Summary
"Happy Birthday, indeed." He says softly to himself, a mere murmur to be lost in the noise of the silence.
A/N: So yes haha another pretty crappy faaanfiction. Welp. Hahahahaha, yes, well, yes. Great. Uh okay so yes… =))) Upon the demands of some peopleeee, tada. Another storyyy! Yes ok then yes ok this is ok.
I dedicate this chapter to a good chap of mine who inspired me once again to write. This chap of mine's pretty damn good writing her jolly jubilant poetry, and well, who am I not to challenge myself to top that?
A square, that's what. Or maybe a damn bloody chicken.
I do enjoy myself a good mental fisticuff once in a while.
Yes, well, do enjoy this chapter.
It's kind of crappy, though. The song didn't fit as much as I wanted it to, and, well… Yes. I promise to make a better chapter next time.
Also, this chapter is kind of sad. Really sad. Well, I don't know about you. But I got sad at the ending of this one.
But don't get your knickers in a twist! I'll fix that. Next thing you'll know, you're swept off of your feet and is flying away at the FLUFFy cloudsss.
Sweater Weather
The Neighbourhood
All I am is a man
I want the world in my hands
I hate the beach
But I stand in California
with my toes in the sand
Nick breathed out calmly, sitting up out of bed. He yawned, stretching in bed, before standing up. Making himself a cup of coffee, he smiles. 'A fresh start was what he really needed.'
Making his way out, he scratches his head and wraps his robe around him. 'Renting this little house in West Egg is kind of dumb, though.' He says to himself. 'The scenes in here are too distracting.'
He takes out his books- poor little sucker did seem to know nothing- and started reading by his porch, enjoying the feel of the summer breeze.
After 5 minutes of reading or so
…Suddenly, people.
People going to the beach.
Use the sleeves on my sweater
Lets have an adventure
Head in the clouds but my gravity centered
Touch my neck and I'll touch yours
You in those little high waisted shorts
"Maybe later." He says to himself- to his book actually- putting it down on his table. He gulps his coffee down, and gets back inside the cottage for a change of clothes.
Afterwards, he walks to the beach, admiring the view. The rays of the sun splaying across his face, the people walking around as well- everything seemed pretty good about this place. Suddenly, he comes across a dock- a pier- and has a sudden urge to go up to that and admire the view from there.
Tracing the origin of said dock with his eyes, just so he would know how to get from there, he sees it leads to the land of a mansion- the mansion of his neighbor.
"Bummer." He mumbles to himself, but goes along his way. He looks back, however, and catches a quick glimpse of a man in a fancy looking suit. He gapes at him, and, the man, noticing him, smiles. Nick flushes with embarrassment for standing there so stiffly, and proceeds to run off, trip, and run back off again to the confines of his cozy home.
She knows what I think about
And what I think about
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirts, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothing I really wanna tell you about, no
After hours and hours of reading his salesman books, Nick decides to go back to the beach.
'Now's the most opportune time! Not much people, I'd bet.' He says, wearing again the same clothes he wore just this morning.
He sneaks out as soon as he does, and sits down the sand when he gets there. Staring up at the sky, he's mesmerized by the sight. The stars twinkling so bright, as if they beckoned to him to join them in their legion; the moon, round and fat, like a great big ball of kitten. His mouth opens to whisper a slight "wow", and his eyes drop to the water.
He's taken aback yet again by the sight that never fails to amaze. The water was beautiful- clear and blue. It seemed as if if he were to step on it, he would fall into a sky of endless stars and shining. But in his trance, he noticed something green blinking in the water.
Reflection. He tells himself, and looks up to see the source of this.
Waaay waaaay waaaaay there was East Egg, and in a similar dock, a green light was blinking. He tilted his head a bit, wondering what that was for. Shrugging, he gets up, brushing his pants of the sand there. He smiles to himself, content on what he saw. As he leaves, however, he notices a figure on the dock beside him, reaching out to what he think is the green light.
Cause it's too cold
For you here
And now
So let me hold
Both your hands
In the holes of my sweater
"Nice night, huh?" Nick says to the figure, approaching him.
The man does not answer, still seeming to reach out for the light. Nick clears his throat and repeats what he said, a bit louder this time. "Nice night, huh?!"
The man jerks, and lets his hand fall to his side. He looks down the brunette, the dock giving him a height advantage. "Yes, indeed, old sport. It's a wonderful night."
Nick smiles at him, despite not being able to see the man's feature's clearly. "You must be my neighbor. Pleased to meet you. Well, uh, hear you." He reaches his hand out.
"Hah, yes, well pardon me, the lighting doesn't really…" the man squats down the pier to get better access of Nick's hand, which he shakes softly. "You'll see me soon enough."
He stands up once again, straightening out the wrinkles in his clothes. "What made you move to good old West Egg?"
"Oh, uh… You know… New start and all." He says sheepishly, scratching his head. "My dreams of being a writer died down before, and well, seeing the same place everyday where you used to have that dream kind of…" he looks up to the sky, a weary look on his face, "…sucks."
"Yes, well," the man on the pier says, nodding sympathetically. "I'd know all about that, Old Sport."
After a moment, he says again. "Have you no relatives here?"
"Uh, my cousin lives way over there." Nick replies, pointing to the mansion opposite to them. "Daisy's her name."
The man jerks his head towards him suddenly, "Daisy? Daisy Fey?"
"Buchanan." He corrects him.
The man runs a hand over his hair, clearing his throat, walking slowly back to his mansion. "Well, this has been a wonderful surprise seeing you here. I'll call it a night, though. Take care on your way home, old sport."
"Yes, well, you too!" Nick says with a smile, watching the shadow go back to his caverns.
And if I may just take your breath away
I don't mind if there's not much to say
Sometimes the silence guides your mind
So move to a place so far away
The goosebumps start race
The minute that my left hand meets your waist
"Have you seen Mr. Gatsby anywhere? He's the host, and he's invited me, and…" Nick says, holding up his invite.
"No one's ever seen this Mr. Gatsby, boy." The man bartending says to him, handing Nick a glass of martini. "Here. Have a shot."
Sighing exasperatedly, he pockets the invite, gets the drink, and gulps it down. Going up the stairs for a better view of the wild party, he hits someone.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he yelps, apologizing profusely.
"No, it's quite alright." The man says, smiling, laughter in his voice, dragging Nick up by the arm and by the waist. With Nick's slight alcohol buzz, he finds the hands on him quite pleasant. "Enjoying yourself, Old Sport?"
"Yes, well," Nick starts, not knowing where he heard that pet name before, "I am but it seems I haven't met the host, Mr. Gatsby, yet; he gave me an invite and well…"
"Then I'm sorry for not having been a good host." The man says, getting a glass from one of the butlers that passed by and raised it up in a form of cheers. "I'm Gatsby."
The fireworks begin shooting behind him, as the man- Gatsby- smiles beautifully at him.
The most sincere smile he's ever seen in his entire life.
And a smile he'll most certainly treasure for all eternity.
And then I watched your face
Put my finger on your tongue
Cause you love to taste yeah
These hearts adore
Everyone the other beats heart is for
Inside this place is warm
Outside it starts to pour
After the various, wonderful favors Gatsby's done for him, he decides it's a good enough decision to pay that back. He's invited Daisy over for tea, and Gatsby's with him now. He smiles at the guest in his couch, hoping this would blossom into what he dreams to be a somewhat perfect friendship.
"Tea?" he asks Gatsby, who seems will die at any second now.
"N-no." he moves around in his chair, finding a comfortable spot. Suddenly he bolts up. "The flowers… Do you think…"
"They're enough. Just calm down." he says, enjoying the somehow comforting and amusing silence. Gatsby sits back down, putting a hand on his head.
"I'm terribly sorry, I think I'm coming down with a fever…" he says, standing up and almost running to the door.
"Calm down!" Nick says, putting his tea on the table beside him and running after Gatsby. "You'll do fine."
He looks up at Gatsby, and his eyes are wide like a terrified child's. "Really, old sport?"
"Yes." He says in all honesty.
Gatsby's eyes fling to his and for a moment, they're stuck like that. He's lost again in those eyes. It reminds him of the water he saw on that fateful night they first met. Beautiful. "…Now go back to your seat." He wills himself to say.
Gatsby does, and promptly gets up, saying he can't wait that long, and Nick tries to soothe him, hoping it would lead to some eye-staring again, but then suddenly…
Coming down,
… a car honk is heard from outside.
"She's here!" Nick says delightedly, but as he faces away, he can't help but to sigh a bit. How can he help it? He admits, he's learned to somehow love the man.
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirt, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothing that I really wanna tell you about
No, no, no
They can't keep their eyes off of each other.
Nick sighs, slumping down his couch. They're so gaga for each other! He doesn't know if he should be jumping in glee or puking with utter disgust.
He should really be happy now that Gatsby's found his true love and all, but…
It would be vain to say this, and very self-centered, but... He knew Gatsby was better off with someone else. And that someone else being him. Nicholas Carraway, at your service.
He snorts at the silliness of the idea. But still, the fact that he deserved better did not stray.
As much as he loved Daisy… She just didn't deserve a man as dedicated as the great Jay Gatsby.
Cause it's too cold
For you here
And now
So let me hold whoa
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater
"I need you." Gatsby says.
He's thankful they're on the phone because he stiffens, sitting there like an awkward duck. His face is flushed, his heart racing, his eyes batting over and over as if to comprehend, but his mind did understand it, and it wasn't what the man meant at all.
Not at all.
He needs you to get to Daisy. To get to Daisy. It was never about you. Never. About. You.
It was always about her. She's beautiful, she's rich, she's everything you're not, and she has his heart in her hand. You will never be her. Never.
"Old Sport?" Gatsby's voice sounds from the other line, his voice hitching with worry. "Are you there, Nick?"
Try as he might, he can't help it. This was a test in itself. It was a test.
Put the phone down, you turn away from him and forget everything.
Keep it up and talk, he turns into something Daisy is like for him: unattainable.
But unattainable as he is, you'll never stop feeding your soul- your heart- with false hope.
"You need me." Nick repeats, slowly, drawing out every single syllable.
"Yes." Gatsby says, relief in his voice that his 'old sport' was pretty okay. "I very much do so, Nick. I very much do."
Nick closes his eyes, treasures the way his name is said, and puts the phone down.
This damn thing will do nothing for him.
Cause it's too cold
For you here
And now
So let me hold
Both your hands
In the holes of my sweater
"Let's go to town." Daisy says, trying to smile it off, but her stiff posture giving her away. Gatsby still stares at her, holding such passion in his eyes, and Nick couldn't help but to look away and hope it would be gone by the time he'd look back.
What're you trying to do, Gatsby?
Nick's eyes rest softly on Gatsby, inching his gaze across his body. Looking at his eyes, he sees that the blond is thoroughly focused on Daisy.
Trying to get her to confess every single thing you'd dreamt of her to confess?
But the question was,
are Daisy's words really the words you've hoped her to say?
Nick looks at Tom as he replies something to his wife- but the words seem to dissipate before it reached his ears. She's not who you fell in love with, Jay. You fell in love with the Daisy before. This is the new Daisy. The rich, married, Buchanan Daisy. Get yourself out of the illusion that she's still here for you.
Because she's not.
Briefly closing his eyes, he realizes how cold his words are and apologizes profusely, but for no one- not even the one it's addressed to- to ever hear.
Cause it's too cold whoa
For you here
And now
So let me hold whoa
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater
Daisy runs out, tears in her eyes. Gatsby looks at Nick regretfully, straightening his clothes. Nick, in his seat, searches with his eyes Gatsby's resolve- the resolve to never let Daisy go- hoping that the way he'd look at him that very instant could snap that resolve to two.
Don't, Gatsby. Can't you see? Nick says in his mind, as if the flustered man could actually hear him. You won't get anything from this. She couldn't say it. She couldn't say what you wanted her to. Can't you see? She doesn't want you anymore.
You're just… Just a dog to her. Don't do this to yourself, please.
Nick is on the verge of tears, but blinks it somehow all away.
Walk away now, Gatsby, and you leave what you've had with you all this time.
Gatsby swallows visibly, and Nick looks away. before running out away with her.
It's too cold
For you here
And now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater
Daisy again.
Nick stands dejectedly, in the middle of the room, going to the window sill to watch Gatsby run to Daisy and hop in the car.
"Nick!" Tom shouts. He looks back at the man passively. "Wine?"
"No thanks." He mumbles. "I just remembered, though…"
"What?"
"…It's my birthday." Nick raises his glass and looks at it, shakes it slowly, before gulping down whatever was left of it.
Tom sighs, sympathetic of his cousin-in-law. "Happy birthday, then."
Nick draws his eyes back to the window scene, and sees Daisy driving off with Gatsby on the passenger's seat.
"Happy Birthday, indeed." He says softly to himself, a mere murmur to be lost in the noise of the silence.
It's too cold, it's too cold
The hands of my sweater...