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the_old_guardTitle: the food of love
Characters: Nile, Joe, Booker, Nicky
Pairings: Joe/Nicky
Word Count: 2700
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff and Humor
Summary: Nile’s first confirmation that Nicky is a real live human being and not a benevolent food ghost that haunts their apartment, comes at 1:21 in the morning on a Thursday.
Or: the AU where Nile cannot seem to meet her roommate Joe’s new boyfriend.
“Are these brownies?” Nile checks, staring at the pan of brownies that has somehow spontaneously appeared on their kitchen counter. They look homemade but Nile knows for a fact that Joe burns water and Booker lives almost entirely off of Doritos and takeout. Nile didn’t even realize they had something more pan-shaped than the single sad, dented cookie sheet available in the kitchen to make brownies with.
“Are they special brownies?” Booker asks, looking interested.
“They’re extremely special,” Joe says. “But not like that. Only because Nicky made them.”
“Who’s Nicky?” Nile asks. She’s been living with Joe, Booker, and Lykon in off-campus housing for eight months now and she’s sure no one’s mentioned a Nicky.
“Nicky,” Joe says, like the emphasis will somehow help her remember someone she’s never heard of.
“Okay,” Nile says, patient. “But like, who is Nicky, Joe?”
“Who is Nicky? Who is Nicky?” Joe says, affronted and poetic in equal measures. “Only the love of my life, the heart of my heart, the most beautiful, perfect—”
“I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend,” Booker says, around a mouthful of brownie. “Congrats. These are really good.”
Nile cuts out a corner piece and pops it into her mouth. God, they are really good. Double chocolate and gooey and still faintly warm from the oven. “Did he just leave? Why didn’t you introduce us?”
“He had to go to class,” Joe says. Nile hands him the knife and he cuts himself a large middle piece. He adds, proudly, “Nicky’s an amazing cook. He made fettuccine alfredo last night too.”
Nile looks over at the sink but there are no pots or other dishes to back up Joe’s claim. The cleanliness is even more unusual because Booker, for someone who subsists almost entirely on takeout, somehow uses an inordinate amount of dishware and then leaves it in the sink until it grows sentient organisms.
“It’s for my Biology 205 class,” he’d once lied, straight-faced, and straight to Nile’s face.
“Did he wash all the dishes?” Nile asks.
Joe puts a hand over his heart like she’s wounded him. “What kind of cad do you think I am, Nile,” he says. “Nicky cooked and I cleaned.”
“Even Booker’s dishes?”
“They were making Nicky look sad,” Joe says. “New house rule by the way: No one is allowed to make Nicky sad.” He looks meaningfully at Booker. “Wash your dishes.”
Booker rolls his eyes. “Fine, as long as we get more brownies out of it.”
-
The next week, Nile opens the fridge expecting half a bottle of orange juice and the few apples she brought home from the dining hall yesterday. Instead, the shelves are full of milk and eggs, yogurt and oranges and tomatoes. There’s a box of blueberries stacked neatly on top of a box of strawberries. Nile opens the crisper drawer to find celery and peppers and a bunch of genuine six-inch long carrots. Not even the baby carrots. Actual peelable carrots.
“Joe?” Nile calls. “Did you buy all this food?” She can’t remember the last time any of them cooked anything. The closest they usually get is walking down to the Waffle House together.
Joe wanders into the kitchen, followed by a curious Booker. “No,” Joe says, shaking his head. “Nicky bought all that. He said he was worried we were all going to die of scurvy.”
“He knows we can’t cook though, right?” Nile asks. The oranges are fine but she doesn’t know what else to do with celery except ants on a log.
Joe smiles. “He’s aware.” He rummages through the sudden bounty of the refrigerator and hands Nile a tidy blue bento box. It has a yellow sticky note on the top that reads NILE :). “And for you,” he adds, giving Booker a brown paper bag labelled BOOKER.
“What, I don’t get a smiley face?” Booker asks.
“I told Nicky you were French,” Joe says. “He’s going to take some time to warm up to you.”
“Joe, we’ve literally never met him.”
“He made you a sandwich,” Joe continues blithely. “Make sure you bring back the wrap, it’s reusable.”
Nile opens her bento box. “He made me four cheese mac and cheese?” It might even be five cheese. There are a lot of distinct shades of orange. And breadcrumbs. “Did he toast these?” she asks, incredulous.
Joe laughs. “Yes. I thought he was making me breakfast but he was really gourmeting your lunch.” He takes another bento box, polished brown wood this time, out of the fridge and smiles down at the attached sticky note where JOE is encased in a neat Sharpie-drawn heart.
“Joe,” Nile says. “When are we going to get to meet Nicky?”
Booker moans around his sandwich which apparently isn’t going to make it as far as lunch. “I don’t care who made this as long as they continue to make more.”
Joe shrugs. “He’s here all the time, you just keep missing each other. Ships in the night. I’m sure you’ll get to meet him soon.”
-
Fall starts abruptly with an unseasonable cold snap and Nile shivers as she opens the door to the apartment. She’d thought they were going to get at least another week of t-shirts and shorts out of September.
There’s a large black hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. Nile throws it on over her t-shirt and sighs, tucking her chilled hands into the front pocket. The sweatshirt feels like a warm hug. Nile doesn’t think Joe or Booker will mind her borrowing it, although it doesn’t seem like something Joe, with his forward fashion-sense, would wear and Booker tends toward chunky sweaters.
“Nile?” Joe says, coming out of his room. “Oh,” he smiles, looking at her figure, dwarfed by the hoodie. “That’s Nicky’s. He must have left it.”
Nile’s reluctance to relinquish it must read on her face because Joe laughs, his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you borrow it a while longer. My heart is nothing if not generous.”
Nile wouldn’t know, seeing as she still has yet to meet the mysterious Nicky, but she’s willing to take Joe’s word on it. The hoodie is very warm.
-
“Joe, how’s Nicky doing?” Lykon asks.
“You know Nicky?” Nile asks. Lykon, who’s doing pre-med and routinely spends six hour blocks in Organic Chemistry labs, is practically as much a ghost to the apartment as Nicky.
“Of course?” Lykon says. “He’s here all the time.”
What the fuck, Booker mouths at Nile over Lykon’s shoulder.
I know! she mouths back.
Lykon gives Joe a teasing look and adds, “I’ve seen more of Nicky than anyone but Joe needs to see.”
“The door was closed,” Joe says, pointedly.
“I thought you were being murdered. There was a lot of screaming.”
“Yeah there was,” Joe says with satisfied reminiscence and accepts a high five from Booker. “Nile, Nicky made cake if you’d like some.”
Centered on the kitchen table, there’s a beautifully iced chocolate cake sitting on a delicate, pale blue cake stand that looks like it ought to belong to someone’s grandmother. Two slices are missing. “Thanks. What was the occasion?” Nile asks, pulling a plate out of the cupboard.
Joe smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nicky likes cake.”
Okay, fair. Nile takes a bite. Jesus Christ. She hopes the orgasms Nicky is apparently giving Joe are half as good as the one her mouth is having right now.
“There’s a lunch box in the fridge for you too,” Joe says.
-
It’s been two months of missed Nicky sightings and Nile would almost be convinced that Joe and Lykon are just fucking with her and Booker at this point but the food keeps appearing and the apartment is full of odds and ends Nicky’s left behind. She and Booker have been keeping an inventory in a hopeless attempt to gauge who Nicky is based on the debris left in his wake. It’s a technique Nile learned in her Anthropology class but it’s not serving her particularly well at the moment.
Nile looks at the small pile of lost and discarded items they’ve traced back to Nicky. There’s a comparative religions textbook, although Joe’s said that Nicky’s major is Ecology. The new knife block from the kitchen. Ethically sound beeswax wrap used for Booker’s sandwiches. A scrap of paper with dates and times listed, a drawing of a sword at the top right corner in what Nile recognizes as Joe’s hand. And Nile’s confiscated black hoodie.
“I found these too,” Booker says, pulling out a strip of condoms that advertise ‘Ultra Ribbed’ and adding them to the pile.
“Great,” Nile says. “So he’s Joe’s knife-wielding—maybe sword-wielding—environmentally conscious chef boyfriend who wears comfortable clothing and fucks. This is so helpful.”
Booker shrugs. “I don’t really see the problem, Nile. He makes us food. Joe loves him. Where’s the downside?”
“Look,” Nile says, “I’d just like to meet the man who makes my five cheese mac and cheese and holds Joe’s heart in his hands.” She gives Booker a sideways glance. They don’t really talk about it but, “Joe doesn’t always have the best taste in boyfriends you know.”
“Yeah,” Booker says, deflating.
Joe’s last boyfriend had broken his heart pretty thoroughly. Nile will do it no question, no hesitation, but if they never have to bolster Joe through pints of Ben & Jerry and Meg Ryan movie marathons again, it will be too soon. Nicky had better be worth all the love Joe has to offer or no five cheese mac and cheese will save him.
-
Joe’s sketchbook is open on the table and Nile sees a pair of piercing eyes, the curve of a sharp cheekbone, before she also sees the inner curve of hip and—
“Joe!” Nile yells, slapping the sketchbook closed. “Why is there a picture of a cock on our coffee table?”
“Oh sorry, Nile,” Joe says with the perfect ambivalence of an artist who sees no shame in any aspect of the human form. “I can’t help sketching Nicky, he’s a beautiful muse.”
Nile isn’t entirely scandalized herself, but still. There’s a picture of a cock on her coffee table.
Nile can’t believe she’s seen a picture of Nicky’s dick before she’s even gotten to meet him. “Not on the coffee table, please,” Nile says, handing Joe the sketchbook and hoping she doesn’t find it on the kitchen counter next.
-
Nile’s first confirmation that Nicky is a real live human being and not a benevolent food ghost that haunts their apartment, comes at 1:21 in the morning on a Thursday.
“Joe,” Nile hears someone moan through the thin apartment walls, and then lapse into a language she doesn’t recognize. Nile is in Intermediate Latin, not the Romance languages. The only thing she knows how to say in French is merde and that’s Booker’s fault entirely.
Nile can recognize the cadence of Joe’s voice through the wall, sweet and soothing, but she can’t make out the words. They aren’t for her anyway. Nile puts in her headphones, turns on Frank Ocean, and tries to fall back to sleep.
When she wakes in the morning, it’s to the smell of hashbrowns and eggs, onions sizzling in the pan. Nile throws off her covers and sprints for the kitchen but the breakfast dishes are already in the sink.
There’s the soft sounds of voices and Nile turns the corner to the entryway just in time to see a flash of brown hair as Joe closes the door.
“I missed him again?” Nile says, sagging onto the couch. She’s going back to sleep. There’s another two hours before her next class.
“Nicky’s a morning person,” Joe says, joining her on the couch and pulling Nile’s feet into his lap. “It’s his worst flaw. I only get sleepy cuddles on the weekends. He has 8am lectures every morning.”
“God,” Nile says, “why?” She had an 8am lecture series on Mondays and Wednesdays last semester and it almost killed her.
Joe laughs and tugs her upright. “Let Nicky have his mysteries, Nile. Come on, he left you a plate in the fridge.”
-
When Nile opens the fridge now, she’s started to expect a certain level of healthy, edible food. The swift, unforseen decline to a few softening oranges and expiring condiment bottles makes Nile’s heart give a sudden clench.
She’s guiltly left a few crumpled ten dollar bills on the top shelf since she never sees Nicky to offer him grocery money in person but Joe always hands them back to her so it can’t be that.
“Nicky and I both have stipends,” Joe told her. “Food costs less in bulk so it all comes out in a wash. Really you’re helping us not to waste food. Nicky and I would never get through these groceries by the expiration dates by ourselves.”
Now that she thinks of it, Joe has been looking undeniably morose. He goes through Blue periods sometimes but all his latest paintings have been cheerful and color-swirled with rounded, romantic lines, none of the washed out colors or jagged edged sculptures that hint at true unhappiness.
“Joe,” Nile says, cautiously, “is everything okay with you and Nicky?”
“Of course,” Joe says, frowning at her. “Why— Oh, no, he just has a midterm paper due, Nile. He’ll be back soon.”
“Good,” Nile says. “I still haven’t given up on meeting him.”
-
“Ow,” Nile says, yawning when she runs into Booker’s back on the way to the kitchen. “Why are you just standing in the doorway like—”
“I think it’s him,” Booker hisses like he’s going to startle a mythical creature.
“Who?” Nile says, blinking half awake as she tries to peer over his shoulder. She can only see the back of someone. A white guy with short brown hair. He’s wearing Joe’s oldest and most beloved t-shirt, worn soft with a thousand washes and splattered with paint, and in his hand is a sharpass knife being wielded with ridiculously swift precision against a green pepper.
Nile has a sleep-addled moment where this does not compute before she realizes—Nicky. It’s Nicky.
Nile refrains from shouting because of the knife but it’s a close thing. This is the culmination of months. Months. He’d better be worthy of Joe.
Speaking of Joe, he moves from the table to eclipse Nicky’s back in an embrace, taking the knife from his hands. “Look who you finally get to meet, hayati!” Joe says, spinning Nicky around.
Nicky’s entire face is a smile. “Nile!” he says, with flattering enthusiasm. “I’m so happy to meet you. Joe’s told me so much about you.” He opens his arms and he’s wearing Joe’s softest t-shirt and he’s made her lunch practically every day for months, so Nile walks straight into them. Nicky’s hug is as soft and warm as his sweatshirt. Nile could stay here forever. Joe’s probably in safe arms.
“Booker,” Nicky nods. “You are still French?” he checks, like Booker might have renounced his nationality.
Booker gives him a sardonic look.
Nicky smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “My Joe loves you so I will make you more bouillabaisse, perhaps crepes if you are awake in the mornings.”
“Unlikely,” Joe says. “Stick to the bouillabaisse.”
“Hey,” Booker says, without feeling. “But yeah, I’ll take the bouillabaisse.”
Nile gentle punches Nicky on the arm when she reluctantly eases out of the hug. “Why has it taken us three months to meet you? The suspense was driving us crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Nile,” Nicky apologizes. “Our class times seem very at odds and I didn’t want to bother you.” He smiles at Joe, sweet and teasing, “And it is difficult to leave Joe alone in bed. He is a very good cuddler.”
They’re both champion huggers as far as Nile can tell. It’s a match made in heaven.
“Thank you for all the meals,” Nile says, because it’s long overdue and her mother raised her right.
“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Nicky says, pleased. “Would you like some breakfast?”
Characters: Nile, Joe, Booker, Nicky
Pairings: Joe/Nicky
Word Count: 2700
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff and Humor
Summary: Nile’s first confirmation that Nicky is a real live human being and not a benevolent food ghost that haunts their apartment, comes at 1:21 in the morning on a Thursday.
Or: the AU where Nile cannot seem to meet her roommate Joe’s new boyfriend.
“Are these brownies?” Nile checks, staring at the pan of brownies that has somehow spontaneously appeared on their kitchen counter. They look homemade but Nile knows for a fact that Joe burns water and Booker lives almost entirely off of Doritos and takeout. Nile didn’t even realize they had something more pan-shaped than the single sad, dented cookie sheet available in the kitchen to make brownies with.
“Are they special brownies?” Booker asks, looking interested.
“They’re extremely special,” Joe says. “But not like that. Only because Nicky made them.”
“Who’s Nicky?” Nile asks. She’s been living with Joe, Booker, and Lykon in off-campus housing for eight months now and she’s sure no one’s mentioned a Nicky.
“Nicky,” Joe says, like the emphasis will somehow help her remember someone she’s never heard of.
“Okay,” Nile says, patient. “But like, who is Nicky, Joe?”
“Who is Nicky? Who is Nicky?” Joe says, affronted and poetic in equal measures. “Only the love of my life, the heart of my heart, the most beautiful, perfect—”
“I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend,” Booker says, around a mouthful of brownie. “Congrats. These are really good.”
Nile cuts out a corner piece and pops it into her mouth. God, they are really good. Double chocolate and gooey and still faintly warm from the oven. “Did he just leave? Why didn’t you introduce us?”
“He had to go to class,” Joe says. Nile hands him the knife and he cuts himself a large middle piece. He adds, proudly, “Nicky’s an amazing cook. He made fettuccine alfredo last night too.”
Nile looks over at the sink but there are no pots or other dishes to back up Joe’s claim. The cleanliness is even more unusual because Booker, for someone who subsists almost entirely on takeout, somehow uses an inordinate amount of dishware and then leaves it in the sink until it grows sentient organisms.
“It’s for my Biology 205 class,” he’d once lied, straight-faced, and straight to Nile’s face.
“Did he wash all the dishes?” Nile asks.
Joe puts a hand over his heart like she’s wounded him. “What kind of cad do you think I am, Nile,” he says. “Nicky cooked and I cleaned.”
“Even Booker’s dishes?”
“They were making Nicky look sad,” Joe says. “New house rule by the way: No one is allowed to make Nicky sad.” He looks meaningfully at Booker. “Wash your dishes.”
Booker rolls his eyes. “Fine, as long as we get more brownies out of it.”
-
The next week, Nile opens the fridge expecting half a bottle of orange juice and the few apples she brought home from the dining hall yesterday. Instead, the shelves are full of milk and eggs, yogurt and oranges and tomatoes. There’s a box of blueberries stacked neatly on top of a box of strawberries. Nile opens the crisper drawer to find celery and peppers and a bunch of genuine six-inch long carrots. Not even the baby carrots. Actual peelable carrots.
“Joe?” Nile calls. “Did you buy all this food?” She can’t remember the last time any of them cooked anything. The closest they usually get is walking down to the Waffle House together.
Joe wanders into the kitchen, followed by a curious Booker. “No,” Joe says, shaking his head. “Nicky bought all that. He said he was worried we were all going to die of scurvy.”
“He knows we can’t cook though, right?” Nile asks. The oranges are fine but she doesn’t know what else to do with celery except ants on a log.
Joe smiles. “He’s aware.” He rummages through the sudden bounty of the refrigerator and hands Nile a tidy blue bento box. It has a yellow sticky note on the top that reads NILE :). “And for you,” he adds, giving Booker a brown paper bag labelled BOOKER.
“What, I don’t get a smiley face?” Booker asks.
“I told Nicky you were French,” Joe says. “He’s going to take some time to warm up to you.”
“Joe, we’ve literally never met him.”
“He made you a sandwich,” Joe continues blithely. “Make sure you bring back the wrap, it’s reusable.”
Nile opens her bento box. “He made me four cheese mac and cheese?” It might even be five cheese. There are a lot of distinct shades of orange. And breadcrumbs. “Did he toast these?” she asks, incredulous.
Joe laughs. “Yes. I thought he was making me breakfast but he was really gourmeting your lunch.” He takes another bento box, polished brown wood this time, out of the fridge and smiles down at the attached sticky note where JOE is encased in a neat Sharpie-drawn heart.
“Joe,” Nile says. “When are we going to get to meet Nicky?”
Booker moans around his sandwich which apparently isn’t going to make it as far as lunch. “I don’t care who made this as long as they continue to make more.”
Joe shrugs. “He’s here all the time, you just keep missing each other. Ships in the night. I’m sure you’ll get to meet him soon.”
-
Fall starts abruptly with an unseasonable cold snap and Nile shivers as she opens the door to the apartment. She’d thought they were going to get at least another week of t-shirts and shorts out of September.
There’s a large black hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. Nile throws it on over her t-shirt and sighs, tucking her chilled hands into the front pocket. The sweatshirt feels like a warm hug. Nile doesn’t think Joe or Booker will mind her borrowing it, although it doesn’t seem like something Joe, with his forward fashion-sense, would wear and Booker tends toward chunky sweaters.
“Nile?” Joe says, coming out of his room. “Oh,” he smiles, looking at her figure, dwarfed by the hoodie. “That’s Nicky’s. He must have left it.”
Nile’s reluctance to relinquish it must read on her face because Joe laughs, his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure he won’t mind if you borrow it a while longer. My heart is nothing if not generous.”
Nile wouldn’t know, seeing as she still has yet to meet the mysterious Nicky, but she’s willing to take Joe’s word on it. The hoodie is very warm.
-
“Joe, how’s Nicky doing?” Lykon asks.
“You know Nicky?” Nile asks. Lykon, who’s doing pre-med and routinely spends six hour blocks in Organic Chemistry labs, is practically as much a ghost to the apartment as Nicky.
“Of course?” Lykon says. “He’s here all the time.”
What the fuck, Booker mouths at Nile over Lykon’s shoulder.
I know! she mouths back.
Lykon gives Joe a teasing look and adds, “I’ve seen more of Nicky than anyone but Joe needs to see.”
“The door was closed,” Joe says, pointedly.
“I thought you were being murdered. There was a lot of screaming.”
“Yeah there was,” Joe says with satisfied reminiscence and accepts a high five from Booker. “Nile, Nicky made cake if you’d like some.”
Centered on the kitchen table, there’s a beautifully iced chocolate cake sitting on a delicate, pale blue cake stand that looks like it ought to belong to someone’s grandmother. Two slices are missing. “Thanks. What was the occasion?” Nile asks, pulling a plate out of the cupboard.
Joe smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nicky likes cake.”
Okay, fair. Nile takes a bite. Jesus Christ. She hopes the orgasms Nicky is apparently giving Joe are half as good as the one her mouth is having right now.
“There’s a lunch box in the fridge for you too,” Joe says.
-
It’s been two months of missed Nicky sightings and Nile would almost be convinced that Joe and Lykon are just fucking with her and Booker at this point but the food keeps appearing and the apartment is full of odds and ends Nicky’s left behind. She and Booker have been keeping an inventory in a hopeless attempt to gauge who Nicky is based on the debris left in his wake. It’s a technique Nile learned in her Anthropology class but it’s not serving her particularly well at the moment.
Nile looks at the small pile of lost and discarded items they’ve traced back to Nicky. There’s a comparative religions textbook, although Joe’s said that Nicky’s major is Ecology. The new knife block from the kitchen. Ethically sound beeswax wrap used for Booker’s sandwiches. A scrap of paper with dates and times listed, a drawing of a sword at the top right corner in what Nile recognizes as Joe’s hand. And Nile’s confiscated black hoodie.
“I found these too,” Booker says, pulling out a strip of condoms that advertise ‘Ultra Ribbed’ and adding them to the pile.
“Great,” Nile says. “So he’s Joe’s knife-wielding—maybe sword-wielding—environmentally conscious chef boyfriend who wears comfortable clothing and fucks. This is so helpful.”
Booker shrugs. “I don’t really see the problem, Nile. He makes us food. Joe loves him. Where’s the downside?”
“Look,” Nile says, “I’d just like to meet the man who makes my five cheese mac and cheese and holds Joe’s heart in his hands.” She gives Booker a sideways glance. They don’t really talk about it but, “Joe doesn’t always have the best taste in boyfriends you know.”
“Yeah,” Booker says, deflating.
Joe’s last boyfriend had broken his heart pretty thoroughly. Nile will do it no question, no hesitation, but if they never have to bolster Joe through pints of Ben & Jerry and Meg Ryan movie marathons again, it will be too soon. Nicky had better be worth all the love Joe has to offer or no five cheese mac and cheese will save him.
-
Joe’s sketchbook is open on the table and Nile sees a pair of piercing eyes, the curve of a sharp cheekbone, before she also sees the inner curve of hip and—
“Joe!” Nile yells, slapping the sketchbook closed. “Why is there a picture of a cock on our coffee table?”
“Oh sorry, Nile,” Joe says with the perfect ambivalence of an artist who sees no shame in any aspect of the human form. “I can’t help sketching Nicky, he’s a beautiful muse.”
Nile isn’t entirely scandalized herself, but still. There’s a picture of a cock on her coffee table.
Nile can’t believe she’s seen a picture of Nicky’s dick before she’s even gotten to meet him. “Not on the coffee table, please,” Nile says, handing Joe the sketchbook and hoping she doesn’t find it on the kitchen counter next.
-
Nile’s first confirmation that Nicky is a real live human being and not a benevolent food ghost that haunts their apartment, comes at 1:21 in the morning on a Thursday.
“Joe,” Nile hears someone moan through the thin apartment walls, and then lapse into a language she doesn’t recognize. Nile is in Intermediate Latin, not the Romance languages. The only thing she knows how to say in French is merde and that’s Booker’s fault entirely.
Nile can recognize the cadence of Joe’s voice through the wall, sweet and soothing, but she can’t make out the words. They aren’t for her anyway. Nile puts in her headphones, turns on Frank Ocean, and tries to fall back to sleep.
When she wakes in the morning, it’s to the smell of hashbrowns and eggs, onions sizzling in the pan. Nile throws off her covers and sprints for the kitchen but the breakfast dishes are already in the sink.
There’s the soft sounds of voices and Nile turns the corner to the entryway just in time to see a flash of brown hair as Joe closes the door.
“I missed him again?” Nile says, sagging onto the couch. She’s going back to sleep. There’s another two hours before her next class.
“Nicky’s a morning person,” Joe says, joining her on the couch and pulling Nile’s feet into his lap. “It’s his worst flaw. I only get sleepy cuddles on the weekends. He has 8am lectures every morning.”
“God,” Nile says, “why?” She had an 8am lecture series on Mondays and Wednesdays last semester and it almost killed her.
Joe laughs and tugs her upright. “Let Nicky have his mysteries, Nile. Come on, he left you a plate in the fridge.”
-
When Nile opens the fridge now, she’s started to expect a certain level of healthy, edible food. The swift, unforseen decline to a few softening oranges and expiring condiment bottles makes Nile’s heart give a sudden clench.
She’s guiltly left a few crumpled ten dollar bills on the top shelf since she never sees Nicky to offer him grocery money in person but Joe always hands them back to her so it can’t be that.
“Nicky and I both have stipends,” Joe told her. “Food costs less in bulk so it all comes out in a wash. Really you’re helping us not to waste food. Nicky and I would never get through these groceries by the expiration dates by ourselves.”
Now that she thinks of it, Joe has been looking undeniably morose. He goes through Blue periods sometimes but all his latest paintings have been cheerful and color-swirled with rounded, romantic lines, none of the washed out colors or jagged edged sculptures that hint at true unhappiness.
“Joe,” Nile says, cautiously, “is everything okay with you and Nicky?”
“Of course,” Joe says, frowning at her. “Why— Oh, no, he just has a midterm paper due, Nile. He’ll be back soon.”
“Good,” Nile says. “I still haven’t given up on meeting him.”
-
“Ow,” Nile says, yawning when she runs into Booker’s back on the way to the kitchen. “Why are you just standing in the doorway like—”
“I think it’s him,” Booker hisses like he’s going to startle a mythical creature.
“Who?” Nile says, blinking half awake as she tries to peer over his shoulder. She can only see the back of someone. A white guy with short brown hair. He’s wearing Joe’s oldest and most beloved t-shirt, worn soft with a thousand washes and splattered with paint, and in his hand is a sharpass knife being wielded with ridiculously swift precision against a green pepper.
Nile has a sleep-addled moment where this does not compute before she realizes—Nicky. It’s Nicky.
Nile refrains from shouting because of the knife but it’s a close thing. This is the culmination of months. Months. He’d better be worthy of Joe.
Speaking of Joe, he moves from the table to eclipse Nicky’s back in an embrace, taking the knife from his hands. “Look who you finally get to meet, hayati!” Joe says, spinning Nicky around.
Nicky’s entire face is a smile. “Nile!” he says, with flattering enthusiasm. “I’m so happy to meet you. Joe’s told me so much about you.” He opens his arms and he’s wearing Joe’s softest t-shirt and he’s made her lunch practically every day for months, so Nile walks straight into them. Nicky’s hug is as soft and warm as his sweatshirt. Nile could stay here forever. Joe’s probably in safe arms.
“Booker,” Nicky nods. “You are still French?” he checks, like Booker might have renounced his nationality.
Booker gives him a sardonic look.
Nicky smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “My Joe loves you so I will make you more bouillabaisse, perhaps crepes if you are awake in the mornings.”
“Unlikely,” Joe says. “Stick to the bouillabaisse.”
“Hey,” Booker says, without feeling. “But yeah, I’ll take the bouillabaisse.”
Nile gentle punches Nicky on the arm when she reluctantly eases out of the hug. “Why has it taken us three months to meet you? The suspense was driving us crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Nile,” Nicky apologizes. “Our class times seem very at odds and I didn’t want to bother you.” He smiles at Joe, sweet and teasing, “And it is difficult to leave Joe alone in bed. He is a very good cuddler.”
They’re both champion huggers as far as Nile can tell. It’s a match made in heaven.
“Thank you for all the meals,” Nile says, because it’s long overdue and her mother raised her right.
“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” Nicky says, pleased. “Would you like some breakfast?”
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Date: 2020-12-13 07:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-16 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-14 02:07 pm (UTC)Booker and Nile's shenanigans were my favourites!
And had I not just eaten, I would have gotten very hungry while reading this....
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Date: 2020-12-16 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-20 08:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-22 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-22 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-24 04:14 pm (UTC)