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Nicky’s reading when Geordie knocks.
Well, he’s reading one single sentence for the 6th time and he’s presuming it’s Geordie. He'd heard the tell tale clatter and besides, anyone else and his parents might’ve called him down, if only to hare back up the stairs again.
Although Nicky’s prepared to stay as is, stretched out over the covers, he swings his legs over so he’s sitting upright as soon as he sees Geordie’s face.
He’s been crying, evidence clear to someone informed (to anyone else the redness is too faded and his face far too naturally like that). Nicky tilts his head to gesture beside him, though Geordie’s already halfway there. It’s a reminder (reassurance) rather than an invitation, being honest.
Geordie catches Nicky’s eye and then pointedly doesn’t when he changes course and sits right up close to Nicky, instead of the usual end of the bed. “Fucking nearly threw up, Nicky.”
“What from?”
“Couldn’t seem to put the knife down, even though I kept telling myself I could, if I wanted like. I was scared, not that I’d ever admit that to you.”
“‘Course not,” Nicky smiles a bit.
“I just -” Geordie stops himself, embarrassed at the sound of his voice. Not because of Nicky, it's just himself. “I just can’t do it anymore,” he starts again, "though I’ve been saying that for six years.”
“Better or worse?”
“Makes it worse, Nicky.” There’s no spite or frustration in his answer. Just Nicky asking how it is, and Geordie telling him it’s something he’s only recently accepted.
“It’s awful because it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” It’s what Nicky thinks sometimes about everything, so he guesses Geordie has thought it too. Probably somewhere deep between his ribs. “And even then, what’s gonna be waiting for you here in God knows however many years?”
“Oh, thanks very much," Geordie leans into Nicky’s shoulder, which isn’t unusual. And then he presses his face into Nicky’s neck, and Nicky lets him.
Nicky laughs, clearly. “What about the football? Canit keep a had of it for more than a year.”
“And you’ll have no one else to pass it to if I’ve topped myself by then?” the words are muffled - it’s then that Nicky realises quite how they’re sitting.
“I know the reasons don’t help. I know how irritating they are when you can’t communicate why they don’t make anything worth it.”
“What, you mean,” Geordie keeps his eyes firmly shut, Nicky’s collar scratching against them, “you’ve been here?”
Nicky shakes his head. He leaves it facing left, so he can press his chin into dull blond hair after he answers. “Me? No.” A pause, a rueful smile. “Too busy bleeding out for the cause to matter how I feel, so I’m alright. Keeping on,”
He almost says ‘you know how it is’ but evidently Geordie doesn’t.
They’re both aware that that’s bollocks anyway - not the pretentious tone covering it but the fact that they both know Nicky struggles. Geordie doesn’t press - if he pretends he agrees maybe Nicky can convince himself. Maybe Nicky can prolong the cracking of the ice until he's ready. Most likely not.
Geordie looks up, “Nicky, can I stay here tonight?”
He's is always staying over and he never asks. Sets up on the floor when Nicky enquires if he plans on leaving anytime soon. Nicky pauses, but his hand finds Geordie’s in the meantime.
Geordie doesn’t really think Nicky’ll do anything, not after this display, but either way he’s fairly sure he could take him in a fight. The cold hand gripping his own promises he wouldn't have to.
“Yeah, ‘course. Of course you can, Geordie.”
Geordie shifts until he’s lying down in front of Nicky, Nicky pulling an arm around him and pushing his chest right against Geordie’s back.