Chapter Text
The café was unusually quiet for a Friday evening, and Yusuf was grateful. After back-to-back shifts at the bar and a grueling critique in class that morning, he was ready to crash. Instead, he was sitting at the corner booth of a nearby diner, waiting for Andy, one his regular client of the bar, to show up with her friend.
The absurdity of the situation hadn’t worn off yet. Joe, a devout Muslim, sharing a flat with an up-and-coming fucking priest? It sounded like the setup for a terrible sitcom. But Andy’s insistence—and Joe's desperation to cover rent now that his former roomate and best friend, Booker, had moved back to France after finishing his degree—had convinced him to at least meet the guy.
The bell above the door jingled, and in walked Andy, tall and striking, her presence commanding as always. Trailing behind her was a man with sandy blond hair, glasses perched on his nose, and an air of quiet calm. Joe blinked. This was not what he expected.
"Joe," Andy said with a grin, gesturing to the newcomer, "meet Nicolo di Genova. Nicky, this is Yusuf al-Kaysani."
Nicky stepped forward and extended a hand. His smile was warm, his handshake firm yet gentle. "It’s nice to meet you," he said, his Italian accent soft but clear
Joe cleared his throat. "You too."
They slid into the booth, and Yusuf couldn't help but study Nicky more closely. His sharp jawline, kind bright eyes, and easy posture. There was something magnetic about him—an intensity that was quiet but unshakable.
"So," Joe began, gesturing vaguely, "you’re… a priest?"
Nicky nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in what might’ve been amusement. "Not yet. I’m still in training. But yes, that’s the goal."
Joe raised an eyebrow. "And you’re okay living with me? I mean, I’m Muslim. I drink, sometimes swear when my professor’s critiques are particularly brutal, and I’m an artist. Not exactly priest-friendly."
Nicky chuckled softly. "Why would any of that bother me?"
"You're a Catholic priest," Joe deadpanned.
"Not quite—Episcopal, not Roman Catholic. People mix them up all the time . And you're an artist," Nicky countered smoothly. "Two people with different paths in life can still share a roof and respect each other."
Joe blinked. He hadn’t expected such a straightforward, disarming response.
Andy smirked into her coffee. "Told you he was cool."
They talked logistics—rent, chores, schedules. Nicky worked early mornings and weekends, while Joe had late nights at the bar and erratic studio hours. Their lives would barely overlap.
But as the conversation continued, Joe found himself… intrigued. Nicky spoke with a thoughtful cadence, listening as much as he talked. He asked Joe about his art and seemed genuinely interested, not just politely curious.
"I don’t know much about painting," Nicky admitted, "but I’ve always admired the way art can make people feel. You must have a great gift."
Joe felt his face heat. Compliments about his work always felt strange, but coming from someone like Nicky, it hit differently.
By the end of the meeting, Joe found himself reluctantly agreeing.
"Okay," he said, "let’s try it. But if I wake up to you sprinkling holy water on my paintbrushes, we’re gonna have a problem."
Nicky laughed. Well no not laughed, snorted, a ridiculous sound that was unexpectedly bright and infectious. "Deal." He said after composing himself, his eyes still shining brightly with mirth.
As they walked out of the diner, Andy leaned over to Joe and murmured, "You’re gonna thank me for this later."
Joe shot her a skeptical look but couldn’t ignore the strange flutter in his chest as Nicky held the door open for him.