Chapter Text
Nick looked at his watch whilst Gatsby was retelling him a tale from his youth, something about him falling off of a horse in a race in Oxford. Gatsby took notice to Nick’s anxiousness, “You can go, old sport, if you're worried about missin’ your train.” Gatsby smiled at him, sitting forward in the leather chair, putting his knuckles under his chin. Nick glanced up at him, shaking his head, “ ‘S not that, Jay… Something just feels… off…” Gatsby stood up, “You need a drink? I can ask the butler to get you something!” Nick’s deep eyes followed Gatsby to the door, then interrupted him, “Oh no, no, I don't need a drink, really.” He stood up grabbing his hat, “I ought to think we should go outside, it reeks of smoke and liquor in here… no offense to you, Jay.” Gatsby smiles and nods, “None taken, old sport.” He opens the door from his study, gesturing for Nick to leave first.
The gentle clicking of their shoes on the polished floor reverberated off of the empty hall towards the back entrance to the pool and garden. Gatsby observed his gargantuan pool collecting the first fallen leaves of the season, “I should have used this more often… Say, old sport, why don't you and I have a swim one of these days? Weathers still warm.” His hands found their way to his pants pockets. Nick's eyes rolled from the pool then to Gatsby then to the horizon beyond him, looking around. He noticed a shuffling figure in the back, ducking behind a gray shed, belonging to Gatsby’s neighbor. Nick swallowed a lump and Gatsby spoke up, “Nick… are you feeling okay?” Gatsby’s concerned face came into his viewpoint, Nick blinked, “I… um...” Gatsby was partially taken aback, pursing his lips in worry, “Hey, old sport, lemme take you home, alright?” He takes his hands out of his pocket and grasps Nick’s left arm gently. He unlatched the gate from the hidden gate in the hedges that led from his garden to his ‘secret’ beach access which he also utilizes for getting to Nick’s house more easily. Once he led Nick through, he closed the gate behind him and headed towards Nick’s cabin…
Wilson stumbled through the backyard, half in a drunken and depressed daze, crunching twigs and tripping on rocks in the unkempt lawn, gripping on his pistol. He tugged on the steel handle to shed but to no avail, ‘Bastards have it pad locked in this neighborhood…’ he thought, squinting through the window, looking for that alleged blood crusted, dingy yellow car. All he sees is a couple of boxes and barrels and several boat parts. He stands up and looks at the remaining houses down the row beyond the shed. The creaking of a far away gate closing is all he heard, he shrugs and decides that it wouldn't hurt investigating it…
Gatsby held onto him by the waist while Nick fumbled with his keys, "Sorry for bothering you with this, Gatsby, I've been feeling uneasy… still on edge from a few nights ago." He muttered, finally unlocking the door, his maid retired a month ago, but he didn't mind, since he now had the company of Gatsby, whom he frequently visited. "You can let go of me, Gatsby…" Gatsby shook his head, "No can do, old sport, wanna make sure you get in okay." He guided Nick in, stopping before the old textured couch. Gatsby let go of his waist and asked, "Want me to get you anything?" Nick kneels on the couch to open the windows to air out his smouldering little house, "No, thank you… no, wait." Nick spun around and sat on the couch, scooting over. "Can I bother you to stay for a while longer? I know it's silly to house hop but-" "No need to bother, Nick!" Gatsby sits next to him, making himself comfortable on the ancient sofa. He glanced at the incredibly unorganized coffee table, littered with books thicker than dictionaries, leaves of paper covered in ink blotches and coffee smudges, numerous pens and chewed pencils and several mugs. "Oh goodness! You must be busy!" Nick rubbed his bloodshot eyes, "Yeah… the boss made me work overtime lately… oh hell, now that I'm thinking about it, I gotta call him!" Nick groans, reclining into the couch further. "I'll be right back, Jay." He stands up and exits the room to his smaller study to dial his rotary phone.
Gatsby, looking over the table to occupy himself, picks up a fat book that read "The Boom of Bonds". He opens to a random page and skims over it, only to then put it back to the clutter when he couldn't make heads or tails of a single word printed. His hands glaze over to a loose sheet of paper, covered in small and nearly illegible scribbles of handwriting, some words lost to heavy blots and streaked lines. He then picked up a forest green, hardback journal. He brought it up close then far away, his hands flying to open his coat, taking out a small pair of reading glasses. He placed them on and opened the book to the book's first page that read, "Monthly Journal #21 by Nick E. Carraway". Gatsby chuckles at the formal title, finding it rather endearing. He flipped to the page and read it to himself while Nick awaited to get a hold of his boss while chatting to a secretary. It read, " I just returned from another of Gatsby's gay and handsome parties. We chatted about his dreams for him to once again be reacquainted with Daisy, but alas I do not think it will suffice… I hope ." Gatsby furrows his eyebrows as he reads on and flips the pages in curiosity.
" Truly, I hope that one day he realizes that Daisy has no interest in himself. If that day is to ever come, I'll celebrate it with him, in his study. With drinks and stories and ideally drunken but love ridden confessions..."
"Confessions?" He whispered out loud to himself. He looked up and listened, Nick was still talking to the phone, so he glanced back down.
"...Jay is the only individual to whom I withhold from disdain in this disgusting metropolis. Despite his persona, he is devilishly handsome, his genuineness when it comes to me expressing my discomfort, the real stories of his fascinating childhood, hell, even when he calls me 'old sport', I feel fuzzy inside…"
Gatsby bit the bottom of his lip and covered his mouth in disbelief. He's never seen someone express their feelings, let alone romantic , towards him so... genuine. He smiled as he read on.
"...Today, Jay treated me to dinner after yesterday's disasters. It was only us, no other party, exactly how I like it. I do rather enjoy our intimate dinings, seeing that gorgeous smile of his flash before my eyes when we finally sit. If I had the guts to, and not to destroy anything that we have managed to build with our friendship…"
Nick opened the door from his study and made his way back to the couch, feeling his heart drop and eyes widen when he saw Gatsby reading his private writings.
"...I would of kissed him right there and then, if it were not for the crowded restaurant."
Wilson doesn't care about the leaves and twigs in his hair, nor the picked holes in his burlap mechanic getup, he limped through the intricate garden, admiring the swankiness of it. Ranging from exotic flowers to unique fruit trees to a while maze he just exited and cursed to God in, he wouldn't even be surprised if a tiger or some birds of prey came to attack him because of how beautiful yet dangerous it looked. With his hand still gripped on the gun handle, he was about to head towards the gate only to realise that it's in the other side of where the infinity pool was located, as well as a trench full of overspill into a small, but decently sized man made pond, "I swear to God, when I see this rich bastard, I'm gonna pop more that five bullets through that skull o' his…" He grumbled as he began to find his way around.
Nick cleared his throat when he sat down, tapping on his leg. Gatsby reread over that small page. Again. And again. He remembers that night as if it was yesterday… which it was. He remembered Nick looking at him with half lidded eyes and a crooked smile, almost in a trance. Even when they got their food, he remembered insisting that Nick should eat rather than ogling at him all evening or his food would get chilly. Gatsby closed the book and looked at him, with a completely jovial expression, "Nick… I had no… well, I had some idea, but… wow… Nick." Breathless were his words, but his smile said otherwise. He took his glasses off and rubbed an eye. Nick squeezed on his calf, dreading this moment he was staring to wish that would have never come. He swallowed, not even daring to look at him, focusing on the mess in front of them. "Gatsby… I-I get it if you don't want to talk to me any more but please forgive me." Gatsby smiles, shaking his head, "No… no, Nick. You wrote something beautiful and frankly… I'm enraptured!" He giggles, setting the book back on the table. Nick's eyes darted around his room, fiddling with his thumb, not answering him. "So, old sport, give it to me straight…" Gatsby crosses one leg onto the other, staring at Nick, "...Do… are you in love with me?”
"Jay… I-I…"
"Take your time, Nick."
Nick's heart skipped a beat.
"I… I'm hopelessly… enamoured with you, Jay."