they left last week. One to remember.
As per usual, Gatsby completed his usual routine of sending Nick an invitation. He did it back when they first met to be polite: Nick was a polite man and wouldn’t even turn up to a party that required no invite...without an invite. But, since then, Gatsby had continued to send an invitation. Nick had mentioned simply in passing that it made him feel special, knowing that he got one and no one else did. He probably didn’t think Gatsby remembered, but Jay had put that thought into a gold frame that hung in his head like a trophy displayed in a cabinet.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with sending Nick an invitation. The problem was that this time, Nick had sent a reply. A reply saying that he wouldn’t be able to attend?! Absurd. Ridiculous. Unheard of. Almost a complete myth.
Nick had declined his invitation.
Gatsby didn’t even know that the word ‘decline’ was in Nick’s vocabulary. Jay would go as far as to say that Nick would accept an invitation to a date with Tom in averse to being impolite. It was just his nature - he was too nice.
So, Gatsby was inclined to think that something was wrong. Nick would come to Gatsby’s party even if he hated what was coming up. So something had happened, Jay had told himself as he paced his room, the carpet on fire from his movements. Did he have an ulterior arrangement..? No, Nick knew his parties were on a Saturday. He wouldn’t plan something else. Had Gatsby done something wrong? No...Nick said a cheery goodbye after they went swimming two days ago. Other than the day being slightly cold (odd for the middle of summer) it had been a good day for a swim, and Nick had thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Perhaps a family member had died and Nick had to go visit. And yet...the party was tonight and Gatsby could see Nick’s bedroom light on from behind his closed blind, leaking through the gap.
After mulling the thought over for a while, the man eventually decided to go and visit Nick himself, to confront him, and find out if he could help with whatever the predicament was. After all, it was only polite. And besides, Gatsby had found himself with a small longing to be near Nick, and was in a somewhat grumpy mood whenever he hadn’t had a daily dose of Nick. It had been two days. Two days of stupid calls from Chicago, and no calls from his wonderful neighbour.
Needless to say, enough was enough.
Gatsby was already wearing a black suit, with a signature pink tie to add a splash of colour (and Nick had said he thought pink suited Gatsby very well, but that was besides the point...) in preparation for the party tonight, so he didn’t worry about changing into something more suitable. Gatsby almost went headfirst into his butler as he flung the door open.
“Ah, Mr Gatsby, Chicago is-“
“Tell Chicago that I couldn’t care less at the moment, okay?”
Gatsby said rather harshly, annoyed at the interruption. The servant, surprised at his rash tone, simply nodded in understanding and walked off. Gatsby had already reached the front door in his haste, telling a passing servant that he was setting out, and to open the doors at 9:00pm as planned, whether he was there or not. The servant simply nodded. They didn’t converse much with him after all.
The journey over to Nicks was short: the night had really only just begun, since the sun set late during summer. Crickets were beginning their evening chirps and the birds had finished their conversations and were also going to bed. Gatsby wondered if anyone in West Egg - nay, New York - actually slept when he had his parties: people would come far and wide for them, and return to their homes in the depths of the night; besides, most of those people never even made it home, and would stagger through the streets proclaiming about their festivities.
Gatsby hates the God awful parties. Yet...he knew that deep down, people didn’t go to them for fun. They went to them as a distraction - to forget, for one night a week, about the war and its long lasting effects. People needed to drink their regrets away, and Gatsby provided that opportunity. Originally, they’d been a ploy to get Daisy over. But Gatsby found his mind dwelling less and less on the green light, and instead felt his eyes wander to the small yellow light that shone through the windows of his neighbours house. They were his new beacon, his new goal. He wanted Nick by his side, not Daisy. Never Daisy. Not anymore.
Gatsby arrived on Nicks front porch and rapped three sharp knocks.
No answer.
He knocked again, and this time spoke loudly:
“Nick, old sport, it’s Jay. Are you quite alright?”
A shuffle of feet told Gatsby that his neighbour was making his way to the door, and he quickly prepared a little monologue of what he’d say to Nick.
“Nick, I simply must implore you to-“
Gatsby began as the door swung open, but he stopped short when his eyes fell on Nick. The man was a wreck. His hair was dishevelled and messy, completely out of place on Nicks head. His face was wrung with sickness - dark bags shadowed his eyes and highlighted the rosy red tip of his nose where it was sore from being wiped. His lips were chaffed and he held a blanket around his shoulders, with a handkerchief clenched tightly in the other hand.
“I apologise for the way I must look, Jay, but I’m rather sick you see...”
Nick rasped, and as if to make his point, sneezes abruptly. Gatsby felt his heart being wrenched. As bad as he felt for his neighbour, Nick looked really...cute.
“Don’t be absurd! You look really ill. How did this happen?”
Jay asked bluntly, wanting to find the source of the problem. Nick shrugged.
“I don’t know, I’ve been feeling so run down. It started yesterday morning...”
Gatsby suddenly felt very guilty. When they’d gone swimming, Gatsby had insisted that Nick come inside and have a shower so he wouldn’t catch a cold. Nick had refused though, saying he’d feel rather bad and didn’t want to intrude. Gatsby wished he’d been more firm.
“Well, that settles it then.”
Gatsby said, matter-of-factly. Nick looked at him with confusion.
“What settles what..?”
“I’m going to nurse you back to health, of course”
“Jay, what-“
Nick began, but was cut off with another abrupt sneeze. Gatsby rolled his eyes and invited himself in, shutting the door behind him and taking Nick by the hand.
“Gatsby, you shouldn’t, you’ll get sick too...”
“Well, that just means I get to spend more time with you, doesn’t it?”
Gatsby answered playfully, pushing Nick onto the sofa and flashing him a pearly smile.
“Now stay put, alright? I’ll fix everything.”
Nick looked too weak to protest and slumped backwards, grateful at least for the company. The golden man left Nick’s place and quickly headed back to his own to get something things.
Gatsby rubbed his hands together. He didn’t know much about caregiving, but he did know Nick, and he knew how to make him better. A heavy sneeze from the window he’d just passed only spurred him on.
Upon entering his mansion, Gatsby ran up to the launder room and flung it open. He grabbed a warm blanket that was sitting on a heater, fresh pair of pajamas and socks. A quick trip to the main bathroom added a tin of rubbing ointment and a box of tablets to the pile. Then he went into the kitchen. Chefs were bustling around preparing food for the night. Luckily, one of the dishes was chicken soup, and was packed with plenty of nutrients. Gatsby stole a bowl from the side with a spoon and exited, adding the bowl to the pile of things he was taking. His butler came up to him again, saying that Chicago was insisting on calling him, so Gatsby told him to bloody well unplug the landlines for all he cared and tell Chicago TO RAM IT UP HIS-
Gatsby left the house and practically sprinted back to Nicks, somehow without spilling the soup everywhere, and entered quietly, shutting the door, and going to the kitchen to place everything down before he dropped it all. Gatsby removed his blazer and took off his pink tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons and rolled up his sleeves.
“Jay...? You’re back...”
Nick mumbled incoherently to himself as Gatsby walked into the room with a glass of water. Jay helped him sit up and held the glass to his lips.
“Have a drink, Nick, you look parched.”
Gatsby soothed gently, keeping a hand on Nick’s lower back whilst he sipped at the water. A coughing fit began afterwards, so Gatsby simply rubbed Nicks back calmly until it had subsided.
“Thanks Jay...”
He said, his eyes fighting to stay open. Gatsby wanted to let him sleep, but knew that it would be better in the long term if he stayed awake for now.
“Stay with me here, old sport, don’t fall asleep now. I’ve brought some things for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that Gatsby, I’m fine I swear...”
The remnants of polite guilt rested on Nicks lips. Ever the gentleman, he was.
Gatsby stood again, and walked into the kitchen. He took the blanket, pajamas and socks and opened a cupboard where Nicks boiler was, putting the items near it so they’d stay warm whilst Gatsby performed other tasks. Finally, he looked around for a tray briefly before finding one and piling the remaining items on, taking them into the living room where Nick was blearily watching, confused.
Gatsby sat down next to Nick and smiled, dipping the spoon into the bowl of chicken soup
“Open wide~”
Nick gaped.
“You can’t be serious-“
He began, but was cut off by a mouthful of soup. He swallowed it gingerly, relishing in the taste, before feeling a blush rise to his face in realisation that Gatsby had just spoon fed him.
“You could have-“
Gatsby shoved another spoonful into Nicks mouth.
“Would you just-!”
Another mouthful of soup. Gatsby struggled to keep his laughter down after seeing how Nick pouted at him.
“Are you going to behave now?”
Gatsby teases, holding up the spoon. Nick said nothing, but opened his mouth, avoiding eye contact. A red tinge danced upon his cheeks.
Gatsby fed him the soup slower now, being gentle, making sure he didn’t choke on it, making sure he didn’t begin another coughing fit. A small drop landed on Nicks chin, and Gatsby brushed it away with his thumb, leaving his finger there for longer than he ought of. Both men blushed hard, and looked away, just as Nicks body decided it was going to sneeze.
Honestly, each time Nick sneezed, a little part of Gatsby melted. It was the most adorable thing ever, and Gatsby wanted to file away every single sound his cute neighbour made.
Once the soup had been drained, Gatsby offered the glass of water and some flu tablets; they would help with the cold symptoms regardless. Nick yawned, feeling especially drowsy now that his stomach was filled with warmth. Gatsby smiled.
“I’ve brought some warm pajamas over, if you want to put-“
Gatsby began, but Nick slumped heavily against his shoulder, cutting him off abruptly in shock.
“Nick, come on, you have to change...”
“No...”
He whined drearily, eyelids drooping. Gatsby sighed. Nick was lucky he was cute, and that Gatsby had endless patience for him.
“Alright then...I’ll just have to change you.”
Gatsby said jokingly, but after seeing no reaction from Nick he realised that he actually would have to change him. A heavy blush rose to his cheeks as he pictured Nicks bare chest and arms-
‘NOPE. Not today, not today...’
Gatsby scolded himself, looking over at Nick. He was like a little kitten. So...Gatsby conceded.
He grabbed the sleep attire from the boiler cupboard, and returned to his kitten, who was resting on the arm of the sofa, sniffling. He lifted Nick up slightly so he could get under him.
Gatsby looked at the buttons on Nicks shirt, evaluating how he was going to do this with as little movement as possible so as not to wake his slumbering neighbour.
The buttons were undone slowly, carefully, and he slipped the shirt off, dropping it on the floor, and replaced it with the pajama top. It was a little large for Nick, since Gatsby was physically bulkier than him, but Nick nuzzled into it, relishing in the warmth it brought. Gatsby removed Nicks trousers (in the most dignified way he could) and replaced them with the pajama bottoms.
Gatsby had purposefully left the pajama top left undone, so that Nicks chest was still bare. He repositioned himself on the sofa, so that Nick lay with his back resting in Gatsby’s chest, head comfortable on Jay’s shoulder.
Jay took the rubbing oil from the tray, and put a generous amount on his hands, before beginning to spread it over Nicks chest and rub it into the skin. The fumes created would clear Nick’s sinuses and let him breath clearly in his sleep. Smooth, circular movements to massage into the skin, the label read.
Nick smiled in his sleep at the warm presence on his skin. Gatsby could hear him change from breathing through his mouth to breathing through his nose as his airways cleared. Gatsby gently rested Nicks head on the sofa rest, did up his pajama buttons, and moved down his body to Nicks feet, rubbing the ointment on there, trying not to tickle him. Nick looked so exhausted from two nights of what must have been fitful sleep, so the last thing he wanted was to wake his neighbour up.
Once his socks were on, Gatsby stood and walked to the kitchen to wash any remaining ointment off his hands, and then returned to his neighbour. He looked ever so peaceful.
“I almost don’t want to move him...but he can’t sleep here.”
Gatsby mumbled aloud to himself, deciding to go upstairs and prepare Nicks bed.
Nicks room was tidy, like that of a proper gentleman’s. His wardrobe door was slightly ajar so Gatsby took the liberty of shutting it, noticing some beautiful tailored suits inside. A bottle green one was on the end - Gatsby had never seen Nick wear it, and imagined he’d look good. The suit would compliment his hazel speckled eyes...
Nicks typewriter stood in the corner on a mahogany desk - it hadn’t been used for a while, indicated by the paper that was ageing inside it, yet it was clearly well cared for still: not a speck of dust lay on the keys.
Nicks bed was made, so Gatsby drew back the covers so he could get Nick inside them with ease. He noted the little orange lamp on his neighbours bedside table - the source of the small light that flickered through Nicks window in the depths of the night, faithfully reminding Gatsby of his new found affection for his neighbour. Leaning against the neck of the lamp was Gatsby’s latest invitation to Nick, the sloped writing curling around in eccentric circles.
Gatsby smiled at the small room, and decided to fill it with its owner. He went downstairs, rolled up his sleeves once more, then put one arm under Nicks back and the other under his legs, shifting him into a bridal lift, and carried him slowly upstairs, doing his best not to jostle him, and to not fall backwards. There was certainly no need for a visit to the hospital tonight. Gatsby placed Nick down onto the bed, placed the warm blanket from the boiler over him, followed by his duvet. Nick snuggled adorably into it.
‘A little kitten, he is...’
Gatsby thoughtfully pondered, stepping back to look at his beautiful neighbour. Unfortunately, in his initial survey of the room, Gatsby had failed to notice the red box sticking out ever so slightly from under Nicks bedside table, and promptly tripped over it, landing on the floor with a thud. The box was knocked open and it’s contents spilled out.
The millionaires eyes widened. Every invitation Gatsby had ever sent to Nick was now spread out across the floor. Too many to count. Colours of blue, red, purple, green, orange and pink decorated everything. Gatsby picked one up. A simple white card with blue swirling writing.
“Dear Mr. Carraway. The honour would be entirely mine, if you could attend my little party.
Sincerely, J. Gatsby.”
It was the first invitation Gatsby had ever sent. Nick had kept it perfectly preserved. It looked as clean and crisp as if it was written yesterday, despite it being sent months ago.
“I...didn’t want you to know...”
A sheepish, slightly hoarse voice said from above. Gatsby’s fall had woken Nick up, and he was watching Gatsby with cautious eyes, not sure whether to be embarrassed or happy. Gatsby looked up at him, with small tears growing in his eyes.
“You kept them all, old sport?”
He asked, his body swelling with love, pure love for this wonderful man. Nick nodded, heat radiating off him in folds.
“I’m sorry...I never thought you’d find out...”
Nick sounded ashamed, beginning to climb out of bed. Gatsby stood and pushed him back with a single hand.
“But...I couldn’t find it in myself to throw them away...”
Nick whispered, those beautiful hazel eyes looking up into Gatsby’s ocean blue ones.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Gatsby leaned in, as if requesting permission, and Nick filled the space between them, kissing him deeply. Gatsby was soaring through heaven. Kissing Nick was like eating the most lavish chocolate, like drinking the most beautiful wine, like owning all the gold and diamonds in the world.
Until Nick pulled away abruptly.
“We shouldn’t be doing this...”
He said gravely, and Gatsby’s heart sank.
“Why...why not?!”
Gatsby asked desperately, sitting on the bed with the worlds biggest puppy eyes. Did Nick not want this? What would he do?!
“Because I’m sick, Jay! You’ll get sick too, you stupid man!”
“Oh, thank GOD, is that it? I don’t care if I get sick! I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”
“No, of course i do! I’ve never said anything though because...”
Nick trailed off, not making eye contact with Gatsby. The millionaire looked at him questionably. His neighbour simply tapped the empty space next to him, and so Gatsby took off his socks and climbed into bed next to Nick.
“I never...never...”
“Say it, darling.”
Gatsby soothed him, running a hand through Nicks hair. The nickname made him smile, and Gatsby filed the information away in his brain to remember to use it more often.
“Well...I never thought I was good enough for you. You have everything, and I’m really a simple man.”
Gatsby’s eyebrows crinkled together, but then he relaxed and smiled. Then laughed a hearty chuckle.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no, old sport! It’s funny...I never thought I was good enough for you!”
“You?! But, Jay...you’re GATSBY. You’re perfect.”
“I’m certainly not perfect. But you, Nick...you are perfect.”
Gatsby kissed Nicks cheek gently, and flashed his silver smile.
“You’re so kind...”
He kissed his jawline.
“And sweet...”
He kissed his neck.
“And cute...”
Gatsby breathed, hearing a gentle moan escape from Nicks lips.
“So cute....like a little kitten...”
“Stooooooopp!”
Gatsby laughed as Nick disappeared under the covers in embarrassment, and joined him under there, kissing his lips again. Nick smiled, but covered his nose quickly to hide a sneeze.
“Right. Sleep now, come on. You’re still sick.”
Gatsby chuckled, tucking Nick in and beginning to get out of bed. Nick pulled him back though.
“Please...won’t you stay? I know you have more important things to do, but...”
Gatsby rolls his eyes, laying down and pulling Nick over so he could rest his head on Gatsby’s chest.
“Learn this now, and learn it well. You’re the most important thing to me. Screw the bloody party. I left it to come look after you, kitten!”
Gatsby ran a hand through Nicks hair and watched him close his eyes.
“Thanks Jay...”
He mumbled, snuggling close. Gatsby smiled.
“Anything for you.”
~
“Nick! Why won’t this dumb cold go away?!”
Gatsby complained loudly from his bed, tucked up in warm pajamas and sneezing.
“I told you that you’d catch it if you weren’t careful!”
Nick grinned and fed Gatsby another spoonful of soup, who pouted and crossed his arms.
Oh well, Gatsby thought as Nick leaned in to kiss his forehead.
It was worth it.