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Nicky is tired. He, as a person in possession of a Ph.D, a husband with a Ph.D, an associate professorship, and a safe space sticker on his office door, has been tired for perhaps the last 10 years. However, he had not known true exhaustion until they brought Leo home from the hospital.
Crying, Nicky expected. Vomiting. Pooping. Being terrifyingly tiny. Not sleeping. What he did not expect, however, was that when Leo did sleep, he would be too busy obsessively listening to (and sometimes watching) the baby monitor to sleep himself. Joe was a heavy sleeper, was the thing. Always. And Nicky was just so tired. So what if they were both asleep, and both slow to wake? Nicky has no idea what he thinks might happen. Just something bad.
Now, Leo has been asleep for an hour, and he’s likely to be down for another two, max, but Nicky can. Not. Sleep. He keeps tossing and turning, and Joe keeps making worried noises in his sleep, and if one of them doesn’t get a few solid hours, they are absolutely doomed.
With a sigh, Nicky rolls to his feet. He grabs his phone, turns on the baby monitor app just to make sure, and heads out to the back deck of their apartment. Maybe walking will help. At the very least, it will keep him from disturbing Joe.
Slowly, carefully, he closes the back door. He leans against it and groans.
“Rough night with the little guy?”
Nicky snaps his head to the right, startled. “Oh,” he says, relieved. “Hello, Booker.”
Booker. On his side of the deck, where he’s sat to smoke and look handsome and distant in the moonlight every night of the four years Nicky and Joe have lived next to him. Nicky sighs. He doesn’t know how he’s going to keep his feelings in check, his desire to hold Booker, to kiss his face and take his hand and ask him to please come home to Nicky and Joe and never leave. He’s just so tired.
“Hi, Nicky,” Booker says with a grin. He taps his fingers against the arm of his porch swing. “You’re so fucking out of it, aren’t you?”
“Well, I was just in full panic mode because you’re sitting exactly where you’re supposed to be, so. Perhaps,” Nicky admits.
“The only good thing about faculty housing is this deck and getting to share it with Joe and you,” Booker says. He keeps tapping out the same rhythm. “I mean, instead of some STEM asshole. I assume Joe’s sleeping the sleep of the dead?” Booker asks with a grin.
“You know how he is,” Nicky says.
And Booker does, because he and Joe co-teach often enough that Joe’s passed out grading on Booker’s couch at least three times every one of the past six semesters, and Booker is too much of a soft touch to shake him awake and haul him next door.
Booker laughs. “I once turned the tv up louder and louder just to see how long it would take to wake him up, and I had to call it because it was too loud for me.”
“That’s our Joe,” Nicky says fondly.
Booker smiles, but he has that faraway look he gets sometimes. That’s just how Booker is, Nicky thinks. Right next door, but a universe away. Booker taps his fingers against the swing again. “Care to sit?” he asks, gesturing at the empty spot next to him.
Nicky hesitates, looking in Booker’s other hand for a cigarette, for the reason he has to say no, for the reason they haven’t had Booker over since Leo was born, but it’s not there. “Oh. Sure.”
He more or less stumbles across the deck and collapses next to Booker.
Booker casually slings his arm around Nicky, the way he usually does to Joe. Nicky sighs and sinks back into the weight of it. Booker is warm and close, and Nicky’s exhausted brain likes that. From this distance, he can hear Booker’s breathing, can smell what he thinks is his shampoo. He wants to be this close to Booker forever. He wants Joe on his other side, reaching across him to hold Booker’s hand.
“You smell good,” Nicky says before he can stop himself, because Booker does.
“Thanks?” Booker says with a good-natured laugh.
“No, I mean, you smell good,” Nicky says, confused.
He leans in closer, burying his face in Booker’s shoulder and breathes in. He smells the clean scent of detergent, the cedar and balsam of the candle they gave him for his birthday, a faint hint of spice from Booker’s favorite cologne. Spearmint, like he’s been chewing gum.
Booker’s hand settles lightly on Nicky’s neck. “Not that I mind, Nico, but what are you doing?” His voice is a little strained.
Oh. Right. Because Nicky is smelling him. Nicky tries to jerk away, but Booker’s arm is still around him.
“It really is okay. If you want,” Booker says. “You’re exhausted. You should rest.”
Nicky closes his eyes. He wants to be close to Booker. Like he always does. Like he and Joe talk about all the time. Or they did, before Leo was born. They haven’t had time, these last two months. They’ve barely seen Booker, afraid to bring second and third hand smoke around the baby. It had been one of the hardest decisions they’ve had to make in...maybe ever.
Smoke. That’s it. Booker smells so good because he doesn’t smell like smoke. “You smell good?” Nicky says again, still confused.
Booker laughs. “Thank you again? You’re really tired, Nicky. Do you need help? With Leo?”
“I mean, not that you don’t smell good. Like your cologne, and your cooking. But. No smoke?” Nicky asks. Fuck, he’s so tired.
“Oh. That,” Booker says. He sounds. Hesitant? Nicky’s not sure. His brain is fuzzy. “I quit,” Booker continues.
Nicky sits straight up in shock. His shoulders and side feel suddenly cold, even in the warmth of June. “You quit? When? Why?”
“Uh, three months ago,” Booker says.
He scratches at the back of his neck and looks down, not quite meeting Nicky’s eyes. He tenses up just the slightest bit. He looks almost...embarrassed? Like when he goes overboard with Nile’s birthday present and knows she’s going to love it but also roll her eyes at him.
Nicky knocks his shoulder against Booker’s. “Good for you, Sébastien. But why?”
“Well. Smoke’s bad for the baby, right?” Booker says. “It’s not like I can corral the bad air and keep it from going next door. And. I’d like to be able to help. If you need. If you want, I know you have other options, Andy and Quynh, Nile, Lykon, even.”
Before his brain can communicate with his body, Nicky throws himself at Booker, holding him close. He kisses Booker’s cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes out. “You know you’re the best help we could get. Andy and Quynh don’t know what to do with a baby, Nile is in the middle of finishing her dissertation, and Lykon only likes kids once they’re potty trained. We just. We didn’t want to impose. What with…”
“My boys,” Booker says quietly. He’s very still, but he’s wrapped his arm around Nicky’s waist.
They don’t usually talk about Booker’s family, his wife and sons who died in a car crash, and how much Booker blamed himself. At least, he and Nicky don’t. Nicky chooses to show he cares by respecting Booker’s privacy, but he knows Joe has tried to talk Booker through it, and when that failed, convinced him to talk to a therapist. Nicky had been extremely proud of both of them.
“I thought it would upset me too,” Booker says. He smiles. “But the few times I’ve seen Leo, he makes me happy. And helping you, helping Joe. You know I’ll always be there whenever you need me.”
Nicky bites his lip, keeping his mouth closed. They wish. If it was up to them, Booker would never leave. He lets go of Booker, but he doesn’t move far. Certainly not far enough to make Booker take his arm away. “We’d be extremely grateful for your help, but Book, we’ve missed you. I wish we had known you’d quit. I know Joe will feel the same way.”
Booker smiles, and it reaches his eyes this time. “Really? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to have me around. I quit for Leo’s health, not because I wanted to impose. This is an important time for your family. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Booker, if you heard Joe moping about how he missed watching football and comparing stupid exam answers with you, you’d know how ridiculous that is,” Nicky says gently.
He rubs at his eyes. Booker’s so warm against him.
“You need to sleep, Nicky,” Booker says. He brings his hand up to brush Nicky’s hair off his forehead. Nicky doesn’t headbutt his hand like a cat, but it’s a near thing.
“I know,” Nicky says, reluctant. He doesn’t want to leave Booker. Not that he ever does.
“Are you going to?” Booker asks. His tone is even the way it is when he’s trying not to tell Joe he’s had enough coffee.
Nicky opens his mouth to answer, but Booker scratches at the nape of his neck. Instead, he lets out a sound that’s, quite frankly, embarrassing.
“Nico?” Booker asks. He pulls away enough that Nicky has to look him in the eye. His face is creased with concern. “If you don’t want me to take you inside, tell me. Otherwise, it’s time for bed. You’re not yourself.”
“I can do it,” Nicky protests. He can’t let Booker — what, tuck him in? It feels too intimate. Too much.
He rubs at his eye again, then stands up. He makes it exactly two steps before he stumbles over Booker’s doormat. He catches himself with his hand against the wall, but the damage is done. Booker rises to his feet.
“Okay, Nicky, you’re getting help,” Booker says firmly.
He pulls Nicky against his side and wraps his arm around him. He’s so warm, even through two layers of clothing.
“You’re so tall,” Nicky says. He really, really hopes it didn’t come out the dreamy way he thought it.
“I am. And I’m able to carry you, so let me know if you need me to,” Booker says. Almost whispers.
Nicky freezes, train of thought careening off the tracks. He wants that so badly. He cannot let that happen. He looks up at Booker, intending to tell him that he’s a grown man who can walk all by himself.
That doesn’t happen.
When he looks up, Booker is looking down, eyes so soft and caring. Nicky’s only ever seen him look at Joe like that, and only after a few glasses of wine. Several glasses of wine. Always enough that Nicky never thought anything of it. He can’t stand Booker looking at him that way. Not when it’s only concern for Nicky’s safety. Probably compounded by concern for Leo, which makes Nicky’s chest ache.
He can’t make himself speak. He just holds eye contact with Booker. Booker tightens his hand on Nicky’s hip, probably afraid Nicky’s about to pitch face first onto the deck. His eyes are so green. Nicky would like to say he’s never noticed before, but he has. Often. Not as often as Joe, who has compared them to bottle glass and sea water and springtime, but more often than Nicky would like to admit to, for sure.
Booker bites his lip, and Nicky, tired and weak and fuzzy-headed, squeezes his eyes shut and leans against Booker’s chest. He feels Booker’s strong arms wrap around him, and he lets out a sigh.
“You okay?” Booker asks.
Nicky can hear the rumble of Booker’s chest underneath his ear, can feel Booker’s jaw move. He can just barely feel Booker’s beard against his skin.
“I don’t know,” Nicky answers. He blinks. He hadn’t intended to be this honest.
Nicky feels Booker reach behind him, then hears the door swing open.
“Bedtime,” Booker says.
Then, suddenly, the world moves. Nicky yelps as Booker hoists him up, wrapping his legs around Booker’s waist out of instinct alone.
“What are you doing?” Nicky asks, a little panicked.
“I’m helping,” Booker responds. “You have to sleep, Nico.”
Nicky sputters, looking for a response, but Booker gets him inside and kicks the door shut behind them before Nicky finds one. Even though he knows he shouldn’t, Nicky clings. “I can still sleep if I walk to bed,” he protests. He doesn’t mean it.
“Too late.” Booker has them down the hall and in the bedroom almost before Nicky registers what’s happened.
Booker sits Nicky down on the edge of the bed. His hands are so gentle.
“That was ridiculous,” Nicky says. He grabs onto the blanket, determined to keep his hands to himself. He wants nothing more than to press his hand to Booker’s cheek, to stroke his hair, but he can’t.
“So are you,” Booker says with a grin. He drops to his knees in front of Nicky.
Nicky swallows hard. “What are you doing?”
“Taking your shoes off,” Booker says patiently.
Oh. Nicky shakes his head a little. That would explain why Booker’s holding his calf.
The care that Booker takes removing his shoes and socks gets to Nicky, makes him want to reach out even more. Booker is slow, methodical, and he squeezes Nicky’s ankle when he’s done. Nicky groans.
“You’re so fucking exhausted,” Booker says, still smiling, but he looks faraway again.
Nicky does the only thing he can to keep from touching him. He flops back against the bed. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance and elbows his husband in the ribs.
“Ow,” Joe protests sleepily.
Shit. Not one of Nicky’s finer moments.
“Sorry, caro,” Nicky says. He rubs Joe’s side in apology.
Joe pats his hand wordlessly.
“You okay, Joe?” Booker asks, voice full of affection. He’s still on his knees. Nicky is losing his mind.
Joe sits straight up in bed at the sound of Booker’s voice, knocking Nicky slightly to the side. Booker steadies him carefully, helping him lie all the way down.
“Did I startle you?” Booker asks, unnecessarily contrite. “Sorry. I was just helping Nicky to bed.”
Joe, still half asleep, glares at Nicky. “No fair, hayati. We were supposed to do this together.”
Nicky feels his cheeks heat up. He cannot believe this is happening to him. “Joe,” he hisses. “He helped me in from outside.”
“Oh,” Joe says. He blinks at Booker, then scrubs his hand over his face. “Fuck, I think I thought I was dreaming. That makes more sense. Still, unfair, Nico.”
Nicky takes a few slow breaths. Booker’s going to run screaming into the night, and then they’re going to have to find somebody else to try their recipes on, and watch football with, and be Joe’s best friend. When Nicky risks looking over at Booker, he’s staring at them, looking absolutely perplexed.
“Joe, Nicky, what just happened?” Booker asks. He’s still kneeling next to the bed. Nicky’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes that Booker is also still touching him.
Nicky flings his arm over his face to hide his blush. “Joe thought he was still asleep. He wakes up slow.”
Booker pokes Nicky in the side. “You know that’s not what I meant. Fuck, Nico, look at me.”
Nicky hears movement. When he forces himself to move his arm off his face, Booker’s standing above him, hands in his pockets. He’s frowning. Nicky hates that.
“You’re both exhausted. I’m going to go. We can talk about it later,” Booker says. He’s holding himself so stiffly.
Hit with the sensation of water slipping through his fingers, Nicky shakes his head. “We can talk now.”
He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but if Booker leaves and they never talk about it, Nicky doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with himself.
“Tomorrow,” Booker says. “You need to sleep.”
He takes a few steps toward the door, and that’s all it takes for Joe to scramble out of bed and lay his hand on Booker’s arm. “Don’t go, Book,” he says.
To Nicky’s experienced ear, he sounds desperate.
“Please,” Nicky adds. He sounds desperate to anyone’s ear.
Booker looks down at Joe’s hand, then across the room at Nicky. He sighs. “You really do need to sleep.”
“We will,” Joe agrees. It’s dark, the room illuminated only by the light from the hall, but Nicky can make out the determined set of his jaw. “After we talk.”
Joe takes another step toward Booker, then pauses. “You smell good,” he says, brow furrowed.
That shocks a laugh out of Booker. Nicky doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this relieved.
“He quit smoking,” Nicky tells Joe. Pride creeps into his tone.
Joe grins, delighted despite the change in subject. “That’s great, Book! I’m proud of you. What made you finally do it?”
Booker looks back down at Joe’s hand, still on his arm, then raises his head to make eye contact with Joe. “I did it for Leo.”
Joe groans. Nicky can see emotion after emotion flicker across his face. Shock. Fondness. Gratitude. Desire. Love.
Always the brave one, Joe looks Booker dead in the eye and asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Nicky feels like his heart is frozen in his chest.
Booker swallows hard. He doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t say no.
He looks at Nicky, and Nicky nods. Giving permission, if Booker should want it. Nicky can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe Booker is still here.
“You can,” Nicky says. “He wants you to.” He bites his lip. “I want you to.”
Slowly, Booker raises his hand to Joe’s side. He curls his fingers in the fabric of Joe’s t-shirt. Joe tightens his hand on Booker’s arm. Nicky holds his breath.
The baby monitor abruptly crackles to life, Leo’s cries filling the apartment. Startled, Booker takes a step back from Joe.
“Fuck,” Nicky groans. He loves Leo more than anything in the world, but if they’ve missed their chance, he’s going to cry himself to sleep for a month. Minimum.
Booker holds his hand out. “Just. You need to sleep. Before we can talk about anything, you need to sleep. If you’ll let me, I can take care of Leo. And then tomorrow, we can talk.”
“You promise?” Nicky asks. He climbs across the bed to stand next to Booker and Joe. He needs to be close to them. “Tomorrow.” He reaches out and carefully takes Booker’s hand in his. He feels like he might shake apart. “No later.”
For a few seconds, Booker is silent. He looks down at his hand in Nicky’s. At Joe’s hand on his arm. “Okay,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”
A moment passes, all of them looking at each other, not wanting to step away. The tension stretches out, heavy in the air, but Leo cries out again. He’s hungry, insistent. Nicky sighs. Leo needs them.
“I can go,” he offers.
“Let me take care of him for you,” Booker says. “Does he have a bottle made up?”
“Top shelf of the fridge,” Joe says. He squeezes Booker’s arm. “But you don’t have to. You don’t need a reason to be here, and we don’t need any convincing.”
“I want to,” Booker says. He means it. Nicky can tell.
Nicky feels so much affection, so much joy, that it takes him a few seconds to make words come out of his mouth.
“Thank you for doing this for us. All of his other stuff, diaper stuff and burp cloth and pacifier, are on his changing table. If he needs a change of clothes, his onesies are in the top drawer of his dresser.” Nicky strokes his thumb across the back of Booker’s hand. “We trust you completely. We know you’ll take good care of him.”
Nicky finds himself and Joe being pulled into Booker’s arms. He groans, pulling them both more closely against him.
“Thank you,” Booker whispers. “For trusting me.”
Joe takes Booker’s face in his hands. They look lovely together. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for caring so much about our boy that you quit smoking. Thank you for dragging Nicky in from outside so he doesn’t fall and break his pretty face.”
Nicky feels as well as hears Booker groan. “Tomorrow. We’re going to talk tomorrow,” Booker says firmly.
Joe kisses his cheek. “Tomorrow. Listen, the couch in Leo’s room pulls out. There are blankets and pillows stacked on the end. If you want, you could stay? And we can talk in the morning.”
“Please stay,” Nicky blurts out before Booker can say no. He’s still so tired, and he wants Booker with them so badly. He nuzzles against Booker’s shoulder.
Leo cries again, still hungry and becoming mournful. “Okay,” Booker agrees. His mouth turns up at the corner. “But you need to sleep. Let me see you get back in bed.”
Nicky hugs Booker more tightly before he lets go, clings just a little to his broad shoulders. Booker strokes up and down his back. Joe does the same. He holds Booker tightly in his arms, tucks his face against Booker’s neck and breathes him in. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Joe says firmly.
Booker kisses Joe gently on the forehead. “You will.” He kisses the top of Nicky’s head. “ If you get into bed and get some sleep.”
Joe and Nicky climb into bed, obedient but reluctant. Joe pulls the blanket over them.
“We are. See?” Joe asks. He makes an exaggerated snoring sound. “Sleeping.”
Booker snorts. “Good. We’ll talk in the morning. I promise. I’m going to lock the door, so don’t freak out when you hear me walking that way.”
Nicky snuggles into the blanket, into Joe. He looks up at Booker, feeling so warm and happy at the sight of him in their room. “Thank you for telling us. I really don’t want you to leave.”
“I won’t,” Booker promises. The smile he gives them lets Nicky know that for once, he’s right there with them, in the present. “Now sleep.”
He shuts the door most of the way as he leaves, blocking the light from the hall. Nicky hears his footsteps head toward the door, then the flick of the lock, then footsteps in the other direction. He hears the sound of the refrigerator door opening.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Joe groans. He turns to spoon Nicky, burying his face against his neck. “I don’t know how you did that, but thank you. I love you so much.”
Nicky laughs, settling his hand on Joe’s forearm. “I love you too. I don’t know what I did either, but sleep now.”
“‘kay,” Joe agrees. They hold each other like they do every night, but the hope of tomorrow is tucked into bed between them.
The last sounds Nicky hears before he falls asleep are Booker singing softly in French, followed by the quieting of Leo’s cries. He drifts off easily into the most gentle sleep he’s had in months.