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He could do this. He'd done this thousands of times before, the skill so engrained in his muscles that he barely had to even think where he put charcoal to paper. It had been constant, sometimes a frenzied need to create that kept him awake for days at a time until he'd finished some manic masterpiece and other times the way he could relax, pouring his thoughts and ideas onto paper to leave him feeling calm and satisfied.
This was what he was meant to do, it was what he'd studied and practiced for so long. And now-, now he could barely grip the charcoal.
Joe swore under his breath, trying to force his hand to steady the tool with a better grip, but he only succeeded in making his hand cramp and spasm painfully. He hissed, rubbing his sore muscles, already hurting though he'd barely done any work at all.
"Are you pushing it again?" The voice was nothing if not fond despite the chiding, and Joe didn't need to turn around to know the expression Nicky wore. A mix of indulgence and exasperation. It had been a favorite of Nicky's since they first argued while watching last game of the World Cup that ended in a humiliating defeat at the hands of the French.
By the time they were done commiserating, they'd been friends. Still couldn't go back to that pub, but it was worth it anyways and Joe rather thought he came out ahead at the end. The friendship had been instant and had grown into something Joe for all his poetic eloquence still couldn't put into words. Something new and changing, something more.
Joe had never quite managed to capture Nicky's infuriating look on paper, and he suspected now he never would. He pushed that thought away. Before he could say a word of it, Nicky was pressing a warm mug into his hands, a new one with an ergonomic handle. Joe couldn't meet his eye. "Dr. Vicky told you to take it easy."
"Am I paying you for advice by the hour, too?"
"I will nag you for free, any day." Nicky said solemnly. Joe chucked a piece of charcoal at him, and Nicky didn't have the decency to duck, the bastard.
Nicky moved to sit next to Joe, elbowing him for more space on the chaise and taking up way more than his allotted number cushions. For a moment, Joe was almost fooled by Nicky's sweetness and scooted over before he realized this was all on purpose and leaned back to crowd into Nicky's space.
"You're squishing me."
"Perhaps." Nicky said serenely. "I like to think of it as helping."
"You're not going to help me draw if you're laying half on top of me."
"No, but you need to give your hand a rest and if sitting in your lap is how I can accomplish that, then I'm happy to make the sacrifice for you, Joe."
Damn his beguiling smile.
"You're heavy." Joe tried, again.
"Good."
Damn him too, for good measure. Joe didn't know what he'd done to deserve this or know how he'd gotten so lucky. After everything, he could still see himself as lucky.
"I'm losing the morning light." Joe grouched, without much heat. Nicky only tutted at him, drawing one of his hands into his lap. He dragged his thumb along a path between Joe's joints, hard enough that all the sensitive nerves in his hand spasmed, and Joe moaned. It was the sort of sound best reserved for the last slice of pie, and his head fell back. Mashallah, it felt good. Hurt too, but it was so, so good.
Nicky let out a soft noise, one that Joe knew meant he was achingly smug.
A calm settled between them. The lines of his sketch stared balefully down at him. Joe thought he could still see the picture he'd been hoping to shape, but its details blurred the longer he delayed.
"I don't want him to have this, too." He whispered, and as soon as he spoke, he wished Nicky hadn't heard him.
Nicky was silent for a while, working along the stiff muscles the physical therapist had recommended. He would know Joe wasn't doing his hand exercises, stubborn as always. Nicky had accused him of thinking he was immortal, that he didn't need help to heal. He knew Joe didn't want to admit how very hurt he was.
"The doctor says you're improving."
Joe snorted, but let Nicky keep working until his whole hand ached with it and he flexed his fingers a little. "Not enough."
"It takes time."
"I'm tired of waiting. He-, I'm not going to let him win."
"It's not a competition and it's not revenge." Gentle comfort, but Nicky knew that words alone wouldn't be able to heal this wound. "Healing takes time and he can't stop you."
"Aren't you tired of waiting, too?"
It was possible that Joe meant to infuse sarcasm into the question, or certainly a lot more bitterness. He wanted to prove a point to someone, maybe to Nicky's endless calm, his own flare-bright nerves, or the anger that sometimes hurt too much to hold on to. It would be easier if he was petty about this, but more than anything, Joe wanted to be past it.
Nicky took his other hand, and turned to face him. Joe had never gotten the colors of his eyes quite right. Perhaps only Heaven could replicate it.
"I'm not waiting for anything. I have everything I want." His voice softened, just enough that Joe's chest felt too tight. "Being your friend is more than I could hope for."
Joe looked away first. He knew the broad strokes of Nicky's story. He knew he went home to an empty apartment and his emergency contact was work. He knew that was working his way back to going to mass, and there was something fearless in him that had once made him stand over Joe's hospital bed, staring down Paul with fury in his eyes. He knew that Nicky's kindness was a choice, one he made every time.
When Joe finally was able to leave the hospital, Nicky had been there to bring him home.
Even if Paul's scars still hadn't faded, Paul had. It had taken a long time to feel safe again, but with Nicky at his side, his ex knew better than to show his face.
Joe curled his fingers again, feeling the tight aching pull as he willed them to just move the way they used to, to stop being so weak and useless. "It's not enough." He said, more to himself than to Nicky. "I've tried and tired, and it's not getting better. What if it never does? I don't have everything I want, Nicky. He took something from me that I love just to spite me and healing or no, I don't think I'll ever be the same. I mean, my hand. I don't think my hand will ever be the same."
"Maybe it won't be." Nicky said gently. "But it'll still get better and I'll help you find a better way. There has to be tools that can help, and physical therapy will strengthen the muscles. It might be different, but it can still be good."
Some days that was good enough.
Some days, Joe wanted to rip his eyes out so he wouldn't have to see what he'd become.
As long as there were more days that he could get out of bed, he counted it as a win. Other milestones seemed overly ambitious. He hadn't quite gotten to the part where he stopped making unfair comparisons, but he thought he was doing so less often.
And Nicky knew too much about that. So Joe leaned into his shoulder, and told himself no one noticed the way his hand trembled. "I want to find the good."
"Take the time to find it, and there's no deadline you need to meet. You're blaming yourself for not being better without giving yourself the time you need. You're so kind to everyone, Joe. You should be kind to yourself the same way."
"Nicky." Joe let out a tired laugh and gave up. There was no winning against Nicky's relentless compassion. He couldn't wallow or sink into despair, Nicky was always there to pull him out and help him stand. Even when he was so sure that things were hopeless, Nicky would smile at him and give him the chance to see light at the end of this.
"Plus, I'll help you. I'll always be right here to help."
"You think you're right, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Nicky grinned. "I'm always right."
He was lovely. Joe felt his hands twitch. He looked back towards his easel, then the paints he hadn't touched in months because charcoal was bad enough. His mouth felt dry.
And what if I don't get better? What if it takes too long? He didn't ask.
"So." Nicky laced his fingers carefully with Joe's and squeezed lightly enough that it didn't even hurt. "Maybe, if you're feeling up to it tonight, I could make you something for dinner? If you don't mind me staying."
"I want to ask you to stay forever." Joe said, looking at their linked hands because they were easier to face, but he still felt the way Nicky inhaled beside him.
"You know I'd say yes."
That was the problem. It was a good problem to have, both terrifying and exhilarating, and Joe needed a moment to catch his breath. "I-, after Paul, it's..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I'm ready. I want to be, Nicky. I do, I want something more with you, but I'm not ready yet."
"At least we're on the same page." Nicky said, leaning on him enough that Joe was forced to look up. He smiled without expectation, and Joe thought about how little he looked like Paul. Eventually, he would stop making comparisons completely. "Being your friend is the best thing that ever happened to me and I think that I'd like to see where the goes, you and me. When you're ready. We have all the time in the world."
"I mean, it also doesn't hurt that you're not a bad cook." Joe blurted out before he realized how quickly he'd spoken and gave Nicky a rueful smile.
"You're damn right I'm not."
"And modest too."
Nicky laughed but didn't argue. "I guess you can be right sometimes too."