Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Papa?”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Nicky throws his hand out to the floor and fumbles for his phone. “Papa, it’s time to wake up,” the little voice says again. His fingers finally wrap around the buzzing rectangle on the ground and he swipes the alarm silent, burying his face in his pillow. A hand tugs at his shirt. “Papaaaa…”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbles, pushing himself upright. There’s a pair of bright hazel-green eyes staring at him, the boy in front of him holding a warm, steaming mug of coffee, and Nicky melts just as he does every time he sees him. “You made il caffè, Elio?” he teases as he takes the cup from his son. “Just for Papa?”

Elio’s face splits in a wide grin, showing off the missing bottom left tooth that came out last week, and a giggle bursts from his chest. “Papa, I always make you coffee,” he says, accentuating how put upon he is and Nicky smiles, taking the first sip.

“And I appreciate it every time, bambino. Now, come on, time to get ready for school.”

It’s been a week since school started and, though they’ve got half an hour to get out the door in time for Elio to make it to school in time to get the free breakfast and it always ends up being a rush, no matter how early they wake up. Elio digs through their shared dresser, pulling clothes out for the day as Nicky folds the blankets on the pull-out trundle bed. He shoves them in a basket in the corner, tosses his pillows on top, and pushes his bed under his son’s. It clears up what little space they have in the tiny studio apartment they call home, enough for them to move around each other in a practiced dance.

He finishes off his coffee quickly, pouring what’s left in the pot into a travel mug as Elio brushes his teeth in the bathroom. Nicky’s heart swells a little when the six year old exits the bathroom, his curly hair still a mess. It’s always a fight but, today, one they don’t have time for.

It’s a six block walk to school and Elio chatters the entire time, hand wrapped tight around three of Nicky’s fingers. He’s got a spelling sheet due on Friday, Helena is gonna sit with him at lunch today, his teacher, Ms. Brachau, just got new shoes. It’s a never ending stream of consciousness but it’s one of the things Nicky loves most about his son. He’s never been much of a talker, but Elio makes up for his silence.

Elio grabs for his backpack when they stop outside the school, whining, “Come on, Papa, you don’t have to walk me inside. I’m big now.”

Nicky crouches down and slips the six year old’s backpack on his shoulders before kissing his cheek. “You are, sweet boy,” he hums, smoothing down Elio’s unruly curls. “Now you remember how to get back to the store? So you can walk home after school?” Elio nods and gets another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at 3, then. Ti voglio bene, topolino,” Nicky whispers.

“I love you, Papa,” Elio says, throwing his arms around Nicky’s neck and hugging him tight before racing off toward the front steps.

Andy’s waiting for him by the time he gets back to the store, cashing out the till from the night shift. “Nice of you to finally show up,” she says flatly, the faintest smirk giving away her joke.

He glances at his watch and makes a face. “I’m five minutes early, Boss.”

“And we’ve got a whole shipment to unpack downstairs.” Andy motions to the door to the basement and the frantic, shouted Vietnamese behind it. Ah yes, shipment day. The day of the week when Quynh goes into overdrive and spends the morning yelling at truck drivers she’s known since she’s was a child for being slower than she likes.

Nicky nods, shoving his bag and coffee behind the counter and heading downstairs.

There are boxes piled everywhere, crates of produce stacked high, and Quynh flashes him a smile when she sees him. “Ciao, Nicky!” she calls before stepping up onto the lift and whacking the half-broken button and rising back up to street level. Nicky looks around at the mess and the hours of work he has ahead of him and scrubs his hands over his face.

It’s going to be a long day.

~~~

Andy’s gone by 9am, everything gets stocked and organized by 2:30pm, and Quynh has settled enough for Nicky to take a quick break before Elio is due back home.

He runs across the street, past the tiny Uhaul truck double parked in front of his building, and throws a shoulder into the door to get past the sticking lock. The first floor is quiet and he passes Mrs. Landon and her elderly mother on the second floor with a quiet hello and a wave. They were here even before he was—going on 22 years—and are a constant in the halls. Nicky takes the steps two at a time up past the third floor and is immediately stopped by a couch wedged in the narrow stairwell.

Nicky nearly tumbled over the arm of it, cracking his elbow on the metal railing as he catches himself. “Che cazzo...” he barks, kicking the leg of the couch. Fucking idiots—who doesn’t measure before—

“Oh shit!” a voice calls from the top of the landing as a dark head hangs around the corner. 

Nicky looks up, trying to hide the annoyance in his face when he sees the man. He’s got dark curly hair, the faintest stubble on his cheeks around his dark mustache, wide black eyes, and the most beautiful brown skin he’s ever seen on another human. But, as handsome as he is, Nicky still gets limited time to come back home and eat, and this is throwing a wrench into his plans. “Your couch is blocking the stairs,” he says, stating the obvious.

The man’s mouth quirks into a soft smile at his accent but fades immediately when he realizes what Nicky has said. “I got it stuck,” he says with a wince. “I couldn’t afford movers and my asshole friends bailed on me.”

Nicky’s mouth presses in a thin line and he groans. He doesn’t really want to move anything else after carrying boxes upstairs all morning, but there’s no way to get into his apartment with this godforsaken couch in the way. He looks up at the man and sighs. “Come on, take that end and I think I can help you get it upstairs.”

It takes fifteen minutes of pivoting, over a dozen different swear words in three different languages, and ten minutes of shoving before they finally tip the couch up into the fourth floor hallway. Nicky expects the man to turn right—towards the ten bigger units on the floor—but instead starts tugging the couch left, toward Nicky’s own apartment and the single unit across from him.

“Oh, you’re in 4B?” he says in surprise.

The man’s brow furrows but his eyes are soft and bright. “All I can afford around here.” He looks at 4A, Nicky’s door, and points a finger at the brass letters. “Wait, is this you?”

“Me and my son, who I’m sure you’ll see around,” Nicky says, leaning across the couch to hold a hand out to the man. “I’m Nicky.”

The man’s grip is warm as he shakes his hand. “Yusuf. But you can call me Joe.”

Nicky’s mouth curls into a frown. “Yusuf isn’t a hard name to say. Do you actually want me to call you Joe?”

A laugh bubbles out of the other man’s mouth and Nicky’s heart plummets into his stomach at the sound. “Joe is fine, I promise; even my sister calls me Joe. My mom was the only one that called me Yusuf and it was generally only when she was mad at me,” Joe says, the dimple on the right side of his cheek pulling in as he smiles. “But thanks for being considerate. Not everyone is.”

They manage to get Joe’s couch into the cramped studio and Nicky isn’t surprised that it’s a mirror image of his own apartment, though with a much smaller kitchen. He brushes the sweat-damp hair off his forehead and motions to the door. “I have to go eat quick and get back to work, but, umm, I’ll see you around?”

Joe strips off his sweater, revealing a strip of stomach when his shirt rides up, and Nicky tries not to pass out right in this man’s doorway. “Absolutely!” he says, voice warm as honey as he crowds into Nicky’s space. “Don’t make yourself a stranger.”

Nicky blinks, mouth dry, as Joe sneaks past him and hurries down the stairs. “Che cazzo,” he croaks again, head falling into his hands.

Just his luck that his new neighbor is unbearably hot.

He doesn’t have time to do anything but grab a cold slice of quiche from the fridge and hurry back across the street, waving at Joe as he passes with his mouth full of food. Elio is perched on the stool behind the counter as he rushes in, swallowing the last bite of crust. The six year old holds up a half eaten Snicker’s and grins. “Auntie Quynh gave me a treat because you weren’t here to say no.”

Nicky rolls his eyes in Quynh’s direction and sighs. “Did you at least eat all your lunch at school?” Elio nods and goes back to the book he’s reading, peeling the rest of the wrapper off the candy bar. Nicky catches the apple Quynh tosses at him as he rounds the counter, muttering, “Sorry I’m late, Quynh; don’t tell Andy. Was helping the neighbor guy get his couch up the stairs.”

“As if I can keep anything from my wife,” she laughs, grabbing her keys from next to the register. “She’ll be down at six so you and our baby can get home. Hopefully the neighbor guy wasn’t too much of a pain.” Her eyes catch his and a flush spreads across his ears at the mention of Joe. Quynh, always on high alert when it comes to his love life, grins wickedly. “Neighbor guy is hot, isn’t he?” she hisses quietly.

Nicky glances back at Elio and rubs his fingers over his eyes tiredly. “Too hot for me, Quynh. Like, model hot. How did this even happen?” he groans.

She pinches the soft side of his stomach and says, “You deserve some good eye candy, Nicky. It’s been a long time since you’ve even gone on a date. Just pray he’s not a straight boy.” He rolls his eyes as she ruffles his hair and heads out the door.

Quynh isn’t wrong. The last date he went on was almost four years ago and he had left after fifteen minutes because he was worried about Elio. Nicky had given up on dating, not only for the lack of time, but just the idea of having to give part of his heart to anyone other than his son. It’s just been him and Elio for so long that he’s just used to it by now.

But then he remembers Joe’s warm smile and bright eyes and firm handshake and his heart beats just a little faster.

The night goes by uneventfully, Elio finishing his homework while Nicky runs the store. They take home some wilting lettuce and a couple expiring boxes of donuts when Andy comes for the night shift, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Zizi!” Elio cries, all but scrambling to the door to launch himself at the older woman. She catches him and hauls him up under one of her arms easily, using the other to tickle under his chin. Nicky shoves everything in his bag, a soft smile on his face.

Andy’s been watching out for Elio, for both of them, really, for years now and that six year old boy is the only one she’ll truly let her guard down for. Nicky always teases her about her and Quynh having kids, but he gets the same answer every time. “Why do we need one of our own when we have you two?”

“What are you feeding this kid?” Andy says, tossing Elio back to the ground. “He weighs a thousand pounds, Nicky.”

“It’s all those candy bars your wife sneaks him,” Nicky says, taking his son’s hand. “I’m going to start sending you two his dentist charges.” She laughs and pats his cheek before taking her spot behind the register. Elio’s fingers tighten around his and Nicky pulls him close. “Andiamo, topolino,” he hums. “It’s getting late.”

Elio sets the table while Nicky reheats leftovers from last night’s pork and polenta and he puts some music on while they eat. Elio rambles about the day, all the bugs he found on the playground during recess, and all the books he wants to get from the library this weekend. Nicky lets him devour the silence of the apartment, lets him spill a whole universe from his wondrous heart. He doesn’t know how he ended up with such a sweet, sensitive, wild boy, but Nicky wouldn’t trade him for anything in the entire world.

“Papa?” Elio says from the bathtub after dinner, his wet hair curling down the back of his neck. “Auntie Quynh and Zizi are married, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, pouring shampoo into the palm of his hand. “Why do you ask?”

“Were you and my mom married?”

Nicky freezes a little bit before pulling the shock down and lathering Elio’s hair. Part of him is surprised that Elio hasn’t asked about it until now and he really should have been expecting it. So Nicky tries to play it as cool as possible, shaking his head and murmuring, “No, Lio, we weren’t married.”

“Why not?”

“Sometimes it just doesn’t work out with adults.” He dumps a cup of water over Elio’s head, rinsing the shampoo out. “Just how life happens.”

Elio rubs the water out of his eyes and his thin eyebrows knit together. He’s quiet as Nicky massages the conditioner in before finally asking, “Papa, are you ever going to get married? To someone other than my mom?”

Nicky laughs a little, tugging on the boy’s ear gently. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. It’s not happening any time soon.”

It seems to be the end of the conversation, Elio giggling and splashing him with the bath water. If Nicky’s lucky, he’ll forget about this by tomorrow and life will go on as normal. There’s nothing wrong with the life they have now—they don’t need a wrench thrown in.

It’s dark by the time Elio falls asleep, facedown on his bed while Nicky is busy cleaning up and doing dishes. The tight space and city living has taught him how to sleep through almost anything—fire alarms, sirens, dishes, life—but Nicky still tries to keep as quiet as he can when his son is sleeping.

It’s 10pm by the time he gets everything cleaned up and settles into the secondhand dining chair. Nicky stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes. The alarm is set for 6am and it’ll come soon enough, but for now, this is his time.

He props his feet up on the other chair and pulls his laptop out, watching an episode of Great British Bake Off. It’s on mute and the captions are on and Nicky is too exhausted to try and hunt down his headphones. His brain shuts off halfway through the showstopper round and he forgets to pay attention who takes home Star Baker.

The streetlights outside bleed through the curtains as he shuts the lamps off in the main room before heading into the bathroom. Nicky catches a glimpse of himself in the cracking mirror and makes a face at his reflection. He looks tired. He always looks tired but he looks especially exhausted today. He’s stupid to think that Joe would even take a second glance at him. Hell, he’s only twenty five but there are already worry lines in his forehead, already heavy creases at the corner of his eyes.

But it’s fine. Elio doesn’t care what he looks like, why should he? Nicky brushes his teeth in worn silence before going back to pull the trundle bed out from under his son’s mattress. Elio shifts a little, lets out a heavy snore, and falls back asleep quickly.

Nicky sets his alarm and falls asleep staring at the ceiling, his right hand still tingling with the memory of Joe’s warm palm and fingers against his own.

He doesn’t sleep well that night.

Chapter Text

Joe manages to get the U-Haul unpacked and back across town with 5 minutes to spare, just as the sun is setting.

He misses the first train and sketches the drummer playing at the station before the next one arrives, placing the drawing and a $5 bill into the can on the woman’s set as the train comes into the station. He does a few more drawings on the ride back to Queens but squirrels them away for later.

The bodega across the street is open and he picks up a banh mi from the pre-made case and a pack of cigarettes. The woman behind the counter rings him up and Joe takes the sandwich gratefully. “Thanks,” he says, half tempted to peel the plastic wrap back right then and there. “Haven’t eaten all day. Just moved in across the street.”

“You the asshole that spent the afternoon double parked?” the woman asks, so calmly that Joe’s blood runs cold. He’s finally able breathe again when she smiles and lets out a short laugh. “I’m kidding,” she says, voice light. “Welcome to the neighborhood, I’m Andy.”

“Joe,” he replies, giving into his hunger and unwrapping his sandwich. “This place yours?”

“My wife Quynh’s family has run this place for, like, fifty years. I just tag along.” Andy tilts her head toward the aisles and shelves and says, “If there’s something you’re having a hard time finding, just let us know. We try to be as accommodating as possible.”

Sweet, lesbians, Joe thinks, before saying out loud, “Cool, thanks. I’m not big on cooking but I like my snacks, so you’ll probably see me a lot.”

Andy laughs, fully this time, and takes a sip of her Big Gulp. “I’m sure I will.”

Joe finishes half his sandwich before he gets to the fourth floor, glancing at Nicky’s apartment door as he opens his own. He can hear music and a child’s voice through the crack at the bottom and tries not to smile. Part of Joe wonders if Nicky’s son has the same beautiful, sapphire blue eyes that Nicky has, the same shy, barely there smile.

Nope, nope, he can’t go there. Can’t think about Nicky like that otherwise he’s gonna end up falling for another straight dude.

Been there, done that, 0/10 would not recommend.

He’s too damn exhausted to work on building his bed, so he sets up the couch with his blankets and pillow and takes a selfie to send to Nile with the caption, All settled in, no thanks to you and Book. Joe jumps a little when she immediately tries FaceTimeing him shoves the last of his sandwich in his mouth before accepting the call.

Her face floods his screen and she immediately flips him off. “Fuck off, Joe, I wasn’t gonna miss Ro coming back in town. He’s been in Germany for like, eight months,” Nile says before looking up off camera. There’s a muffled voice and she rolls her eyes. “I’m talking to your boyfriend, Booker, who else would I be talking to?” she says as the phone jostles and Booker drops down on the couch next to her.

“Does Keira know we’re dating, Book?” Joe asks as he digs his crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket. “Don’t wanna piss your wife off.”

A rumbling chuckle comes from Booker’s chest as he takes a sip of whatever drink’s in his hand. “If Kiera could pick anyone to be a homewrecker, she’d pick you. I’m pretty sure she’s still figuring out a way to get you into this family.” He looks at Nile and raises an eyebrow. “A lavender wedding for you and Joe?”

Joe shoves the cigarette in his mouth, flicking the lighter as he mumbles under his breath, “Might have competition with my hot new neighbor.”

Both Booker and Nile’s heads snap back at him and he winces. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, what was that about a hot new neighbor?” Nile says, leaning in towards the camera. Booker looks just as excited as she does at the prospect of Joe dating again. The last time had been some asshole theater major and Joe had spent half a week drunkenly crying on the couch. Neither of them want to see a repeat. Nile taps the camera, shaking him out of his stupor and demands, “Spill, al-Kaysani.”

Joe makes a face and sighs, letting the smoke pour out of his nose. “Okay, so because neither of you assholes were here to help me with moving, I had to move my fucking couch up four flights of stairs and got it stuck on the landing. Hot Neighbor was trying to come up and helped me get it up into my apartment.” He tries to fight the blush that creeps up his cheeks when he thinks about that first handshake, that first offered smile. “His name’s Nicky and he’s literally the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Wait, like, generic New York City hot guy or boyfriend shaped hot guy?” Nile asks.

“Extremely boyfriend shaped,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, Nile, he’s got a kid too, which means he’s just another straight guy that’s gonna break my heart.”

“So… I can personally vouch that those things do not correlate,” Booker reminds him as Nile snickers quietly. “Sometimes poor bisexual men like me end up with children and even bratty stepchildren.” He yelps when Nile elbows him in the side, making him slosh his drink over the rim of his glass and down his hand.

Joe lets out another groan, remembering Nicky’s soft, lilting voice. “Ugh, he’s Italian too.”

“Staten Island Italian or Italian Italian?” Booker asks with the biggest shit eating grin Joe has ever seen.

“Italian Italian. Accent and everything.”

“Pay up, Nile. Told you the first guy Joe would fall for straight out of art school would be a foreign national.”

“Fuck off, Booker, this is serious!” he whines, falling back onto the couch. Joe taps his cigarette end into the ashtray on his side table and throws a hand over his face. “Guys, what am I gonna do? How do you even woo a single parent? Book, how did you end up getting Kiera to take a second look at you?”

“Brought donuts across the street for her entire office. Had to bring them again the next day when I found out she’s allergic to eggs,” Booker says. “Food always wins.”

“There’s that really old Italian bakery in Bushwick,” Nile offers as Joe perks up. “I think it’s called Circo’s or something. Mom got a bunch of cookies and shit the last time Ro was back from deployment.” Even Booker relents, nodding his head like Nile’s option is the best. Her face splits in a wicked smirk. “No better way to woo an Italian than with Italian desserts.”

Joe takes a long drag of his smoke and mutters, “Hopefully they’re open by the time I wake up tomorrow. Gonna sleep for a thousand fucking years.”

“Well I’m not gonna keep you, sorry we bailed on you again!” Nile says, voice crackling as she tries not to laugh. “Text us when you have more info on Hot Neighbor Nicky and make sure you stop by the house soon, we all miss you! Don’t be a coward!” She and Booker both wave before the video cuts out and Joe’s screen goes black, leaving him in as much silence as the building affords.

The walls are thin enough that he can still hear the faint music and laughter from across the hall and his heart swells so large in his chest that he can barely breathe.

The night drags on, the noise dies down, and Joe still can’t find sleep.

~~~

He wakes up just after ten in the morning and manages to crank out half a commission before taking a shower at 2pm. He builds his bed and shoves his couch underneath he loft before throwing his jacket on and heading toward the subway.

It’s an hour bus ride to Bushwick and Joe spends most of the time sketching out Nicky’s sharp features in his sketchbook. It’s hard to get his features right—the dark, watchful shadow of his sapphire eyes, the cut of his high cheekbones. He’s not happy with it, not by a long shot, but hopefully the next time he gets a chance to see Nicky, it’ll be more than hauling a couch up the stairs and a brief handshake.

Circo’s looks like something out of a movie, an old one. The woman behind the counter seems to glow with excitement when Joe explains the situation. “So there’s this guy and I’m pretty sure he’s Italian…and I need to impress him,” he says, fumbling for words as he stares into the cases of cookies.

The woman’s eyes narrow and she looks back at her coworker. “Like, business impress or…” Joe feels the flush rise to his face and grins shyly. “Ahhh,” she says, immediately pulling out a box. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He ends up taking half a dozen pignoli, half a dozen mondula, and two Linzer tarts, clutching the box on the bus like it’s a priceless work of art. Joe can only hope it’s enough to buy his way into Nicky’s good graces, maybe even enough to start a conversation. Maybe enough for him to score a date, if he’s lucky.

The autumn breeze has picked up by the time he gets back to Corona and Joe wishes he had brought his scarf with him, but it’s still packed in one of his boxes. He’ll work on unpacking when he drops the food off with Nicky. 

There’s no sign of the man when he gets back up to the third floor and even less when he knocks on the door to 4A. Joe waits for a moment before knocking again, with even less success than before. “Fuck,” he groans before ducking back into his own apartment for a pen. He could leave a note but it’s not enough, not for someone like Nicky. So Joe rips the sketch he did on the bus and scribbles on the back: 

Nicky,
Just a small thank you for helping me with my couch.
Hope you and your son enjoy!
-Joe

He tucks the drawing facedown into the ties of the box and leaves the cookies in front of Nicky’s door.

There’s a nervousness bubbling in his stomach that Joe can’t ignore, even when he retreats to the sanctuary of his own apartment. It’s been a while since he’s had a crush this bad on anyone and he feels like he’s free falling before he even gets a chance to talk to Nicky. And then there’s the worst case scenario that Nicky is totally straight and Joe will be forced to pine over him silently for however long he’s stuck in this apartment.

He tries to stay preoccupied unpacking, but ends up half out the window, chain smoking for an hour before 6pm. There are hurried footsteps down the hall and an excited squeal and Joe has to catch himself from falling through the window when he hears a boy shout, “Papa, look!!!” He fumbles with his phone, turning up the music so he doesn’t accidentally overhear anything else. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest and Joe is just waiting for a knock on the door.

A knock that doesn’t come.

At least, until almost 9pm when Joe is elbows deep in finishing off the commission he started earlier, acrylic paint staining his hands and arms. He almost doesn’t hear it at first, not over his music. Then the soft knock echoes again and he can’t scramble for his phone fast enough.

The music cuts off and he rushes to the door before Nicky knocks again.

He must look a little flustered when he wrenches the door back, because Nicky jumps a little, paper crinkling in his hand. Joe swallows back his cotton tongue and stammers, “Oh h—Sorry, was the music too loud? I didn’t even think about your—”

Nicky cuts him off with a wave, the tips of his ears pink. “No, no it’s fine, he can sleep through anything,” he says softly, a hesitant smile crossing his face. “Though, I’ll have to admit it was a bit hard to get him settled down for the night after he ate about four of those cookies you left us.”

Joe’s eyes light up. “Were they good? Did he like them? Did you like them?”

A small laugh spills from the other man’s mouth and Joe has never heard a more perfect sound in his entire life. His heart melts, dripping right through his ribs and onto the floor. “They were delicious,” Nicky says. “Just like the ones my mother used to make back home.” He holds up the paper, the dark-eyed intensity of the drawing mirroring his own face. “This is very good, Joe, but you shouldn’t have—”

“It’s just something I do,” Joe says quickly, sounding more flustered than he means to. “I’m an artist, so when I see good faces, I have to draw them. And you’ve got a good face and I—” His voice dies as Nicky’s eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink. “Wait, I just mean—”

“No, no, I—It’s fine, don’t worry about it…” Nicky scrubs the back of his neck with his free hand and shifts uncomfortably. Joe’s stomach sinks; of course Nicky isn’t into him. He’s got a kid for fuck’s sake; even if he is into dudes, a broke artist like Joe isn’t going to hit the ‘stable boyfriend’ checklist. He must be wearing all of his emotions on his face because Nicky’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Umm…but yeah, thank you for the cookies. It was very nice of you, Joe…”

Nicky turns to head back across the hallway and Nile’s voice echoes in his head. “Don’t be a coward!”

“Nicky wait!” Joe’s throat closes up and his lungs collapse as the other man freezes. He’s on a limited oxygen supply now—has to choose every word carefully—even more so at the quizical expression on Nicky’s face as he turns around. Joe grits his teeth, swallows back his thumping heart, and asks, “Do you want to get coffee tomorrow morning? With me?”

One of Nicky’s eyebrows raises and the corner of his mouth quirks the slightest inch. “Like a…date?”

Joe can’t read the tone of his even voice and winces, preparing for the worst. “...yes?”

There’s the tiniest sparkle in the Italian’s bright blue eyes as Nicky chews on the inside of his lip, almost holding back a smile. “You’re very sweet, really, but I don’t have time to go out and get coffee, even in the morning. I have to drop my son off at school before I get to work at eight.”

“Oh…” Joe’s face falls and he pulls a heavy breath in through his nose. “Yeah, that’s fine I—”

“But…” Nicky says, cutting him off, “if you’re okay sitting with me while I work, we can have coffee at the store across the street. Andy always lets me have as much free coffee as I want.”

He laughs, remembering his first interaction with the woman behind the counter. “You work there? I met her last night picking up a sandwich. She’s scary as hell but the food’s absolutely amazing,” Joe says, heart softening when Nicky finally allows himself to smile a little. “I must’ve just missed you.”

Nicky makes a gentle noise in the back of his throat, barely a hum, and tilts his head a little, as if studying him. “Mmm, you must have.” He takes a step back from the threshold and says, “I should get back, but will I see you tomorrow? 8:15 work?”

It takes all the self restraint in Joe’s body to keep from nodding like a fucking bobble head as he says, “Yes, yeah, I’ll be there!”

The excitement in his body bubbles over like a boiling pot as Nicky gives him a shy, barely-there smile and disappears through the door across the hall. He lets out a shaking breath as he shuts the door, hands trembling as he smoothes down his hair. He’s got a date. He’s got a date tomorrow. He’s got a date tomorrow with Nicky.

Fuck!

What is he even gonna wear?

Chapter Text

“I put the last half of the Linzer tart in your lunchbox,” Nicky murmurs, kissing Elio on the cheek, right on one of his perfect freckles. “Which means no letting Auntie Quynh sneak you treats at the store.”

Elio’s grin widens as he kisses Nicky back on the tip of his nose before saying, “I promise, Papa. Ti voglio bene.”

“Excellente, Elio,” he says, wrapping his son in a tight hug. “Ti voglio tanto bene.”

Nicky watches Elio run up the stairs and into school, giving him one last wave as he disappears through the doors. He gives another wave to the administrator standing out front and begins the walk back to the store.

There’s a fluttering nervousness in his heart that seems to grow with every step he takes. Elio didn’t notice that Nicky had pulled out his good jeans, the ones he can barely fit into anymore, but they’re the only ones that don’t look frayed or have holes in them. He’s also wearing his best t-shirt, the one that sits in the back of his drawer, and hopes it’s enough to impress Joe. Nicky can still remember Elio’s face just light up when he saw the cookie box sitting out in front of their apartment and Joe’s face when he had knocked on the door later that night.

God Almighty, Nicky never used to fall this easily. But there was just something about Joe, with his dark, gentle eyes and his paint covered hands and his easy smile, that just made him want more.

He should’ve called Andy, should’ve called Quynh, should’ve begged them for advice because, even though they’ve been out of the dating game with each other for longer than he has, Nicky has only ever dated one other person seriously. And if there were awards for terrible relationships, his relationship with Francesca would arguably take first prize.

Ugh, no more thinking about Francesca.

All the thoughts rush out of his head the moment he sees a familiar mess of curls leaning against the wall in front of the store. Joe looks up at him the moment he approaches, face splitting in a wide grin. “Sorry I’m a little early, I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t coming,” he says and makes a short, aborted move to possibly hug him, pulling away quickly when he realizes Nicky’s hands are in his coat pockets. Joe’s cheeks flush.

Nicky glances through the window and sees Andy behind the counter. “Could you…” he starts, trying to figure out how to put it as nicely as possible. “Could you wait out here for five minutes? Just until Andy leaves? I just…”

There aren’t any words for it, at least kind ones. I just don’t want anyone to see us together, he thinks. I don’t want Andy to know you’re the hot neighbor I told Quynh about. But somehow Joe knows, gets it even, and nods. “No, it’s fine,” he says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I’ll finish this and meet you inside after she goes.”

Nicky wants to say something about the cigarettes but puts it in the back of his mind as he rushes inside. “Hey boss,” he mutters, taking her spot behind the counter. “Coffee hot?”

“Mmm,” Andy says tiredly, stifling a yawn. “Elio didn’t make you anything?”

“He was up late last night, slept in this morning. You try waking up a six year old that usually wakes up before you and tell me if you get coffee or not,” he mutters, shrugging his coat off and shoving it under the register.

“I will not,” she says. “It’s why you have a child and I have you.”

Nicky watches her exit through the front, waving at Joe and stopping to bum one of his cigarettes. Joe graciously hands one over and laughs at whatever muffled conversation they’re having, making Nicky glad that Andy isn’t here to see him blush. He busies himself with checking out the remaining customers in the store before Joe finally pushes through the door and shoots Nicky a wink.

“I’m surprised you didn’t insist on an espresso machine,” Joe says, pouring them two cups over at the table by the deli counter. “I know how much you Italians like your coffee.” He holds up the sugar container. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black, please,” Nicky says, watching the other man dump more than a decent amount of sugar in one of the cups. “And what gave it away that I’m Italian?”

Joe laughs again, loud and clear like the bright ringing bells of a cathedral and Nicky tries not to faint right then and there. “Might have been the accent, can’t really say.” He sets the cups on the counter and digs a crumpled $5 bill from his pocket. “Keep the change,” Joe says, holding back a grin as he shoves the money over the counter.

“I told you I get free coffee,” Nicky says flatly.

“And if I didn’t pay for it after asking you out for said coffee, I’d be a shitty date,” he shoots back, pushing the bill forward again. Joe’s dark, pleading eyes seem to reflect every light in the small shop as he leans forward. “Please? Indulge me a little, Nicky.”

He rolls his eyes, snatching the $5 with a heavy sigh, and hopes Joe doesn’t notice the nervous shake in his hands. “Fine, but you have to know that I am just mentally keeping a tab of how much money you spend on me. Between this and the cookies, it’s beginning to add up.” Nicky lifts up the counter, letting Joe encroach on his space. The front door jingles open as Mrs. Alvarez, one of his morning regulars, slips through and he pulls the chair Elio usually occupies closer to his own. “You can sit, if you want.”

Joe sinks into the chair, dumping his bag unceremoniously on the floor, and props his feet up on the bottom ring of Nicky’s stool. He’s patient, almost too patient, waiting until after Nicky rings up Mrs. Alvarez’s donuts and coffee to say, “I’m kind of surprised you agreed to this. I just thought…with your kid and everything…”

“That what?” Nicky asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “That I wouldn’t say yes to a date?”

“That you weren’t into guys.”

A snort comes out of him before Nicky can even stop it. “I’m sorry you thought that. I guess I can understand,” he says, taking the cup of coffee Joe hands him. “I haven’t dated many people but you wouldn’t be the first guy.”

He watches Joe take a careful sip, almost studying Nicky. “Anyone serious?” Joe asks, after a beat.

Nicky shrugs. “Couple month-long flings at the end of school, and then my ex-girlfriend Francesca, my son’s mother. We were together almost a year and a half.” Joe opens his mouth, presumably to ask about her, but he cuts him off a little brusquely before the other man can ask. “She’s not around anymore. Hasn’t been for a while.” He’s clenching his jaw again, molars grinding, and his stomach twists itself into knots.

Joe’s voice is gentle and Nicky can’t look him in the eye, just knowing how soft and worried his face grows, as he asks, “Does she see your son at all?” Nicky shakes his head and hears Joe whisper, “Okay,” and knows that’s the end of it, at least for now.

He throws the ball back in Joe’s court, asking, “So…you’re an artist?”

“I like to think of myself as one,” Joe laughs, relaxing a little in his chair. “I graduated art school this past spring so now I just have a ton of of student debt to pay off, one commission at a time.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles up at Nicky. “But I got my own apartment, even if it is a studio the size of a shoebox.”

“If it makes you feel any better, your apartment looks exactly like mine, just with a smaller kitchen,” Nicky says before downing half his coffee in one go.

“That means you cook a lot, doesn’t it?”

He nods. “Too expensive not to,” Nicky mutters with a shrug. “Plus, you know, I am Italian.”

“I knew it!” Joe sits up a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “So when did you move over? Was your son born over in Italy?”

The door rings open again and Nicky watches the customers in the store out of the corner of his eye as he says, “It’s a little complicated. I was born here in New York, actually, but my family moved back to Italy when I was a baby. I finished school and had an offer to come back and get a degree here. Elio was born a couple years after I got back to the US. So on paper, American, but in here?” He points to his chest, over his still-racing heart. “Italiano.”

Joe’s smirk fades a little as he asks, “Elio? Is that your kid? You must’ve had him really young.”

Nicky nods absentmindedly. “I was nineteen. Dropped out after my first year of college and haven’t been back to school since.”

He waits a moment, waits for Joe to laugh and call him a fuckup, but that moment never happens. Joe doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even bat an eyelash, only asks sweetly, “What were you going to school for?”

He can’t remember the last time he talked about any of this with anyone. Aside from the regulars in the shop and Andy and Quynh, Nicky hasn’t had much adult conversation in the last few years. He still remembers the awkward moment when the nurse at the pediatric ER last thought Nicky was hitting on her because he finally got a chance to talk about TV shows with someone outside of his limited circle. Joe raises an eyebrow and Nicky fumbles for words when he realizes he’s been drifting off in silence. “Neuroscience,” he says quickly, as if he’s pulling a long forgotten memory from the back of his mind. “I was going to major in neuroscience.”

“Mmmm, a smart guy, huh?” Joe hums, almost too fondly. “I’m just gonna sit here like the fine arts major I am and pretend like I know anything about neuroscience.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know much about it now either. I haven’t read a book that wasn’t meant for kids in God knows how how long,” Nicky laughs, relaxing a little. He rings a couple people out before motioning to Joe. “What about you? Do you have family in the city? You a local or…?”

Joe settles back in his chair and props up one foot on his other knee. “Kind of like you. American on paper but it’s a little more complicated. I was born in Tunisia and my family immigrated here when I was nine. Got my citizenship when I was nineteen with my older sister Sophie.”

“How did you like coming here? Big change?”

As much as Joe tries to shrug it off, Nicky can see the tightness in his face as his jaw clenches. “We came over in June, 2001—three months before 9/11. I was the new Muslim kid in class and it went just as well as you can imagine it did.” He crosses his arms across his chest, foot jiggling nervously, and, for the first time, looks away in near embarrassment.

They both fall silent and Nicky can’t find the right words, even if they’re right on the tip of his tongue. He nudges his foot against the side of Joe’s calf, asking quietly, “Is that why you go by Joe and not Yusuf?” 

He watches Joe scrub a hand over his mustache and stubble, watches him swallow thickly, and tries not to flinch when his hand comes down to rest on Nicky’s ankle. Joe’s thumb gently strokes over the nub of bone on the inside, almost absentmindedly, and he’s quiet for a moment before he finally nods. “Yeah. It was hard for a really long time.”

Nicky waits for him to pull away, waits for that moment of connection to end, but Joe continues to caress his ankle, shifting the conversation. “So…” he hums, looking up and meeting Nicky’s eyes again with that familiar sparkle. “What’s the best worst movie you’ve ever seen?”

It goes on like this for hours.

Most of the time they spend innocently chatting about childhoods in foreign countries, favorite TV shows, and the fine art of a good meal. Nicky notices that Joe mentions his sister often but has yet to say a single word about his parents. There’s probably a reason but this is still too new to dig too deep into unresolved trauma. 

But there’s a good chunk of time, when it gets busy around noon, that Joe tucks himself in the corner behind the counter and dives into his sketchbook while Nicky rings up the line and restocks the store. His dark eyes become hyper focused as his pencil scratches across the page, chewing on the inside of his lip in concentration. Every once in a while, Joe’s gaze will flit up to watch Nicky before his shoulders hunch and he goes back into his own world once more.

“Do you mostly do drawing?” he asks, stacking the tomatoes in the bin. The corner of Nicky’s mouth curls a little when Joe doesn’t even acknowledge him. “Joe?”

“Hmm?” the other man grunts, finally looking up. “What’d you say?”

“Your art,” Nicky says, pointing at his sketchbook. “Is it mostly pencils and drawing?”

Joe tucks his pencil into the book and cracks his back. “Oils, actually—at least for the art that I like to do. Most of the commissions I do to get by are sketches though. Not everyone wants to spend five hundred dollars on a painting,” he says with an off-handed shrug. “Sixty bucks is a lot easier on the pocket.”

“How many paintings have you sold so far?”

“I managed to sell all twenty of my end of the semester final paintings and got a rich lady over in the upper east side to commission me for a portrait of her daughter. I’ve sold a couple originals over the last few months but nothing worthwhile,” Joe mutters, digging into the pockets of his coat. “I’ve been lacking inspiration.” He pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, holding them up. “Be right back.”

Nicky nods as Joe ducks out from behind the counter and slips behind him, his breath catching in his lungs when the older man’s warm hand brushes across his lower back.

His head is still spinning even as the door bell jingles.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He was fine being single. Really, he has. Hasn’t thought about wanting to be with anyone like that in years. And then some disheveled, starving artist comes along and throws him off his axis like a speeding train. Makes Nicky feel like suddenly there’s a missing piece in his life that is extremely Joe-shaped.

Nicky lets out a loud groan and restrains himself from throwing the crate of oranges across the store in frustration.

He doesn’t even realize how late it’s getting until Quynh comes in, hauling sandwiches, spring rolls, and papaya salad from her family’s restaurant. A rush of panic hits him like a bolt of a lightning as he looks at the clock on the wall. “Wait, is it 2:30 already?!” Nicky chokes, trying not to let Quynh hear the anxiety in his voice.

She looks at him, clearly reading right through his facade, but just as she opens her mouth, the door jingles again. Joe’s nose is pink from the cool autumn breeze but his smile is as warm as the bright summer sun as he grins and sneaks Nicky a quick wink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nicky can see Quynh point a finger at Joe and raise a single eyebrow, asking silently, “Is that hot neighbor guy?”

As good of a day as he’s had, Nicky knows it can’t last. He catches Joe’s wrist and desperately tries to ignore the sparks that fly up through his fingers as he murmurs, “Hey, can I talk to you?”

Joe’s eyebrows knit together. “Sure, what’s up?”

”I just really need you to go,” he says, glancing at the clock again frantically. He shouldn’t have let this go on so long. Should’ve sent Joe back after they were done with their coffees. “It’s almost three and Elio is gonna be here soon and—” Joe’s mouth presses thin and Nicky’s heart sinks. This is where I lose him, he thinks. This is where it ends.

But Joe simply nods, the tightness in his face softening. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, Nicky. He deserves your time more than I do.”

He leans in and, before Nicky can even stop him, kisses him gently on the cheek—lips just barely brushing the farthest corner of Nicky’s mouth. Nicky’s eyes flutter shut and his knees go weak and his voice comes out cracked and raw as he croaks, “Joe…”

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Joe whispers, pulling away just enough for him to see the shy anticipation in his eyes. “I had a really nice day spending time with you.” Nicky nods shakily, blood still humming through his veins like a symphony, and is blessed with another one of Joe’s beautiful smiles. “I won’t keep you then.”

Nicky’s head spins as the older man’s wrist slips out of his grip, heart growing so large it threatens to overtake his lungs inside his chest. He gives Joe a weak wave as he grabs his jacket and bag and heads out the door, watching him all the way until Joe is safely across the street and disappearing into their apartment building. Nicky sucks in a heavy inhale, finally able to breathe again, and catches his fingers coming up to his own face to touch where Joe had kissed him.

“Spill it, Nicky!” Quynh suddenly shouts from across the store, ripping him from his bubble of bliss. “I want all the details!!”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, biting back a grin, and glances at the clock one last time.

He’s got a few minutes.

Chapter Text

It goes on like this for at least three weeks.

Every morning, Joe hauls himself out of bed, far earlier than he’d honestly like to, and crosses the street to have coffee with Nicky. Sometimes he stays through lunch, sometimes he leaves early to take a nap and work on his art. The commissions are easy to work on behind the counter, but his paintings have suffered in the wake of his romantic prospects.

But he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

Every time he sees Nicky laugh, every time he sees the younger man’s warm smile spread across his face like sweet butter when he sees another one of Joe’s sketches, it’s like that first spark all over again. That first glance Joe got of Nicky in the hallway, stubborn and pissed off and everything he’s ever wanted.

Right now, he’s back at his apartment, staring at an empty canvas and the letter in front of him.

Dear Yusuf al-Kaysani,

     Thank you so much for applying for our gallery program. We reviewed over five thousand applicants and we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of fifty artists to be featured in our 2020 Rising Stars Exhibition on December 5th, 2020.  

     We were extremely impressed by the work you submitted and we cannot wait to see what you create for this exhibition. As a reminder, you are allowed to work in either acrylic, tempera, or oil mediums and your work must be a minimum of 2’x2’ with a maximum of 6’x6’, canvas or board. This must be a new piece of work done specifically for this exhibition.

     All pieces of art must be brought to the gallery by November 30th to give our panel of judges a week’s deliberation. First place artist will be awarded $10,000, second place will be awarded $5,000, and third place will be awarded $3,000. All paintings will be displayed for the remainder of the month until our charity auction on January 1st, 2021. We are proud to be fundraising for Arts for All this year.

     We look forward to seeing all of our artists’ pieces!

                         Sincerely,
                             The New Citizen’s Gallery

Joe still can’t even believe it. It was a long shot—both he and Nile knew it going in—with only a 1% chance of being selected. It was never going to happen so he put the very idea out of his mind. And now he’s sitting here with an acceptance letter and zero fucking ideas of what to paint.

He’s gone through half a pack of cigarettes, chain smoking one after the other, and it’s not even 7pm yet. His hand shakes as he picks up his phone, calling Nile and hitting the speaker. It rings twice before she answers with a tired, “What do you want, Joe?”

“You remember that gallery thing we submitted shit to back in July?” he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“New Citizen’s? Yeah I got my rejection letter yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Joe takes a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke pour through his nostrils as he tries to let it all sink in. “I kind of… I got in.”

There’s a long silence before Nile screams, “WHAT?!”

“I got the letter today,” he says, voice shaking. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this. Is it too late to back out now?”

“You can’t back out now, Joe. You’ve got, what, two months before the exhibit opens? I’ve seen you hit shorter deadlines than this,” Nile says, voice crackling over the speaker. “What’s your hang up?”

“I have nothing to paint. Nothing that will be good enough to show, let alone have a chance at hitting one of those prizes.” Joe stares at the empty canvas again and feels the dread grow in the pit of his stomach. He could really use the money—save half for paying off a couple months of rent and use the rest to cut down a little bit of his student loans. “Nile, what the fuck am I gonna do?”

“Remember painting you did our senior year? The one of your sister back home in Tunisia? Why don’t you do something like that?”

He remembers that one. The faintest memory of his older sister in front of one of the mosques back home, all bright colors and old Islamic influence. “That one was fine but I don’t think it’s gonna set me apart. I need something great.”

“You’ll think of something, but it’s not going to come to you while you’re sitting here bitching to me about it,” she says with a laugh. “Now go stare at your canvas for another six hours, because I know that’s probably what you’ve been doing all day.”

“Fuck you, Nile,” Joe spits, no venom in his voice as he hangs up on her.

He smokes the last of his cigarette in silence and fumbles for the pack again. One left.

Fuck.

He checks the clock. 6:14. Perfect, Nicky and Elio should be back home by now. They haven’t had the talk about him meeting Nicky’s son yet, but Joe understands that whatever is going on between the two of them is still new and he can tell that Nicky doesn’t trust easily. After that first date they had when Nicky made him leave before Elio came back from school, Joe hasn’t pushed the issue.

But he’ll need more cigarettes if he’s going to do nothing but sit and stew over his failing inspiration.

Andy hooks him up with a pack and Snickers, throwing in a lighter with a quick wink. Joe shoves them all in his pocket and heads back across the street. He fumbles with the keys to the front door and nearly jumps out of his skin when it opens in his face.

A smile spreads across his face as a pair of familiar blue eyes meet his.

“Hey, Nicky, what’s—” Joe starts to say, freezing when he sees a mess of curly hair and a crooked grin staring up from Nicky’s side. He can see the panic in Nicky’s eyes as Joe glances at him so he tries to move as carefully as possible, crouching down in front of the boy. “You must be Elio,” he says, holding out his hand. “My name’s Joe. I’m friends with your dad.”

Elio looks up at Nicky and takes Joe’s hand, shaking it perfunctorily. “I didn’t know Papa had friends,” he says, eliciting a snorting laugh from Nicky. “We’re gonna go to the park for a picnic!”

“Are you? That’s going to be fun!” Joe says sweetly, standing up again. He can tell how hard Nicky’s trying to hold back a gentle smile, shifting the bag of food in his arms. Picnic? he mouths, winking when the younger man’s face flushes under the streetlights.

Elio’s eyes suddenly go wide and he grabs at Nicky’s hoodie, tugging on it quickly. “Papa, can Joe come with us to the park?” He jumps a little, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. “Papa, pleeeeeease?” Elio whines, and Joe can immediately tell how much Nicky loves his kid because the other man caves immediately.

“Fine,” Nicky sighs, stepping across the threshold and closing the door behind them all. “But that means you have to share the grapes, Elio.” 

~~~

They split a Tupperware container of tortellini salad, cheese, some bread, and the aforementioned grapes.

Elio goes on and on, barely taking a breath between chewing and talking, about school, about the store and Andy and Quynh, about living in their apartment. The setting sun bathes Nicky in gold as he tears a piece off the loaf of bread and Joe can barely take his eyes off him. “Papa’s a really good cook, isn’t he?” Elio says, scooping another forkful of pasta into his mouth. Joe makes a noise of affirmation, mouth full of food, and the boy continues. “He always makes food just like a restaurant so it’s nice and fancy for me.”

“Lio, eat,” Nicky reminds him. “Less talking.”

“I’m not hungry anymore, Papa,” Elio says, rolling over in the grass. “I wanna go play.”

“I’m still eating, you need to wait.”

Joe sets his fork in the container of pasta and offers a quiet, “I can keep him busy if you want, Nicky.” Nicky’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth, presumably to protest, so Joe cuts him off again. “It’s really not a problem, I don’t mind.”

Nicky’s mouth presses thin and he lets out a sigh. “Fine. Just keep a close eye on him, okay?”

He reaches out a careful, secretive hand and brushes his fingers over the inside of Nicky’s wrist. “I won’t let anything happen to him, I promise,” Joe whispers, as if it was just a secret between the two of them. A smile twitches on Nicky’s face and it’s all the affirmation he needs.

For the next hour and a half, Joe runs around the field playing tag with Elio, swings from the monkey bars, and attempts to teach the six year old how to do a handstand. Elio manages a cartwheel just fine but has some problems with the hold. “So how do you know my Papa?” Elio asks before rolling into a somersault. “Do you work at the store with Auntie Quynh and Zizi?”

Joe twists a piece of grass between his fingers and tugs it free from the ground. “I live across the hall from you guys, actually,” he says. “Your dad helped me move my couch. We like to have coffee together in the mornings.”

Elio rolls on the ground and kicks his feet across Joe’s lap. “Wait do you see each other every day? Like I play with my friends at school every day?” Joe nods and the boy’s smile grows wider. “Good. Papa needs more people to talk to. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s still a really good Papa.”

“Seems like he really loves you.”

“It’s just us at home,” the boy says, grabbing Joe’s hand and playing with his fingers. “It’s always been just us so I think sometimes he gets lonely.” Elio’s green eyes look almost emerald in the sunset as he looks up at him. “But you seem really nice so I hope you stay friends with him.”

Joe lets out a soft chuckle and tugs the boy to his feet as he says, “So do I.”

He keeps a close eye on Elio as the boy abandons their gymnastics to go climb on the play equipment, lingering on the benches. Joe waves when Elio shouts his name from the top of the jungle gym, startling a little when he hears a voice behind him. “Sorry about my son,” Nicky says, rounding the bench to sit next to him. “I know he can be a lot sometimes.”

“He’s great,” he says, nudging their knees together. “Seriously, Nicky, he’s so unbelievably sweet. You’re really lucky.”

“Elio’s made being a single father a lot easier. I don’t know what I’d do if I had any other kid.” There’s a far off look in Nicky’s eyes as he watches Elio run across the bridge toward the slide and Joe reaches over, hesitantly putting a hand on the younger man’s knee. “He’s been through so much, puts up with so much, and doesn’t ever complain for a second.” He sniffs a little, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face quickly. “I really don’t deserve him.”

Joe fishes his pack of cigarettes and the lighter from his back pocket and pulls one out. “He wouldn’t be the same kid if you weren’t his dad. You only have yourself to thank.”

He shoves the smoke between his lips and flicks the lighter when he hears a quiet, hesitant, “Joe?” He freezes, looking at Nicky’s tense expression. The other man’s fists curl tight and it’s like Nicky is struggling to let the words through his clenched teeth. He motions stiffly at Joe’s cigarette and says, “Can you…can you not smoke? At least around me and Elio?”

Joe snatches the cigarette from his mouth quickly, stuffing it in his pack again. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s just, he has asthma and is really sensitive to it and I’m still paying off the emergency room bill from last winter when it got really bad and I couldn’t afford his inhaler,” Nicky rambles, his hands shaking with nervousness.

“Nicky, it’s fine,” Joe insists. “If it’s going to hurt Elio, I’m not gonna smoke around you guys.”

A trembling breath slips from Nicky’s mouth as his eyebrows knit together in shocked relief. His voice is so quiet that Joe barely hears him over the laughter of the kids at the park as Nicky says, “I don’t… I don’t know why you’re so perfect, Joe.”

He smiles warmly, sliding his hand across the bench to brush over Nicky’s knuckles, and pretends not to notice the rush of sparks that zap through his spine like a bolt of lightning. “Not perfect,” Joe hums. “I just…don’t want to mess this up. Because I really like you, Nicky, if you couldn’t tell already.”

The stars and moon begin to appear in the sky, reflecting in Nicky’s glassy eyes as he manages a watery smile. “I’m beginning to.”

Elio runs out of steam around 8:45, stumbling down from the jungle gym barely able to keep his eyes open. He yawns widely, rubbing his eyes as he mutters, “I’m tired, Papa…” The boy reaches for Joe’s hand and yawns again. “Can we take Joe home now?”

“Of course, Elio, let’s go,” Nicky says, picking up the bag of empty Tupperware and taking his son’s hand. “It’s getting late.”

The walk back home is slow, taking ten minutes just to get across the field and out of the park. Elio is dragging his feet, barely puttering along with what little energy he has left. Joe leans down, brushing his hand over the six year old’s shoulder, and asks, “Hey Elio, want me to carry you back?” The boy looks up at him blearily and nods, lifting his hands as Joe hauls him up under the armpits. Elio settles against his chest, tucking his face against Joe’s neck in exhaustion.

Nicky glances at them out of the corner of his eye. “You really don’t have to carry him, Joe,” he whispers as they start to make better time.

“I don’t mind,” Joe says, lacing his fingers underneath Elio to get a better hold on him. “He’s tiny and doesn’t weigh too much. If I let him walk, it’s gonna take us an hour to get back to the building; he’s absolutely exhausted.” He can already feel Elio’s breathing evening out, the slight wet spot on his collarbone where Joe knows the boy has started drooling, and says, “Plus, I think he’s asleep already.”

A warm feeling blossoms in the pit of his stomach when Nicky moves a little closer to him, footsteps falling in sync with Joe’s. Their shoulders bump together and Joe has never felt anything feel more right than this very moment. He can see flickers of a life together—though far off and merely a hopeful dream at this point—but it’s a comforting thought all the same.

Nicky opens the door for them when they get back to their building and Joe tries not to disturb Elio as they make their way up to the fourth floor. Nicky’s voice is hesitant as he looks at the door marked 4A. “Do you…do you want to come in? Just to get him settled?”

“Well, I’m not going to just leave him out in the hallway,” Joe whispers, fighting back a grin as the tips of the other man’s ears turn pink. 

When Nicky unlocks the door and lets him inside, though he knows Nicky said their apartments were the same layout, Joe is still surprised to see how tight of a fit it is. There’s just enough space for a single bed, a dresser, and a table and chairs. Elio’s art decorates the walls and there are stacked bins of toys outside the entrance of the kitchen. It’s cramped but lived-in and Joe can immediately tell how much Nicky has sacrificed just to give his son this space to call their own.

“This is Elio’s bed,” Nicky says quietly, pulling the sheets back from the pillow. “You can just put him here and I can get him tucked in.”

“Do you want to grab his shoes?” he asks. Nicky sighs and crosses the small apartment, easing Elio’s shoes off his feet. Joe offers him a gentle smile and knocks their shoulders together, making the younger man look up at him. It takes a minute for it to sink in how close their faces are. It would be so easy—so easy for Joe to just lean in and kiss Nicky on his beautiful, curved Cupid’s bow of a mouth. But it’s still too early, still too new, so all he can do is whisper a soft, “Hey,” and tip his forehead against Nicky’s.

A warm hand curls around his elbow and he can hear the other man’s breathing hitch, just the slightest. Nicky’s blue eyes are so focused, so piercing, that Joe feels as if he can see into the very depths of his soul.

And Joe doesn’t even mind one bit.

Elio’s other shoe is set on the table and Joe carefully settles the boy into the bed, letting Nicky step in to cover him up with the blanket. He watches Nicky’s hand smooth down Elio’s wild hair, a worn, devoted smile tugging at his mouth, and his heart skips about twelve beats as he commits that perfect scene to memory. Joe is just about to turn to the door when he hears a quiet, “You’re really good with him, Joe.”

“He’s easy to get along with,” he says, leaning against the wall.

Nicky looks up at him and swallows thickly. He chews on the inside of his lower lip for a minute before muttering, “Doesn’t matter if he is or not. You…” His jaw clenches and Nicky shakes his head, as if putting some thought out of his mouth. “You just stepped in without even thinking about it and were good with him.”

Joe shrugs off the compliment, offering a quick smile. “Elio’s not going anywhere. Don’t want to pretend like he’s not a part of your life,” he says before tilting his head toward the door. “It’s late. I should get going.”

Nicky nods shakily, almost frozen in his spot as Joe makes his way to the door. His fingers wrap around the doorknob and he should really turn back. Should really let Nicky know how he really feels. But there are no footsteps behind him, no sudden movements letting him know that Nicky is coming after him. So Joe pulls them door open, slips into the abject aloneness of the hallway, and finally lets free the breath he has been holding for so, so long.

His throat feels tight and his eyes burn a little as Joe fumbles with his keys again. “Fuck,” he grumbles, his forehead falling against the cool wood of his door with a soft thud. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

“Joe?”

He jumps, spinning around to see Nicky standing in the doorway of his own apartment, blue eyes dark and full of resolve. Joe opens his mouth, the two syllable sound of the younger man’s name on the top of his tongue, but he never gets the chance.

Nicky rushes at him quickly, his large, sturdy hands finding home on the sides of Joe’s face as he crushes their mouths together in an unyielding kiss. Joe must make a muffled noise of surprise because the younger man slips his tongue into his mouth without hesitation. The world drops out below him, eyes fluttering shut, and the universe spins around the central axis of this, as Joe grips Nicky’s hips, pulling him flush against his own body.

They kiss for a frantic minute before Nicky pulls away suddenly, face flushed and chest heaving. “I have—I have to—” He hooks his thumb back toward his apartment and Joe nods, head still reeling. A breathless smile washes over Nicky’s face and he leans in again, kissing him once more.

Joe watches him disappear back into the apartment and struggles to stay upright on trembling legs.

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

Chapter Text

“Can I go wake up Joe, Papa? Please??”

Nicky pulls on his jacket and checks his watch. “He’s probably already awake but you can go see if he’s ready to go,” he says, grabbing Elio’s math homework off the table and shoving it into the open backpack. The boy’s face lights up and he rushes out the unlocked door quickly and across the hall.

Since the night at the park two weeks ago, Joe has been joining them in the mornings as they walk to school—much to his son’s delight. Nicky still gets butterflies thinking about that night, the way Joe had rolled around in the grass with Elio, had tucked the mess of curly hair under his chin as he had carried the boy back to Nicky’s apartment. The way the shocked breath of relief had come tumbling from Joe as Nicky had kissed him.

He can hear Elio’s frantic knocking and Joe’s warm, “Hey there little man, you ready to go?”

“Yeah! Papa’s almost ready too!”

And, almost right on cue, he finally gets all of Elio’s schoolwork together and heads out the door, heart thumping in his chest when Joe’s face cracks into a bright half-smile. Nicky tries not to blush as he ruffles Elio’s curls, murmuring, “Come on, you’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Elio grabs his backpack, swinging it over one shoulder and shouts, “Race you!” before taking off down the stairs at a breakneck pace.

Joe’s hand brushes over the small of his lower back and Nicky’s head spins as the older man leans in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hear that, Nicky? You’re about to be beat by a six year old.” Nicky is just about to open his mouth when Joe dashes off, rushing down the stairs two and three at a time. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!!”

By the time he gets out to the front steps, Joe’s already got Elio up on his shoulders, the six year old beaming down at him from high above. “Papa, look how tall I am!” Elio crows. “Do you think I’m gonna be this tall when I’m old like you?”

“Maybe if you stop complaining about eating your vegetables,” Nicky says softly, reaching up to tug on his son’s hand. “Are you going to come down and take your backpack or are you going to make Joe carry you the whole way to school?” Elio pulls his hand free, wraps his arms around Joe’s neck, and rests his cheek on the man’s tight curls. Nicky sighs, rolling his eyes when Joe turns to him with a soft smirk, and says, “Well, as long as Joe doesn’t mind…”

“He doesn’t,” Elio chirps, grinning wider than before. “He told me so, before you came down.”

“It’s true,” Joe says as they head down the sidewalk in the familiar route to school, his beautiful artist hands holding tight to Elio’s ankles to keep him steady. “This kid could get me to commit grand larceny if he asked me nicely enough.”

“Papa, what’s grand larceny?”

“None of your business, Lio,” Nicky chides, giving Joe a look. “Some things are grownup things, remember?”

“Ughhh,” Elio groans, flopping down further on top of Joe’s head. “Will I get to know about grand larceny when I’m a grownup then?”

Nicky pinches his side, making Elio giggle and squirm. “Not if I can help it, topolino.”

Elio gives him a tight hug when they make it to school and Nicky has to hold back a smile as he watches the boy fist bumps Joe—their new normal send off. “You be good, little man, you hear me?” Joe whispers, Elio’s nose crinkling as he giggles. “Learn some cool stuff to teach your dad when you get back home.”

“Gonna learn all the cool things!” Elio shouts over his shoulder as he runs toward the front door, Nicky’s heart swelling so wide that his chest can barely contain it.

The walk back home is much quieter than the one to school. Nicky’s soul is singing, every footstep feeling light as air. And the world spins a full 360 degrees when Joe bumps their shoulders together and slides his palm against Nicky’s, lacing their fingers together. “This okay?” he asks quietly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on Nicky’s shoulder. Their footsteps fall into sync and Nicky nods, squeezing the other man’s hand tight.

They’ve been doing this enough, a little over a month now, that Joe just hands him a black coffee the moment they get back to the store. Andy gives Nicky an amused look and ducks out from under the counter without a single snide remark.

She hadn’t asked any questions when he had finally allowed Joe in the store before Andy had left for the day, and Nicky had just assumed Quynh had spilled all the juicy details after his and Joe’s first date. She flashes Nicky a smirk and hands him the keys before leaning in to whisper, “You two have fun!”

Joe takes up residence in the corner chair and cracks open his sketchbook, much to Nicky’s delight. Most of the past two weeks, Joe’s been spending half an hour at most with him in the mornings before going to work on some big, secret painting. “It’s taking up my entire apartment!” Joe had lamented after he had bought the canvas, but refused to tell Nicky anything more about it.

“Bunch of commissions to work on today?” Nicky asks as he perches himself on the edge of the stool.

Joe nods but doesn’t look up from his sketchbook. “Yeah, I’m running really far behind because I’ve been working on my other piece most of the time I’m home,” he mutters, sharpening a pencil. “But oils take forever to dry too, so I can only do so much in a day before I have to break.”

“Are you going to tell me what it’s for yet?”

The other man’s face is shrouded in amused mystery as Joe shakes his head. “Nope, otherwise I’m going to jinx myself.”

“So it’s important?” Nicky asks, hiding his smile in the rim of his coffee cup when Joe nods. “Well, if it’s so important, are you at least going to let me see the finished piece once you’re done?”

“Yes, I’m going to show you, but you gotta be patient, Nicky,” Joe mumbles, not looking up from his sketchbook. “What’s that thing about eggs in baskets?”

“Crack enough of them and you’ll have an omelette?” he offers, biting back a smile when the older man barks out a laugh. Nicky stretches up straight, trying to catch a glimpse of Joe’s notebook but finds him only drawing a woman holding a baby—clearly a commission piece and nothing that would give away what this special, secret painting is about.

The store is pretty quiet for a Monday morning, mostly his regulars coming by in daily routine, and Nicky occupies much of his time doing inventory and watching Joe crank out portrait after portrait. It’s beautiful to watch, really—Joe using his pencil like a blade, carving the most lifelike faces Nicky has ever seen out of thin air. It’s like magic, something he can barely even dream of, and he feels so blessed to be this close to creation.

But suddenly, around noon, the process cracks.

Joe’s pencil fumbles, a stray mark catching his page and he lets out a huffed breath, reaching for his eraser. Nicky counts out the woman across the register’s change quickly, thanking her for shopping at the store as he watches the other man out of the corner of his eye.

She gathers her bags and the door jingles as Joe fumbles with his pencil again, tossing it down on his sketchbook in frustration as he flexes his hand. Nicky chews on the inside of his cheek as the older man digs in his backpack and pulls out a pack of gum. He can see the label flash, ‘Nicorette’ before Joe pops a couple pieces into his mouth. “You okay?” Nicky asks quietly.

Joe huffs a little and nods, grabbing his coffee with shaky hands. “Yeah, I just—fuck, sorry I just feel really off right now. I quit smoking and this gum isn’t really—”

Nicky’s heart slams to a sudden stop in his chest. “You quit smoking?”

“Yeah, like a week ago, and nobody warned me how much it was gonna suck,” Joe says, taking a sip with both his hands. “I’ve been smoking since I was sixteen so it’s been, like, twelve years. Hard fucking habit to break, apparently.”

His head is still spinning and all Nicky can choke out is a repeated, “You quit smoking?”

Joe’s eyebrows knit together and his face pinches in confusion. “Yeah, of course I did,” he mutters, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If I’m going to be spending more time around you, around Elio, I figured it was time. And before you go into how I ‘didn’t have to do it’, just know that I wanted to.” The tremble in Joe’s fingers is back as he sets his coffee cup aside and scrubs his palms over his jeans. “But fuck, I didn’t think it’d suck so much. I feel like my skeleton’s vibrating out of my body. The headaches are the worst.”

The anxiety swells in Nicky’s stomach, bubbling up his throat. He has to be honest with Joe—has to come clean with this man, who is quitting smoking for him, for Elio. Nicky swallows back a mouthful of stomach acid and croaks, “I know what it’s like, Joe…”

The older man’s head tilts in surprise. “You used to smoke?”

He jumps when the bell on the front door jingles, his apprehension overwhelming all his thoughts. He hasn’t had to do this before and the thought of it, the thought of having to tell Joe, is unbearable. But Joe deserves it and Nicky would be a coward if he couldn’t offer at least this much. “I didn’t—” His voice fails him as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s something else…something you deserve to know and something I need to take the time to tell you about.”

Joe’s eyes flash with worry but he doesn’t let it show further. “Nicky, are you okay?”

A heavy breath shudders through his body and he swallows back more bile as the customer approaches with a basket full of groceries. Nicky forces a smile at the man and makes polite conversation as he rings everything up. He can feel Joe’s gaze on him though, patient and giving and blessed, as he hands the man his change.

“Nicky, are you okay?” Joe repeats again as they find themselves alone once more.

He nods and asks, “Can you stay until my break at two? And we can go talk at my place?”

Nicky can see the flash of panic in the older man’s eyes and, when the panic recedes, there is only that devoted worry that comes in when Joe knows Nicky is at his lowest. Joe sets his notebook aside and stands up, taking a few steps closer to him and reaching for Nicky’s hand. “Yeah, is it something I should be worried about?”

His fingers lace with Joe’s and Nicky tries so hard to stave down the stomach acid that’s creeping up his throat. His heart is beating so fast, so high up in his chest that he can almost taste the blood pumping though it. Nicky’s voice shakes as he mumbles, “I—No, I just—It’s something I should have been more honest with you about.” He forces a smile and knows how thin it must look. “I’m just…worried about losing you.”

Joe’s grip tightens and he pulls Nicky’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently. “You won’t lose me, I can promise you that.”

~~~

The words build inside him for the next few hours until Quynh comes.

Joe’s hand is warm at the base of his spine, tucked up under the bottom of Nicky’s jacket, on the walk across the street to the apartment building. Nicky’s shaking, can feel himself shaking under the other man’s steady touch, but can’t bring himself to say a single word until they’re safely in the tight space of his apartment.

He toes his shoes off and dumps his jacket on the floor, pacing the room once before sitting on Elio’s bed.

Nicky pulls his feet up on the bed, picking at the fraying hem of his jeans as Joe sits across from him. Joe’s warm fingers wrap around his wrist as the older man starts off with a quiet, “Nicky, whatever it is, I’m not going to—”

“I used to be addicted to heroin.”

It comes out as a far easier, far blunter of a blow than Nicky means it and the silence feels like it lasts an eternity before all Joe can manage is a quiet, “Oh.”

“I…I was always getting into trouble when I was a teenager,” he continues, staring at Elio’s bedspread. “My parents wanted better for me and we fought a lot because of it. It was part of the reason I moved back to the States. Tried to get as far away from them as I could. I thought it would be a fresh start for me, going to college and maybe becoming a doctor. And then I met Francesca.”

“Your ex.”

Nicky nods and finally meets Joe’s dark, reverent eyes. “We met at a club in Manhattan. We hit it off quickly—she was second generation Italian, spent her summers in Florence, and knew enough of my language to flirt with me in it. I fell hard and fast for her,” he says, trying not to think of how hard and fast he’s falling for Joe. “Her family is rich and she liked to throw money around. Like to take me to parties. I had just turned eighteen and I didn’t know any better.” Nicky can feel the tears bite at his eyes and he forces his breathing to settle. “A couple of those early parties, she introduced me to coke, which just made me feel like the world was turning too fast for me. And then she and I tried heroin and it was all over.”

Joe’s hand tightens around his and the other man hums, “You really don’t have to—”

“I do,” Nicky says quickly. “I need to be honest with you about this.” He chews on the inside of his lip for a minute. “We had been dating for almost two months when she got pregnant. I didn’t want her to keep it, wanted her to have an abortion, but she was a much better Catholic than I was. She cut back on the drugs she was using but I just spiraled. I went to class high, went to my weekend job high, can’t think of a moment those months where I wasn’t using. It got so bad that I missed Elio’s birth because I had passed out somewhere.”

The guilt feels like a thousand pound weight caving his chest in, even after all these years. It’s a moment he’ll never get back and it’s something Nicky will never truly forgive himself for.

“He was almost a month and a half premature. By the time I finally got to the hospital, he had been taken to the NICU,” he says, remembering seeing his son for the first time in that tiny, plastic box through the window. Vision swimming, body itching for that next fix. “Spent a week there before we were finally able to take him home. Elio was so tiny that I could barely could believe he was real. It seemed like a dream the whole time.” 

He stops for a moment, trying to find the courage to bring up the true horror of the past, but Joe is so painfully patient it makes Nicky’s heart ache. After a few minutes, he takes a deep breath.

“We had been kicked out of the apartment we were living in a few weeks after Elio was born because we were so behind on rent. We moved into an abandoned apartment building nearby with some other people we had met in the scene. Weren’t paying rent, squatting really, barely had any kind of furniture other than the mattress on the floor,” Nicky whispers, mind flooding back to the burnt and molding smell of the that building. He can still remember the sound of the rats and the cockroaches skittering in the dark of night, even over Elio’s crying.

“F-Fuck…” Joe stammers, and it’s only then that Nicky realizes that the other man’s cheeks are wet.

“Joe, shit, I didn’t mean to—”

He shakes his head, sniffing quietly as he laces his fingers with Nicky’s. “No, I’m okay, it’s just—It just kills me to think of you living like that.”

Nicky huffs out a trembling laugh and forces a weak smile. “It’s fine, Joe. We weren’t there long,” he says, thumb rubbing over Joe’s knuckles. “We…Elio was almost four months old when I tried to get a job doing construction cleanup. I had been working for four days and Francesca fought with me for hours when I would come back home, looking to shoot up.”

His facade begins to crumble and he fumbles for Joe’s other hand, holding it tight like a lifeline in a storm. He can hear Joe’s soft voice murmuring, “It’s okay, Nicky. It’s okay, I’m right here, don’t worry…”

It takes a minute to find any shred of composure left but Nicky finally finds some shred of it as he chokes out, “I got home late that night. I met up with some friends and had done so much heroin that I could barely see straight. Could barely get up the stairs.” He shakes his head and sucks in a heavy breath through clenched teeth. “I could hear Elio crying the moment I was outside the door, before I even opened it. It wasn’t like he normally cried—he was screaming so loud I thought his lungs would give out. I found him on the bed, alone, in the cold, and Francesca wasn’t there.”

The apartment goes so silent that all he can hear is his own ragged breathing. There are silent tears streaming down his face and he watches one trail down Joe’s freckled cheek.

“I don’t know how long he had been alone, but it had to have been more than four hours. It still makes me sick thinking about how long he was there by himself,” Nicky chokes, stomach acid rising to the top of his throat. His stomach flips and it’s everything he can do not to throw up. “I had never taken care of him alone and I didn’t know what to do. Francesca had taken everything she had and wasn’t answering my calls. We had about a day and a half’s worth of formula and it ran out with me thinking she was still going to come back. Elio was so hungry that I didn’t know what else to do but wrap him up in my coat and walk to the store.”

“Quynh and Andy’s store, right?” Joe asks, tears of his own glistening in his dark eyes.

Nicky nods and finally breaks eye contact, staring down at their intertwined hands. “I can’t imagine how I looked to Andy that night. Elio was starving, screaming so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, and I was sweating and shaking and on the verge of throwing up even though I hadn’t been able to keep anything down in days. I was at the peak of my withdrawal and I felt like I was dying, Joe. I’ve never felt so sick in my life.” He takes a deep breath as another tear cuts its way down his cheek. “I couldn’t read the formula boxes well enough to be able to tell what Elio needed. Andy came from behind the counter and asked if I needed someone to hold the baby while I got groceries. I just broke; I shoved Elio into her arms and sat on the floor crying. Andy locked the door, called Quynh, and gave me a bucket to throw up in. They gave me food and water and made sure Elio was fed too. We stayed in their apartment for two months while I got clean, and they gave me my job and helped me find this apartment. I truly owe them everything.”

Joe is quiet for a moment, thumb tracing mindless circles over Nicky’s racing pulse point in his wrist like he’s trying to find the right words. “I wondered...” he says finally. “You guys seem way too close for them to just be your bosses.”

“I would be dead without them,” Nicky says, voice wobbling. “Elio would be—” A shuddering sob bubbles up his throat and he pulls his hands free from Joe’s, pressing the heels of his palms to his wet eyes. “I’ve been sober for almost six years now and it’s only because of Elio, Quynh, and Andy that I haven’t relapsed,” he mumbles weakly. “I still go to meetings once a week on Sunday, my day off. It’s the only time I let anyone else watch Elio—he stays with Andy and Quynh at the store.” Nicky can’t bring himself to look at Joe, can’t bear to see the disappointment in the other man’s eyes if it’s there, and his stomach turns. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after this, but you deserved to—”

His words die as Nicky feels the bed shift, two warm arms tightly wrapping around him. He sags against Joe’s chest, his head dropping to the older man’s shoulder. “I am so proud of you, Nicky. You have no fucking idea,” Joe murmurs, petting the back of his head gently. 

“I’ve tried to give Elio a good life, even with what little we have.” Nicky whispers, breathing in the soft, warm, spiced scent of Joe’s cologne. His fingers twist in the soft fabric of Joe’s sweater and Nicky never wants to let go. “I’m just so scared he’s going to be taken from me someday. It’s why I never let anyone else watch him; I don’t want Elio to think I’ve abandoned him like Francesca did.”

The single-room apartment spins as Joe pulls back, taking Nicky’s face in between his hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. Nicky’s eyes flutter shut and he feels every missing piece he’s ever felt in his entire life fall into place in that one single moment. His breath is stuck in his chest as Joe’s burnt umber eyes overflow with adoration. “Nicky, you are the most incredible dad I’ve ever seen and Elio is so lucky to have you raising him,” Joe says, so earnestly that Nicky feels like he’s going to pass out under the love in his words. “And I am so lucky that I get to spend the time I do with you.”

His mouth feels like cotton as he croaks, “You don’t mean that, Joe.”

Joe’s dimples sink into his cheek as he kisses Nicky again, softer and more gently this time. “Well, I’m kind of falling in love with you, Nicky—so yeah, I do…”

All of the air rushes out of his lungs and the slightest moment of dread settles in his stomach. He swallows back the lump in his throat and pulls away, mumbling, “I—I have to get back to the store. My break’s almost over and I can’t be late again.”

He climbs off the bed, grabbing his jacket, but freezes when Joe grabs his wrist. Nicky looks at him, desperately trying to hide the panic in his eyes as Joe asks, “Hey, are you okay? Was it something I said?” Nicky shakes his head in silence but it doesn’t seem like a good enough answer. “Nicky, if it’s because I said I’m falling in love with you, I can—”

“Joe, it’s fine,” he snaps, a little too harshly. “I just really have to get back.” Nicky wipes at the lingering tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this has just been a lot. I haven’t told anyone the whole story in years, let alone someone I care about.”

Joe seems to understand and his fingers uncurl from Nicky’s wrist. “Okay, I’m sorry, I know how hard this had to have been for you,” he says quietly, climbing off the bed.

Nicky can hear the hurt hiding in his voice and immediately feels like a piece of shit. He shoves his arms into his jacket and crowds back into Joe’s personal space. There’s a second, where Joe takes a half step back, that he worries that all of this will be for nothing, but the other man immediately relaxes when Nicky wraps his arms around his shoulders. They don’t move, don’t speak, for a few minutes until he feels Joe’s warm hand cup the nape of his neck.

“Are we okay?” he mumbles into the older man’s collarbone, trying to stave off the sinking nervousness that he’s gone too far too fast.

“Of course we are,” Joe hums in response, his fingers brushing the ends of Nicky’s hair as he pulls back to look him in the eye. “Telling me was really brave and I’m honored that you trusted me with something like that.” Nicky begrudgingly lets them part but keeps a hold of his hand as Joe says, “Come on, we should get you back.”

Their fingers stay intertwined the entire walk back—through the stairwells and the doorways, across the sidewalk and the street, and even as they enter the store, Quynh giving them bright smiles. “Ahhh, it’s my favorite customer and my second favorite employee!” she says as Joe offers a small wave.

Nicky rolls his eyes. “Why am I demoted to second favorite employee?”

“Because, as much as you’re my baby, Nicky, Andy would burn my shit in the middle of the street if I ever said I love you more than her,” Quynh says, stocking the deli case. “Elio is the only exception.”

“A good exception to make,” Joe says with a snort, ducking behind the counter as Nicky goes to help Quynh. He gathers his things and slips back out, kissing him quickly. “Tell Elio I said hi?” Nicky makes a contented noise in the back of his throat and nods, much to the other man’s delight. “Great. I’ll see you two tomorrow, then,” Joe hums, tipping his forehead to Nicky’s before he disappears from the store.

Nicky watches him cross the street through the window and can’t help the soft sigh that slips from his mouth. “Nicky, that boy is too cute,” Quynh says, knocking him out of his lovesick stupor. “You should be thinking of ways to lock Joe down for life.”

He rolls his eyes and ducks under the counter, mumbling, “We’ve only been dating for a month and a half and not even officially, so—”

“Ahah! You are dating him!” Quynh crows, making Nicky blush six shades of crimson as he cleans up behind the counter. “You know, I think you’ve been single too long. You have it so good with Joe and don’t even realize it because your baseline is that bitch, Francesca. This isn’t ‘normal’, Nicky. This is one truly wonderful man.”

He grumbles in the back of his throat and picks up a loose piece of paper left on register. The store spins when he realizes it’s a page from Joe’s sketchbook, the floor dropping out from underneath him altogether when Nicky turns it over and sees Elio’s bright, freckled grin and curls staring up at him from the page. 

It’s all he can do to keep from crying again, tucking the paper away before Quynh has a chance to see it.

He wants to keep one token of Joe’s love for just himself.

~~~

“Hey Papa?”

Nicky’s shaken out of his thoughts and finds himself still aimlessly poking the zucchini around in the sautée pan. He blinks and looks at Elio, who has given up on watching a movie on the laptop and is instead staring across the room at him with big eyes. “Yeah?”

“You and Joe are friends, right?” Elio asks, playing with the cord of his headphones.

He turns off the burner and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest. “Of course we are, Lio. You know that Joe and I spend a lot of time together when you’re at school,” Nicky says, brow furrowing.

The boy shrugs and is quiet for a moment. “I’ve just…never seen you spend time with anyone but me or Auntie Quynh and Zizi,” Elio says as a small grin crosses his sweet face. “And you smile at Joe the way Zizi smiles at Auntie Quynh. Do you like Joe like that, Papa? The way they like each other?”

And to think, Nicky was sure he had been so careful. So careful to hide his true feelings behind a steady mask when Elio is near. But there was no escaping his son’s watchful eye and Nicky has never been one to lie to Elio, even for a moment. So he swallows back the lump in his throat and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Nicky opens his arms and Elio immediately sets the laptop aside, crawling into his lap. He strokes a hand over the boy’s curly hair and asks a question of his own. “If I do, would you be okay with it?”

Elio tilts his head up, eyes wide and smile even wider. “Joe’s really nice,” he says, leaning his cheek on Nicky’s shoulder. “I like that he makes you laugh and that he walks to school with us in the mornings.”

Nicky takes the six year old’s hand in his own, curling around smaller fingers carefully. He sighs softly before kissing Elio’s temple and murmuring, “I know it’s just been the two of us for a long time and I don’t want you to feel like you’re being left out, okay?” Elio nods and curls up tighter, wrapping his arms around Nicky’s arm. “You are more important to me than anything else in the world, including Joe, and I want you to remember that, Lio.”

Elio kisses his cheek and says, “I know, Papa. But I don’t mind if Joe’s around more. I like him and you like him and he likes us too, right?”

He laughs a little, giving Elio one last squeeze. “He told me that you’re the best kid he’s ever met, topolino. Now come on, help me finish dinner before it gets too late.”

Chapter Text

“You know, if you stay today, Andy and Quynh are going to rope you into helping us unpack the shipment,” Nicky says as they walk back from the school.

Joe glances over at him and tucks their clasped hands into the pocket of his jacket to keep them warm. “Yeah, I was actually just about to talk to you about that,” he says, squeezing the younger man’s fingers tightly. “I’ve got a couple paintings to finish up today so I don’t think I can come for coffee.”

“The big one?”

He shakes his head. “No, someone loved a sketch commission I did so much that she asked for a set of paintings for her mom. Wants them shipped out on Friday.” He offers Nicky a quirked smile and raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to be able to handle those two on your own?”

“I have been handling Andy and Quynh together long before I met you, Joe,” Nicky says dryly. “I think I can manage one morning without your company.”

They cross the street and he stops them for a moment, catching the younger man’s other hand in his. “There is one more thing I want to ask you,” he starts, stepping in close and taking a deep breath. Nicky’s brow furrows and his mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to read Joe’s face. “Is it okay if I take Elio out to dinner tonight at like five? Just the two of us?” he asks carefully, knowing the line he’s treading.

Nicky’s hands rip from his so quickly that Joe is left grasping nothing but air as the other man’s jaw clenches. “No, I’m sorry, but—”

“Please, I just want to talk to him about stuff—about us, mostly,” he implores, catching the front of Nicky’s jacket in his fist as Nicky tries to pull away from Joe. “I know you talked to him last week when he asked, but I’d really like a chance to do it too.” The younger man still feels stiff as Joe wraps his arms around Nicky’s waist, pulling him close. “Just across the street at the pizza place. I’ll even make sure he gets a salad too.”

“I don’t want him that far away, Joe, I told you that last Monday,” Nicky says desperately, voice shaking around the edges. “I can’t…”

His blue eyes shut tight as Joe cups the back of his neck and presses their foreheads together. “Please, Nicky, it’s only for an hour.” He kneads at a knot of tight muscle at the base of Nicky’s skull, smiling softly when Nicky sags against him. “You’re going to need to lighten up eventually.”

“I said no,” Nicky spits, suddenly wrestling himself out of Joe’s grasp. There’s a venom in his face that strikes deep into Joe’s heart and the man’s voice is no more kind. “Now if you’re not going to have coffee with me, you should just go. I’m probably already late.”

Every word Joe can think of saying is stuck in his throat as Nicky storms off down the street, disappearing into the store with a slam of the glass door. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, craving a cigarette more than ever. He should have known Nicky was going to freak out, especially after everything he told Joe about Francesca last week, but Joe wasn’t expecting him to fight back that hard.

So he goes back to his apartment to lick his wounds and try and take his mind off their fight with his paintings. Joe gets the last of the highlights done on all of them and sets them out to dry before sending Nicky a quick text around noon. ‘Sorry for this morning. Let me know if pizza still works tonight, even if it’s all of us.’ He types out ‘Love you x’ but ultimately deletes it.

Joe stares at the messages for almost ten minutes, waiting for a response, but gets nothing.

He adds a couple more layers to the painting for the New Citizen’s gallery before a headache springs up out of nowhere and he crawls up the ladder into his bed and falls fast asleep.

The afternoon sun is streaming in through the singular window in his apartment before Joe wakes up, his headache nothing more than a dull throb in the back of his skull. He drops to the floor and pads into the kitchen, sticking his mouth directly underneath the faucet. The cool water eases his migraine even more and his cotton mouth doesn’t feel as sandpapery. Popping a couple pieces of his nicotine gum into his mouth, Joe grabs his phone off the coffee table.

There’s a text from Nicky from an hour ago.

‘It’s okay, Joe. Sorry for blowing up. Please come at 5. I can talk more then.’

He glances at the clock. 4:45pm. Okay shit, he’s got fifteen minutes to figure out what the hell he’s going to tell Elio. On one hand, Joe knows how new this still is for all of them, and on the other hand, he is so utterly in love with Nicky and has found himself completely devoted to Elio without a second thought. But he knows he’s coming in as the new person in an pre-established unit and he needs to make sure the six year old doesn’t feel left behind.

With a couple minutes to spare, Joe throws a hat on to cover his sleep-mussed curls and grabs his jacket off the couch before heading down the stairs.

Nicky looks up when the door jingles, offering Joe an apologetic smile and a small wave. Then, he nudges Elio, disturbing the boy from the book he’s reading, and says, “Look who’s here.”

Elio’s head snaps up and Joe’s heart melts straight into a puddle at the bottom of his ribs when the six year old’s face just lights up in utter and complete joy. “Joe!” Elio shouts, scrambling out of his chair and under the counter. Joe barely catches him as the boy throws himself into his arms, Elio giggling, “What are you doing here?”

Before he can open his mouth to answer, Nicky cuts him off, saying, “Joe’s going to take you to go get pizza, Lio.” Joe looks over at the younger man, eyebrows knitting together in surprised. Elio gasps in excitement and wiggles out of his arms as Nicky leans over the counter and hands the boy his sweatshirt. “You’re going to go across the street with him and order a pizza, then I want you to come back and sit on the bench out front so I can keep an eye on you, okay?”

Nicky’s eyes flick up to meet his and Joe can see the olive branch he’s offering. A compromise.

“Do we get to order a really big pizza?” Elio asks, almost vibrating with excitement.

“You’re going to have to ask Joe,” Nicky says, his eyes and smile soft as Joe leans an elbow on the counter. “But if you do, I want you to save me some.”

Joe chuckles under his breath, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder and murmuring, “We can do that.” Nicky squeezes his hand as discretely as he can, but Joe can still see Elio watching them like a hawk, wild grin on his face. So he pulls away and reaches a hand out for the boy. “Come on, little man, let’s go get some food.”

The pizza place is crowded but Elio holds onto his hand the entire time they’re in line. “Can we get a big pizza with pepperoni and peppers?” he asks, looking up at Joe with his big, bright eyes. “That’s what Papa always makes at home.”

Joe crouches down, getting eye level with the boy, and asks, “Are you okay with not getting pepperoni? Maybe just getting cheese?”

Elio’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Well, I’m Muslim, so I don’t eat pepperoni or sausage or things like that,” he says, squeezing Elio’s hand a little. “But I like almost everything else, so—”

“My friend Aisha doesn’t eat that either!” the six year old interrupts quickly. “Don’t worry, Joe. We can get peppers and mushrooms instead and it’ll still be good!” Elio tugs him toward the counter and Joe’s head swims with how perfect this boy is. Sweet and understanding and just like Nicky in more ways than he can even count.

After he hikes Elio up to the top of the counter to order, they pass the time by playing a couple games of pinball until the pizza comes. Joe can see Nicky’s hawkish eyes trained on them as they carry the box back across the street, settling on the bench in front of the glass windows of the store. Elio stands on the bench, knocking on the window, and waves excitedly when Nicky give them a small, shy smile.

They prop the lid up on the back of the bench and eat together, the pizza between the two of them, for almost ten minutes before Joe finds the courage to bring up the inevitable. He sets his half-eaten slice on his knee and drapes an arm over the back of the bench. “So, Elio, I know you and your dad kind of talked about the fact that he and I are a little more than just friends, right?” he asks, heart racing as Elio nods, mouth full of food. Joe sucks in a shaking breath and tries to bury all his nervousness in the pit of his stomach. “I just really wanted to be able to talk to you and make sure you’re not worried about it.”

Elio shifts up on his knees and makes a face. “Worried about what?”

“Well, I know it’s just been you and your dad since you were little,” Joe says. “And I don’t want to make you scared or anxious that I’m going to try and take him away from you.”

The six year old shrugs and takes another bite of food. “You spend a lot of time with me too,” he says, after swallowing. “Like walk with us to school and take me out for pizza. Plus, Papa said you think I’m the best kid you’ve ever met.”

Joe laughs and reaches out to ruffle Elio’s hair. “Look at your dad, spilling all my secrets huh? Well, it’s true. I don’t know a lot of cool kids, but you’re definitely my favorite,” he says, unable to hide how unbelievably fond he sounds. Elio giggles and scrunches his nose up at him, and Joe can’t imagine letting anything happen to this kid. “So you’re okay with me dating your dad? Being his boyfriend?”

“Well, I make Papa the happiest, but he’s a little extra happy after he met you, so I guess it’s fine.” Elio’s missing tooth goes on full display as his face splits in a wide grin and asks excitedly, “Does this mean you get to pick me up from school too?!”

Another laugh escapes him and Joe says, “We’ll have to talk to your dad about it, but if he says yes, I’d love to.”

He can see the wild sparkle in Elio’s eyes and the pizza box almost knocks off the bench as the six year old jumps over it and onto Joe’s legs. Joe has to throw an arm around him to catch him as Elio bangs on the window, shouting at Nicky inside, “Papa! Papa! Joe’s gonna walk me home from school tomorrow, okay?” Joe bites back a grin as Nicky turns to him, brow furrowing and mouth pulling into a frustrated, confused frown at his son’s words. “Papa, isn’t that great?!”

Joe pulls Elio down away from the window and pokes him in the side, muttering, “Come on, stop harassing your dad before he even gets a chance to eat some of this pizza.”

~~~

Even after an hour and a half of Elio bargaining with Nicky, Joe still doesn’t have the okay to pick up Elio from school, but their routine doesn’t change much for the next couple days. 

He still wakes up far too early to walk with Elio and Nicky to school, even after pulling all nighters painting, and spends a couple hours each morning having coffee with Nicky before going back to work on the exhibit piece more.

But right now it’s Friday night and it’s 1am and Joe has been mixing paint for hours, trying to find the right shade of blue for the cloth. He’d kill for a cigarette right now, but he’s gotten this far without picking up his habit again and he’s not going back now. Joe would settle for a Coke at this point, but he knows he drank the last of his soda last night. He scrapes the last of the paint off his palate into one of the jars he has open on the floor and wipes his dirty hands over his work jeans.

The nights are getting colder but it’s a short race across the street, Joe pushing in the door to get out of the wind.

His heart stops all together when he glances at the counter.

“Nicky?”

Nicky is looking at him like he’s just seen a ghost, green-blue eyes wide with panic. The dark circles under his eyes have gone from grey to nearly black and his face looks absolutely worn. They stare at each other for a minute before he finally swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in the line of his throat, and croaks, “Can you just get what you need and go?”

Joe’s eyebrows furrow and he takes a step closer to the younger man. “What are you doing here? Where’s Andy? Where’s Elio?”

“Andy’s in Chicago. Her sister went into labor a month early and her brother-in-law’s on a business trip in Spain; she got the first flight she could at three this afternoon.” Nicky says, scrubbing a hand over his tired face. “I have to cover for her the next three nights until he can fly back and she can come home. I’ve gotten, like, three hours of sleep today and I really don’t want to do this right now, Joe.”

“Fuck, is her sister okay? Why didn’t you text me, I could’ve come over to help!”

“Her sister’s fine—just had the baby an hour ago,” Nicky barks, more out of exhaustion than anything, but Joe still feels the blow. “And you have your big painting thing to work on, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Joe looks back across the street and his heart skips a beat in panic. His head snaps back to look at the other man. “Wait, is Elio back at your apartment then? Did you just leave him—”

Nicky rises off his stool and his face flushes with anger. “Of course I didn’t fucking leave him there, are you kidding me?!” he spits, voice dripping with betrayal. “I would never leave him alone like that.”

“Then where is—” Joe starts, voice dying when he takes another step closer and catches a glimpse of a bright blue sleeping bag on the floor behind Nicky.

Oh.

Elio is fast asleep on the floor, tucked into his sleeping bag, only the top of his head visible on the pillow. It’s quiet enough in the store that all he can hear is the quiet hum of the refrigerators and the boy’s soft snoring. Joe looks back up at Nicky and that bright flash of anger is suddenly gone, leaving only the overwhelming guilt as the younger man’s face falls. Nicky’s voice is so quiet, so broken, that Joe’s heart damn near breaks into a million pieces as he stammers, “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have any other options. I couldn’t—I couldn’t just—”

“Do you want me to take him back to your place?” Joe asks gently, knowing the dangerous waters he’s treading. Nicky doesn’t trust easily, nearly not at all when it comes to Elio, and this could make or break their tender relationship. “I can get him into bed, his actual bed, and stay with him. I’m up already and it’ll give me a chance to work on my commissions.”

“Joe, I just can’t. The last time I left Elio was before he turned two and it was only because I had pneumonia, passed out at work and ended up in the hospital for dehydration,” Nicky says, voice shaking. “And even then, I checked myself out and was back with him the next day and—”

“Nicky, think about Elio,” he says, motioning to the sleeping boy on the floor. He can see the tears welling up in Nicky’s eyes and can’t even imagine how hard this must be for him. “He deserves to be in bed where he belongs. I love you and I adore this kid and I’d never let anything happen to him, I promise.”

Silence descends between them as he watches a tear roll down the other man’s cheek—Nicky brushing it away roughly, eyes focused on the counter. Joe is just about to reach for his hand to shake him out of whatever raging storm is going on inside his head when Nicky finally lets a trembling breath fall from his mouth and opens the register. He pulls a set of keys from beneath the tray and lifts the counter, muttering, “Come on, before I change my mind.” Joe rounds the counter and suddenly finds himself backed against register, Nicky kissing him quickly and desperately. The younger man’s hands fist in his shirt as he says, “Please, if anything—”

Joe smoothes his palms over Nicky’s face and neck, leaning in to kiss him again. “Nothing is going to happen,” he reassures. “Elio’s going to be just fine. I’ll even send you a pic, okay?”

That seems to be the key because Nicky’s tight shoulders sag a little, finally giving in—just the slightest amount. He releases his grip and crouches down, carefully unzipping the sleeping bag with one hand as Joe grabs the keys from the other.

Elio doesn’t stir at all when Nicky lifts him; if anything he only changes his snore pattern. Joe takes him easily, tucking the boy’s head under his chin as Nicky shifts Elio into his arms. Nicky shucks his sweatshirt off his body and tucks it around his son’s shoulders. There’s still that undeniable wash of worry in his eyes as he murmurs, “Seriously, if anything happens, if he wakes up scared and needs me, please just call. I’ll be off at 8am.”

Joe leans in for another kiss and whispers, “He’ll be fine, Nicky. It’s going to be okay.”

He gives Nicky another reassuring smile as he maneuvers the bodega door open, shielding Elio from the wind as much as possible. Joe tries to ignore the panic just flooding off Nicky’s face through the window as they head down the sidewalk toward the crosswalk.

It’s a bit of a struggle, juggling the six year old in his arms with the keys in his hands, but eventually Joe manages to get them both in the safe warmth of the apartment building. Elio snuffles a little before letting out a deep, snoring sigh, and Joe can’t help but muffle a soft chuckle in his curls. “Come on, little man,” he whispers, heading up the stairs, “let’s get you to bed.”

Elio still doesn’t wake, even as Joe gets him into the apartment and into bed, tucking the blankets up around his shoulders. He smoothes his hand over the boy’s hair fondly before folding Nicky’s hoodie up and setting it on the top of the dresser.

He leaves the front door open as he slips across the hall to quickly grab his sketchbook and pencils before returning to settle at the dining table. Pulling his phone out, Joe snaps a quick picture of Elio and sends it to Nicky with the caption, ‘See? All tucked in. Didn’t even wake up once.’

It takes less than a minute for Nicky to text back, ‘thank you, Joe <3’

A small smile crosses Joe’s face and he cracks open the book and pulls up his list of commissions left to finish for the week, keeping one eye on Elio’s sleeping form the entire time.

~~~

Joe blinks awake at the smell of coffee and the bright morning sun shining directly in his face.

He straightens the crick his neck, wincing as it cracks loudly, and rubs at his eyes before checking the bed. Elio’s stretched out with Nicky’s laptop on his legs, far too big headphones covering his ears as he watches a cartoon on the screen. Joe sets his sketchbook on the table and reaches across the small space, poking Elio in the arm. The boy startles and pulls his headphones down, beaming at him. “Hey little man,” Joe hums, voice still thick from sleep. “How long have you been up?”

“Just a little bit,” Elio says, putting the laptop aside and hopping to the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t find Papa so I tried to call him on your phone and saw him text you that he was going to be late.”

“You were on my phone?!” he says, so fast and so sharp that it makes Elio scramble back, green eyes going wide with fear. “You can’t just take a grown-up’s phone without asking, Elio, it’s not okay!” The split second of frustrated anger disappears the moment Joe sees tears welling up in the six year old’s eyes, Elio’s bottom lip quivering as he tries to keep from crying. “F—Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, moving onto the bed and scooping Elio up in his arms.

“Are you mad at me?” Elio asks with a quiet sniffle, tucking his face into Joe’s shirt.

“No, never,” Joe reassures gently. He brushes a stray tear off Elio’s cheek and squeezes him tightly. “Just…next time you need to use my phone, you just have to wake me up, okay?”

The boy nods, hair rustling against his shirt, and mumbles in a small voice, “I’m sorry, Joe.” When Elio looks up at him, there’s a watery smile on his freckled face. “I made il caffé for you, like I used to make for Papa before he met you. Since you fell asleep…”

“Perfect. It’s exactly what I need right now.”

They spend the next hour and a half eating cereal and watching some Italian kid’s show called L’albero azzuro on Nicky’s laptop, Joe squished into the tight space between Elio and the wall. He tries to follow along as best he can but sometimes has to ask Elio to translate the nuances he’s missing. The clock on the wall reads almost 9:15 before the front door cracks open, Nicky slipping through quietly. Elio gasps loudly and scrambles off the bed, shouting, “Papa!”

Nicky drops to his knees in the doorway, catching the six year old in a tight embrace. Joe watches him bury his face in Elio’s shoulder, fingers tangling in his curls as he hums, “I missed you so much, Lio.” He pulls back and holds his son’s face in his hands, kissing Elio’s forehead. “Did you sleep okay?”

Elio nods, face breaking into a wide smile. “Yep! And so did Joe! He was sleeping in your chair when I woke up,” he says, wiggling out of Nicky’s grasp.

Joe flushes a little when Nicky gives him a look and shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, I was up until at least 4am. I must have fallen asleep sometime after that,” he says, shutting the laptop and extracting himself from the spot he’s been wedged into.

Nicky’s face softens into a thin, tired smile as he pushes himself to his feet. “Sorry, I should have told you that my bed is under Elio’s.” He crosses the room and pulls a trundle out from underneath the bed, revealing a second mattress. “You could have just texted me, Joe. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I wasn’t actually planning on passing out,” Joe admits, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over the growing stubble on the younger man’s cheeks. “Do you need me to watch Elio for a little bit longer while you get some sleep? You look dead on your feet.”

“No, we’ll be fine,” Nicky mumbles, eyes drifting shut for a second. “Elio knows how to entertain himself for a couple hours.” Joe shifts, moves to go, when suddenly he sees Nicky’s eyebrows furrow. Sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily. “But…if you could come back tonight?” he asks quietly, opening his eyes to meet Joe’s gaze. “Just to watch him while I’m at work until Andy comes back. It’ll only be two more nights, I promise.”

A breath punches out of Joe’s chest and he can see in Nicky’s eyes how much this means. What a gift of trust this is. Even if he doesn’t say the words out loud, Joe can hear the quiet love in those words. The devotion in this single action.

So he nods, leaning forward for a quick kiss—murmuring against Nicky’s lips, “Of course I will.”

“Wait,” Elio gasps excitedly behind them, “is Joe going to have a sleepover again?! Can we have a movie night, Papa?”

Nicky laughs against Joe’s lips before turning to look over his shoulder at his son. “Of course you can, topolino. I’ll even see if I can get some popcorn from the store for you.” Joe’s heart skips a couple beats when Nicky’s hand settles on his thigh, squeezing gently.

And so it goes, Joe leaving to go work on his paintings and coming back across the hall at a quarter to eight, finding Elio already dressed in his pajamas with a big bowl of microwave popcorn sitting in his lap. Nicky kisses them both goodbye and they end up watching Frozen before Elio ends up half asleep—Joe having to prod him out of bed just to brush his teeth.

He stays up until almost midnight working on his drawings until sleep calls a little too loudly and Joe carefully pulls the trundle out from beneath Elio’s bed.

The pillow and sheets and blankets smell like Nicky and it’s overwhelming. It’s a strange feeling, being surrounded by everything he’s ever wanted but still aching for Nicky’s warm body in his arms. This isn’t how Joe imagined his first night in the other man’s bed, but there’s a spark of hope that burns deep in his stomach that he will get his heart’s desire sooner than he thinks.

Sunday morning becomes an easy routine, Elio waking him up to play with LEGO’s until Nicky stumbles home from work. Joe repeats the offer to watch Elio during the day but, once again, he’s rebuffed with a a gentle kiss.

But Sunday night? Sunday night is a far different matter.

After he gets Elio settled in, the late nights and and long hours of painting finally catch up with him. It’s barely 10pm before Joe finds himself fast asleep, face down on the mattress with the six year old boy snoring above him. In his dreams, he lets himself give into the longing. He dreams of the three of them sitting around a table, of laughter and long, soft nights. He dreams of picking Elio up from school, of running his hands through Nicky’s soft hair. He dreams of a life that seems to be getting clearer with every passing second.

Then suddenly, Joe finds himself pulled from the warm, rose-gold haziness of his dreamland with a soft brush of lips across the shell of his ear. He startles a little, rolling over quickly to find Nicky’s pale eyes illuminated by the yellow glow of the street lamps outside. “What’re…” he slurs, still halfway in sleep’s grasp. “What’re you doing back?”

Nicky shuffles out of his jeans and whispers, “Andy got an earlier flight back. Let me come back home.” He pulls the corner of the blanket back and tucks himself close against Joe’s body, trying to make space in the single bed. Nicky lets out a soft, contented sigh and leans in to kiss him languidly—all slow lips and sleep-heavy hands.

Joe forgets to breathe for those sweet, precious minutes, his fingers wandering across the soft curves of Nicky’s hips, until finally he can no longer bear it. He pulls away with a deep inhale and murmurs, “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

A beautiful smile curves Nicky’s perfectly sculpted mouth as he trails his hands over Joe’s neck and collarbone. Then, suddenly, his lips part and his voice sounds nothing short of spellbound as he breathes, “I love you, Joe. I love you so much that I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose you.”

A short, choked-off laugh falls from Joe’s mouth as he pulls Nicky into another kiss, the younger man’s legs intertwining with his. “I love you too,” he whispers, his eyes slipping shut as sleep digs its heavy claws back into his body.

Nicky turns in his grasp, settling his back against Joe’s chest and he truly has never felt anything easier than this halcyon life he has found himself in. There is nothing that compares, nothing in all of creation.

A siren faintly passes by outside and Elio lets out a soft snore as Joe sinks into darkness once more, Nicky’s warmth seeping into his soul.

Chapter Text

Nicky downs the last of his coffee and scrubs at his tired eyes before saying the last of his goodbyes.

He winds his scarf one more time before he pushes the door of the church open. It’s an unusually chilly day, the wind blowing through the city so hard, Nicky can hear the trees whining. It cuts through his sweatshirt like a knife and he’s really regretting not bringing his jacket. Crossing his arms over his chest, a smile pulls at his face when he sees Joe round the corner.

The older man’s face splits into a wide grin as he approaches, drawing Nicky into his arms and giving him a quick kiss. “How was your meeting?”

Nicky shivers a little again and shrugs. “It was good. A few new faces. Nothing too exciting,” he murmurs as Joe wraps a warm arm around his shoulders. “I’m just really tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Elio had been up until almost three in the morning, complaining of his stomach hurting and demanding that he sleep down with Nicky. He had given in, letting his son finally pass out on his chest in a way that took him back to those early years. But when morning had come, they both were still struggling, Elio sluggish and refusing to eat any breakfast, Nicky just trying to keep his eyes open.

“You sure you’re still okay with me coming to the store with you?” Joe asks, voice hesitant like he’s intruding.

God, what a dream this is. He can barely still wrap his head around how someone as kind, as sweet, and as caring as Joe even decided to take a second look at him. Even as great as it’s going, part of Nicky’s mind can’t stop screaming that he’s not deserving of all this love. After all, what does he have to give Joe? He’s got all of $80 in his bank account right now after paying rent and electric until he gets paid next week and they still haven't gotten more than a couple minutes of actual alone time since they started dating.

He knows Joe could do better, but he’ll take the blessing of his love for as long as it takes for him to realize it.

So Nicky gives him a reassuring smile and nods. “It’d be a big help having an extra hand. Especially since Elio’s a little under the weather,” he says, leaning into Joe’s warmth. “Plus, he’s always excited to see you.”

They begin the half mile walk back to the store, tucked together so perfectly that it makes his heart ache.

“So…” Joe says gently, “I told my sister about you last night. About the fact that I was seriously dating someone.” His eyes are soft but Nicky wonders if Joe had told his sister the whole story.

“Does she know about Elio?”

“Of course I told her about him too,” Joe scoffs. “He’s, like, the highlight of my day, Nicky. Sophie’s a little worried about me dating a single dad, but she’s just happy you’re not another fuckboy bassist in an indie band that’s afraid of commitment.” Nicky can’t stop the snorting laugh that tears from his throat, fully aware of the other man’s hopeless-romantic past, and it seems to release a little of the tension in his body. Joe’s thumb brushes the soft spot behind his ear as he says, “She really wants to meet both of you soon.”

“Is that where we’re at? Meeting each other’s families?” he asks.

“Well, I’ve already met Quynh and Andy and they’re basically your moms, and I’ve met Elio. Plus, it’s not like you talk to your parents so that’s basically it for you.”

“And I just get to meet Sophie?” Nicky shoots back. “What about your parents?”

The smile on Joe’s face immediately falls and his arm drops from Nicky’s shoulder. “You…you probably won’t ever get to meet them. Hell, I haven’t even seen them in close to five years, even though they live like a mile away out in Sunnyside,” he says quietly, staring at the ground as Nicky stops them. Joe’s barely mentioned his parents at all in the two months they’ve been together and suddenly, in once single runaround phrase, it becomes clear why. “They haven’t talked to me since I came out, Nicky,” Joe mumbles, reaching for his touch . “A lot of bad things were said and I wouldn’t even dream of putting you and Elio in that situation.”

Nicky squeezes the other man’s hand and swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry you don’t talk to your parents. I know how hard that is.”

Joe meets his eyes but can’t force a smile yet as he says, “It’s okay, really. I hope someday they’ll come around, that they’ll get to meet you and Elio, but for right now, I’m fine with it just being Sophie.”

There’s something in Nicky’s heart that knows he’s lying. He can see it in the older man’s dark eyes, in the tightness of his mouth. Joe wears his heart on his sleeve at all times, open and raw and beautiful, but it makes him a shit liar. Nicky knows that, even though this little family they’ve suddenly found themselves thrown headfirst into is more than enough, Joe would want nothing more than his parents’ acceptance.

But in this moment, Nicky can’t stand the downtrodden look on his boyfriend’s face, so he reaches out and tugs on a couple of Joe’s fingers. “Do you want one of my lesbian moms? I’m pretty sure Quynh and Andy are already plotting on adopting you.” he asks, fighting back a grin as a laugh falls from Joe’s perfect mouth.

“I should be so lucky,” Joe says, making him laugh as they continue down the sidewalk.

Nicky’s good mood dies the moment he gets through the doors of the store. He can see Elio right where he left him this morning, curled up on the beanbag chair Andy had brought down, blankly watching a movie on Quynh’s phone. His brow furrows as he shrugs his way out of Joe’s grip, approaching the register.

“How long’s he been like this?” he asks quietly, looking to Quynh as he ducks behind the counter.

“Since you left,” she says, a worried expression clouding her features. “He’s been asking when you’re coming been back. Still complaining about feeling sick.”

Nicky drops to his knees beside Elio, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. The six year old’s glassy eyes look up at him, cheeks flushed and lips dry as he croaks, “Papa…” A tear tracks down over his freckled skin and the corners of his mouth turn down. “Papa…”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he hums, dragging Elio up into his arms. Nicky’s heart breaks into a thousand pieces when he hears the boy whine weakly. “Do you want Joe to watch you while I go to the store?” he asks gently, smoothing his palm over the back of Elio’s hot neck. “He can watch a movie with you while I’m gone.”

Elio shakes his head frantically and his small body is sudden wracked with a heaving sob. “No, don’t go Papa. Don’t want Joe, I just want to be with you.”

Nicky sighs, hauling both of them to his feet, and looks apologetically at Joe. “He’s coming with us, I’m really sorry,” he says, squeezing past Quynh and out from behind the counter. “It’s not ideal but it’s all we’ve got.” Nicky glances back at Quynh, eyes grateful as he says, “Thanks for watching him.”

“Any time,” she says, leaning over the counter to put a gentle hand on Elio’s back. “I hope you feel better, baby.”

Elio just buries his face further in the collar of Nicky’s sweatshirt, a sick whine coming from his throat. Nicky kisses the crown of his head as Joe approaches them carefully. The older man’s eyes and voice are so tender it makes his heart ache as he leans down close to Elio’s face. “Hey little man,” Joe whispers, brushing his thumb over the boy’s face. “Do you want me to carry you to the store instead of your dad?”

The look on Elio’s face is one of pure loathing as he turns his head and shouts, “No! Only Papa!”

Nicky meets his Joe’s eyes, and hopes that the silent apology on his face is enough to make up for Elio’s behavior. “Come on you, the sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can go home.”

The half hour train ride feels like forever, Elio growing heavy in his arms, skin absolutely burning, and Joe trailing the small, folded cart behind them both. They only do this once a month—go to the big box grocery store halfway across Queens to get food and supplies that are cheaper than at the bodega—but of course it just had to be this weekend, when Elio is sick and Nicky can barely keep his eyes open.

But Joe.

Beautiful, handsome, perfect fucking Joe is there sitting next to him, fingers intertwined with Nicky’s, doing all he can do by just being there. And that’s enough for him right now.

He’s able to carry Elio into the store before he’s forced to put him down, never letting his hand go the entire time he murmurs, “Lio, I need you to be big and help me get groceries, okay? The sooner we can get everything, the sooner we can go home.”

“I don’t feel good, Papa,” Elio whimpers, a single tear leaking out of his bloodshot eyes. “I wanna go home.”

Nicky crouches down and smoothes his hands over his son’s face, wiping away any remnants of saltwater on his skin as he murmurs, “I can send you back home with Joe, but if you want to stay with me, we have to do our shopping, okay?” Another tear seeps down into his palm and Nicky’s own throat feels tight with worry. “Do you want to stay with me or go with Joe?”

Elio’s chin wobbles and he tries so hard to keep his head up as he croaks, “You.”

He nods and kisses the boy’s burning forehead before taking his hand again. “Okay, then let’s try and get through Papa’s list as fast as we can.”

But it’s a lot easier said than done.

Even with Joe helping gather everything into the cart, it still takes far longer than Nicky would like to get them to checkout line. Elio has been whining and moaning and dragging his feet through the entire store and all the color has gone from his fair skin to pool in the apples of his cheeks. “Papa, I feel sick,” he whines, tugging at the sleeve of Nicky’s sweatshirt.

“Shhh, Lio, just be patient,” Nicky says, moving a couple of the items around in the cart, trying to do the mental math on how much he has left in his EBT card and what can be bought with it versus how much he has on his debit card. He can’t buy any of the vitamins Elio needs or the fucking laundry detergent or toilet paper at the bottom of the cart and he’s tallying everything up when he feels another tug on his arm.

“Papa, please, I don’t feel good.” A small sob falls from his mouth and Elio scrubs at his face with his sleeve. “Papa, pleaseee…”

“Elio, why don’t you come wait with me up front,” Joe offers, jolting Nicky out of his math, making him loose count with a frustrated huff. “Your dad can check out all the groceries and we can—”

“I don’t wanna go with you, I wanna stay with Papa!” Elio screams, loud enough to make the people around them turn and stare.

Nicky scrubs at his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands and swears underneath his breath, beginning the count again as the woman in front of him finishes unloading her cart. He can hear Elio crying and Joe trying to gently calm him, which only seems to make matters worse. He gives up the math halfway through and just begins throwing the groceries on the belt as Elio twists his hand in the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling him back. “Lio, stop it, now,” Nicky begs.

He stumbles back as Elio drops, deadweight hanging from his sweatshirt as he whines, “I wanna go home. My stomach hurts, Papa, please…” A wet, gurgling groan bubbles up in the six year old’s throat as the tears begin to flow freely down his cheeks.

“Jesus, Joe, can you just—”

“Nicky, if I try and take him, he’s going to scream so loud someone’s going to call the cops,” Joe says, trying to help him get the groceries on the belt and disturbing the piles Nicky has so carefully separated.

“Stop it, fuck!” Nicky shouts, grabbing everything out of his hands and tearing Elio’s hands from his jacket. “You can’t just throw everything in there, Joe. I have a system and—”

“I need water, Papa. My stomach hurts really—”

“Nicky, just tell me what you need me to do and I can—”

“Joe, just go bag groceries!” he barks, grabbing hold of the older man’s arm and shoving him down past the register as the cashier gives him an uneasy look. God, he’s too fucking tired for this, desperately trying to tune out Elio’s whimpering as he watches the total on the register climb higher and higher. Nicky fumbles for Elio’s hand, holding it tight before he passes over the coupons in his back pocket. “I have these too, I’m sorry.”

The cashier gives him a sympathetic smile but thankfully keeps her silence as she finishes ringing up the food. She points to the second group of items on the belt and asks, “Are these yours?”

Nicky nods but puts his hand on the divider when she reaches for it. “I need two separate transactions though,” he says quietly, embarrassment rising in his throat as it always does.

With the coupons, all of the food comes up thankfully under the last of his limit on his EBT card and Nicky feels a sharp flood of relief flow through him he pays, desperately trying to drown out Elio’s incessant crying. A headache sprouts up quickly, squeezing tight around his temples as the cashier begins ringing up the second load on the belt.

“Papaaaa…” Elio sobs, becoming more and more hysterical with every second. “Papa, my stomach hurts so bad.”

Nicky’s just about to open his mouth when the man behind them suddenly growls, “Jesus Christ, will you shut that kid up already? Been screaming for the last ten goddamn minutes.”

“Hey, how about you go fuck yourself?” Joe barks from the bagging area, slamming down the box of sausage into the bag. “He’s fucking six!”

“Joe, stop it!”

Elio has stopped whining and has devolved into wet, groaning coughs, face white as a sheet when Nicky looks down at him. He glances back at the total at the register, heart sinking as he sees it go past $90. That can’t be right. His math is always right but now he’s off by almost thirty dollars and Elio is still fucking crying and Joe is still fucking yelling at the man in line behind him.

“Your total is $92.88,” the cashier says, raising her voice a little to be heard over the chaos surrounding them. Nicky can’t breathe and it must show on her face because she looks at the belt nervously. “Do you…do you have any coupons?”

Nicky blinks a little, shakes his head, and looks everything, trying to figure out what he can put back to shave the total down. “Umm… give me a second.” He fumbles with the vitamins, heart pounding in tandem with his headache and winces as Joe shouts something in Arabic. “Madre di Dio,” Nicky snaps at the older man. “Joe, can you stop fucking yelling?!”

Joe startles into a more subdued state, chest heaving as his brow furrows. “Is everything okay?” he asks, glancing at the register. “Do you need some cash, I can—”

He bristles a little at the suggestion. He doesn’t need help. He’s gotten this far on his own, without Joe having to step in financially, and he’s not about to start now. He clenches his jaw and says, “No, I just need to—”

Elio tugs at his arm again, croaking, “Papa, I—”

“Elio, please!” Nicky pleads desperately, shaking the six year old off. “I need to put some things back so we can go home.”

“Nicky, I can help pay, just let me—”

Then, suddenly, Elio retches loudly and the world goes into a terrible, sluggish slow motion spin as the boy throws up all over the floor and down the front of his shirt. And in one simple second, the chaos comes to a head.

The panic and exhaustion become too much to bear and tears sprout to his eyes as Nicky scrubs his hands over his face, stammering, “F-Fuck…” His blood is pounding in his ears so loud that he can barely hear the cashier call for help over the intercom, can barely hear what Joe says as he pushes past Nicky to help Elio. Nicky’s hands fumble for the vitamins and laundry detergent, pushing them toward the flustered cashier. “I’m sorry, c-can you put these b-back?”

“Nicky, I can pay for it all, just come deal with this,” Joe shouts over Elio’s panicked crying. “I’ve got it, just—” Nicky shakes his head, words caught in his throat. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t need the help. But the look on Joe’s face is clear that he’s not backing down from this without a fight. Nicky clenches his teeth so hard that it blooms white hot pain though his jaw as the older man picks Elio up underneath the arms and hands him off. “Take Elio and get a cab home. I’ll handle everything here—just go, Nicky.”

The boy’s sobs catch as Nicky jerks him away from Joe and hauls him across the store and into the bathroom, silently fuming.

Elio throws up once more as Nicky’s cleaning him up—thankfully into the toilet this time—before his tears finally quiet into exhausted whimpers. “I’ve got you, topolino,” Nicky whispers, carefully easing his son out of the dirtied shirt and slipping his own sweatshirt off to wrap around Elio. “We’ll be home soon.”

He can see Joe still helping to clean up the mess when they exit the bathroom, inaudibly apologizing to the staff, Nicky’s sure. But he resists the urge to go dump all of his building anger onto Joe and instead makes a quick exit out the front doors and hails the first cab he can find.

“I’m sorry I got sick, Papa,” Elio croaks from inside the cab, curled up in Nicky’s arms. “I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

Nicky shakes his head, kissing the six year old’s feverish forehead gently and whispers, “It wasn’t your fault. I should have kept you home and figured out how to get groceries some other time. I could never be mad at you, Lio.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Elio quietly asks, “Are you…are you mad at Joe?”

He doesn’t answer and he wonders if his son notices his attempt to divert the question. “We’re almost home, okay? Then you can get some sleep.”

And sleep Elio does.

It takes less than two minutes of being inside—Nicky scrambling to get him into pajamas and his teeth brushed—before Elio’s fast asleep in bed. Nicky knows it won’t be long before his fever wakes him up, but he’s grateful for the moment alone to just let the anger crest through him like a rogue wave.

He didn’t need Joe to step in, to start a fight, to fucking demand to pay for his groceries, especially with Elio sick and upset. Joe should have been able to see that he was only making matters worse, should have seen it written all over Nicky’s face, but all he wanted to do was come in and play the hero. God, and watching him just shove Elio into Nicky’s hands and send him off like he was some helpless father who hasn’t spent the past six years holding down all of this singlehandedly.

And so, Nicky stews. 

It’s almost an hour before the door creaks open and Nicky can hear the shuffle of paper bags and the squeaky wheel on the metal cart. He grits his teeth and smoothes his hand one more time over Elio’s forehead as he hears Joe whisper, “Is he asleep?”

He rises from his knees and silently crosses the room, snatching the bags in Joe’s hand without acknowledgment.

It’s like a uncontrolled wildfire—his rage. It’s turned his heart to ash and Nicky can feel it spark through his fingertips as he slams the bags down on the counter, furiously shoving everything into whatever cabinet he can find, damn the organization of it all. His headache is still pounding away, blurring his vision, and Nicky knows Joe is watching him from the living room which almost makes it worse.

“Nicky? Are you okay?” a quiet voice asks from the still-open front door.

Suddenly, like a unwatched pot on a stove, Nicky boils over.

He spins on his heel and his hands clench into fists at his side. “No!” he snaps, voice just on the edge of too loud. Elio can sleep through anything, he knows this, but he’s pushing the limit. “No, Joe, I’m not fucking okay. And I don’t need you to treat me like I’m a goddamn child, either!”

Joe’s eyes go wide and he closes the door slowly, brow furrowing in confusion. “I…I don’t understand…”

“Elio was just fine before you came; I was just fine before you came. I don’t need you coming into my life and acting like I have no clue what I’m doing. Like I’m someone that needs to be fucking rescued!” His vision blurs around the edges and Nicky’s not sure if it’s from sheer exhaustion or because there are angry tears finally welling up in his eyes. “I don’t need you taking care of Elio or cleaning up when he’s sick or fucking paying for my groceries because I have done that all for the last six years by myself!”

A bewildered expression washes over the older man’s face as Joe takes a step toward him. “Nicky, holy shit, I was just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help!” Nicky shouts, the first cut of saltwater carving down his cheek. His heart is pounding in his chest and he can barely thing two sentences together at a time. “I could’ve put stuff back and paid for it all myself! Do you know how many times I’ve gone to bed hungry just to afford groceries? How little I’ve given myself just so I can give Elio everything?! He has never once realized how much we struggle at times and I don’t need him figuring it out now.”

“That’s what this is about??” Joe scoffs in disbelief. “Me paying for your groceries?! Nicky, I’m your fucking boyfriend! We’re in a relationship! I’m allowed to take care of you when you need it!”

“You know, if I get too attached, that’s on me—but what about Elio? Huh? I can’t let him get used to shit like this because you’re not going to be around forever.”

Suddenly, the apartment goes silent.

Joe’s mouth falls open, tears flooding his dark eyes, and panic rises in Nicky’s stomach when he realizes he’s gone too far. Andy always joked that he was a self fulfilling prophecy and he never realizes what that meant until now. “F-Fuck you, Nicky,” Joe chokes, voice so broken he can barely find words. “You really think I would just leave you and Elio like that?”

The anger inside him subsides to something closer to heartbreak and Nicky can only shrug numbly, throat tight. “Everyone leaves me.”

“I’m not everyone. I fucking love you, Nicky, both of you, and I’m sorry I made things worse at the grocery store,” Joe whispers, trying so hard to stay strong for the both of them. “But I’m not going to apologize for wanting to do what I can to help you out.” He takes another step forward but freezes when Nicky shies back. His head drops and Nicky’s stomach turns when he hears the trembling breaths that tear from Joe’s throat. Stomach acid rises when Joe finally meets his hardened gaze after a minute. “Do you…are…are we breaking up right now?”

“No,” Nicky gasps, so quick and desperate that he shocks even himself.

Joe goes quiet again and wipes his face with his long, perfect fingers. “But you need space?” he asks, what little strength left in his face falling when Nicky nods stiffly. He sniffs and draws a shuddering inhale before nodding. “Okay, I…I understand. I’ll go—but when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

The wildfire of rage inside him has turned to smoking embers and Nicky feels helpless—frozen in the hole he’s dug himself—as the man he loves turns from him and walks out the door without another word passed between them. 

~~~

Nicky can hear Andy’s groan the moment he slips into the store, alone.

“Really Nicky?” she barks from behind the counter, throwing a penny at his head. “You’re still fucking doing this shit? Where’s Joe??”

He rolls his eyes and picks the coin up off the ground. “I already told you, we’re not talking right now.” It’s been three days since their fight and Elio’s first day back at school after getting over his stomach bug. The first day was easy enough to pass off the other man’s absence to his son, the second day less so, and this morning it was nearly impossible to make enough of an excuse for it to sound believable. But Andy saw through the lies and into the truth of Joe’s absence right away, just by the look on Nicky’s face.

“Yeah, I know you’re not talking and it’s fucking dumb!” Andy says, throwing another penny and nailing him square in the forehead. “God, Nicky, I knew you were stubborn but I didn’t think you’d put your foot in your mouth this hard.”

“I’m not stubborn, I’m just—” His voice fails him and he isn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. The word ‘stupid’ pings around for a minute before he finally spits out, “Annoyed.”

Andy crosses her arms and gives him a look. “Kid, I’m going to give you advice, as someone who’s been married almost twenty years—sometimes you have to just put this shit behind you,” she says pointedly. “Joe is a good guy and I know whatever this fight is about can’t be anything major because you’d be far more upset if it was, so I’m guess it was something minor that got blown out of proportion because you are, in fact, fucking stubborn.”

She’s right and Nicky knows she’s right, and Andy knows he knows she’s right, but he can’t let her win this argument. “Can you just be my boss and not my mother right now?” he asks, ducking behind the counter.

“Absolutely not, because if you’re left to your own devices, you’ll make the same mistakes I did when I was young and stupid.” Andy reaches out and puts a gentle hand on his cheek before patting him a little too roughly. “Apologize to Joe for being absolutely obnoxious, okay? You don’t have to keep it going forever.”

Nicky shrugs himself out of her touch and plops down on the stool defeatedly. “I’ll think about it. And not just because you’re bullying me into it, Andy.”

“That’s my boy,” she says fondly, punching him gently in the shoulder before kissing him on the top of his head. “I gotta go sleep now. Don’t cause too much trouble, okay? If you need me just call.”

Nicky nods, forcing a small smile across his face as Andy leaves. It disappears with her though and he heaves a sigh as he pulls out his phone. The last message Joe had sent him was a sweet, ‘On my way! Love you!’ from Sunday morning and it still hurts that, even after their fight, he hadn’t tried to reach out again. But Nicky had said he wanted space and Joe was giving that to him, through no fault of his own.

His fingers hesitate, typing out, ‘can we talk?’ and he stares at it for nearly ten minutes before a customer comes in and startles him into deleting it.

He’s still thinking about what Andy said even when Elio comes home from school, less than his normal, goofy, exuberant self. “You okay Lio?” Nicky asks as the boy tucks himself into the corner chair.

Elio nods and shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Yeah, my stomach just started hurting again in gym class so I didn’t eat a lot of my lunch,” he mumbles, tipping his green eyes up to meet Nicky’s. “Can we get pizza with Joe tonight?” Elio’s face falls when Nicky shakes his head and his voice sounds like he’s on the verge of tears as he asks, “Why not?”

“He’s got paintings to work on,” Nicky says, throat tight. “He’s busy.”

“But he used to do his paintings and still spent time with us,” Elio says, eyes going glassy. “Does he not want to see me after I got sick at the store?”

A shaky breath rushes out of Nicky’s chest as he reaches for his son, scooping the boy up into his arms. “That’s not it, I promise, Lio,” he whispers, squeezing Elio so tight that a small squeak escapes him. “Joe would never be mad at you, never in a million years, do you understand? We…” The lump in his throat grows so large that he can barely choke out the words that are so deeply buried in his chest. “We both love you, very, very much.”

Elio’s quiet for a moment until he sniffs a little and says, “I miss him.”

It takes everything in his power for Nicky to keep from echoing, “Me too.”

But he cannot get the words, “We both love you, very, very much,” out of his head—the soft, gentle, terribly true placation he had offered to Elio—even after he’s done with work, even after dinner, even after Elio is fast asleep in bed. 

Nicky stares at the floor for what feels like hours, heart weighing so heavily in his chest that he can barely breathe, and tries to find the strength to message Joe. He has no clue whether or not the other man will even take him back, but he knows he has to try. Whether it’s for his sake or Elio’s sake or both, he needs Joe back.

So, at almost 10pm, he finally drags his phone out of his pocket, fingers fumbling with the buttons as he sends a single message—‘can we talk pls?’

Fifteen minutes later, Nicky hears a soft knock on the door. His legs shake when he stands, threatening to give out underneath him before he can even make it to the handle. His heart is beating so hard, so high in his chest that he can almost taste the anxiety in his blood as Nicky wraps his hand around the doorknob and opens it to see Joe’s exhausted face. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping much and Nicky knows he looks about the same. But there’s a look of relief there regardless as Joe whispers, “You wanted to talk?”

He nods and tilts his head to the hallway. “Can we do it privately?”

Joe nods.

In the safety of the end of the hallway, the silence seems even heavier. Less of a wall and more of a flood.

Nicky steps forward and silently wraps his arms around the older man’s waist, burying his face in the warm familiarity of Joe’s neck. It takes less than a second for Joe to embrace him as well—his strong, safe arms holding tight around Nicky’s shoulders. He isn’t sure how long they stand like that, still and silent in the hallway, but he knows its long enough for all the residual tension in his body to drain out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes tearing up when he feels Joe’s hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the base of his skull.

“I understand why you were upset,” Joe says quietly, neither of them able to let go. “I overstepped boundaries without thinking about what you needed. I should’ve asked how you needed help instead of just stepping in.”

Nicky pulls away finally and scrubs his hands over his flushed face, leaning back to sit on the edge of the windowsill. “Please don’t apologize for that, Joe,” he chokes, shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault that I overreacted. I was tired, stressed, and upset and I took that out on you.” Joe steps between his feet, smoothing his hands over Nicky’s thighs. “I…I knew Francesca fucked me up but I didn’t realize how bad it was until I met you.”

“I know it’s hard, and I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going through your head when you have to think about what she did, but I’m not Francesca,” Joe says, eyes earnest as he takes Nicky’s hands in his own. “I love you so much, Nicky, and I love Elio too. I’m not just going to walk out and leave you.”

A tear slips down past Nicky’s eyelashes and he brushes it away quickly. He takes lets out a trembling exhale and whispers, “And that’s what I’m so fucking scared of. I’m scared of loving you, of letting you love me. I’m scared of being unable to see a future where we aren’t together.” He hangs his head, the front of his hair falling into his face and can’t bear to look Joe in the eye. “These last three days have been killing me and Elio thought you were mad at him and I almost ruined everything because I couldn’t just accept that you’re not going anywhere.”

Joe kneels at his feet, kissing his knuckles so gently that Nicky can’t help but feel all the blood rush from his head. 

“And you were right on Sunday. I don’t know how to let someone take care of me, not since I got sober and focused everything on Elio,” Nicky says, squeezing the other man’s fingers. “But we’re in a relationship. You’re my boyfriend. And I love you, Joe. I need to let you in.”

Joe’s hands drop from his as he stands, cupping Nicky’s face and backing them both against the cool glass of the window pane. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that since the day I met you.” Nicky opens his mouth again but suddenly finds himself being drawn into the most perfect kiss of his life. It’s not like their previous kisses—rushed or sleepy or frantic—but a reassuring promise of a life they’re building together. His hands grip Joe’s hips, pulling him closer as the older man’s tongue slips into his mouth. The kiss grows deeper and Nicky can feel his heart racing, heat pooling low in his stomach when Joe’s body slides against his.

And then, a giggle.

Both of them startle apart, chests heaving as they turn to the cracked open apartment door, Elio’s tired face grinning at them. “Joe, you’re back!” he croaks, voice still thick with sleep. “Papa, is Joe going to stay the night like how Auntie Quynh and Zizi have sleepovers?”

Nicky feels his cheeks absolutely burn with embarrassment as Joe snorts out a barking laugh and buries his head in his hands. “Yeah, Lio, Joe can stay the night, but you have to get back into bed. Now!” he says, rolling his eyes as Elio giggles again and slams the door closed once more.

Joe ducks back into his space, kissing him quickly. “Give me a few minutes to clean up back at my place and I’ll come over, okay?” His thumbs brush over Nicky’s collarbone, making goosebumps rise on his arms and neck. “Don’t fall asleep without me.”

“I won’t.”

And he doesn’t. Nicky waits patiently, Elio’s arm draped over the side of the bed, the six year old’s tiny fingers wrapped around his even in sleep, until Joe slips through the door and into the dark apartment. He lets the breath he’s been holding for far too long escape him when he feels the warm, comforting weight of the older man behind him, Joe climbing into the small bed behind him. Arms wrap around his waist and Nicky can feel lips press against the curve of his shoulder.

“I love you, Nicky,” Joe whispers, holding him tighter. 

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

“Do you want me to order for you?”

Nicky’s been staring blankly at the pictures on the menu above the counter for almost five minutes and Joe knows they’re on a bit of a time crunch. He blinks at the Arabic writing and steps back, muttering, “Yeah, just get me whatever. I’m fine eating anything.”

So Joe orders them both shawarma wraps and a basket of fries to share in rapid fire Arabic, bringing them over to the corner booth Nicky has tucked himself into after the man behind the counter hands them over. It’s been nice, being able to take Nicky out for lunch now that he’s finally gotten over the anxiety over letting Joe pay for things every once in a while. “Eat up,” he says, dropping the food on the table and sliding into the bench across from Nicky. “It’s lamb, by the way.”

Nicky’s eyes light up as he reaches for the basket eagerly. “I haven’t had lamb in years, since I left Italy, I think.” His eyes roll back into his head at the first bite and a delighted moan echoes in the back of his throat. “Mmmm, this is really good,” he says, mouth full of food.

Joe smiles gently and scrubs his shaking hands over his legs underneath the table. Okay, it’s now or never. “So…” he starts, heart racing as Nicky looks up at him. “Do you think you could get off early on December 5th? Like, two hours early?”

“I can talk to Andy and Quynh tonight. Why?”

“Well, you know that big painting I’ve been working on for a month and half or so? It’s actually for this really important art gallery competition thing I got into,” he mumbles, grabbing a fry from the basket between them. “Like, I’m one of 50 artists out of 5,000 or so that got in. And there are some really big cash prizes for the top three pieces.”

Nicky coughs a little in surprise. “Holy shit, Joe, that’s incredible!”

“I really want you and Elio to come with me to the opening night, but it starts at six all the way out in Manhattan. It’ll be really fun though—it’s going to be this big fancy thing and you guys will be able to finally meet my sister.” Joe knows he’s talking too much but his heart is so high in his throat that he can almost taste it. “You have no idea how big this is for me.”

“Of course we’ll go!” Nicky exclaims excitedly. “I’m sure Andy and Quynh will let me off, especially when I tell them what it’s for. They’ll probably just be mad that they can’t go too.” There’s an overwhelming warmth that spreads through Joe’s heart at the younger man’s words and it grows even hotter when Nicky reaches across the table for his hand. “I’m really proud of you, Joe. I just wish you had told me earlier,” Nicky says with a laugh.

His cheeks flush a little. “Well, I was going to tell you last weekend but then we got into that big fight and I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it,” Joe mumbles, squeezing the other man’s hand gently for a moment. “You’re okay with Elio going too? Even though my sister’s going to be there?”

Nicky nods, steadying his smile a little. “It’ll be a good chance to meet her,” he says. “I’ll just need to figure out something for Elio to wear. I should still fit in the suit Andy and Quynh got me for Elio’s christening, but he’ll need something better than a t-shirt and jeans.”

“Need me to go out and get him something?”

“No, we can stop by the thrift store down in Williamsburg on Sunday after my meeting,” Nicky says before shoveling more food in his mouth. He swallows thickly and offers Joe a soft grin. “I’m sure they’ll have something.”

They manage to eat the rest of their lunch and run back to the store just in time for Nicky to avoid being late—Joe giving Nicky a hard kiss on the mouth before they part.

He thinks about the clothing dilemma for a few hours back at home, pacing in front of the finished painting. Joe knows Nicky turned him down for getting something new for Elio, but he might have something just as good, if not better, than the thrift store.

His phone rings twice before it clicks with a, “What do you want, Joe, I’m working!”

“Hey Book, when do you get off?” Joe asks, flopping down on his couch. “You doing anything tonight?”

Booker laughs, voice tinny over the phone. “Well, I was planning on hanging out with my wife and my darling children, but something tells me I’m going to end up hanging out with you, aren’t I?”

“Hell yeah you are; deal with it asshole,” he says with a wide grin. “I need some nice clothes for Elio to wear to the gallery thing. Was hoping Julien or Marcus still have some old clothes in storage.” He can hear Booker let out a groan and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, I know Kiera doesn’t let you get rid of anything out until the boys are like, five sizes too big.”

“Fine, I might have something—but you owe me one of those sweet Bánh mì’s that your boyfriend’s scary lesbians make. I’ll call Kiera and tell her you’re ruining my dinner.”

“Perfect, see you in an hour!”

By the time Joe makes it across the street, Nicky and Elio are gone, but Quynh and Andy are still far too delighted to see him. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell us about your gallery night!” Quynh says the moment he walks in through the door. “Nicky was so excited!”

There’s a sly look on Andy’s face as she asks, “Is it New Citizen’s?”

Joe blinks a little in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Why would I not know about it? I’m a 45 year old lesbian, Joe. I am the art world’s peak demographic,” she says before taking a sip of the giant soft drink in front of her.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yes, it is for New Citizen’s, actually. I just finished the piece last night. Think you guys can make it to the showing sometime before they auction everything off in January.” Joe points at the deli case and raises an eyebrow at Quynh. “Think I can snag a couple sandwiches before I head out?”

It’s an hour to get to downtown and, by the time he does, Booker’s waiting outside the Kinko’s smoking a cigarette. “Look who decided to finally show up!” he says, pushing off the wall and snuffing out his cigarette. “I thought you were going to be here half an hour ago.”

“Sorry, got held up with the ‘scary lesbians’,” Joe says, holding out the sandwich. “Consolation for me being late.”

“Hell yes,” Booker hisses, immediately snatching the sandwich from his hands and peeling back the Saran Wrap. He shoves a good quarter of it in his mouth at once and moans happily. “So good…” he mumbles around a mouthful of Bánh mì. Joe unwraps his own sandwich as they start the long walk to Bed-Stuy. After about ten minutes, Booker shoots him a side-eyed look and says slowly, “So…Nicky and Elio are both coming to the gallery thing?”

Joe’s brow furrows a little. “Yeah? What about it?”

There’s a hesitant expression in the older man’s eyes and he can’t quite figure out what it’s for. Booker’s mouth presses thin and he sighs. “It’s just…Nicky’s a single parent. And I know you’re super close with him even though it’s been, like, three months, and you adore his kid, but you need to think long and hard about what bringing him to this gallery is going to mean. What it’s going to mean for the kid too,” he says pointedly.

“I know what it means, Book.”

“As someone who’s got a bit of experience on the subject, I don’t think you do,” Booker shoots back quickly. “There comes a point of no return when you’re dating someone that has kids—when it’s going to hurt everyone a hell of a lot more if and when you back out of it.” Joe’s stomach tightens a little at the the thought but doesn’t meet the other man’s gaze. “That moment is going to be the gallery show. When he meets your sister, and your parents if they actually decide to stop being assholes and show up.” Booker’s hand claps down on Joe’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “You just gotta be sure you’re ready for this.”

A laugh bubbles from his throat and Joe nods, trying to hold back the fond smile that pulls on his mouth. “I’m ready,” he says, heart swelling in his chest when Nicky and Elio flutter through his mind. “I really love him, man. I didn’t even think I could love anyone as much as I love Nicky and Elio. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Booker chuckles. “Sounds like it’s getting pretty serious.”

He thinks back to Nicky pouring his heart out about his past addictions and Francesca and shrugs a little. “I’m taking it at Nicky’s speed. Whenever he’s ready for the next step, I’ll be there waiting for him.”

The moment Booker opens the door to the old brownstone, Joe immediately hears a loud squeal from the kitchen. “Is that my darling Joe?!” Kiera calls from the kitchen, voice echoing through the halls.

“I’m here too, honey, hate to burst your bubble,” Booker says, making Joe snort out a laugh. The house is shockingly quiet as they enter the kitchen, Kiera pouring over legal briefs on the table with a glass of wine. She shoots them each a wide smile that reminds Joe so much of Nile’s, and tilts her head up to Booker for an easily-granted kiss. Booker steals a sip of her wine and asks, “Where are the kids?”

“Nile took them out for Thai after you called,” she says. “Needed some peace and quiet.”

“Hey Kiera, think you’ve still got any of the boys’ old stuff from when they were little?” Joe asks, sitting on the edge of the table. “My boyfriend’s son needs something nice to wear to my gallery show.”

“How big is he?”

He puts his hand right above his hip, trying to gauge how tall Elio is. “About this tall, really skinny too. Kind of like Julien’s size three years ago.” Ever since Joe had met Nile, her half-brothers had grown like absolute weeds—eleven year old Alexandre nearly as tall as Nile now and the other boys quickly catching up—but Julien had just turned seven and probably still had clothes stored away.

“There’s a couple boxes of clothes in the office closet,” Kiera says, stealing her glass of wine back from her husband. “Feel free to grab anything you want!”

Joe bends down and kisses her on her cheek. “Thanks, Kiera!”

But when they get upstairs, he can’t help but laugh.

“I thought she said it was a couple boxes!” he says, staring at the floor to ceiling stack of cardboard in the closet. “Shit, are any of them even labeled?”

“All of them are labeled, asshole, because I was the one that had to do the labeling,” Booker says, shoving past Joe to dig through the boxes. “It’s not my fault nobody but my kids can fucking read French.”

“Nile can’t read French.”

“Not my problem, now is it?” Booker says with a smirk. “She came in a little too late in the game for me to help on that front.” He pulls a couple of boxes out before making a triumphant noise and handing one over to Joe. “Here you go; 5T should do the trick. There’s gotta be something for the kid in there.”

“Thanks, Book, I really owe you guys one,” Joe says, balancing the box on his hip.

“Anything for you.” The older man waves a hand and says, “Now come on, let’s go drink the rest of my wife’s wine and bother Kiera until Nile and the boys come back home. You can even crash here if you want.”

He does end up staying over, cracking open another bottle of wine with Nile, Booker, and Kiera and tipsily digging through the box of clothes before he finds a nice pair of dress pants and a button up. Joe sends a quick picture of the clothes to Nicky, as well as a selfie with his wine, Booker and Nile arguing in the background, and the message, ‘Don’t worry about the thrift store. We got Elio covered!’

It takes a few minutes before Nicky responds, a perfectly simple, ‘thank you so much. Wish you were here.’ popping up on Joe’s phone. Thirty seconds later, a semi-blurry photo of Nicky comes through, Elio fast asleep in his lap, and Joe feels more homesick than ever before.

~~~

“Is it bad that I don’t know how to tie a tie?” Nicky calls through the bathroom door.

“Nah, I can help you if you’ll just get out here,” he shouts back before nervously smoothing down the front of his blue suit jacket once more. Joe can feel his heart beating in double time just like it’s been since he woke up at 5am out of sheer nervousness. He had dropped off his painting a week and a half ago and had been slowly sinking into a panic spiral since then. Nicky had been doing his best to distract him with long make-out sessions on Joe’s couch during his breaks at work, but even that could only do so much. He scrubs his hands over his face and checks his watch, “Come on, Nicky, we gotta go soon!”

“Fine, fine!” The bathroom door creaks open and Joe feels all of the blood in his head rush south. Nicky’s simple black suit hugs his perfect ass and thighs in all the right places and his hair is neatly combed. “It’s a good thing Andy and Quynh bought me this suit after I got clean,” Nicky says, fumbling with his tie again. “I put on almost twenty pounds in two months.”

“You sure about that timeline?” Joe croaks, the younger man turning toward him in a blushing panic. “No, no, I just mean…Fuck, you look really good, Nicky.” He takes a step forward, hands wandering as he backs Nicky up into the bathroom again and captures his mouth in a kiss.

Nicky makes a muffled noise against his lips, murmuring, “I thought you said we were going to be late…”

Joe groans and pulls away, muttering, “Shit you’re right. You go grab coats and I’ll get Elio.” He ducks out of the bathroom and crosses the room to pull one of Elio’s headphones off of his ears. The six year old pauses the movie he’s watching and looks up as Joe says, “Come on, little man! Time to go!”

A wide grin splits the boy’s face as he scrambles off the bed. “Do we really get to go all the way to Manhattan?!”

Nicky holds out Elio’s coat and says, “Only if you come get ready quick! Andiamo!”

It’s a race to make both of their trains, Joe carrying Elio as they race down the stairs to the F train. But once settled, Joe knows it’s just a half hour ride to the Lower East Side. Elio sits in one of the empty seats while Nicky holds onto a nearby pole, handing over his tie. “Still willing to help me with this thing?” he asks with a shy smile.

Joe takes the silk tie in his hands and steps closer to Nicky, pulling his collar up and looping the tie around the back of his neck. “I’m really glad you’re coming to this with me. It really means a lot.”

He works on tying the knot and can feel the younger man’s piercing blue eyes studying him intently. Joe wonders if Nicky can hear how fast his heart is beating, a drumming song increasing in tempo, faster and faster as they get closer to the gallery. He’s never been this nervous for anyone to see a finished piece of his more than he is for Nicky to see this one. Booker was right; this was going to be the point of no return.

Joe is more than ready for the fall.

The first snow has begun to fall by the time they get off the train, Elio sliding around on the wet sidewalk playfully. “Elio, it’s slick!” Nicky calls before Joe slips his hand into the other man’s. “Ti prego di fare attenzione!”

“He’s fine,” Joe laughs quietly, leaning over to nip at Nicky’s earlobe. “You gotta tone down the overprotective dad mode and relax.”

“Says the man that paced around the store for an hour and a half at 9am this morning.” His stomach turns again at Nicky’s words and there goes his heart—rabbiting away in his ribs completely uncontained. But when Joe doesn’t laugh at the joke, Nicky’s brow furrows. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” He sighs, pulling the other man closer. “I’m just nervous. I didn’t just invite Sophie—I invited my parents too.” Nicky’s eyes widen and stumbles to a standstill, pulling Joe with him. Joe sniffs a little and shakes his head, muttering, “They probably won’t show up, but part of me is hoping that this is a big enough deal that it might matter to them. My father’s never been supportive of me doing art, says there’s no future in it, so this might prove him wrong.”

A heavy breath falls from Nicky’s gently parted mouth as his eyes search Joe’s. “Do they…They don’t know Elio and I are coming, do they?” he says quietly.

“Sophie knows,” Joe says, chewing a hole on the inside of his cheek. “But when I left the message for my parents, I left that part out. I knew it wouldn’t help my case if I mentioned my boyfriend.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb over Nicky’s cheekbone. “I didn’t want to hide you on purpose, trust me.”

A small smile tugs at Nicky’s mouth before he leans in for a kiss. “Well, I hope I get to meet them,” he says, voice soft against Joe’s lips. “And if I don’t, it’s their loss.”

“Papa, Joe, come onnnnn,” Elio shouts, killing the moment in one very effective blow. “I wanna see the paintings!”

Nicky pulls away with a laugh, burying his face in Joe’s neck. “We’re coming, Lio! I promise!”

They have to hurry to catch up with the six year old, but Nicky never lets go of his hand the entire time.

There’s a fine layer of snow on the ground by the time they reach the gallery light spilling from the floor to ceiling glass windows across the outdoor plaza. Joe grins as Nicky’s eyes go wide and he swears under his breath. “Nice, huh?” he asks, grabbing Elio’s hand. “They took over like half the block to build this and, while I’m never a fan of gentrification, they’ve put a lot of money back into art programs for underserved kids and try and feature artists of color whenever they can.”

“It’s beautiful, Joe, I can’t believe—”

“Joe! Joe!” a voice behind them calls and the anxiety inside him peaks as he turns around and sees his sister’s smiling face. She’s wearing the orange dress Joe got her for her birthday in April and a cream turban hijab, a wide smile spread across her face as she races toward them. Joe can barely let go of Nicky and Elio fast enough to catch her as she throws herself into his arms, squeezing tight around the back of his neck. “Ugh, I am so proud of you!” she exclaims before pulling away with a gasp, taking in Nicky and Elio fully. “Is this…?”

Elio steps forward and holds his hand out. “My name’s Elio! And this is my Papa, Nicky!”

Sophie shakes it and says, “Well aren’t you handsome. My brother has been telling me all about you two.”

Joe looks up and down the street, heart sinking into his stomach when he doesn’t see any other familiar faces. “Soph….are Mama and Baba coming?” he asks quietly, trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice.

Her mouth presses to a thin line when she looks over her shoulder at him and shakes her head. “I made sure they listened to your message but I don’t think they’re going to come. I’m sorry.”

A warm hand wraps around his and Joe closes his eyes, allowing the safe harbor of Nicky’s firm grip to shelter him for this brief second when his heart feels like it’s going to break into a thousand little pieces. But then, he looks back and sees Nicky’s soft smile, his sister’s warm eyes, and Elio’s hand reaching toward him and he realizes that his family is already here.

And all of his fears, all of his worry and anxiety fade away.

“Okay, let’s go.”

The gallery is even larger inside than it looks from the plaza and there has to be at least three hundred people in the large space, talking and mingling amongst themselves. There are aisles upon aisles of paintings, going farther back than Joe can see, but he doesn’t see his in any of the ones at the front. He tugs on Elio’s hand and says, “Don’t go running off too far, little man. Make sure you stay near me, your dad, or Sophie, okay?”

“Joe, Nicky and I can keep an eye on him,” Sophie says, looping her arm through Nicky’s elbow and dragging him away. “You go network. Give me a chance to get to know your boyfriend.”  She shoots him a wink as Nicky’s face grows desperate and all Joe can do is mouth, ‘I am so sorry.’

Left alone, Joe fumbles with the name tag he had pinned to his suit lapel earlier, smoothing it down nervously as he looked around for the rumored open bar. He finds it eventually, tucked into a corner and orders a glass of champagne to take the edge off. Joe downs half of it in one go and tries to pretend like his brain isn’t going through the thousand different combinations of what his sister Sophie could possibly be saying to Nicky.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice next to him says, shaking him out of his thoughts, “but are you Yusuf al-Kaysani?” Joe turns to see an older woman standing next to him with a judges name tag pinned on. She extends her hand and says, “Maria De León; I’m one of the judges on the panel here.”

Joe nearly spills his drink trying to give her a handshake in time. “Ms. De León, it’s an honor,” he says, stumbling over his words in nervousness. “Thank you so much for considering me.”

“Your work was very impressive, especially this most recent piece,” she says, tucking a loose lock of graying hair behind her ear. “Your use of classical technique is some of the best I’ve ever seen in a modern day artist.”

His breath rushes out of him in one single huff as he shakes his head. “You can’t mean that; I’ve seen some of the paintings here, they’re absolutely incredible. I feel lucky just being here.” Joe glances back over his shoulder, unable to pick out Nicky or Sophie’s faces in the crowd. “My sister, my boyfriend, and his son are here with me.”

There’s a sparkle in Maria’s eyes as she asks, “Have they seen the final piece?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve been keeping it a secret since I started on it. I’m sure by now they’ve found it.”

She raises an eyebrow and asks, “Then you should probably track them down, shouldn’t you?”

Joe looks back over his shoulder again, heart beginning to race once more, and tosses back the rest of his champagne before muttering, “I’m so sorry, I really have to—” Maria gives him knowing nod and a small wave as he sets his glass back down at the bar and takes his leave. He winds his way through the gallery, eyes scanning over each of the pieces to see if he recognizes his own. There’s also no sight of Nicky or Sophie in the crowd and a moment of panic washes over him as Joe has a brief thought that Nicky has left altogether.

Then suddenly he feels a small hand tug on the sleeve of his suit out of nowhere and finds Elio staring up at him with wide, excitement. “We found your painting! We found it and Sophie told me to come get you!!”

Joe’s mouth feels like sandpaper as he croaks, “Does…does your dad like it?”

But Elio ignores the question and grabs his hand, dragging Joe towards the back of the gallery. The six year old guides him through the crowd and, finally, sees his painting up on the wall, Nicky standing stock still in front of it. Sophie weaves her way to them and leans in close, whispering, “He hasn’t said anything yet. Go talk to him, Yusuf.” Joe blinks, heart slowing to a thudding crawl as she takes Elio’s hand from him. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go see if we can get you some juice.”

His legs feel weak as he takes the first steps towards Nicky, eyes on his love the entire time. The painting looks even larger in the gallery than it did in his apartment—the 6’x6’ canvas a wash of dark colors with Nicky blocking the center. Joe lets out a trembling breath and finds his familiar place at the younger man’s side, slipping his hand inside Nicky’s. His voice comes out barely above a whisper as he looks at Nicky and asks, “Do you like it?”

There’s an unreadable expression on Nicky’s face as he stares at painting, eyes wide and glassy. The scene before them is something out of a Renaissance painting, the painted light flooding in from the window concentrating on the interior of the apartment—a gentle scene of Elio fast asleep, Nicky sitting on the bed beside him. There’s a reverent, unbearably devoted expression on Nicky’s face, eyes soft and doting as he combs through painted curls with careful fingers. The rest of the canvas is in shadow, as if tunneling all focus on father and son. As if there was nothing else in the world that mattered more than Nicky and Elio.

As far as Joe’s concerned, there isn’t.

Nicky turns to him, eyes bloodshot and face flushed as if he’s trying to hold back a dam of tears, and swallows thickly. “Joe…is…is this how you see us?” he asks quietly.

Joe nods, unable to find the words.

A teary smile floods over Nicky as he cups Joe’s face with both of his hands and kisses him with abandon, in front of the painting, the gallery, and everyone in between. Joe melts in his touch, clutching the younger man back just as tight, one hand around Nicky’s waist and the other wrapping around the nape of his neck. “I love you,” Joe whispers against his blessed mouth. “I love you so much, Nicky, I can never say it enough.”

Nicky’s voice sounds wet and on the edge of tears as he breaks the kiss and shakes his head. “You don’t have to say it, Joe. I know it, Elio knows it, everyone knows it now.”

~~~

Joe is floating.

He’s floating and will happily never come down again.

It’s the excited squeal of, “Is that ME?!” that Elio lets loose when he finally gets up close to the painting. It’s the tears he catches Nicky trying to secretly wipe away when they overhear people gushing over the painting. It’s the way Sophie continues to pick apart every brush stroke in adoration of his technique. It’s Nicky, still unable to take his eyes off the painting. It’s all and more and Joe feels a thousand feet tall.

He’s still floating two hours later when everyone is ushered to the atrium for the awards announcements, Nicky’s warm hand the only tether he still has on earth. He can barely hear Elio chattering with Sophie about the new dinosaur book they picked up from the library this morning—too blissed out and fuzzy to hear the conversation. All Joe knows is that Nicky is here and loves him and the future that he’s been picturing all this time is suddenly so clear that he can almost taste it. Can feel the sunlight shining in through distant hopes and dreams—just within his grasp.

“Joe?” He blinks a little, turning to Nicky’s soft eyes staring at him. “Whatever happens,” Nicky says, voice low enough that only Joe can hear him, “this is the most important thing anyone has ever done for me. No amount of money or recognition is going to matter. You are more than enough.”

Joe’s head spins, throat full of cotton, and he tries not to let his unyielding devotion spill from his tongue as he says, “That prize money would make it easier to give you the life I want to.”

Nicky’s soft smile wavers and his eyes are glassy in the overhead lights as he shakes his head. “I already have the life I want with you and Elio.” He leans in and kisses Joe, fingers fisted tight in his lapel. “What could be better than this?”

Joe doesn’t know and doesn’t have the braincells to piece more than two thoughts together at this point—one being how fucking beautiful Nicky looks tonight and the other being how terribly in love he is. He’s not even sure he’s breathing at this point and maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe he’s died in his sleep and this perfection is the best paradise he’s been offered.

He barely even notices the woman stepping up to the microphone on the short platform stage amid a round of applause. “Hello, my name is Britta Hersh and I am the executive director here at The New Citizen’s Gallery. I would like to thank everyone for coming to 2020 Rising Stars Exhibition benefitting the incredible foundation Arts for All!” she says. “As you all can see, we were so privileged to have this outstanding group of fifty artists from around the city displaying their art. We have artists from every background and every borough and I know I speak for the entire judges panel when I say this has been one of the most difficult decisions they’ve had to make.”

Nicky’s sturdy hand slides across the small of Joe’s back and dipping into the slit in his jacket—the thin cotton the only separation between his warm palm and Joe’s flushed skin. Joe’s heartbeat races and blood pounds through his ears, drowning out all other noise.

“—third place is: ‘Finishing’ by Atalia Yehudah from Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Atalia is—”

He finds himself clapping for the both of them as a beautiful, modern, cubist painting is projected onto the wall behind the stage. The use of color is gut wrenching and awe inspiring and Joe knows that if this is the third place painting, he’s got no chance left. But there’s Nicky, thumb digging strong circles into the tender knobs at the base of his spine and all of his worries melts away.

“Second place is awarded to ‘A Quiet Wave’ by Kyo Sayaka from West Brighton, Staten—”

A painting of dark locks of hair tangled in a dozen gentle hands appears on the wall and the static noise grows louder in his head as the younger man leans over and presses his lips to Joe’s cheek.

Nicky’s words echoes in his head over and over again. ‘You are more than enough.’ It doesn’t seem like much but it silences all of Joe’s fears. No one he’s been with has ever been this inspiring, this devoted, this interested in his art. In his art and none of the accolades and recognition Joe has so desperately been chasing his entire life. His heart swells in his chest so large that it overtakes his lungs, strangling him slowly under the crushing weight of his love for this man.

“—‘Il Padre’ by Yusuf a-Kaysani!”

A thunderous applause erupts in the room and Nicky’s hand drops from Joe’s back. Joe claps along with the crowd, trying to shake himself out of the lovesick daze he’s in, and turns to Nicky with a soft smile that fades when he sees the dumbstruck, bewildered expression on the younger man’s face. “Are you okay?” Joe mouths over the noise of the crowd.

Nicky doesn’t answer him, only stares at him like Joe had built the world with his own two hands, but Joe’s clapping falters when he hears Elio crow from behind them, “You won! You won! Papa, Joe won!!”

And then, the world slows to an inching crawl.

Joe’s heartbeat careens to a dead standstill in his chest as he turns back to the stage to see his painting staring back at him from the front of the atrium. “In a courageous of marriage between the classical and the modern, ‘Il Padre’ is a stunning display of Renaissance technique and composition bringing the reality of today’s fatherhood to light. Rarely do we see such undeniable love displayed in male-centric art, but Yusuf al-Kaysani, a recent graduate of The Cooper Union, does not shy away from centering the entire piece on this affection.”

This can’t be happening. There has to be a mistake. Joe’s hands shake where they rest, frozen in mid clap, and the floor feels like sand underneath him. There has to be a mistake, has to be some kind of mix up, but then suddenly the woman on the stage is saying—

“Mr. al-Kaysani, if you would be kind enough to join us on stage and say a few words?”

The initial shock has worn off Nicky, a breathless, overjoyed smile on his face when Joe turns back to him. “Go!” he says, choking back a laugh as he kisses Joe hard on the mouth. Nicky’s face is flushed and his eyes are glassy and Joe knows he must look the same. “I’m so proud of you!”

Joe nods, taking a few shaky steps back and turns toward the stage, mumbling numb apologies as he makes his way through the crowd. He has to grip the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white just to make it up the two steps on the platform. Ms. Hersh holds her hand out to him and Joe can’t shake it fast enough, stammering, “T-Thank you so much, thank you, thank you…”

“You deserved it,” she whispers, and Joe can see Maria De León’s sparkling eyes from the side of the stage and none of it feels real.

It feels even less real when he finds himself standing in front of the microphone, staring out at the nearly three hundred people in the crowd. Joe scrubs a hand over his mustache, blinking in stunned silence for a moment before he takes a deep breath and says, “Um… I apologize for this. I didn’t plan a speech because I had no idea I would be standing here in front of all of you…”

There’s scattered laughter and suddenly he finds Nicky’s glittering eyes and Elio’s bright smile from his place in his father’s arms through the crowd. Nothing else matters after that.

“I’d like to thank the judges for this tremendous honor first and foremost,” he says, wringing his hands nervously. “And my older sister Sophie, for always supporting me and my art.” Joe swallows the tremendous lump in his throat and tries not to let his emotions get the better of him. “But, most of all, I want to dedicate this to the most important two people of my life—my boyfriend Nicky and his son Elio. Nicky, you were the inspiration I’ve been searching for for so long and I am so blessed to have you and Elio in my life. I love you both more than I can say.” In the fluorescent lights, Joe can see a happy tear track down Nicky’s perfect cheeks and can barely keep them back in his own eyes. He wipes his face again quickly and chokes on a laugh, leaning into the microphone. “I’m going to hand this back over to Ms. Hersh before I embarrass myself further. Thank you all again, from the bottom of my heart.”

Joe can barely stumble down from the stage fast enough to find the safe harbor of Nicky’s embrace, Elio tucked tight and happy between the two of them. His fingers tangle in the boy’s dark curls while his other hand pulls Nicky as close as possible.

He’s never felt happiness like this.

Over the next hour, Joe shakes more hands than he’s ever had to in his entire life, thanking people for the congratulations they give him and trying to remember names when given. His head is spinning and nothing feels real until he catches the grounding sight of Nicky carrying Elio around the gallery and he’s reminded what this is all for.

It’s nearly 8pm before he can break free of the crowd finding Nicky and Sophie sitting in a quiet corner talking about their childhood back in Tunisia while Elio intrudes on nearby conversations. His sister looks up at him when Joe approaches, clearly reading the lingering disbelief in his face as she asks, “So, how does it feel to feel to be the biggest name in New York City art tonight?”

Joe shakes his head, nervously smoothing his hands over his pants. “Ask me tomorrow when I’m not still reeling from shaking hands with Jeff fucking Koons. This lady even came and took my picture for some newspaper I think,” he mutters, voice still trembling. “Can we just—can we get out of here? Find a nice restaurant and celebrate? Dessert and some drinks and just some excuse to just enjoy this by ourselves?”

Sophie and Nicky share a secretive, amused look before Sophie stands and cracks her back. “I’m going to let you kids have a night out alone while I bask in the undivided attention being the older sister of the star artiste!” She leans forward and kisses Joe on the cheek. “I like this one,” she says softly. “Make sure you keep him around.”

“I will,” he whispers, squeezing her hand gently before she’s out of his reach. Joe turns back to Nicky and tries to hold back a smirk. “Come on, my treat.”

There’s a playful glint in the younger man’s eyes as Nicky says, “As long as you’re paying,” that makes Joe laugh so hard that it draws Elio’s attention. The six year old runs back over, Nicky scooping him up easily and asking, “Hey Lio, are you tired yet?”

Elio shakes his head but leans his cheek on his father’s shoulder anyway. “Only a little, Papa!”

“Good,” Nicky says, balancing the boy on his hip and lacing his free hand with Joe’s. “Because we’re going out for a treat.”

The snow has draped the entire city in a soft white blanket, the lights glittering off the snow like starlight. Elio slides a little as he hurries ahead of them, slipping in the inch and a half of gathered snow. “Watch out, little man!” Joe calls, looping their intertwined hands up around Nicky’s head so his arm drapes across the other man’s broad shoulders.

Nicky lets out a soft chuckle, head rolling over to meet Joe’s eyes. “Now who’s the overprotective dad?”

It takes a second and a half for Joe to realize what came out of his love’s mouth but, when it sets in, his heart stops and his head spins. His eyes well up, throat tight with overwhelming emotion, and he wonders if Nicky knows what a gift he’s given Joe in a single, inconsequential word. But, judging by the untroubled, shy smile on the younger man’s face, Nicky knows exactly what he’s done.

The money will never matter. The accolades will never matter. This, and only this, is the recognition that means anything to him.

But, before Joe can lean in and kiss Nicky the way he so desperately desires, he can hear Elio call, “Papa! Joe! Come on, I wanna go eat the cake!”

Nicky’s eyes flutter shut, dark lashes spreading into the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes as his grin widens. Joe has never seen him look more happy, more handsome, more painfully beautiful than he does right now and maybe this is the real prize of the night. “Come on, our Lio is growing impatient.”

Joe’s heart somersaults into his stomach, a glowing ball of joy in his body, and his hand slips into Nicky’s. “Better not keep him waiting then.”

They’re halfway across the plaza when he hears a woman’s voice.

“Nicolò!”

Nicky’s hand goes stiff in Joe’s before it rips away completely, the younger man freezing in panic. Joe’s brow furrows in confusion as the other man spins out of his embrace, eyes wide and fearful, chest heaving in double time as the woman calls his name again.

“Nicolò, stop!”

The dark haired woman is on the other side of the plaza, trying to push through the crowd towards them, and Nicky is frozen like a deer in headlights. Joe grabs for his hand again, only to find the younger man absolutely trembling and on the verge of hyperventilation. “Nicky, what’s going on?” he asks, looking back at the woman again.

“E—Elio…” Nicky gasps as he suddenly startles, grabbing for the boy and pushing him toward Joe. “G-Go!”

“Papa, what’s going on?” Elio asks, reading the fear loud and clear on his father’s face. “Papa?”

The woman pushes through the final barrier of the crowd, gaining on them in quick strides and all the composure Nicky had been clinging to goes out the window as he picks Elio up and shoves him into Joe’s arms. “Take h-him and go, n-now!” he shouts, startling Joe out of the night’s rose-colored stupor. There are tears in his bright blue eyes and desperation seeps from every pore. “Joe, p-please!”

“Nicky, I don’t understand, what’s going—”

“Goddamn it, J-Joe, just t-take him!!” It comes out as some horrible mixture of a sob and a scream and it shakes Joe to the very core of his soul. It startles Elio enough that Joe can hear him crying over Nicky’s panicked breathing. Joe’s just about to open his mouth when Nicky glances over his shoulder again and sees the woman barely three yards from then. “Fucking G-GO!” he begs, shoving Joe so hard it almost sends them tumbling back into the snow.

Joe knows there’s no more explanation he can ask for in this moment, no demands he can make of Nicky as he tucks Elio’s wet face into the crook of his neck and hurries away from the scene behind them. Joe can hear an explosion of Italian, both Nicky’s voice and the woman’s, and covers the six year old’s ears just in case Elio can hear anything. “It’s okay,” he whispers, smoothing his hand over Elio’s curls once they’re far enough away. “Come on, I’ve got you, Lio. It’s okay…”

The train ride back to Queens is absolutely silent, the six year old still tucked tight into his side, fingers squeezing his hand so hard that Joe can feel the circulation cut off.

His mind is running at a thousand miles an hour, trying to think of every circumstance that would cause Nicky’s panic but he can only think of one. One that he doesn’t want to say out loud, lest he make it real and they all have to face what that will mean. So all he can do is hold Elio tighter and hope that Nicky is on the next train behind them.

Elio doesn’t say anything at all, really, until after Joe gets him changed into pajamas and gets some hot chocolate in him. Joe watches him pick at the dried chocolate on the rim of the mug and feels his heart break a thousand times over as a single tear tracks down Elio’s freckled cheek. After almost ten minutes of silence, Elio finally asks, “Was that my mom?”

There’s nothing he can think of, no lie he’s willing to placate the boy with, so all Joe can do is nod. “I think so.”

Chapter Text

“He doesn’t even know you!!”

“I’m his mother and I have a right to see him, Nico!”

“Don’t you dare call me that. Not after what you did. You left, Francesca. You left without any fucking warning and you left my son alone! He was four months—”

“Our son.”

“No! He’s my son! I’ve been doing everything, on my own, for the last six years, Francy. If he passed you on the street, he wouldn’t even realize you’re related to him because you were gone! No call, no visits, nothing, for SIX YEARS.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s coming with me at the end of all this, whether you like it or not.”

~~~

Nicky stares down at the burning scrapes on the palms of his shaking hands as the train rumbles around him. He can still taste blood in the back of his throat and knows he looks a mess, judging by the quick, side-eyed glances people on the platform around him.

His heart is racing but his mind is absolutely numb. If he thinks about the hour-long fight that just transpired and the papers in the folder on his lap, he’s going to throw himself in front of a moving train. All Nicky wants is to have Elio back in his arms and have Joe reassure him that it’s all going to be okay.

But it’s not okay.

It’s not okay and it will never be okay again because his life as he knows it is now over.

The F train rattles into the station and Nicky can barely stand long enough to stumble into the subway car.

It’s nearly 11:30 before he makes it to his apartment and fumbles his phone from his pocket. There are nearly a dozen and a half missed calls from Joe and at least twice as many texts, but Nicky ignores them all, hitting the call button and putting the phone up to his ear. It rings twice before he hears Joe’s voice say, hushed and frantic, “Nicky, fuck, are you okay?”

He shakes his head and forgets for a moment that Joe can’t see him. “Can you let m-me in?” he croaks, clenching the manilla envelope tight in his other hand as the crack in his lip splits open again. “You have m-my keys…”

The phone line goes dead and Nicky sucks a deep, shuddering breath in through his nose, trying to steady himself. The tears burn at his eyes but he can’t cry, not now, not in front of Joe. His stomach twists and turns itself into knots for the minute it takes for the door in front of him to suddenly rip open, Joe’s beautiful face gone grave with worry. Nicky flinches when the older man grabs at him, heart crumbling completely when Joe sees the injuries and the blood.

“Joe, I’m—”

“Where the fuck is she, Nicky,” the other man says, voice terrifyingly and uncharacteristically dark. “Did she do this to you?!”

He shakes his head, unable to meet Joe’s eyes, and mumbles, “I fell,” knowing full well how thin his lie is. “Is Elio still awake?”

“He was up until about forty five minutes ago,” Joe says, trying to bury down the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “He was worried about you; I was worried about you.” The tension releases in his hands as he reaches for Nicky a little more softly this time, thumb brushing over the darkening red mark on his cheek. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with her,” he says and Nicky’s stomach clenches at Joe’s refusal to acknowledge the elephant in the room by name.

Francesca.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up, okay?” Joe whispers, his hand so gentle between Nicky’s shoulder blades that another tethering thread from his head to his heart snaps in two.

Nicky’s legs feel weak and his head is spinning by the time they reach the fourth floor, hands clenching the envelope so tightly that it’s leaving creases in the paper. The back of his throat burns and his breath hitches when he sees Elio fast asleep in bed, the only light illuminating the small apartment spilling out from the bathroom. He stands there for a minute, just watching his beautiful, sweet boy’s peaceful face, before it all becomes too much and his vision swims with tears.

He can hear the water running in the bathroom but feels frozen to the spot until he hears Joe’s voice whisper, “Nicky?” 

This has to be a dream. It can’t be real. But the papers in his hands are real and Elio’s soft snores are real and Joe’s steady hand on his trembling shoulder is real and Nicky is drowning in this grief.

His entire body feels numb as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, allowing Joe to carefully scrub the dried blood off his nose and chin with a warm, damp washcloth. A silent tear slips down Nicky’s cheek and he hears the older man sigh quietly. After a few minutes of long and painful silence, Joe finally brings up the inevitable. “Was that Francesca?”

Nicky nods, sniffing weakly. “Yeah. That was her.”

“She called you Nicolò. Is that—”

He flinches at his full name, brow furrowing as he spits, “Don’t fucking call me that. She’s the only one who’s callled me that since I left Italy.” Francesca is the only one who’s called him that but that doesn’t change the fact that the court documents in his hands say Nicolò as well. Nicky’s breath comes hard and heavy through his nose as he swallows back a rising sob. “She said she came by the store, trying to find me, and Andy told her where I was.”

Joe kneels on the tile floor between his feet and carefully wraps his hands around Nicky’s wrists. “Why would Andy tell her—”

“They don’t know what she looks like,” Nicky snaps, his frustration and panic rising quickly. “I never had any fucking pictures of her after we split.” He pulls his hands free, clutching the envelope close to his chest. He can feel the tears building, can feel his composure slipping, can feel himself standing at the edge of the precipice of no return. “Francy said she told Andy we were in charge of organizing tomorrow morning’s meeting and I wasn’t answering my phone. She—”

“You still call her ‘Francy’?” Joe interrupts, voice dripping with distain as his jaw clenches with thinly-veiled anger.

The last remaining thread holding Nicky together snaps.

“That’s what you’re fucking pissed about?!” he shouts, the sound echoing around the cramped bathroom as he shoves the older man back away from him. The envelope falls to the ground between them, forgotten in a moment of rage. “Francesca’s taking Elio and you’re worried I still fucking call her ‘Francy’?!!”

Joe’s eyes go wide, his face falling in bewildered horror as the tears finally begin to spill. “No…” he whispers in disbelief.

Nicky covers his mouth with one hand, biting the inside of his lower lip so hard it draws fresh blood, but it’s still not enough to muffle the sob that claws its way up his already-raw throat. It’s been the first time he’s shed tears over this—the numbness finally giving way to the sheer terror inside him—and it feels like a knife to the chest. Nicky can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cry as Joe’s arms wrap tight around him.

“It’s okay, Nicky,” the other man whispers against the crown of his head, hollow and empty and void of any actual reassurance. “She can’t… there’s no way she’ll take him.”

He shudders through another violent sob, clinging to Joe like a life raft in a goddamn hurricane. How can Nicky explain how the court is going to see him? How much money Francesca’s family has for lawyers? How hard he’s going to have to fight to prove that this tiny studio apartment is a better environment to raise Elio than the Scavo family mansion upstate?

“I h-have court s-summons,” he heaves, muffled into Joe’s collar. “S-She’s…she’s f-filing for f-full …”  Nicky can’t even bring himself to say the words out loud. Can’t dream of the inching reality where Elio is ripped from his arms and given away to a mother he doesn’t even know.

Joe’s grip on him grows tighter, digging into the muscle at the base of the back of his neck and shoulders. “She’s not taking him. Not after what she did. She can’t.”

After minutes, hours, days—Nicky isn’t sure anymore—his crying finally settles enough for the two of them to sit on the floor across from one another. Joe’s hand brushes over the now-bruising mark on his cheek and the split in his lip. “She did all this?”

Nicky stares at the scrapes on the palms of his hands and shakes his head. “No…” he mumbles. “After we spent almost an hour arguing, I told her I was done with her. That she needed to leave us alone. She slapped me and called me an asshole. I tried walking away and she pushed me. I tried to catch myself but the sidewalk was so slippery that I ended up slamming my face on the curb.”

Joe looks over at the bloodstained envelope sitting on the lid of the toilet and looks on the verge of tears himself. “When’s the court date?”

“January 16th. I’ll have to schedule a home evaluation before the end of the year.” Nicky’s eyes begin to water again and he wipes his face with the tender heel of his hand. “I’m sorry for ruining your big night.”

“Fuck, Nicky, none of this is your fault,” the older man whispers, voice thick and wobbling. Nicky reluctantly meets Joe’s eyes and almost loses it all over again when he sees the tears refracting in the other man’s dark irises. “I just wish…I just wish I didn’t feel so helpless right now. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Unless you could make this all magically disappear,” Nicky jokes weakly, the forced chuckle turning into a sob when he can’t keep the act anymore. His face crumples and Joe pulls him against his chest once more, fingers tangling through Nicky’s hair. He can hear murmured words in Arabic against his temple but it’s less of a comfort than he can hope. Sucking in a heavy breath, Nicky chokes, “I c-can’t lose him, J-Joe. I can’t l-let her t-take Elio…”

“Nobody’s taking Elio, least of all Francesca,” Joe promises him, but it’s less convincing than either of them hope for.

It’s well past midnight by the time they finally retreat from the safety of the bathroom, Nicky swaying on his feet where he stands. He stares at Elio’s sweet face, the rise and fall of his chest, his hand pillowed under his freckled cheek, and feels the room close in on him all over again. How is he going to survive this? How will he even make it to the sunrise in a few hours to face his son?

“Do you want me to stay the night?” Joe asks, his voice an echo in Nicky’s hollow skull.

He shakes his head and wipes his face again, trying to stop the tears that just don’t seem to have an end. “No…I need to be alone with Elio tomorrow. We’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

“If you need me—”

“You’re right across the hall, I know,” he murmurs, turning to meet Joe’s worried face. Nicky steps up close, kissing him as a tear slips down the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for taking such good care of us,” he says shakily, hands clasping the sides of Joe’s face. “I’m going to need you now more than ever.”

An unsteady breath falls from Joe’s perfect mouth as he draws Nicky flush against his body. “Anything. Anything you need.”

“Just this,” Nicky begs, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t let this change.”

It’s agony, letting Joe go. It’s agony watching him walk through the door and it’s agony standing in the middle of their shoebox apartment, realizing that everything is going to change in the morning. Nicky’s still not sure what he’s going to tell Elio, but he has a sinking feeling it’s going to be the first lie he’s ever had to tell his son.

His hands shake as he unbuttons the stained dress shirt, not even bothering to hang up his suit as he leaves the clothes on the floor and crawls up into Elio’s bed. The six year old stirs faintly, bleary eyes cracking open just the slightest. “Papa?”

Nicky kisses the boy’s forehead and croaks, “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. Now go back to sleep, okay?”

Elio tucks his warm body into the aching cavity in Nicky’s chest and falls back asleep quickly, but Nicky is not so lucky. He stays awake in the darkness, his numb tears soaking the pillow underneath him as he combs his fingers gently through Elio’s messy curls.

How is he going to survive this?

~~~

Nicky forces a smile as he kisses Elio on the forehead and hugs him tight.

“You be good in class okay?” he says as the six year old nods before taking off up the steps into the building. He keeps the mask on for a few moments until he’s sure Elio is gone, then allows the grief to rise back into his chest like the tide.

Joe wraps his arm around Nicky’s shoulder without a single word when he gets back to the sidewalk. They’re past Joe constantly asking if he’s okay, because they both know Nicky’s not, both know how close he is to crumbling. For the past week, he hasn’t been eating, hasn’t been sleeping, and every day that goes by, dragging them closer and closer to the family court date, feels like an eternity.

The conversation on Sunday morning had lasted for almost an hour, Nicky carefully trying to tell Elio that, yes, that was his mother and she wanted to talk to Nicky about him. Elio had asked why he couldn’t see her too, but seemed to understand the explanation that Nicky had needed to send him home with Joe to keep him safe. There were tears shed by both of them, but the six year old had moved on from the conversation quickly.

Nicky, not so much.

It cycles through his head like a never ending storm, consuming every waking minute of his day with fear. Even with Joe’s grounding touch, even days later, he can feel himself falling. His body is shaking, hands trembling under his tightly crossed arms, and his stomach is threatening to abandon him completely.

By the time they get to the store, Nicky can’t hold it back any longer.

Without so much of a hello to Andy, he races to the back of the store and stumbles into the bathroom. Tears roll down Nicky’s ashen face as he heaves what little he has in his stomach into the toilet. He hasn’t felt this sick in years. Hasn’t felt this helpless in years.

Nicky spends the remaining two minutes he has before his shift is supposed to start muffling his wracking sobs into the palms of his hands, hoping that Joe and Andy can’t hear his heartbreak as he falls apart over and over again in the cramped bathroom. Death would be welcome than this—the thought of losing Elio.

His eyes are bloodshot and his face is pale when he checks his reflection in the cloudy mirror before slipping out of the bathroom. Joe’s eyebrows are furrowed, eyes full of worry as he clutches the two cups of coffee tight in his hands, and Nicky can feel Andy’s piercing stare on him as well. Nicky sniffs a little as he takes the cup Joe hands him and croaks, “Thanks.”

Joe is just about to open his mouth when the bell on the front door jingles and Quynh steps over the threshold silently, locking the door behind her.

Suddenly, Nicky realizes they’re trapped. Suddenly, this is all too familiar.

Andy slips out from behind the counter and glances at her wife then back to the two of them. “Joe, I need you leave. There are things we need to talk to Nicky about, privately,” she says, voice gravely serious. “You can come back this afternoon, but right now I need you to go back to your apartment.”

Joe looks between the two older women. “No, I’m not leaving him,” he says, making the crack in Nicky’s heart widen. “You can’t make me.”

“We’re not asking, Joe,” Quynh says. “This is between us and Nicky.”

Nicky sets the cup of coffee in his hand down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest again, unable to look at Joe. “Just go, please,” he mumbles, throat tight as he tries to hold back the tears. He stares at the cracks in the tiles, knowing that if he meets anyone’s eyes, he’s going to break—whether it’s Joe, Andy, or Quynh. Nicky can feel the disappointment radiating off of each of them and knows he only has himself to blame.

He can hear Joe sigh quietly and the jingling of the bell as Quynh forces him out of the shop. Nicky flinches a little when Andy’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades. “Come on, Nicky. We need to go upstairs.”

Nicky can’t take his eyes off Elio’s kindergarten school picture, proudly displayed on the wall in Andy and Quynh’s apartment. The five year old is all dark, summer freckles and messy hair, having refused to let Nicky comb through it that morning, and Nicky has to turn away when his vision goes blurry from the sharp tears. He chews a hole in the already raw interior of his cheek, burning a hole into the table with his eyes, as Andy and Quynh sit silently across from him.

Quynh sighs softly and puts a thick manilla envelope on the table between them.

Nicky’s blood runs cold.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks, voice so calm that he doesn’t know how she’s able to do it. He nods shakily, his breathing beginning to stutter. “Nicky, you need to fucking look at us right now.” And there’s the Quynh he remembers from that first year. The one who was so direct, so demanding, so invested in both him and Elio that she wasn’t going to allow him to slip up, not even once. So Nicky raises his head, meets her steady eyes, and tries to ignore the thinly veiled fear written all over Andy’s face. “Do you know what is in this envelope?” Quynh asks again.

His chin quivers as Nicky draws a trembling breath, the tears beginning to fall. “Y-Yes…”

“These are all the pictures we took of you when you were living with us,” Andy says, her strength waning as Quynh opens the envelope and begins to set the pictures out on the table, alongside a single flash drive. “You made a deal with us that if we ever thought you were slipping, if we ever were worried about your sobriety, that we would bring these out to remind you how bad it can get.”

Bile rises in Nicky’s throat at the photos of himself—gaunt and thin and sick with withdrawal—are placed out in the open for the first time. Photos of scabbed over track marks, photos of his sweaty face and dark circles under his eyes, photos of Nicky curled up on the floor, half asleep in exhaustion while Elio plays nearby. He looks like a ghost, looks like a shell, looks hollow and empty and it’s not far from what he had seen in the mirror downstairs.

It breaks his heart and makes himself sick with shame.

“We’ve never had to do this,” Andy says, her hands clasped so tight that the skin around her knuckles goes whites. “We’ve never had to worry about you in six years, but Nicky, now? Now we’re fucking terrified.”

Quynh sets the flash drive directly in front of him. “This is the security camera footage of the night you first came into the store with Elio,” she says as Nicky swallows back a shuddering sob. “I know you know what’s on it but if I played it for you today, I’m going to see the exact same boy I see sitting right in front of me.”

Nicky shakes his head, wiping his eyes roughly with the heel of his hand. “I’m n-not using,” he chokes, his overwhelming grief pulling him down so quickly it feels like drowning.

“We won’t be mad,” Andy offers gently. “We just want to help like we did last time. You’re our baby and we don’t want anything to happen to you and—”

Suddenly, he can’t hold it back any longer. A broken, retched sob tears out of his throat and Nicky covers his face with both of his hands. “F-Francesca’s taking Elio,” he cries, shoulders hunching as he curls in on himself for any kind of protection. “She’s t-taking him and I c-can’t stop h-her…”

The silence is more devastating than anything he could have imagined. His breathing comes in heaving gasps as he scrubs at his face—desperate to steady himself long enough for Andy and Quynh not to think him weak.

It’s Andy that breaks the speechlessness first. “No,” she says through gritted teeth. “No, Francesca’s gone.”

Nicky shakes his head again, saltwater stinging his eyes. “The n-night of the gallery opening, she c-came…gave me court papers…” His hands are trembling so badly that he feels like he’s having a seizure, his head so dizzy that Nicky is sure he’s going to tumble right out of the seat he’s in. “She’s f-filing for c-custody…” His lungs feel like they’re on fire and, no matter how much air he tries to pull into his body, he can’t seem to catch his breath.

“She can’t get custody, she abandoned him,” Andy says, still so stunned it seems unreal. “Elio was a goddamn baby and she fucking left him alone in that building.”

“Is she back with her family?” Quynh asks, always the pragmatic one—always thinking ahead to what the next step is. Nicky nods and knows she understands what this means. Money. Money none of them have for lawyers and money for nice houses and money for clothes, better schools, and all the things that judges really care about. She stares at the photos on the table for a moment before glancing at Andy. “We’re going to need to think this through, darling. About what happens if—”

“Nothing is fucking happening, Quynh, she’s not taking our baby!” the older woman shouts, slamming her hand on the table, making Nicky flinch. The chair legs scrape on the laminate floor as Andy suddenly stands up and storms away from the table into the bedroom.

Nicky sniffles weakly, rubbing his tired and sore eyes as Quynh whispers, “You should have come to us when this happened, Nicky. We could have helped.”

He struggles to meet her gaze as he croaks, “And done what?”

Quynh’s face falls and it begins to sink in how helpless they both are in this.

Andy comes back as quickly as she had left, shoulders squared and eyes hard. She tosses a single letter-sized envelope down on the table, shifting the pictures below it. “There’s three hundred dollars in that envelope. It’s all we have but we’ll figure out the rest,” Andy says, jaw clenching to hold back the all-consuming rage inside her. “We’re going to get you a lawyer, Nicky, and Francesca is not taking Elio. Do you understand?”

He wants to believe her, really, he does. But he knows how tight their finances are already. Neither Quynh nor Andy have ever paid themselves overtime, holidays, and Nicky is pretty sure he gets paid more than they do. There’s no way any of them have thousand and thousands of dollars to shell out for any decent lawyer in the city.

But Nicky nods anyway, his entire body still rolling through the shuddering tremors. He chews on the inside of his cheeks, the tears beginning to track down his cheeks again, and murmurs, “Okay.”

He tries not to flinch when Quynh touches his forearm as gently as she can. “When was the last time you ate?”

After being stuffed full of noodles and pork belly, Nicky curls up on the couch under the thick knitted blanket like he had for so many nights those first couple months after Andy and Quynh had taken him under his wing. He can hear the two women arguing behind their bedroom door in scattered Greek and Vietnamese and feels himself slipping into sleep’s grasp. Nicky doesn’t know how long he stares at the opposite wall with half lidded eyes, but he can’t find the energy to move, even when he feels a hand brush over his hair.

“Come here, kid,” Andy’s voice says as she lifts his head and sits down on the couch, pillowing his cheek with her thigh. Nicky struggles to turn his gaze up to meet hers as she combs her fingers through his hair. “We’ll get you through this, I promise.”

His voice comes out far more hollow than he means it for as he asks, “Did you guys really think I was using again?” Nicky knows Andy can hear the betrayal in his voice, can hear how much hurt they’ve caused by bringing those pictures and memories back to the forefront of his mind, but part of him wants her to feel the pain that’s burning inside him. “You really thought I would do that to Elio?”

There’s an unreadable tightness on her face as her hand stills on his cheek. “You look like a wreck, Nicky,” she murmurs, blue eyes full of worry as she shakes her head. “If we had known about Francesca, we wouldn’t have brought out the pictures.”

Nicky turns back to the wall, trying not to let Andy see the tears in his eyes. “She said you told her where I was—Francesca did,” he says numbly, thinking back to that terrible moment where Francesca had dropped that bombshell on him. Andy’s silence is deafening and Nicky can no longer keep his eyes open. “She told me she came by the store looking for me and you told her I was at Joe’s gallery. It didn’t take her long to find out which one it was.” His heart is beating so hard and fast it feels like it’s going to crack straight through his sternum and his mouth feels like sand as he asks, “Is that true?”

Andy says nothing and that’s all the answer he needs.

Then finally, voice dripping with guilt, she whispers, “I didn’t know it was her, Nicky. You have to know I would never do anything to put you and Elio in danger.”

He buries his face in her thigh and lets himself drift in the memories of the pictures he knows are still spread across the dining room table. Memories of exhaustion, of hunger, of all the shame that’s in his blood this very instant.

Maybe he hasn’t come as far as he thought.

~~~

Nicky stares at the international calling card on the table, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

His stomach is twisting itself into knots and he knows he’d be on the verge of throwing up again if he had managed to eat anything in the last twenty four hours. It’s been three days since Andy and Quynh had confronted him and Nicky already feels nauseous from skipping his NA meeting yesterday, but what he’s about to do doesn’t even come close to that guilt.

His fingers are numb as he dials the code on the back of the card, followed by the number he’s never quite been able to get out of his head. One he hasn’t called in over seven years.

It rings for almost a minute before the line clicks and a woman answers with a quick and curt, “Pronto.” Nicky’s breath hitches at the familiar voice and a silence descends over the phone. He lets out a trembling exhale as the woman repeats again, “Pronto.”

“Mama?” he whispers, throat so tight he can barely speak. “It’s me.”

 “Nicolò?” she asks, voice crackling from half a world away. “Is that you?” Sharp tears prick his eyes as he drops his head down to one palm, clenching the phone tight with the other. “Your father and I though you were dead,” his mother says, voice sharp and biting and far less thrilled than he would have expected.

Nicky clenches his eyes shut and mumbles, “I’m sorry.” His heart is racing a million beats per minute and the room spins around the central axis of his chair. “Mama, I…I need to come home.”

“No.”

His hand twists in his hair as he begs, “Mama, please…”

“I don’t care what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, Nicolò, but you cannot just call after seven years and say you want to come home,” his mother snaps, her voice trembling through her anger as if she’s trying to hold back tears. “Your father and I have spent years mourning you and now you decide to open those wounds?!”

“I wouldn’t be calling if I had any other options!” Nicky shouts, wincing at the devastating silence that follows. “I have to come home, Mama. I’m going to lose my son if I don’t.”

“...Your son?”

Nicky shudders through a sob he can barely hold back and feels the first tear track down his cheek. “His name is Elio…” he mumbles quietly, trying, and failing, to keep his composure. “He turned six in August. If I—if I don’t leave now, his mom is going to get full custody of him.” The words feel like razor blades in his throat, tearing his tongue raw. “Mama, please…I c-can’t lose him.”

He can hear his mother’s heavy breathing on the other end of the line and finds himself praying that he’ll get some second chance to make things right. To have his family welcome him back with open arms. There, in Italy, Elio would be safe. They could make a life together. One without the threat of Francesca constantly looming over them. It would mean leaving, it would mean abandoning this life, it would mean running—but at least Elio would be safe.

“No,” his mother says suddenly, the single word sending Nicky into a free fall. “No, you may not come home to us. You chose your path, Nicolò.”

“B-But Mama—”

“If your behavior as our son is any indication of your competency as a father, then maybe that boy is better off without you.”

Nicky’s heart stops dead in his chest. His mouth falls open with a shuddering breath and every word inside him becomes trapped as the line goes dead. Nicky blinks back panicked tears, fumbling with the calling card and his cellphone. He dials the numbers again with shaking hands, beginning to hyperventilate when the ringing never stops. “N-No—” he chokes as the answering machine message begins to play. “Mama, p-please, don’t d-do this…” His anxiety boils over as he begs, “M-Mama, you have to p-pick up! Mama, p-please! I can’t lose m-my baby!”

He calls the number at least five more times, leaving incomprehensible message after incomprehensible message before the minutes on his card run out and Nicky is left a sobbing mess.

The room feels like it’s ten times smaller, like it’s closing in on him, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. All of his options feel exhausted and Nicky can’t help but think of the worst possible outcome at every waking moment. Even Francesca getting partial custody is a nightmare scenario at this point—Elio having to spend entire summers and winter break upstate and away from him and Joe.

He can’t bear the thought of it.

Nicky barely gets himself calmed down enough to head back from his break, still so on edge that every footsteps feels like the world is crumbling beneath him. Quynh must read it on his face loud and clear because she asks, “Are you okay?” the moment he returns to the shop. His heartbeat stutters and his breath catches and Nicky can’t do anything but shake his head, chin quivering as he holds back his tears. “Nicky, you have to pull yourself together; Elio’s going to be home from school in half an hour.”

Fuck.

He’d been doing so well at keeping up appearances, putting on a mask when his son was around, lest Elio suspects Francesca’s true intentions. But today, the mask is cracking. Hell, he can barely put it on at all after what his mother said.

“Can—Can I c-call Joe?” he stammers shakily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “About Elio?”

“Of course, whatever you need,” Quynh says, tipping her head toward the back.

It takes a couple tries to get through to Joe but on the third call he finally picks up. “Nicky, what’s up?” Joe says, trying not to let the concern show in his voice. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

Nicky draws a shuddering inhale in and shakes his head. “N-No…” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his free hand to his eyes. “I just—I can’t have Elio here right now. Can you pick him up from school and k-keep him busy this afternoon?” His throat feels so tight he can barely breathe and he would give anything to just have Joe right here in front of him. But Elio needs him more, so Nicky has to give up this desperate comfort.

“Nicky, are you okay?” the other man repeats, more forcefully than the first time.

“Can you p-please just come pick up Elio?” he begs, his forehead thumping against the wall hard enough to make him wince. “I’ll explain it all tonight, I just—I’m n-not doing good right now, Joe. I c-can’t let Elio s-see me like this.”

Joe’s quiet sigh echoes over the line. “Okay, I’m leaving now. Just call the school and tell them I’m coming, okay?” His voice is soft as he murmurs, “I love you so much. Just call when you’re ready for us to come home.”

It’s far later than he means for it to be by the time Nicky find the strength to step into Joe’s apartment. Elio’s face lights up the moment he sees Nicky, abandoning the plate of pizza in his lap to rush over with a tight hug. “Joe and I saved you some pizza!” the six year old exclaims excitedly as Nicky buries his face in his curls. He fights back tears when Elio’s voice softens to a quiet, “I missed you, Papa.”

“I missed you too, topolino,” he whispers thickly, fingers twisting in Elio’s soft shirt.

Nicky can feel Joe’s troubled eyes on him the entire night—through the three of them finishing the movie and pizza in Joe’s apartment all the way to after they move across the hall and put Elio to bed. The concern only seems to grow when they find themselves sitting next to each other at the dining table with nothing but silence between the two of them.

Joe’s hand is warm and reassuring as it slides over his leg, squeezing softly at the tender space of his inner thigh. “Do you want to talk about what happened that got you all shook up?”

Nicky stares a hole into the edge of the table, head and heart numb as he mumbles, “I called my mom today.”

The hand on his thigh tenses.

“I called her and asked if we could come home—if we could come back to Italy.” The tears come whether he wants them to or not and Nicky has no say over the matter anymore. “She said she didn’t want us there. Even after I told her about Elio. She said—” His chin quivers and Nicky can’t stop the broken noise that falls out of his mouth as he looks at Joe. “She said Elio would be better off without me.”

“You know that’s not true, Nicky,” Joe says, leaning forward and grabbing for his trembling hands. “You are the best parent Elio could ever—”

“We could go, just the three of us,” he interrupts quickly, the overwhelming panic beginning to cloud his mind. “To Italy. It doesn’t matter if my parents would be waiting there or not.” Joe’s face falls and he opens his mouth to retort but Nicky shakes his head. “We could—we could use s-some of your prize money to get flights. I could—c-could get a job in the city and you could w-work on your art.”

“Nicky, we can’t—”

“I would pay you back for the tickets,” Nicky babbles, unable to stop the words from coming. “You would l-love it back home.” He can taste the tears running down into his mouth and the world begins to blur. “Or—Or we could go to Tunisia. Francesca w-won’t find us there…”

Joe’s grip on his hands tightens as the older man shakes him roughly, snapping, “Nicky stop it.” Nicky’s chest is still heaving as the world comes to a sudden stop. “We can’t leave, not in the middle of a custody battle,” Joe says, his own dark eyes going glassy as well. “If you leave with Elio now, you’re basically handing Francesca all the excuses she needs to take him from you permanently. You’d be fleeing the country with a child; any lawyer could call that kidnapping.”

Nicky’s face crumples, swallowing back a hitching sob. “He’s my son.”

“I know he is,” Joe says firmly. “And any good lawyer is going to be able to prove that. But that’s the route we have to go. We have to make sure that you have someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“With what fucking money?” Nicky barks desperately, almost forgetting about the sleeping six year old just a few feet away from them. “Every pro-bono lawyer I’ve called is booked two months out at the cheapest attorney I could find has a three thousand dollar retainer.” The one pro-bono lawyer he managed to get a five minute consultation with had done nothing but confirmed his greatest fears. Francesca had been planning this for far longer than Nicky had been given the paperwork, leaving him with only one, inaccessible option—pay up.

Joe’s thumb brushes against the rabbiting pulse point in Nicky’s wrist and he can’t stop fucking shaking. There’s a painfully long silence as Nicky watches the other man stare across the room at Elio’s sleeping form. There’s an undeniable devotion in his eyes and it breaks Nicky’s heart that someone as sweet and caring as Joe has gotten dragged into this mess.

“I’ll pay the retainer.”

A sharp flood of hot, stinging tears rises in his eyes and throat. “You can’t.”

“It’s my money, I can choose what I want to do with it. And if it means keeping our family together, then—”

“What happens when the money runs out?” He can feel Joe’s gaze turn to him and Nicky’s face burns hot and flushed. “Francesca’s going to fight this for as long as it takes to get Elio. Her parents money isn’t going to run out. Yours will…”

“Then we’ll figure that out when we come to it,” Joe whispers, leaning forward to kiss the tightly clenched knuckles of Nicky’s hands.

His stomach flips as a terrible and sinking feeling settles deep inside his heart. It feels like an infection—one that can’t be cut out and one that there is simply no cure for. It spreads out through his chest to his aching hands and his spinning head. The world seems to crumble beneath him as Nicky looks over at Elio’s gentle face and cannot hold back the building sobs inside of him for a single moment longer.

“I’m g-going to lose h-him, aren’t I?”

Chapter Text

“How’s he doing?”

Joe watches the steam rise from the coffee cup in front of him and sighs. “Not good. I don’t even know if he’s been sleeping or not because I’m not allowed to spend the night anymore, but I can make a pretty accurate guess.”

Nile’s brow furrows. “You’re not staying at his place anymore? You two okay?”

“Yeah, he just—he said if Elio says anything about it during the home evaluation they have scheduled, it could look bad.” His stomach twists and turns as he traces his thumb aimlessly across the rim. “I know the statistics and I know how a shitty lawyer could twist it—me being around so much so soon—but it still fucking hurt, Nile,” he mutters, throat tight. “It really scares me that I could be the reason Nicky loses Elio. Like, he let me take care of him alone, overnight, not even three weeks after I first met the kid.”

“That doesn’t make him a shitty dad. You’re the best dude I know.” Nile kicks at his shin under the table and picks off a piece of the muffin they’re sharing. “Have you guys settled on a lawyer yet?”

Joe shrugs and says, “I think Nicky’s narrowed down a few of them that have good track records of fathers winning custody. It’s going to be hard to argue against any kind of visitation and that’s what’s holding him back.” The odds weren’t in their favor to begin with but the moment that added condition was tacked on, it began to seem like an impossibility.

“He better pick an option soon or he’s going to be going into court without a lawyer at all,” she points out before shoving the pastry in her mouth. “Do you have enough money for a retainer?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot of budgeting out the worst case scenario if his ex drags this out for months.  I’ve got that money I got from New Citizen’s and that’s about it. Nicky’s got maybe $500 between him, Andy, and Quynh.”

“Well, if you guys end up needing a couple grand, I’m sure my mom and Booker can front you something.” There’s a look on Nile’s face that shows just how desperately they’re both grasping at straws. “Too bad the bitch isn’t an evil oil corporation or we could just have my mom do it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Keira’s degree in environmental law is going to help us much in family court.” A small, tired smile pulls on his face. “Though it would be fun to watch her take Francesca on.”

Nile takes a sip of her coffee before her mouth presses thin in silence. Joe knows this face—the one he always saw when she was deliberating whether or not to bring up criticism in class. The hesitation to bring down the mood. But after a few minutes, Nile finally sighs and meets his gaze. “What are you and Nicky going to do if he doesn’t get full custody? Or worse, if he loses completely.”

Joe’s hand clenches around the mug and he shakes his head. “I don’t even want to think about that,” he says, trying to ignore how badly his voice trembles around his syllables. “I’m terrified about how bad Nicky’s going to spiral if he loses Elio. He’s already struggling now and he hasn’t even stepped into the courtroom.”

“I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. I know my mom would be a mess if anyone had tried to take me or Cairo after my dad died.”

His vision goes blurry for a moment and Joe wipes his eyes with his fingertips quickly, the knowledge of Nicky’s past weighing heavily on his mind. He’d never betray Nicky’s trust and tell Nile the full extent of what had happened and how he had ended up with Elio, so Joe had given her the general rundown. But the knowledge that this could push the man he loves over the edge of sobriety is absolutely harrowing.

All of it keeps Joe up at night as much as he knows it keeps Nicky up.

“I just don’t know what to do, Nile. I feel so fucking helpless that I want to scream,” he chokes out weakly. “I love Nicky and I love Elio and I feel like I’m just standing on the sidelines.”

“Just be there for him,” Nile whispers, reaching across the table to put a hand on his arm. “Pick the kid up from school. Get them some good Christmas presents. Kiss the fuck out of your boyfriend whenever you can get the chance. Anything to make it easier.”

But there’s nothing easy about this.

It’s terrible seeing Elio’s shining face when Joe goes back to Queens to pick him up from his last day of school before winter break and it’s terrible having to kiss Nicky’s forced smile when they enter the store. But worst of all is when he has to go back to his own apartment and his own empty bed at the end of the night. There’s no way to ignore the aching coldness without having the younger man tucked against his chest—the inescapable silence without Elio’s soft snoring.

Joe stares at the ceiling, his heart aching in ways he can’t even describe, when he feels a sudden sense of clarity flood over him.

He knows what he has to do.

There isn’t much to go on, other than the few pieces of information Nicky had told Joe about Francesca. He knows she’s around Nicky’s age and was from Albany, but that was about it. No last name, no idea if she’s still living in the city or not, nothing.

He spends an hour on Facebook, finding over a hundred girls named Francesca in the city, but none of them are the right age or look close to what the dark haired woman that Joe had caught a glimpse of almost two weeks ago. Instagram is an even worse option; Joe digs through pages and pages of Italian girls from New York without even a single shred of hope to cling to.

He could just ask Nicky, but that would lead to questions—questions Joe isn’t willing to answer right now. Not with a thought this new, not with an idea this bold and brash.

Joe’s just about to give up hope when he glances over at his bookcase and a lightbulb goes off. This was the break he needed. This was the chance he needed to finally get ahold of Francesca.

It takes almost two hours of going through every yearbook, Facebook group, and alumni page he can find for every high school in Albany before he finally finds the name he’s been so desperate to find.

Francesca Scavo.

Joe stares at her senior picture with such thinly veiled rage that he can almost feel his blood boil. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that—Joe can see why Nicky so easily fell for her—but the most infuriating thing is that she looks so fucking innocent. Just a sweet, confident smile on her face and an easy sparkle in her eye. No indication that, less than a year and a half later, she would ruin Nicky’s life and leave Elio without a second thought.

It doesn’t take long to find her after that.

Nile and Booker would be proud of me, he thinks as he scrolls through her Instagram feed.

He wishes there were more incriminating photos, anything to use against her, but it’s just pictures of her garden, pictures of coffee, pictures of in-progress embroidery. There is one picture of her and a blonde girl at the lake, smiling faces hiding behind oversized sunglasses, and a comment underneath, someone saying, ‘omg Fran! So cute!’ And Francesca replying, ‘Come with us next time!’

And then, a phone number.

Joe’s heart skips at least a few beats, his head desperately trying to catch up. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he’s spent hours searching for, but now that he has it, he isn’t sure he can go through with it.

But Nicky’s in danger. Elio’s in danger.

There’s no backing out now.

His fingers tremble as he dials the number, staring at the screen for almost five minutes before he finally hits the green call button. It rings once, twice, three times before the call connects and a woman’s voice asks, “Hello?”

Joe swallows back down the lump in his throat and asks, “Is this Francesca Scavo?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“My name is Joe al-Kaysani. I’m Nicky’s boyfriend. I want to talk.”

There’s a short beat of silence before Francesca spits, sharp and biting, “I don’t care who you are, or how you got my number, but I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You ruined the best and most important night I was supposed to have with Nicky and Elio, and I’ve been here trying to keep the man I love together after you decided to destroy his life, so yes, you are going to fucking talk to me,” Joe snaps, trying not to let his voice rise in the all-consuming anger that’s burning inside him. “There’s a bar out in Brooklyn called The Rookery. I want you to meet me there in half an hour.”

“Fuck you, it’s after midnight,” she says, so dismissively that Joe wishes he could reach through the phone and wrap his hands around her.

“If you don’t come, the offer I’m going to make you is going to be off the table forever.”

Joe’s heart pounds high in the back of his throat and the intrigue of the unknown must be inducing enough to Francesca because a heavy silence follows. He clenched his fists, tries to keep his breathing steady, and waits, waits, waits, until finally…

“Fine, I’ll be there.”

~~~

The bar is still going strong even for 1am, but Joe still manages to find a table after the taxi drops him off twenty minutes later.

He nurses a whiskey double and watches the door impatiently. It takes another twenty minutes after he arrives for Francesca to show up, snow clinging to the waves in her hair as she looks around the crowded bar. Then, her eyes catch his and she freezes, both of them locked in a unyielding gaze. Her footsteps are stiff as she approaches him and crosses her arms over her chest, asking, “Are you Joe?”

He nods and pushes back the chair across the table from him with his foot. “Yeah, I am. Sit down.”

Francesca sits carefully and there are two things Joe notices right away. One, she makes no mention of wanting to get a drink and two, she never breaks eye contact, not for a second. She’s sizing him up, too smart to make a mistake now. She tucks her long, thick hair back behind her ears and Joe is so thankful that, aside from that hair, Elio took nothing of her looks. It’s all Nicky. Francesca narrows her dark eyes and asks, “Did Nicolò give you my number?”

“No, Nicky doesn’t know I’m here,” Joe says, taking another sip of his drink. “I thought it would be better if I didn’t involve him.”

A smirk pulls on her lips. “Some boyfriend you are.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

If he were a more violent man, he would think nothing of reaching across the table and wrapping his hands around her throat. Of bashing her skull into the table. But Joe wouldn’t be able to stomach the guilt—he’ll have to do this the hard way.

“Nicky told me exactly what you did, both to him and Elio. He told me about the drugs, about his addiction, about you abandoning Elio, everything,” he says, voice far more even than he expected it to be. “You haven’t seen that boy in six years. Why now?”

Francesca’s brows furrow as she asks, “Why do you care? He’s my son too and Nico needs to understand that.”

“So what, all of this is just to punish Nicky?”

She scoffs so sharply that Joe has to catch himself from flinching, a sharp biting laugh that sends shivers down his spine. “To punish him? As if Nico did absolutely nothing to get himself here?” Francesca snaps, anger flashing in her eyes for the first time since she sat down. “Did he tell you that he was the one that decided to fuck me without a condom? That he screamed at me for almost five hours, demanding I get an abortion after I told him I was pregnant?” The faintest ghosting of tears appears in her eyes and, for brief moment, Joe finds a shred of sympathy for her. “We were eighteen years old and I was the only one that wanted Elio. Not Nico, not for a fucking second.”

“So that gives you the right to take him now? After everything Nicky has sacrificed for Elio?” Joe asks, throat tight.

“He wasn’t even there when Elio was born. He was off somewhere getting high while I was in labor, when I was in surgery.” Francesca’s jaw clenches but she still, after all this time, refuses to end the stare down. “It took him four days to show up.”

The anger in Joe’s blood boils over and his hands clench into fists. “He might not have been there for Elio’s birth, but at least he didn’t leave a four month old baby alone in a run down apartment in the middle of goddamn December,” he snarls, far beyond caring about decorum at this point. “You left. Nicky has been raising Elio by himself for six years and I’m not letting you take him.”

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not up to you to decide,” she says, pushing back from the table. “Now, I didn’t come here to listen to some asshole yell at me, so I’m g—”

“I want you to sign away your rights to Elio.”

Francesca freezes and Joe’s heart slams forward against his rib cage, skipping half a dozen beats as he stares at the woman across the table. It’s shocking, how easily the words come out of his mouth. She slowly sinks back into the chair, shoulders tight even under her coat, and stares him down with wary eyes. The thinnest snarl forms on Francesca’s upper lip as she shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m building a life with Nicky,” Joe says. “We can’t have that life without Elio.”

“I already said—”

“I have ten thousand dollars sitting in my bank account right now that I’m willing to give you, in cash, in exchange for your signature on the termination paperwork.” His mouth feels dry and his hands feel numb but there’s nothing but resolve in his heart. “I could use that money and find Nicky the best lawyer possible, spend weeks or months watching him fight you in court, have Elio get dragged into all of this, but I’d rather not see any of that happen. I’d rather this be over and done with, so I’m cutting out the middle man.”

“There’s no way you have ten thousand dollars to just hand over,” Francesca says quietly, less argumentative than before. Her eyes study his face, trying to find the truth. “Nicolò said you live in the same piece of shit apartment building he does.”

Joe pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and opens his bank account, sliding it across to Francesca. $10,243.52. “That’s everything I have right now,” he mutters, watching her dark eyes take in that number. “You say the word and I will gladly go to the closest bank and take all of it out, but only if you sign those papers.”

She hands him back his phone and, for a second, he thinks she’s going to run again. But Francesca only narrows her dark brown eyes for a moment, regarding him briefly before she asks, “When do I have to make a decision by?”

“Tomorrow by noon. I’m not letting this go into the holidays still hanging over Nicky’s head.” He downs the last of his whiskey and says, “You know my phone number and how to reach me.”

Francesca stands finally but pauses after she does, one hand on the edge of the table. “You know, as much of an asshole you are to me, you seem like a good guy. Better than someone like Nicolò deserves,” she spits, voice tight. “I don’t know how long you two have been together, but it seems like it hasn’t been long enough for him to show who he really is.”

A rush of protectiveness surges through his blood. If Nicky wasn’t here to defend himself, Joe would gladly step up and do it for him. “He got clean for Elio, you know,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nicky’s the best father I’ve ever seen and the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Elio is the funniest, smartest, kindest kid I’ve met and that’s 100% because of Nicky. I’m sorry you didn’t get the best of him but that doesn’t make him the person you think he is. He’s changed.”

Joe catches the dismissive roll of her eyes before Francesca storms out of the bar without another word.

The bartender announces a last call and it takes all the energy he has left in his body to haul himself up from the table and drag himself to the bar, ordering another shot to settle his nerves on the way home.

It’s going to be a long wait.

~~~

Joe only manages to get an hour or two of sleep before he finds himself pacing around his apartment again.

The sun rises pink and yellow over the rooftops and he throws himself headfirst into catching up on commissions to try and put his mind at ease. They had made an agreement after the home evaluation was scheduled that weekends were now solely time for Nicky and Elio to spend together, and for the first time Joe is honestly glad for it. There’s no way he’d be able to look Nicky in the eye and keep a straight face or keep from blurting out his entire plan.

His stomach twists and turns, checking the time on his phone every five or so minutes with no messages, no calls from Francesca.

There are a thousand doomsday scenarios running through his mind as the morning goes by—what he’s going to have to do if Francesca doesn’t agree to sign the paperwork. They’ll have to scramble to find a lawyer that will agree to take the case on, Joe will have to pay a far higher retainer for being so close to the court date. They’ll have to figure out when, or if at all, they’ll tell Elio about the custody hearing.

Joe can imagine the six year old’s face and it breaks his heart more than anything in the world.

It hits 11:30 and he’s so wound up, so anxious, that he can’t even continue working on his commissions—his hands are shaking too badly. A few months ago he would be going through pack after pack of cigarettes but now he just has to let his panic burn bright and hot through his body like an uncontrolled wildfire.

Maybe he’ll tell Nicky after all, explain that he tried the impossible. Joe knows Nicky would understand and it would cement the fact that Joe is firmly on his side and isn’t planning on leaving any time soon.

He knows in his heart that they’re fine, that Nicky loves him, but there are moments that Joe will catch Nicky staring at him like they’ve got an expiration date. Like it’s the first time he’s seeing Joe or it’s the last time and they’re racing the clock. Joe would never walk away from this, not in a million years, but he’s terrified that if Nicky loses custody, the heartbreak will cloud any sense he has left and what they have now will disappear entirely.

It’s not a chance Joe is willing to take.

The world comes to an instant standstill at 11:54 when his phone starts rattling away on the coffee table. Joe races across the small apartment, grabbing at it quickly when he sees Francesca’s name on the screen. He lets out a heavy, trembling breath as he presses the call button and holds the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“I’ll sign the papers.”

Francesca’s voice sounds curt but not angry, not heartbroken in any way and maybe that’s what makes Joe the angriest. But the relief of her words overpowers any fury in his body and the tension in his shoulders sag. “Okay, I’ll go get the papers and the cash. Can you meet me at the notary by the Jackson Heights subway station at 3pm this afternoon?” Joe asks quickly, trying to plan this out as quickly as possible. “I’ll have everything ready for you.”

“Fine,” Francesca says shortly, the line going dead immediately after.

There’s snow coming down pretty heavily as he races outside, boots slipping on the wet sidewalk. Joe knows he’s underdressed but the clock is ticking. He has three hours to get all of this done so he can put this horrific chapter of their lives behind them.

The bank is the easiest part. The teller gives him a few concerned looks when he says he wants to take out almost all the money in his account, and escorts him back to the manager’s office. There are forms to fill out, IDs to scan, and suddenly they’re handing Joe an envelope of the most cash he has ever held in his entire life.

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” the manager jokes as Joe shoves the envelope into the inner pocket of his coat and zips it closed.

He forces a nervous smile and says “I’ve got big plans for it.”

The county clerk’s office is less of a breeze.

He gets to the front of the line with five minutes to spare before the lunch break is supposed to start and hands over the list of paperwork he needs. “You came prepared,” the woman behind the counter says, beginning to type on the computer.

Joe forces a weak laugh. “I wanted to make it easier on you guys.”

“Now, you’re going to have to sign these in front of a notary,” the clerk says, the printer behind her beginning to start up. Joe’s brow furrows and his jaw clenches, the implication of her words sinking in. “You’re going to have to get your child’s mother to consent to this and sign in front of a notary as well.”

“Excuse me?” he barks, too tired and wound up to deal with this cordially.

The clerk looks at the clock and then back at him, mild annoyance. “You won’t be able to sign your rights to your child away voluntarily without the mother’s permission as well. And then there will be a filing fee when—”

“Okay first all, how dare you assume that these are for me. Secondly, it’s not even for the kid’s father so you’ve also got that completely wrong.” Her face flushes and she avoids his eyes as she hands over the still-warm papers straight from the printer. “Thanks,” Joe snaps, snatching the papers from the counter. “Now, where are your pens?”

He manages to fill as much of the paperwork as he can—leaving a few things he isn’t sure about like Elio’s birthday blank for Nicky to fill out later—before heading to the train station. The snow has picked up, covering the city in a fine, glittering blanket of white, and Joe’s hands a freezing by the time he makes it past the turnstiles. There’s a woman playing violin and it settles Joe’s nervous heart, if only for a second.

He listens to her play for a few minutes before the F train finally rattles into the station, dropping the few dollar bills he has in his coat pockets into the bucket next to her feet.

Joe stares at the papers in his hands, his mind on the thick envelope of cash in his pocket and tries to keep his breathing steady. He can’t think about what will happen if Francesca doesn’t show up at the notary. Can’t think of how he still has to figure out how to tell Nicky when all this is over.

When all this is finally over and they can have the life they promised each other.

His hand trembles a little as he pulls his phone out, the background screen of Nicky kissing him on the cheek making his heart flutter. Joe hesitates when he pulls up Nicky’s number though, fingers hovering over the call button. But his nervousness gets the better of him as the train exits the tunnel and the city passes him by out the window.

The phone rings for a few seconds before it goes to voicemail, the recording of Nicky’s soft lilting accent saying, “This is Nicky. I’m sorry I can’t speak to you, but I will call you back soon. Ciao!”

An anxious smile pulls on Joe’s mouth as the beep echoes in his ear. “Hey Nicky,” he hums, heart swelling in his chest so much he can barely breathe. “I know you’re probably busy at work and hanging out with Elio, but I just wanted to give you a call and tell you I love you. I know you’ve been having a hard couple weeks and you’ve been so strong for Elio, so I thought it might be a good idea for the two of us to have a night to ourselves before Christmas rolls around. Maybe Wednesday night? Elio could have a sleepover at Booker and Kiera’s house with the boys; I bet he’d have a blast. I just—”

His voice cracks and he lets out a soft sigh.

“I just want you to have a moment to relax, okay? A moment to breathe. Just think about? Maybe text me tonight? I’ll try and bring breakfast tomorrow morning,” Joe says, trying not to tear up. “Give Lio a hug from me. I love you so much, Nicky.”

His heart is racing as he hangs up and shoves the phone back in his pocket.

Not long now and all this heartache would be a distant memory.

His boots slug through the snow as he exits the Jackson Heights station and tucks the papers inside his jacket, heading toward the notary. It’s a short walk though and he can see Francesca’s dark hair through the window as he approaches the building.

“You’re late,” she snaps, jaw clenched as Joe pushes his way through the door, snowflakes fluttering in behind him. He glances at the clock—3:09pm. “I almost left,” Francesca says.

“Sorry,” he mutters, shaking bits of snow off his curls. “There were some issues at the County Clerk’s office. Long lines.” Joe pulls the paperwork from the inside of his coat and holds it out. “I’ve got it all filled out. All I need is for you to sign.”

Her dark eyes meet his. “And you have the money?”

“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t. I’m serious about this, Francesca.” Joe’s shoulders square and he’s prepared for a fight if one comes, even if his mind is back on his family back home. “I just want what’s best for Elio and, even if you can’t see it, that means him staying with Nicky and you out of the picture.”

Francesca doesn’t argue this time, only snatches the paperwork from his hands.

It’s surreal, watching her sign the papers. It’s an out of body experience and Joe isn’t sure he’s breathing for the entire transaction. He simply stares from across the store, head and heart numb as Francesca scribbles her name at the correct places, the notary stamping the documents as well as the copy. Joe can feel his phone buzzing away at the inside of his pocket but he cannot find the strength to see who it is.

Then, Francesca turns back to him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, and maybe this victory doesn’t feel as good as he had hoped it would.

“I hope you’re happy,” she whispers, shoving the papers into his chest.

“Thank you,” Joe breathes, finally letting the air rush back into his shriveled lungs. He flips through the papers quickly, making sure all the marked signatures are in order before he looks back up at Francesca. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Francesca follows him out into the snow walking at his side for a few blocks before she stops. “Listen, I held up my end of the bargain, now you promised me—”

Joe shoves his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, wrapping his fingers around the thick envelope of cash and pulling it free. His grip tightens around it, jaw clenching as he lets out a heavy breath through his nose—billowing out in white clouds in the cold air. “Before I give you this,” he says, “I just want you to tell me the truth. Why now? Why did you come back for Elio now, after all this time?”

Francesca’s dark waves blow across her face, her eyes bloodshot, and her body tightens. Folds in on herself like its the only armor she’s got left. It takes almost a minute for her to finally answer and, when she does, her voice trembles. “My parents are threatening to cut me off financially if I don’t file for custody. They’re the ones that want Elio. They’ve never even seen him.”

And there’s the truth Joe has always known in the back of his mind. She never really wanted anything to do with Elio at all.

“Are you still using?”

A tear tracks down her frozen cheek and the broken laugh that falls from her mouth chills Joe to his core. “Not everyone has been given the chances that Nico has. I hope you two consider yourselves lucky.”

Her fingers brush over his as he hands her the money in silence, Francesca turning her back on Joe. But, before she can disappear into the flurried whiteness, his hand catches her arm. She freezes as Joe tightens his grip, the skin around her wrist paling under the pressure as she turns back to meet his eyes. “I am not a violent man,” he says, voice calm and far steadier than he expects it to be, “but you need to understand something, Francesca. If you come near Nicky, if you come near Elio again, or have your parents try and contact them, I swear that I will make sure it’s the last time that happens.”

There’s a flash of justified fear in her eyes as she wrenches herself away, stumbling down the sidewalk.

Joe watches her go, watches her until he can no longer see her, and closes his eyes. Steadies himself to the pounding of blood in his head. There’s enough adrenaline running through his veins that he could run back to Corona and not even feel a thing. But the wind kicks up and the sun is hanging low in the sky already and all he wants to do is be home with Nicky and Elio, tucked in close between the two.

His stiff fingers dig out his phone again, a voicemail notification popping up when he checks the time.

“Joe, it’s Nicky. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up earlier, I was busy making Elio lunch. I thought about what you said, about us having a night together, and I think you’re right. I’ve been holding everything in and it feels so heavy right now. I feel like I’m barely hanging on. If you think it’s safe for Elio to stay with your friends, then I trust you. I know they’re as much your family as we are. I just—I miss you. I miss you sleeping next to me and watching you get Elio ready in the mornings. I miss it so much I feel like I’m missing half of myself. Wednesday night is fine. Thank you for always thinking of me. Ti amo.”

A small smile pulls on Joe’s face. 

He’s got a big night to plan.

~~~

“Remember, if you need anything or you want to come home, just tell Booker or Kiera or Nile and they can come bring you back to me and your dad, okay?”

Elio nods excitedly, nearly vibrating out of his skin, and ask, “Can I go upstairs and play with Julien now?!” Joe nods and can’t hold back the grin as the six year old dashes off up the stairs, racing behind Julien and Marcus.

“I think he’s going to be just fine,” Booker says, leaning against the doorway. “No wonder you’re so attached to him—kid seems like a dream. It’ll be hard to convince Kiera not to keep him.” Joe chuckles nervously, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and the older man’s brow furrows. “Damn, Joe, it’s just a date night. I know you and Nicky haven’t actually had one of those, but I’ve never seen you this nervous.”

“Just a big night,” he says with an off-handed shrug. “Just text me tomorrow when you’re on your way to drop off Elio, okay?”

“Sounds good.” Booker wraps in a tight hug and slaps him on the back. “Have fun tonight.”

He can barely contain his excitement as he heads back to the subway. Joe had wrapped the signed paperwork in a box, booked reservations at a nice Spanish restaurant out in Brooklyn, and had gotten them tickets to a movie. Everything was ready to make this the perfect night possible.

“Hey Nicky,” he says into his phone, calling the other man from the train station. “I just dropped Elio off at Booker’s house. He’s having a great time already; everyone loves him. I’m be home soon. Love you!”

Joe’s good mood deflates quickly though, the moment he gets into Nicky’s apartment, just after 6:30. There’s no sign of the Italian, other than his shoes and coat by the door. The bathroom door is shut tight, light flooding out from beneath the bottom. He can hear Nicky’s heavy, trembling breathing even over the fan running and Joe knocks on the door gently. “Nicky? You in there?”

“Y-Yeah,” a weak voice replies. “Just—Just g-gimme a m-minute.”

He sinks into one of the dining chairs, heart heavy in his chest as almost ten minutes goes by with no sign of Nicky emerging. Joe checks the time on his phone and calls, “Nicky, we gotta leave at seven if we want to make dinner on time!” The door creaks open and Nicky slips out of the bathroom, head down. Joe’s heart sinks when he sees the younger man’s flushed face and he can’t stop himself from asking, “Are you okay?”

Nicky shakes his head, his eyes red and swollen as he looks at Joe. His mouth opens and, for a minute, Joe thinks he’s going to say something, but suddenly Nicky’s shoulders shake and all that comes out is a broken sob.

“Fuck, come here,” he says, standing up and quickly wrapping Nicky in his arms. Nicky sags in his touch, burying his face in the warm space of Joe’s neck as the sobs wrack his body. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, hayati,” he hums, stroking over the other man’s short hair. “Just breathe, Nicky…”

“I’m s-sorry,” Nicky chokes, hands clenching in Joe’s shirt. “I know y-you have a whole n-night planned…”

“Forget the plans. Forget dinner and the movie,” Joe says, burying his nose into the younger man’s temple. “Neither of us are going to enjoy it if you’re like this, okay? Do you want to just stay home and order delivery? We can rent a movie and snuggle on my couch.” Nicky huffs out a weak, wet laugh and nods against his now-wet skin. As heavy as his heart is, there’s no way Joe would force the love of his life out in a state like this—even if he knows the end of the night will be better than this.

It takes a bit to calm Nicky down after they order Thai, showering him in gentle touches and well placed kisses until the tears stop and the Italian melts underneath Joe. “I’m sorry I ruined our date night,” Nicky pants as Joe sucks a mark into his collarbone. “I can pay you back for the tickets…” His blunt nails drag down Joe’s back, urging him closer. “F-Fuck, your mouth.”

“Stop worrying about the tickets and the fucking reservation,” Joe rasps, dragging his lips to meet Nicky’s mouth. He settles deeper in the warm vee of the other man’s legs, carding his fingers through Nicky’s hair. “Tonight is about you and me, about us. It’s about forgetting everything that’s happened, do you understand?” He kisses Nicky deeply, mouths and tongues moving together languidly. “Just let me love you.”

Nicky, much to Joe’s delight, is a puddle underneath him by the time their food comes.

Joe can’t help the contented smile that spreads across his face as the other man tucks himself in close, fork digging into the container of pad Thai noodles as Always Be My Maybe plays on the small flatscreen TV. He drags one of Nicky’s legs over his own, squeezing the inside of his thigh gently.

He can barely concentrate on the movie though, even with Nicky finally back in his arms. Every thought in Joe’s head is solely focused on the flat box sitting above them on his bed. He tries to think of a good time to bring it up between mouthfuls of fried rice, but each time Joe thinks he’s found enough courage, Nicky looks at him with those soft eyes, chewing on his lower lip to hold back a grin, and all those carefully laid plans go to waste.

His phone buzzes twice and when he glances at it, a smile crosses his face. 

It’s a text from Nile: ‘Someone had a little too much fun 😴’ and an accompanying picture of all of the boys sprawled out, watching a movie in the living room on sleeping bags and blankets, Booker passed out open-mouthed in the middle. Nicky lifts his head off his shoulder as Joe tilts the phone to him. “Seems like Elio’s having a good time,” Joe says, pressing his lips to the top of Nicky’s head.

Nicky’s hand tightens around his fork and his breath hitches enough to be noticeable. He sniffs a little and quickly drops his noodles on the coffee table, muttering, “I’ll—I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

He disappears before Joe can stop him, ducking his head and covering his mouth to keep from making noise.

The door shuts with a heavy click and Joe can no longer stand waiting a second longer.

Turning the movie off, he stands up and digs underneath his pillow for the box. For once, there is no nervousness in his heart. His hands do not shake and his breath and heartbeat come steady as the tide as he sits on the edge of the couch, waiting patiently for his love to return.

It takes almost fifteen minutes before Nicky slinks back into the living room, eyes rimmed with red again. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly, voice dying as he suddenly freezes, taking in the look on Joe’s face. There’s a flash of panic in his pale blue eyes—one Joe hasn’t seen since that Friday morning when Quynh had locked the door on them—and the Adam’s apple in Nicky’s throat bobs as he croaks, “What’s going on?”

Joe offers a gentle, reassuring smile and whispers, “It’s okay Nicky, it’s nothing bad, I promise. I just have something for you.”

His mouth goes dry as the younger man circles the coffee table and sits on the couch next to him, body stiff and tense as Nicky stares at the box. “What’s in there?” Nicky asks quietly, hands trembling as Joe passes it over.

“The best present I could think of getting you.”

Joe keeps his silence as Nicky slowly peels away the plain blue wrapping paper and takes the lid off the box. He watches the other man’s brows knit together as Nicky pulls the carefully folded court documents out. Nicky’s mouth falls open as he scans over the pages, flipping frantically to the signature pages. Tears spring up quickly, flooding over aquamarine irises and down his flushed cheeks as he looks up at Joe. “N-No…”

“This isn’t about me trying to rescue you,” Joe says, reaching a hand out to cup Nicky’s shaking jaw. “This is about me, and you, and Elio. I love you both so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That life doesn’t exist if we don’t have Elio with us.” The sharp bite of saltwater hits his own eyes as he gives Nicky a watery smile. “I used my prize money, all ten thousand dollars of it, to pay off Francesca in exchange for her signature on those papers.”

A broken noise falls from Nicky’s mouth. “You c-can’t.”

“I wanted to get us a new apartment. Wanted to take you two on a vacation back home to Italy. But then Francesca showed up and suddenly, we were going to lose Elio and none of that mattered.” Nicky is still staring at him in a terrible, overwhelming mix of wide-eyed shock and breathless wonder, tears steadily rolling down his cheeks. Like Joe had moved Heaven and earth for him—had forged an entire universe with his own two hands. “I wasn’t going to let her keep hurting you and Elio,” Joe whispers, brushing a thumb over the slick rise of the younger man’s cheekbone. “You two are my family now; I love you too much to let anything happen to you. If that meant fighting for you, for this, then I was going to fight with everything I had.”

The papers fall from Nicky’s shaking hands, fluttering to the floor as he surges forward and kisses Joe so hard he has to throw a hand back to keep from falling off the couch. Kisses him over and over and over again, eyes screwed shut as his breathing becomes heavy and unsteady.

Joe runs his fingertips over the back of Nicky’s neck and suddenly everything breaks.

The first sob tears from Nicky’s throat as they kiss and there’s nothing Joe can do to stop it—all he can do is allow Nicky to keep kissing him as the younger man keens against him, knowing this is what he needs. Joe runs his hands over Nicky’s trembling shoulders, his back, his hips, his thighs, soothing him as best he can until finally their kiss breaks and the other man gives into the overwhelming emotions and collapses against Joe’s chest.

“It’s okay, Nicky,” he whispers, grip tight as the first track of saltwater carves down his own cheek. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

It takes minutes, hours maybe, before Nicky’s terrible sobs settle into shaking breaths, his body sagging in Joe’s lap. “T-Thank you…” he chokes against Joe’s shoulder. “You h-have—you have n-no idea…” Nicky’s hands tangle in his curls as he kisses Joe frantically again. “I love you, I l-love you. G-God, I love you so m-much.”

He smoothes his hand over Nicky’s face, drags the younger man up into his lap, and holds him steady as their kiss deepens. “I love you too, Nicky,” Joe says, holding back a smile as they tip back onto the couch. “Now, are you sure you don’t want to go out and go see a movie? I think I still owe you cake from the night of the gallery exhibition.” Nicky pulls away with a wet laugh, their foreheads pressed together, and Joe has truly never felt happiness like this.

His mind floods back to the night of the gallery opening, when Nicky had told him that no amount of money or recognition was going to matter. That this was enough. And it was true for the both of them. Nicky was enough. Elio was enough. They could continue to struggle paycheck to paycheck, crammed in this tiny apartment, but as long as they were together, it wouldn’t matter the least to Joe. This is all he wants, all he needs, and now?

Now it’s finally a reality. Forever.

Chapter Text

“You’re really not going to tell me what you got Nile?”

Joe looks over at him, hands wrapped around Elio’s feet as he carries the six year old on his shoulders to the subway station. It’s the first nice weekend this spring—all the snow having melted two weeks ago—and they’re on the way to Brooklyn for Nile’s birthday party. “Lio picked it out so it’s up to him to tell you,” Joe says, looking up at Elio with a sly grin. “Right little man?”

“Mhmm!” the boy chirps happily. “And I’m not telling you, Papa. It’s a surprise.”

“You two are absolutely insufferable,” Nicky laughs, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

It’s been three months since Joe had given him the paperwork terminating Francesca’s rights to Elio, and he honestly hasn’t come down from cloud nine since. The moment the court dates were cancelled, the moment his home evaluation had been called off, Joe moved clothes and hair products across the hall and Nicky had never looked back.

“Well, do you at least have a plan on what we’re doing afterwards? How long does the party last?” he asks. “It’s not often Andy and Quynh let me have a whole day off.”

“Umm…late I think?” Joe says offhandedly as they head down the stairs at the station. “Maybe we can go downtown and do something?” They get to the turnstiles and Nicky helps Elio off the older man’s shoulders. “That sound like a plan?”

“Mmmm…maybe. Or maybe we could see if Elio could have another sleepover.” Nicky shoots Joe a quick wink, heart warming when he flushes pink in the apples of his cheeks. He had been too overwhelmed that night to let Joe take him apart the way he truly wanted, but Nicky had promised that the next time they found themselves alone, they would have a night worth remembering.

“I wanna have another sleepover! Julien taught me how to play chess last time I was at his house! I wanna beat him this time!” Elio says, bouncing to keep step with him. “Come on, Papa, pleeeeease?”

“Maybe when it’s not Nile’s birthday, okay Lio? I think her mom and Booker will have enough to deal with without adding you on top of a party.” Nicky squeezes the boy’s hand, holding tight as they go down the stairs. “But soon enough, okay? I promise.” Joe’s fingertips brush across the base of Nicky’s spine and a shiver runs through him like lightning. “Come on,” he says, “we’ll miss the train if we don’t hurry.”

The sun is shining bright by the time they get to Brooklyn. The birds are singing spring songs and Nicky feels an overwhelming sense of calm as Joe laces their fingers together, allowing Elio to run and skip ahead of them. He closes his eyes, basks in the warm light, and allows Joe to lead him from the station to the house in Bed-Stuy.

The party is already in full swing by the time they get there, music echoing from the backyard. “Come on, follow me,” Joe says, leading him and Elio through the unlocked brownstone onto the back patio. Nicky can’t hold back a smile when he watches his son run off with the other boys, chattering excitedly. “Alexandre is the oldest,” Joe whispers, pointing at the tallest boy. “Then Marcus and Julien. Julien’s just a year older than Elio.”

Nicky grins when he sees that the smallest boy—Julien, he remembers—is almost half a head taller than Elio, but it makes his heart swell to see his son getting along with other kids. It’s not often they can get together with people outside of school, so he knows Elio must be thrilled beyond words.

“And there’s the birthday girl!” Joe says, making him spin suddenly.

He recognizes Nile from the one or two times she had stopped into the store with Joe to visit him, but Nicky still shakes her hand awkwardly after handing over her gift. “Happy Birthday, Nile! Thank you so much for inviting us.”

Her painted red lips crack into a wide smile as she pulls Nicky into a tight hug. “I’m just glad you came!” Nile says before glancing at Joe. “Thank you so much for the gift! I gotta go find my mom and Booker but you guys make sure to get some food, okay?”

Joe’s arm drapes around his shoulder, warm and comforting and steady as the older man says, “Will do, Nile, thanks!” Nicky leans into his touch, humming contentedly as he closes his eyes. He shivers a little as Joe’s thumb brushes underneath his ear. “So, did you mean what you said about Elio having another sleepover soon?”

Nicky raises a single brow, rolling his head over to meet Joe’s dark eyes. “And if I am?”

“I’d say it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Joe pulls him into a deep kiss and Nicky can’t help but melt in his arms. If anyone would’ve told him six months ago that he would be this hopelessly devoted in love, he would’ve laughed in their faces. He’s never felt anything this right with anyone—has never felt this safe with another person having his heart. But then there’s Joe. Perfect Joe, who makes breakfast in the mornings, who picks up Elio from school, who holds him every night without letting go even once.

God, he’s never been loved like this.

Tangling his fingers through the other man’s dark curls, Nicky whispers, “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Joe’s mouth curls beneath his mustache and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I do. I promise.”

“Papa!” They pull away from each other and Nicky watches Elio come racing over, a bright, excited look in his eyes. “Papa, come meet Nile’s mom! Mr. Booker’s there too!” The six year old wraps his hand around Nicky’s, pulling hard. “Come on, Papa, let’s go!”

“Duty calls,” he says, shooting Joe a grin as Elio drags him off across the backyard toward Nile, an older black woman, and a tall white man who Nicky recognizes from pictures on Joe’s phone. Nicky can feel Joe close at his heels, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but when he glances over his shoulder, there’s nothing but pure joy on the older man’s face.

Elio lets him go the moment they approach the small group, beaming proudly as he glances at Joe quickly before looking over at the woman who Nicky assumes is Nile’s mom. “Hey Kiera, I want you to meet my Papa, Nicky!” the boy says, fidgeting excitedly. “And I would introduce you to my stepdad, Joe, but you already know him!”

Nicky holds his hand out, shaking Kiera’s quickly as he says, “It’s really nice to meet you; Elio talks about you all the—” He freezes though, when his mind catches up to his son’s words. His heart stops dead in his chest as a rush of ice floods through his veins. “Wait…”

The world spins as he turns around to find Joe on one knee in front of him, a soft smile on his face as he takes one of Nicky’s hands in both of his. “I know we’ve only known each six months, but there is no one else I would rather spend the rest of my life with,” Joe says, and there’s no way Nicky’s still breathing anymore. “I feel like I’ve found the other half of my soul in you, like I’m finally complete now that you love me.”

Tears rise to his eyes as Nicky covers his mouth with a trembling hand, shaking his head. “J-Joe…” he stammers, muffled into his palm.

“I was going to get you a ring, but I knew you would worry about how much it cost,” Joe says, making them both chuckle thickly, “so I decided to wait. But I didn’t want to wait to ask you this. Nicky, will you marry me?”

“SAY YES, PAPA!!” Elio screams in uncontrolled elation, tearing Nicky so suddenly out of his surprised stupor that he can’t do anything but laugh.

“S-Sì,” Nicky chokes, wiping his eyes as he nods frantically. “Sì, sì, lo farò! Yes!”

He’s shaking all over as Joe stumbles to his feet and pulls him into a kiss, both their faces wet with tears. Nicky can hear clapping and cheering behind him but it sounds far away, like none of this is truly happening and they’re simply in a perfect dream. Joe cups the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and everything else melts away.

Nicky feels dizzy beyond belief when he finally pulls away, looking back at the crowd. He stumbles a little when Elio bulldozes into him with a running hug, scooping the six year old up in his trembling arms. “Did you know about all this?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course I did, Papa!” Elio giggles, cheeks flushed with delight. “Joe took me out for ice cream last month and made sure it was okay with me! Even Auntie Quynh and Zizi were in on it too!” Nicky blinks bewilderedly, eyes following the six year old’s finger as he points to the crowd. Tears flood his eyes again when he sees the two older woman standing next to Nile and Sophie, wide grins on their faces as they wave. He laughs when Elio turns his face with both hands and carefully wipes the salty tracks from his cheeks. His son’s eyes are soft and full of love as he says, “And you used to tell me that you weren’t going to get married soon.”

Nicky hugs him close, pressing their foreheads together as he says, “I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“Let’s get this party started!” Booker shouts over the chattering crowd, the music suddenly turning up loud. “My best friend’s getting fucking MARRIED!” He flinches when Kiera reaches up to smack him on the back of the head and Nicky basks in the bright, ringing laugh that Joe lets out beside him.

He sets Elio down when Nile comes rushing over, enveloping both him and Joe in a hug. “Congrats, you guys, I’m so happy for you!!” she says, squeezing them tight.

“I’m so sorry Joe decide to ruin your birthday party like this!” Nicky exclaims, a little guilt clouding the joy coursing through his veins. “If I would have known he was doing this, I would’ve—”

“Nicky, Nile’s birthday isn’t until July,” Joe reassures, kissing him on the temple.

“So this was all just a—” Nicky gasps, narrowing his eyes and shoving the older man in the chest. “You are all in so much trouble! I bet there isn’t even anything in the box we brought!” Joe shakes his head, a sly grin on his face, and Nicky, somehow, falls even more in love with him. “Dio santo, you need to go keep Elio busy, Joe, before I decide not to marry you after all!” he says, no venom in his voice whatsoever.

Joe leans in and kisses him quickly, hiding a grin against Nicky’s mouth, before turning to Nile. “Come on, my favorite co-conspirator! Let’s dance.”

Nicky watches them go, heart so swollen with fondness and love that it almost bubbles up his throat and spills from his tongue. He leans back on one of the tables, finally taking his weight off his still-trembling legs, and watches Joe take Elio’s hand, spinning the boy around and dancing without shame—both of their smiles so infectious that Nicky can barely fight back a grin off his own.

The table shifts a little as Andy takes a spot next to him, bumping their shoulders together. “You did good, kid,” she says as ‘Come and Get Your Love’ begins to play over the speakers. “I’m really fucking proud of you.”

“We both are,” Quynh says, circling around to stand at his other side. She squeezes his hand gently. “Even if we’re a little sad our baby’s growing up.”

“Oh stop it, darling,” Andy laughs. “You’re going to make Nicky feel bad about enjoying his engagement party!” She drags Nicky away from her wife and shoves him toward the patio. “Now, go dance with your future husband!”

Nicky truly doesn’t need to be told twice.

Joe takes the opportunity to sweep him into his arms, spinning him around once before dipping Nicky in dramatic kiss worthy of the movies. But the movies can’t compare to how adored he is, how deeply he has fallen. There are catcalls and whooping but all Nicky can see is the perfect face of the man he loves illuminated by the colors of the setting sun, the lights illuminating in the dark night sky of Joe’s eyes.

He pulls Joe into another kiss and still cannot believe how blessed he is.

~~~

They make no quick plans for a wedding.

For the first two months, at least.

Until one warm Friday evening at the beginning of June when Elio is busy with homework at the table and Joe has been put on sauce watch in the kitchen, Nicky’s favorite spoon in one hand. He watches the thick red liquid gently bubble away, so focused that he barely notices Nicky’s arms snaking around his waist. He hums gently as the younger man tucks his chin over his shoulder and mutters, “I think it’s almost done, but I’m not sure.”

Nicky’s lips brush over the shell of his ear, making him shiver happily. “Do you wanna get married?” he whispers, pressing his body up close to Joe’s.

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re already engaged.” Nicky’s nails scratch gently over the thin strip of stomach where Joe’s shirt has ridden up in the front and he makes a discontented noise in the back of his throat. Joe tilts his head back to look the other man in the eyes, furrowing his brow. “Wait, what, now?”

Nicky shrugs nonchalantly and makes a cloy face. “Maybe…” the Italian says, his pale blue eyes shining with mischief. “Unless you’re doing anything else next weekend?”

Joe laughs, turning in his fiancé’s arms and leaning them both back against the counter. “You really want to get married now?” he asks, tucking his fingertips in the Nicky’s back pockets. “Go to the courthouse and elope?”

“Think about it,” Nicky hums quietly, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “You, me, and Elio. Andy and Quynh, Sophie, Nile and Booker and Kiera and the boys, and that’s it. Just our families and nobody else. Nobody we’re forced to invite out of sheer obligation.” There’s a hesitant, almost worried smile on his face as he runs his hands up Joe’s abdomen and chest. “Plus, we could have it in Booker and Kiera’s backyard—Quynh’s weirdly ordained to perform weddings.”

“And just how long have you been planning this?”

“A week, give or take.” Nicky bats his eyelashes, a slight flush creeping on his cheeks as he asks, “So what do you say? Wanna get married?”

Joe pulls the younger man closer, hips and chests flush, and can’t bear the thought of not kissing Nicky for a single second longer. Their lips move together with practiced ease, Nicky’s tongue slipping boldly between his lips for a brief moment before Joe breaks the kiss in breathless wonder. He feels weightless, feels golden, feels a thousand feet tall as he whispers, “Of course I want to marry you. Now, tomorrow, next weekend, ten years from now—it wouldn’t matter as long as you’re by my side.”

A gentle, barely-there smile pulls at Nicky’s face before his face suddenly falls and his eyes go wide. “Cazzo! The sauce!!”

Over the next week, it’s a race to get what little preparations they have to make done, including telling an over-enthusiastic Elio about the upcoming wedding, filling out paperwork at City Hall on Nicky’s day off, and calling and texting their limited guest list.

However—on the day of—Joe is so nervous he can barely breathe.

“Joe, I swear, if you pace around this apartment one more time…”

“I’ve been up since 4am, Nicky, and have had like, six cups of coffee this morning,” he complains, smoothing down his tie for what must be the sixteenth time since he put it on ten minutes ago.

“I know you’ve been up since 4am because I had to listen to you be up since 4am,” Nicky says, sitting on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s not like we’re getting married at a mosque, or even City Hall.” They had settled with a gazebo at the park after a few hours of deliberation, barely a stone’s throw from where they had picnicked the night Joe first met Elio. “Besides, it’s only our family coming.”

Joe stops fidgeting for a moment and sighs. “I’m just…” He scrubs his hand over his mouth, trying to find the words. “I’m worried that we’re rushing things.”

Nicky tenses a little, brow furrowing. “You’re telling me this now? Twenty minutes before we’re supposed to meet everyone at the park?!”

“No, shit, not like that!” he says quickly. “I just mean…I’m worried that this isn’t going to be what you want in five years. I don’t plan on marrying anyone else and I want this to be good the first time. What if you decide that you wanted a big church wedding after we elope?” He fidgets with his tie again, twisting the end between his fingers as he stares at the floor. “I just don’t want today to be happening just because we’re broke.”

“Joe…” Nicky says his name so softly that his heart almost plummets straight through his chest and there’s no way that Joe can avoid his eyes now. “Joe, amore mio, come here…” He holds out a hand and Joe kneels between his feet, safe in the warm harbor of Nicky’s body. The younger man smoothes his worn palms over his curls and kisses him tenderly enough to make Joe’s head spin. “I would have married you the day after you brought home that paperwork—in my jeans and t-shirt, in the rain, at the store, however—if you had asked me. I don’t want everything to be perfect. I just want you.”

He nods shakily, kissing Nicky again before pressing his lips to the rabbiting pulse point at the inside of the other man’s wrist. “Okay,” Joe breathes, trying not to let it show how deeply those words have buried inside his chest. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The park is shining bright in the sun, birds singing in the warm summer breeze, and Nicky never lets go of his hand the entire time it takes for them to approach the group gathered in front of the gazebo.

Elio spots them first, spinning around on Nile’s hand, his curls bouncing freely. It had taken a little bit of convincing both father and son to let Joe handle the six year old’s hair, but the moment Elio had come out of the bathroom, curls spiraling in perfect tendrils for the first time, Joe knew there was no going back. The boy’s eyes go wide in excitement as a grin splits his freckled face. “They’re here! They’re here!” he shouts, letting go of Nile’s hand and tearing off down the path. “Papa! Joe!”

“Ooof,” he says, catching Elio under one arm and hauling him up onto one hip. “I gotta stop letting your dad feed you so much or I won’t be able to carry you much longer.”

Nicky’s hand squeezes his as the six year old laughs, hugging his arms tight around Joe’s neck. “You gotta carry me forever, even when I’m bigger than you. You promised me!” Elio teases.

“That I did, little man,” Joe says gently, all the nervousness in his body suddenly washing away. “Now come on, I think you’ve got some Best Man duties to fulfill.”

It should be a foreign feeling—giving himself over so freely to Nicky and Elio, but there’s nothing Joe would rather do. Without question, without fault, without a second thought, this was the family that he was meant to find.

Joe sets Elio down when he sees his sister’s smiling face next to Booker, heart thudding against his chest when he sees a flash of nervousness in her eyes. “Sophie, is everything—”

“Yusuf…”

All of the air rushes out of his lungs when Booker steps out from Sophie’s side, revealing the woman behind him as he meets his mother’s eyes for the first time in over five years. His hand clenches tight around Nicky’s as Joe stares at her numbly. Her hair has begun to go grey at her temples from where he can see through her loosely draped headscarf and there are wrinkles around the corners of her eyes that he doesn’t remember. But she’s here. She’s here and she’s trying to smile just to keep from crying and Joe has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do.

“Does Baba know you’re here?” he whispers, still too stunned to move or breathe.

His mother shakes her head. “No,” she says, voice thick with an accent she never lost no matter how hard she tried. “Your father thinks Sophie and I are out shopping.”

Joe nods shakily, glancing at his sister’s tense face. He tries to unclench his jaw with little avail, and says, “So that’s it? You just…you just show up at my wedding? After five years of refusing to speak to me?”

“Joe…” Nicky hums softly, reassuringly, and it takes all of his power to relax his grip on the younger man’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Yusuf,” his mother says, a single tear streaming down her cheek. “I know I haven’t been kind to you after you told us how you are, but when Safiya told me you were marrying this boy, that you were going to have a son through marriage, she said it was the last chance I would have to speak to you.”

He finally draws a deep breath into his stunted lungs and swallows thickly. “Mama, this isn’t going to change anything, not right now,” Joe says firmly. “You and Baba told me that all of this was just going to be a phase, that I would find the right girl and settle down, but it’s not. I’m still gay. I’m still me. And I’m choosing Nicky now and I would choose him a thousand times over again if I could. You need to understand that.”

She nods, mouth pressing thin. “I do.”

“You can stay, but I don’t want you coming to the reception afterwards. It’s for family only.” He can feel Nicky’s eyes on him but this is the boundary Joe is setting down. One he’s not going to back down from. “You can come over to our apartment for dinner sometime next week so we can all talk, and you can get to know Nicky and Elio and me, because Allah knows you haven’t said a single word to me in five years.”

His mother looks a little heartbroken at the suggestion of having to leave, but there’s no fight in her as her shoulders sag. “As you wish, Yusuf. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Come on, Mama,” Sophie says carefully, taking their mother’s arm in her own. “We need to go wait with the others.” She raises an eyebrow at Joe and mouths, ‘Are you okay?’, relaxing a little when he nods.

He watches them walk away and immediately turns to Nicky. “Did you know she was coming?”

Nicky shakes his head and looks as shaken up as Joe feels. “No, no, I knew you invited Sophie, but your sister didn’t say anything to me about your mother coming.” He pulls his hand out of Joe’s grip, blood rushing back to whitened skin, and smoothes his fingertips over Joe’s heaving chest. “I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just—” Tears well up in his eyes and suddenly there’s nothing else he can say. He knows Nicky understands this pain so deeply, of being isolated and estranged from their parents, and Joe is so relieved when the other man just nods in understanding.

Joe flinches when Booker touches his shoulder, a sympathetic smile on the Frenchman’s face. “Luckily for you, Kiera and I made sure to have the bar stocked well before the reception tonight. You look like you’re going to need a drink after this.” Joe huffs out an involuntarily laugh and the mood suddenly doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. “Come on, let’s go get you two lovebirds hitched.”

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze in the gazebo even with the small group—everyone tucked in tight with one another, Elio at Nicky’s side and Booker at Joe’s with Quynh standing on a tomato crate between the two of them—but Joe honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m so glad everyone could make it out here today,” Quynh says, almost shaking with excitement. “We are gathered to celebrate Joe and Nicky as they elope in the most befitting fashion for them.” 

There are scattered laughs and all Joe can see is Nicky’s wonderful smile beaming back at him.

“Now, because we all care about the party much more than this little formality, we’re going to keep it quick. Joe, Nicky, you had approximately a week to write these vows so they better be good, okay?” Quynh shoots him a wink when happy tears start to well up in Nicky’s eyes before they’ve even gotten started. “We entrusted a six year old with the rings, so—”

“Auntie Quynh, I’m almost seven!” Elio pipes up from Nicky’s side.

She waves him off, muttering quick Vietnamese to him. “Shush, Elio, just make sure you don’t drop them!” Joe laughs as Nicky’s face scrunches up, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, and he cannot wait to marry this man. “Joe, I’m going to let you go first so we can give Nicky a little time to breathe, okay?”

He nods, grinning. “Okay, okay.” Joe takes the other man’s hands, the steady weight and warmth of Nicky’s fingers twisting with his own the only reassurance he needs for this to be absolutely real. “Nicky, I know we didn’t have a perfect moment when we first met, you angrily helping me get my couch unstuck from the stairs, but every moment after that has been like a dream to me. I look at you and I can’t even believe you’re real. Sometimes I think I’m dreaming. But then you touch me and sing to me and tell me you love me and I know I have to be awake because I can’t even begin to dream up someone as wonderful, funny, and, most importantly, as kind as you. You mean everything to me, more than I know, more than you know, more than anyone alive knows, and I can’t wait to start the next chapter of my life with you.”

A broken, happy sound falls out of Nicky’s mouth, more of a sob than a laugh and Joe’s heart overflows when Nicky pulls his hands away to wipe his own eyes, mumbling, “I’m really marrying an incurable romantic, aren’t I?”

“I told you he was wonderful,” Quynh says, pulling a tissue out of her dress pocket and handing it to the younger man. “And you refused to believe me.”

Joe gives Nicky a moment to compose himself and tries not to start crying tears of his own when he watches his fiancé fumble a notecard out of his pocket. “I…ummm…I was worried I was going to forget something,” Nicky mumbles nervously before looking down at the card. He takes a deep breath and suddenly puts the card away, reaching for Joe. “I don’t know what I could say to come close to what you just said, but I’m going to do my best. Joe, I don’t understand how or why God blessed me with you, but I feel so incredibly lucky in ways you can’t imagine. You showed up and our two winding paths suddenly became one without a single misplaced step. You love me and you love Elio and, more importantly, you are here for us. You love us so unselfishly that I drown in it sometimes. I’ve never felt more safe, more seen, with anyone in my life before and when I look at you, Joe? I am home.”

A tear rolls down Nicky’s cheek, and Joe brushes it away sweetly, making the other man smile wetly.

“Awww, Papa…” Elio says quietly, cutting through the silence. “You’re so happy!”

Everyone bursts into laughter and Nicky crouches down to pull Elio in for a quick hug, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re right, Lio, I am very happy. Now, can I have the rings?” The six year old nods excitedly and fishes them out of his pocket, handing them over with more care than Joe has seen him do almost anything. “Thank you, topolino,” Nicky says, kissing Elio’s perfectly freckled cheek one more time before standing back up and handing Joe one of the rings.

“Joe, do you take Nicky to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Quynh asks, as he slips the ring onto Nicky’s finger.

“I do.”

“And Nicky, my darling, do you—”

“Sì, sì, yes I do,” Nicky stammers, cutting her off as he takes Joe’s hand and slips the simple silver, pawnshop-bought band on his finger. He glances at Quynh nervously, face apologetic through his uncontainable joy. “Sorry.”

Quynh reaches out and ruffles his hair, tugging one strand to fall down over Nicky’s forehead. “Don’t interrupt me again because I’m just about to get to the good part,” she says, a mischievous smile on her face. “Now, by the absolutely misguided power New York has vested in me, I would like to pronounce you two my favorite newlyweds in all of Queens. Nicky, Joe, you may—”

Joe stumbles a little as Nicky suddenly grabs his face, kissing him with the same breathless excitement that had been at their first kiss in the hallway of their apartment building. His eyes flutter closed as his hands wrap around Nicky’s back, holding both of them steady as cheering erupts around them. His head spins and the ground goes out from underneath him, but Nicky is the only tether to this universe that Joe will ever need or want.

Half an hour later, they’re on their way to Brooklyn, everyone crammed in the same subway car, but Joe can’t do anything but stare at his husband.

His husband.

As if he could ever imagine something so perfect.

Joe can hear Nile and Booker arguing about drinking games already, Kiera, Andy, and Quynh chattering away about food and dessert delivery while the boys laugh together in the seats across from them. But all of that fades away when Nicky reaches across the seat and laces their hands together, a quiet, knowing smile passing between the two of them.

“I love you,” Nicky whispers, barely audible over the chaos on the train, but Joe hears him anyway. “I love you so much.”

Joe tangles his fingers through his hair and pulls him into a deep kiss, their knees and feet bumping together. The train rattles into another station and the party starts around them before they even get to Brooklyn and none of that matters.

This, and only this.

~~~

“Nicky, are you sure we’re going to be able to afford this place?”

The elevator creaks to a stop on the third floor of the building and Nicky shoots him an unimpressed look. “I’ve gone over the budget approximately eight times and yes, we can afford this place. It’s only $120 more a month than what we were paying before.”

The building is a block and a half down from their current one, closer to Elio’s school but farther away from the store, and all Joe knows is that there’s going to be more space and they finally won’t have to keep paying for two studio apartments. They’ve got the money, he tells himself, especially after New Citizen’s offered him a part time position as a community outreach coordinator, a position he wasn’t about to say no to, but it still worries him.

“Come on, Joe, I wanna see my new bedroom!” Elio says, grabbing Joe’s arm with a sweater-covered hand. “I’ve never gotten my own bedroom before!”

“Consider it a belated birthday present from me and your dad,” he says, shoving the now-seven year old forward. He glances at Nicky as the Italian digs the keys out of his bag. “And we’ve signed all the stuff? This is just a final walkthrough?”

“Mhmm, the super said we could do any extra painting or cleaning before we move in on the first, if we want. They’re not picky about paint colors as long as we paint it white before we move out.”

“No more moving,” Joe groans. “I feel like I’ve just finished unpacking from the last time I moved.”

Nicky’s mouth pulls into a half-grin as he unlocks the front door. “The more you complain, the more boxes I’m going to make you pack,” he says, voice almost cloyingly sweet as they all step over the threshold.

Compared to the shoebox sized apartment they’ve been sharing, this seems like a fucking mansion. The old windows are almost floor to ceiling, letting in so much natural light in that all Joe can imagine is the color mixing he’s going to be able to do here. Elio runs off, thumping into the bedroom first. “Is this my room?!” he shouts, voice echoing off the empty walls and wood floors.

“No, that’s for me and Joe!” Nicky says as the boy returns, pointing to the den off the living room. “There’s no doors but we can get you a curtain to make it more private.”

Elio races into the small 6’x7’ foot room and his eyes go wide, his eager smile showing off a couple new missing teeth. “This part is all mine?!” He jump-skips a little when Nicky nods, impatient ‘thank you!’s falling from his mouth before anyone can stop them.

Joe shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around the rest of the space. It’s got a slightly bigger kitchen than their last apartment, and an actual oven, which he knows Nicky is looking forward to. Room for another dining chair so they can finally stop eating in shifts at the table like they’re used to. 

But more importantly, it’s theirs. Somewhere that they’ve all made a home of together.

He watches Nicky putter around the kitchen, inspecting the upper and lower cabinets. Nicky pulls at the drawer next to the sink and Joe’s brow furrows as the wood rattles but the drawer doesn’t budge an inch. “Cazzo,” the other man swears under his breath.

“Papa, I heard that!” Elio calls from across the apartment, having disappeared into the bathroom.

“Yes, yes, I know, language,” he mutters, looking over his shoulder at Joe. “I can’t get it open.”

“Is it just stuck?”

“I don’t know, maybe you can get it? I don’t really want to have to call the super and have her come fix something before we even get a chance to move in,” Nicky says, stepping back out of the kitchen as Joe takes his place in front of the sink.

He jiggles the drawer a little and pulls once, the inner rails squeaking a little from disuse. “I think it just needs a little oiling,” Joe mumbles, pulling again with a hard tug. The drawer finally pulls free and he has to catch it for a second before it comes out completely, along with the papers inside. “Shit, Nicky! Someone left something behind!”

“What is?”

“I don’t know, I think it might be a…”

He flips the papers over and his eyes scan over the words on the paper. It takes him a second, to realize what they are. But then he sees the word, ‘Adoption’, at the top and it floods into his brain all at once, like the breaking of a dam. It’s all filled out in Nicky’s scratchy handwriting, along with the name change documents underneath.

‘Elio al-Kaysani’

Tears bite at his eyes and Joe is glued to the spot on the floor. They hadn’t really talked about Nicky changing his last name before the wedding and he had just assumed that that wasn’t going to be something that was worth the extra hassle, but Nicky’s name is there alongside his own on all the paperwork as, ‘Nicolò al-Kaysani’, the younger man having secretly changed it without Joe’s knowledge.

“N-Nicky?” he chokes, voice cracking weakly as Joe tightens his grip on the papers. “L-Lio?”

“Did you get it open?” a calm voice asks from behind his back.

He turns around on numb feet and his heart stops dead in his chest. Nicky and Elio are standing side by side, discarding their sweaters and jackets to reveal matching black t-shirts underneath, white letters printed with ‘Papa’ and ‘Lio’ on the fronts. Joe’s breath comes in fast and frantic gasps as he tries not to pass out.

“We got you one too!” Elio says, nothing but smiles as he holds out another shirt with matching lettering.

‘Baba’

Joe’s vision swims as he looks at Nicky, his husband shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “I figured, since we’ve been making things official…” Joe’s hand flies to his mouth, muffling a sharp, sobbing noise that comes out of his mouth, all composure he had flying out the window. Nicky’s face falls as he rushes forward. “Oh no, Joe, it’s okay!”

“Baba, don’t cry!” Elio says, tugging at his arm. “It’s just a t-shirt!”

He laughs wetly despite himself, picking the boy up and holding him so tight that Elio starts to squirm in protest. “It is so much more than a shirt, little man,” Joe says, Nicky’s warm hand brushing over his wet cheek as he sniffs weakly. “So much more.”

The seven year old’s green eyes seem to glow with excitement as he pulls back enough to look Joe in the face. “You know, everyone at school already knows I have the best Papa,” Elio says, reaching out to wipe another tear away before it goes any further down Joe’s face. “They’re gonna be really jealous when they find out I have TWO best dads now.”

The waterworks start again and Joe has to take a couple deep breaths to keep from falling apart completely. “I am going to be the best Baba ever,” he says, pressing his forehead to Elio’s.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Nicky’s fingers slip in between his, their hands holding fast as the younger man kisses both their cheeks in quick succession. “Come on, Joe. Go change into your t-shirt and we’ll go out to eat,” Nicky says, all but glowing with happiness when Joe turns to him. “I think this is cause for celebration.”

Elio’s fingers twist absentmindedly Joe’s curls as the boy rests his cheek on his shoulder, allowing him to lean over and kiss Nicky. “I love you,” Joe whispers against his husband’s—his husband’s—growing smile. “You have no idea how much this means to me, Nicky.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Elio wriggles out of his grip and jumps down to the floor, tearing off across the living room. “Come on, Papa! I’ll race you downstairs!”

Nicky’s fingers slip free as he playfully growls, “Oh no you don’t, Lio,” and hurries behind the seven year old as Elio throws the front door open, their quick footsteps disappearing down the hallway. Joe huffs out a breathless laugh, thumb tracing over the word ‘Baba’ on the t-shirt before he pulls his own shirt off.

The letters cover his heart like a badge of honor as it hammers away high in his chest. He takes one last look at the paperwork before folding it up in his pocket and grabbing the keys off the countertop. Laughter floats in through the open window and, when Joe looks down to the front of the street, he can see Nicky crouched in front of Elio on the sidewalk, gesticulating with his hands in a way that only comes when he tells stories in Italian.

A smile crosses Joe’s face as he watches them for a moment, basking in the gloriously soft epilogue he has found himself in.

But a moment without them is a moment too long and he finds himself locking the door before he knows it—leaving their blank book of a new home behind, patiently waiting for the rest of their story to be written there.

After all, they’d be back soon.