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Nick’s never had trouble sleeping anywhere – in fact, he’d once fallen asleep with his head resting on an ottoman during a baby shower he was meant to be hosting. But now he’s four hours into a seven hour flight, and he hasn’t even closed his eyes once.
He’s been trying to tell himself his nerves are just a result of two of his best friends getting engaged. And to be fair, he has had a fair amount of butterflies throughout the engagement process. When Ian had first showed him the ring, fumbling to get it out of his pocket and admitting he was more nervous about telling Nick than he was about the actual proposal. When he was sat in his kitchen, sliding his phone around the counter, waiting to hear how it went. When Ian sent three rows full rows of the ring emoji to the group WhatsApp to let them know she’d said yes. When Aimee had finally called him, nearly in tears, to tell him quickly before she called her parents. And even later, when Aimee texted him a picture of her newly adorned hand with a message that said: sorry to be the one to break the if we’re both not married by 35 pact, love. will still build a spinster loft with you.
But Nick knows that the knots presently in his stomach probably have more to do with the text he sent right before takeoff. He meant to tell Harry that he’d be coming to New York as soon as he’d found out, especially since the trip was already so last minute. But he knows that Harry’s “America life” - for lack of a better word – is different from the life that Nick is a part of. For one, America has a handful of Azoffs and a leggy blonde that Harry’s never mentioned to Nick before.
He’s never been intimidated by Harry having other friends, but the last time Harry came home, it just felt like they never quite slid back into their usual routine. Sure, they still got pissed and watched Gogglebox – and when Nick told Harry about his idea for a spin-off show where you watch people watch Gogglebox, Harry even let out one of those barks of laughter that surprise him into slapping a hand over his mouth. But they watched from their respective ends of the couch, with Pig curled up between them. Harry didn’t lean over and press his face into Nick’s neck – he didn’t even stretch out and put his legs in Nick’s lap.
So Nick found reasons to wait – Harry was in LA so he wasn’t awake yet, Harry was busy at rehearsals, Harry was walking around Central Park laughing and eating roast nuts with Jeff, Harry had given his coat to Nadine so he was walking around Soho in a cropped fur coat carrying takeaway. Nick waited until he was on the plane, when he was faced with seven hours of airplane mode and two and half days of only being able to use his phone where there’s Wi-Fi – which is to say that he waited until it was impossible to wait anymore.
He thought it would be less terrifying to text Harry his travel plans and hotel info when it would be impossible for him to see Harry’s response, or if Harry even responded. But turns out, the plan’s just left Nick wringing his hands and anxiously watching every show in the plane catalogue that features a Kardashian.
His panic only mounts when the flight ends. At the luggage carousel, he briefly considers paying $4.95 for twenty minutes of Internet to see if there’s a message from Harry – he stops midway through filling out his credit card number when he remembers that there’s a good chance Harry hasn’t answered. It’s early in the morning, and maybe Harry hadn’t checked his phone before he’d gone to sleep, or maybe he did but had other plans.
In the taxi, he feels a bit tired and emotional about the entire thing. He’s not sure exactly how their lives became so interconnected, but here he is sat in the back of a taxi with a pillow that still smells faintly of Harry’s shampoo and a suitcase that probably holds more of Harry’s clothes than his own.
By the time he’s sorted out which American bills are which to pay the driver, he’s resigned himself to going to sleep for a few hours and worrying about it in the morning. And by the time he walks up to the check-in desk, he’s almost convinced himself that it doesn’t matter all that much to him – that he could just come to New York, go to the engagement party, and go back home for Christmas, all without seeing Harry.
He’s pulled out of his compensatory monologue, however, by the man behind the desk sliding four small cards toward him, “You’ve had a few messages, Mr. Grimshaw.”
Nick’s sure he can feel his actual heart in his actual throat as he slides them closer. The first one is time stamped before midnight, which means Harry called almost immediately after Nick had sent the text. It reads: “Nick – I know you’re getting in early in the morning and that your phone won’t work for calls here, but call me tomorrow – Harry.” The second message is from just before five in the morning: “Not sure exactly what time you’re getting in, but I guess it’s not yet.” The third is from only a few minutes later: “In the last one I forgot to say call me when you get in, sorry.” Nick can feel his mouth stretching into a smile because he can almost hear Harry’s voice – low and slow and apologetic – speaking the words in his head.
The final message is from 5:56AM, so only about twenty minutes ago, and it says: “Sorry to call again, but I wanted to make sure I saw you. I’m in room 1456. Just call or come up whenever, I guess. Sorry again.”
Nick is full-on grinning now because his eight hours of worrying have apparently been for nothing. Because Harry is here in this building and wants to see him. It takes ages to figure out which corridor Harry’s room is in, and when Nick finally knocks, his stomach is still in knots, but they’re more from excitement than from nerves.
When Harry opens the door, his hair is sticking up from every angle, and he’s only wearing pants. He’s softer and more beautiful than Nick had even hoped for, and he’s pulling the door open wider and greeting Nick with a sleepy smile, “Welcome to America.”
Before Nick can respond, Harry pulls him into a hug and then tugs his arm to lead him to the bed. The blankets are already a tangled mess because Harry can only fall asleep if he wraps himself into a tangle of blankets and then extricates his limbs from the nest one by one – it doesn’t make any sense and it makes him nearly impossible to sleep next to, but the only feeling Nick can muster right now is fond.
Harry already has one leg back under the blankets when he pauses, “Sorry if you don’t want – I mean, if you want to sleep in your room, you can – you don’t have to – I mean.”
But Nick is already kicking his shoes off and wiggling out of his jeans. He suddenly feels heavy with sleep, and there’s nothing he wants more than to lay down next to Harry, even if it means that he’ll wake up trapped in his limbs or stuck under his sweaty body.
“Budge up, then,” Nick says, climbing into bed. Harry smiles and scoots over – though not all the way to the other side of the bed, Nick notes happily.
He slides over, so his body is next to Harry’s, and he’s not sure he’s ever been happier to feel the warmth of Harry’s back against his chest or to have a faceful of Harry’s unruly hair. He presses a quick kiss to the back of Harry’s neck, and Harry sighs and relaxes his shoulders even further.
Nick wants to stay awake, to be surrounded by how Harry smells and feels and sounds. He wants to stay up and think contented thoughts about how he knows Harry always has a place for him no matter where he is or what he’s doing, but before he can even put words to how happy he is, he’s being lulled to sleep by the slow rise and fall of Harry’s breathing.