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Nate wakes to the sound of a jangling lock. He reluctantly opens his eyes to complete darkness, the sun still well below the horizon. He briefly spares a thought for the time before his groggy, sleep deprived brain catches up with his current situation. Someone’s trying to unlock the door. Suddenly he’s wide awake as he flies down the ladder of his loft bed and grabs the first thing he sees to fend off the intruder. The lock finally clicks and Nate takes up a defensive stance, ready to swing, when a man who hasn’t contacted him in weeks stumbles into the apartment.
Sully stops in his tracks, eyes widen at his surprise to see Nate standing there to greet him with a putter. “I’d go with the 5 iron, personally.”
Nate immediately relaxes, confusion painting his expression. “Sully?” He hisses, lowering his club, “What are you doing here?”
Sully closes the door behind himself, forgoing taking off his shoes and jacket, and heads straight to the kitchen. “What, a guy can’t drop in on his friend?”
Nate, following behind him, flicks on the kitchen light, squinting at the sudden brightness of the fluorescents.
“So you thought I’d be okay with you breaking and entering?” Nate sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“Not breaking and entering if you’ve got a key.” Sully retorts, opening up the fridge in search for alcohol. He pushes aside the white claws to grab a beer and makes a mental note to give nate shit for those later.
Nate pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep up. “I’m sorry, you have a key to my apartment?”
Sully opens up a drawer looking for a bottle opener, pulling out one that resembles a fish. “God, you and the questions.” He pops the lid off and it clatters on the counter. “And don’t pretend you don’t have a secret spare to mine, kid.”
Nate scoffs, avoiding the question. Sully smirks.
The older man makes his way to the couch on unsteady feet, making it clear the beer in his hands isn’t his first drink of the night.
“So, are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here,” Nate yawns, “or can I go back to bed?”
“Oh don’t lose any beauty sleep on my account.”Sully chuckles under his breath, “I’m just here for the free booze.”
Nate makes his way over to where Sully sits, and stares down at him with a watchful eye. He’s been MIA for weeks now. No calls, no texts, nothing. Nate was worried. Sullys never been good at communication but he normally responds to Nate's texts at least within a few days, usually with a ‘thumbs up’ or some obscure emoji Nates pretty sure Sully doesn’t understand, but he’s never gone this long without hearing from him. Nate had started to wonder if he did something wrong.
“Did something happen?”
Sully almost startles, immediately lost in his own inebriated thoughts. He shakes his head and takes a large swig of his drink.
Nate sighs, looks over to the clock on the microwave. 4:43. He has to be up at 6. He scrubs his hands down his face again. ‘Fuck it’ he thinks to himself, probably couldn’t get back to sleep anyway. He steps over Sullys legs layed out on the coffee table, despite Nate telling him time and time again to not do that, and sits heavily on the couch next to him. The older man’s lids heavy but focused on an imaginary point across the room. Sitting this close, Nate can smell the alcohol on him. He must have been out all night. Nate vaguely wonders where he went, what he did, who he was with- and cuts off that train of thought right there, not helpful.
They sit in silence for a while, and after it becomes clear sully isn’t going to say anything, Nate prompts him.
“Sully.”
“Hm?”
“What are you doing here?”
Sully chuckles again. He breathes deeply, closes his eyes, stays silent for so long nate thinks he might have fallen asleep.
Nate’s about to get up when Sully speaks.
“I just missed you.”
He freezes. At first Nate thinks he’s misheard him, he must have. But he didn’t.
And then he’s irritated.
“I’ve been right here, Sully.” He says in a hushed tone, agitation still clear around the edges. “I’m not the one who dropped off the face of the earth and couldn’t even be bothered to send a courtesy text.”
Sully just sits there, slowly nodding. Nate waits for a response that doesn’t come. Sighing, he gets up. He’s not sure where he’s going, but Sully makes the decision for him when he grabs for his wrist to keep him in place. Nate stares down at him and waits for him to find his words. Sully sets his beer on the table and takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” he gets out, “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now but I’m not very good at having friends.”
It’s Nate’s turn to laugh this time, light in the quiet of the apartment. “That can’t be right, you have so many of them.”
“Cute.” Sully retorts, but he’s smiling.
He then lowers his head to avoid Nate’s gaze.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had someone important to me”, he mumbles. Nate’s not sure if he was meant to hear that, but he does, and a blush rises high on his cheeks. Sullys released his hold on Nate’s wrist in favor of playing with his hand, turning it over in his own. Inspecting his fingers, the lines on his palm. He gets this way when he’s had too much to drink, touchy, clingy, though he’ll never admit to it.
The alcohol must be wearing off though because he stills, maybe realizing how intimate this hold could be perceived as. He pats Nate’s hand and let’s it slip from his fingers. “Is it okay if I crash here tonight?”
“Oh sure, now you ask.” Nate teases, trying and failing to keep the fondness from his voice. Sully grins at him.
“Of course, the couch is all yours.”
“What a host,” Sully declares, voice dripping with sarcasm, “sure I won’t be imposing?”
“Shithead” Nate throws over his shoulder, making his way to the bathroom to start his premature morning routine. He hears Sully’s laugh ring through the apartment before he shuts the door.
A long shower later, because he’s got time after all, Nate makes his way back out to the living room. Sully is out cold, sprawled out on the couch, shoes kicked haphazardly to the floor. Nate grabs a blanket hanging off his own bed and makes his way to Sully. He drapes it over the older man and takes the opportunity to take in his sleeping expression. The ever-present creases on his forehead are smoothed out, making him look younger. His hair is a mess, the gel he always uses doing nothing to keep it in place after the night he’s had. Nate gives into the impulse to run his fingers through it under the pretense of taming flyaways.
And if his hand lingers, there’s no one around to see.