Nick throws the door open in front of him, his head swimming with hints of frustration. The day had been difficult. First and foremost, his boss is still pissed at him for dismissing his daughter as a potential future wife and has decided to return the favour by forcing Nick to work an extra two shifts aside from his already tiring night shifts. Getting three hours of sleep is not how Nick rolled, not less adding on to the depressing atmosphere he faces each night, running through to morning. By now, the images of old, frail men attempting to down shots of hard liquor are imprinted on his mind. And, since he has little to no time to shower up and change, he almost always smells like a musty wine cellar that had been left untouched for no more than twenty years. The 'eau de malodorous' was not a good trait for picking up girls, not that that's his main priority anymore.
Upon opening the door and almost breaking the framed picture, that Schmidt insisted was 'characteristic' of their dynamic (because obviously a blank sepia tone image that looked like a stock-photo was extremely characteristic of his life) behind it in the process, he finds her, curled up, glasses pushed halfway across her face, nursing her usual cup of tea.
"Easy tiger." She grins, noticing his stymied expression. "I'm not bailing you out of Remy-prison if you tear that door off its hinges."
She sits up and corrects her glasses, pulling her disheveled curls over one shoulder.
Since when did she learn how to be so breath-taking all the damn time?
"Rough day?"
"What do you think, Jess?"
Jess nods and bites down on her lower lip. "Boss still on your case?"
Nick, who has now, found his way head first in the top shelf of the fridge, glances over his shoulder at her. Looking over at her has wavered some of his bitterness aside and fills him with this pressing feeling of longing. The innocent tone she takes with him, coupled with her huge, beautiful blue eyes boring into his makes it almost impossible to be angry with her.
"There's no beer." He responds, monotone. All his body craves is an ice-cold Heisler to drown away his feelings, but even that seemed to be too much of a luxury for the world to grant him, God forbid he actually wanted to be happy.
"What are we watching, Jess?"
He half falls, half-throws himself down beside her, pretty thankful that she has decided to finish drinking the contents of the mug before he had done so. His eyes wander towards the television. Ads. Figures.
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because you told me I couldn't watch it if you're home." She mumbles, her head buried into the arm-rest of the couch.
"Jess, please tell me it isn't what I-."
And then the clips of white gowns and emotional women fill the screen in front of them. Say Yes to the (damn) Dress.
"Again, Jess? I thought we agreed, this show is nothing but false entertainment that ruins weddings for everyone!"
Jess stays silent. Nick groans. It was all very cheery, in the eyes of nobody.
"The Walking Dead is on afterwards, Nick." She mutters, refusing to move her head from its nest of hair and leather.
"You're going to watch it alone?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you." She shifts in her spot, turning her head to face him, pushing her face back into her head, coaxing out a tiny double-chin.
Great. I wanted to be angry, Jess, can't you just let me be angry?
He doesn't even need her to say anything before her pale, washed out face and gleaming eyes, say it for her.
Nick, I need you.
God damnit, Day,
He throws his head into his hands and pushes his shoulders back into the couch, biting his cheek to avoid smiling, or any form of gaiety for that matter. She can't know how much it would mean for him to spend the rest of the day with her. Hell, she probably already knows that from his, oh-so-great- move in that damn hallway.
"Let's do this Jess." He winces, recalling that same exact phrase from his almost-threesome with Jess and their lovely landlord, Remy. (He sometimes felt like her room still had his gnarly stench lingering in that same spot.)
He sees her beam out of the corner of his eye, and clamps down slightly more onto his cheek, pretty sure he'll taste blood in a matter of minutes. He hasn't prepared himself for anything even close to what the night will bring. Usually, Monday nights were incredibly unremarkable. He liked it that way. Emphasis on the 'liked'.
It feels like hours before that damned-to-hell program had finally come to an end. Whether or not she had said yes to the dress, which he found to be tacky anyway, was beyond Nick.
Why were girls so obsessed with this stuff?
Twenty minutes in and Nick has had to shield Jess' eyes from the forthcoming Walkers that flash explicitly on-screen about eight times in one sitting. Why does she do this to herself? With all the open flesh wounds and sudden attacks from these 'creatures' as she so put it, he is surprised she isn't huddled up behind the couch, shaking like a schizophrenic patient in a mental-facility. He on the other hand finds the gruesome scenes all but slightly nauseating. Not that he would ever admit that blood made his stomach turn to some degree.
"God!" she shrieks, catching Nick's forearm.
"Careful with my circulation there." He snarls loosely, keeping his focus on the television. "You might turn me into a Walker"
She loosens her grip, apologizing under her shaky breath and tries to keep up a reposing façade for the remainder of the episode. 'Keeping up with the Kardashians' sounded like a much more inviting program for her to indulge in, but of course, conveniently, Cece had gone to some conference that models went to up in Pasadena for the weekend, so that plan would have to be put on hold for now. And they're out of strawberry ice-cream. She finds it near to impossible to watch anything alone without that pink tub of sweet, luscious, creaminess that tantalized her taste-buds every time she piled spoonful after spoonful into her mouth. And only now does it occur to her that she is using Nick as her substitute for that, and last time she checked, describing someone as being sweet and creamy could get you locked up behind bars for conspiracy cannibalism, or could land you a really great fantasy whenever the time was necessary. Those two things never really matched up.
Despite his countless complaints about how she 'shouldn't watch it if it bothers her that much', he sure did let her cling on to him, or bury her head into his shirt whenever she got nervous. He can't help but pity her vulnerability. Not only does he find it annoyingly adorable, but he also finds it very convenient in boosting his masculinity. As if he is some kind of tough protector of the weak, shielding Jess from the terrors that evades her mind as she bore those huge, alluring eyes into those of his every time she pulls herself from the safety of his hoodie.
"Jess if you're really that scared."
"I'm not scared."
"So why are your legs pulled up to your chest right now?"
"I'm cold."
"Nice save." He grins, not fully letting it reach his eyes. They remain stone cold and emotionless, which he tries with great effort to maintain.
She appears out of her room two hours later. She is sporting a half-asleep, bed-head look, eyelids heavy with fatigue. He barely notices her come in.
"Hey kid, what are you doing up, don't you have to work in the morning?"
She muffles an inaudible string of words.
"Can't sleep, huh?"
He raises a eyebrow and focuses his attention back towards some turtle documentary, showcasing the many species of the 'majestic king of the sea' as Nick put it, dismissing her befuddled, nonsensical state.
"Ni-..." She trails off, letting her chin drop just above her chest.
Now he notices.
"Yes?"
"Nick."
"Yeah, Jess, I'm here. Whatdya' need?"
She doesn't respond.
"Have you been taking Schmidt's sleeping pills or something? I told you, I'm pretty sure they're just a cheap spinoff of Rohypnol."
"The Walkers."
"What about them?"
She opens her eyes and begins to tremble, shielding her face from whatever it is she's hallucinating about. He stands up and slowly walks over to her, wary of his own safety. He is not going to try to get in the way of a delirious Jess, not after last time. His eye is still pretty sensitive and he still can't fully bend his index finger. One bad move and she'd give him his second shiner that week.
"Nick!" She begins to flail, helplessly.
"Jess, it's okay, you're still asleep." He approaches her and places a hand on her shoulder. She jolts to the sudden contact.
"Come on Jessica, snap out of it."
No use.
"They've got Nick!"
He looks around the apartment, an abash expression painted on his face. He is met by nothing but the mundane setting surrounding them. Same kitchen, same old couch. She was well away.
"No Jess, they haven't got anyone, I'm right here." He takes a more soft tone with her, as though he were talking to a scared child.
If this is how she reacts to watching television in the company of others, he doesn't want to even think about her response to watching it alone.
"Jess, come on, back to bed."
Placing two hands on each shoulder, he perceptibly turns her, which seems effortless given that she's too locked in by her own subconscious to be rigid, in the direction of her bedroom. His hands, lost in her dark hair that seems to be exceptionally soft, despite how restless she must have been for the last while. He gets the faint aroma of strawberry shampoo as he leans closer towards her, guiding her. He has no idea what power she has over him, even when she's out of it.
"We can't have you breaking any lamps. I've already played the sleepwalking card thrice with Schmidt. He is having none of it."
She complies, allowing him to take control and usher her back to the safety and comfort of her own room, still muttering nonsense. He shuts the door behind him, careful to make sure she doesn't dart out of it and down the steps to escape the terror of her dreams. I should have turned it off while I could.
Yes, it is slightly odd for one to be so traumatized by night-time television that even teenagers seem eager to follow. He is already writing his complaint letter to AMC stating his discomfort at putting his susceptible roommate in such distress.
'Dear AMC,
What's your problem?
-Nick Miller.'
Short and sweet.
He keeps his hand on the small of her back, just another side effect of his concern, and pulls back her duvet.
Before he knows it, Jess has bundled herself back into bed, still quivering slightly. Nick can't help but stand and stare at her for a while. He wants to sit by her, stroking her hair, holding her in case she continues to get nightmares. He wants to so bad.
No Miller, she's your roommate. Go buy one of those creepy Japanese hugging dolls if you want to hold her so bad.
He watches her, her frame so tiny and delicate, with skin like a porcelain doll. Almost as though touching her would break her. Her breathing is shallow and comes in little huffs. This time, when he smiles, he lets it reach his eyes.
He takes one final look at her and sighs before turning on his heel to go turn the T.V off and hit the hay himself.
"Nick."
"Yes, Jess?"
"That rhymed, Nick." Even in the darkness, he could see her bright blue eyes shining like two little stars in the middle of her bedroom.
"I know it did."
"Why were you staring at me?"
He rubs the back of his neck and ponders panic-moonwalking right the hell out of there. That was a little out of the blue.
"I was just uh, making sure... You know, that you were okay and that."
"Were you worried about me, Miller?"
"Yeah Jess, I mean you came out, trying to convince yourself that the Walkers had me. I was a little worried."
He shuffles his feet a degree backwards and starts out the door.
"You need to sleep Jess; you can't start scaring yourself before bed."
"I'm not a child, Nicholas."
They both pause. Nick goes to open his mouth and is swiftly interrupted by her low, tired voice.
"You said it yourself, stop caring for everyone."
"That was like, a year ago Jess." He replies, defending himself. He hasn't expected her to be so dismissive of him. Not Jess. Not the Jess he knew.
"Are you okay Jess? I mean-."
"Yes Nick I'm fine."
"That didn't sound too fine."
"Well I am."
"Woah, are you actually mad at me for helping you to not accidentally run out into the street in your rambling state?"
She sits up in her bed, running a hand along her forehead to push stray pieces of her bangs out of her eyes. He is staring down at her, a slightly hurt aura to him. Of course he knows she is probably just too tired to appreciate anything and wants to sleep, despite her summoning him back to her.
"No Nick. No I'm not." A slight twinge of sadness arises in her voice.
He moves closer to her.
"So what's up?"
"Nick, we haven't spoken about the incident." She begins playing with the tips of her hair, curling them around her fingers.
"What incident?" His breath catches in his throat and now he feels his back moisten.
Not a good time, Day.
"Nick! You know damn well what incident and I'm not going to spell it out for you."
"Yeah okay, I know, Jess. What do you want me to say? Do you expect me to just have it all figured out and then present it to you like your my professor? You know I'm a badly functioning human."
The words roll off his tongue like he has been preparing for this all night. He had been, true, only he had imagined it being a little less fuelled by anger, and definitely not at one-thirty at night, in her room, after rescuing her from non-existent zombies.
"Damnit Miller. Just talk! Just tell me how you fe-!"
"Don't say the 'f' word, Jess."
"-Eel!"
And she'd said it.
"Okay Jess, you wanna know how I feel?"
"I thought I made that pretty clear, Miller." She scowls, arms folded in front of her, as though she was fit to scold him.
He feels his face go red hot, as the blood pulses through his veins and his hands bunched into fists by his side. He grits his teeth, almost ready to scream his next few words.
"I FEEL LIKE I LOVE YOU, JESS. IS THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU?"
And then it hits him. He meant it. And he'd said it, without a second though.
She feels the blood drain from her face and her lips form a thin line along her mouth.
Silence.
Nick swallows hard, feeling his entire body freeze in the spot.
"I-I love you, Jess." It comes out as a mere whisper. Her eyes are glued to his, she doesn't even flinch. He can almost see the shock radiating from her features.
"Well say something." He breathes.
He hears the door to the loft click open and shut and hears the footsteps of patent leather on hard-wood floors. Schmidt is home. And now any chance he ever had of proving how much he loves her has gone and vanished into thin air. Only, Jess has ignored the goings-on outside her door and her eyes are still locked on Nick.
Her breathing has become unstable and her lips are slightly parted. Her thoughts are jumbled. It's becoming clear to Nick. She had expected him to know what he wanted with her, yet she was still hanging on a variety of thoughts, not trusting any of them, and unsure of her own feelings. He grins, a smug touch tugging at his lips. He isn't really sure why this gives him the title of empowerment. If anything, it only makes him look like a bit of an idiot if he's just confessed his undying love for Jess, to Jess, her physical being. And for her to be sitting before him, startled, with a deer-in-the-headlights look that screams at him with a multitude of different emotions, and not be feeling the same way, or even close, would probably do nothing but be a knock to his self-esteem.
He decides to take the role of 'completely chilled-out bad boy' and leans against her bedroom door, just above the handle, using it in his favour. If she couldn't escape, and he wouldn't leave, surely she'd have to say something. Anything.
Get out of my room, Miller.
On the other hand, holding your roommate/possible romantic interest hostage could go terribly wrong and all odds would be on her side. No jury would ever believe 'I was doing it out of love.'
And he was already running through possible scenarios without her having said even a morsel of a sentence to put his mind at ease.
"Well?" The words come out; not exactly matching this alter ego he is holding up.
"I-."
And then her voice begins to get shaky and her eyes begin to fill with tears, threatening to spill at any second. He stands up straight again, kneeling down towards her bed and places, yet again, a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it up and down. The tears have spilled.
"I'm sorry, Jess. Let it out. Let it out..."
She is full-on sobbing now. She can't mask it. Her emotions are flowing fast, beyond her control. And she has no idea why. Isn't this what she wanted? Hadn't she asked for him to be honest? And now his confession had made her an emotional mess. And despite that, he is the one who's comforting her. He is the one who's apologising.
He reaches into her bed-side table drawer and hands her a loose tissue. He doesn't think that encouraging her to respond to him is the best idea for now. Instead, he just sits beside her, letting her cry. He questions it, sure, but he isn't so selfish to demand answers from her. It goes on for little over five minutes until she has finally mustered up the courage to look up at him.
"I'm sorry." She whimpers, her lips still quivering.
"It's okay, Jess."
"I just... I was so ready to be h-hurt. By you. Like all the others who just kissed me and told me it wouldn't work. I was prepared to have you tell me something like Hey, Jess, I liked your lips and all, that was great, but I don't want to have to work to get action."
Nick can only stare at her. He can't believe what she's saying?
What scumbag says something like that to her? You know you're better than that Miller, you better give her the best damn comfort speech of her life. You hear me?
"Yes, I hear you."
"Who are you talking to, Nick?"
"Oh no-one."
Nice going, genius.
"Jess, look, I know you think I'm a terrible lover. From what you've seen, all the girls I've dated and slept with and kept for less than three weeks. It looks terrible, and scary, from your perspective. I can tell. Even I get scared of how good of a lover I am. So I thought about it, and I looked back at all those other girls; Caroline. Julia. Angie. And I realized, I never knew my place with them. None of them." He softens his tone, never breaking eye contact with her. The tears begin to well up in her eyes again and he decides it's time to get to the point before she becomes awash in a flood of her own tears.
"What I'm trying to say is, Jess, I know where I stand with you. I've known you long enough. Since the day I met you, I knew you weren't going to be just another addition to the loft. I knew you would serve so much more of a purpose to my, our lives. I can't imagine my life without you in it Jess. I loved you even before I knew I loved you. The loft is so much brighter with you in it. Anyone will tell you that. I know I'm bad at communicating my emotions, and I can be one confusing hell of a guy, but I can be a pretty deep guy too. Trust me on this Jess."
And now he is crying. And she is crying. And the tears are flowing from both ends of the spectrum.
Jess is dumbfounded. All she can do is bite at her lower lip and stare into his eyes. Not once did she ever expect a response like that.
That was near decent, Miller
She doesn't say a word. No real change there. But what she does do comes as a surprise to Nick. She pulls her pyjama sleeve up to her eyes and begins to gently wipe away the droplets. Baby tears, as she once referred them to be. Her lips lifted a bit and she let out a watery smile. Her cheeks went more rosy than usual and she shifted herself over onto the other side of her bed, gesturing for Nick to fill the empty space. He hesitates, before kicking his shoes off and climbing in beside her.
"Hold me." She whispers, snuggling up, letting her head rest on his chest. He emits slow, relaxed breaths. It's a clear difference than his breathing before. He looked not too far off of having a panic attack then and there. He lets himself relax back into the soft, warming comfort of her bed. He wraps a single arm around her, pulling her in closer, so he can continue to smell the sweet strawberry aroma of her hair once again. She shuts her eyes, taking in each other's embrace. He yearns to kiss her once again. To place a soft, sensual kiss upon her quivering, tender lips. Instead, he settles for a simple, slow, kiss upon her temple, and begins to stroke her hair. Simultaneously, she dances her slender fingers up along his torso as he lulls her to sleep. This is not how she had expected for that confrontation to go. She curls herself closer to him, letting him 'shield' her. She hadn't needed to say a word in response to his to know she feels the exact same way. And that was enough for him to want to stay like this forever. To stay, holding her, caressing her to sleep.
"That was beautiful, Nicholas." She sighs into the fabric of his shirt.
And it damn was.