Sunlight brought Nick Miller back to consciousness, albeit slowly. With a sigh he opened his eyes, the sound of Schmidt and Winston invading his room and reminding him that he was in fact in his room, at home, in the loft. He wasn't still back in Chicago, Jess wasn't dressed like the King, he was home, and his father was gone for real this time. It wasn't a pleasant sensation and he fell back against his bed, deflating audibly with a groan. The noise of his roommates continued unabated, leaving his face twisted up in annoyance. Shifting his eyes to the alarm clock perched on the end of a cinder block by his bed; he read 7:12 AM. Who argues this loud before anyone is even supposed to have started to have existed? The drone of Schmidt and Winston led him to rise, grabbing the sweatpants on top of his still packed suitcase.
"I will not stand idly by Winston! You're better than this!" Schmidt howled.
"Really Schmidt? This is where we're at right now?" Winston replied through a mouthful of eggs and burnt bacon.
"It's your one good sweater; you really need to up your wardrobe. Winter's coming, Winston, you can't be ruining well spun cashmere by wiping your grubby little fingers on it. Really I'm just looking out for your sartorial health." Schmidt continued, earning a roll of the eyes from his friend who rose from the table and grabbed his keys.
"Whatever," Winston waved his hands over his head, pivoting to turn back, pointing a finger at Schmidt, "just go easy on the crazy today, alright? We only just got back from Pop Pop's funeral and I haven't heard anything out of Nick's room since. Maintain caution on the Miller front, you hear me man?" "
Schmidt held his hands up in surrender, "Hey, hey, if anyone can console our dear Nicholas through his mourning period it's me," Schmidt flashed a huge grin and gestured to himself with flourish, "his best friend."
Nick pressed his ear to the door of his room; it'd been quiet for awhile now. He had spent the last few hours killing time in his room. Nearly a paragraph of his zombie novel had been completed, his socks had been organized, well not organized but they had been moved from one part of his room to another less dirty part.
Hearing nothing, Nick ever so slowly opened his door, peering down the hallway. Waiting a moment provided no sound or scurry of movement, so he relaxed, stepping out and padding into the bathroom. The shower came to life with a twist of the knob and he tossed his clothes on the floor, hoping the hot water would make him feel better. Or at least dissolve him so he wouldn't have to think about what had happened. Nick's mind wandered as he washed his hair, feeling a little fancy for using real shampoo and everything.
'They're all gone, thank god. I can't deal with another Schmidt vice grip hug or Winston's weird stare that I swear I think he thinks is supposed to make me feel better, or…' he thought, pausing when his mind wandered to Jess. Did he want to see her? After everything she did to help him in the last few days he wasn't sure. He still felt this tension between them. Especially after the fish tank and their kiss and how little they had even attempted to talk about it. Not that he wanted to or anything, there was no way he'd say anything the way he'd hope to. Had he even really thanked her for dressing up like Elvis and singing at his father's funeral?
And, okay that surely hadn't been something he ever expected to have to wonder about but she did do it for him. Because they were friends. Friends do that kind of thing all the time, right?
Nick shook his head in frustration, turning off the water and toweling off ineffectually. Dripping water followed him into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his waist. 'Not every day that I get the whole place to myself. Early afternoon beer? No, no. Naked dancing? No, I can't find my reggae mix' Consumed in thought and absent mindedly rubbing the towel through is hair, his eyes locked onto the clock by the TV. It proudly blinked a bright red 3:40 PM in luminescent blocky numbers. He had work in twenty minutes. He had work in twenty minutes and he was standing half wet and naked in the living room. He had work in twenty minutes, was standing half wet and naked in the living room, and had yet to unpack his suitcase aside from one pair of sweat pants. How long had he been in that damn shower?
Never in his entire life had Nicholas Miller moved so fast, skidding into his room as quickly as his legs would carry him. He stared at his suitcase with its airport tags still on for a moment before turning and tearing into the back of his closet. There had to be a single semi clean outfit lurking somewhere in the depths of the Miller Pit. Elbow deep in discarded clothing and pizza boxes he found a pair of jeans and dubious flannel that fit a little snug as he threw it on, already moving into the hallway. With his mind already trying to formulate what he was going to tell Shane regarding his lateness, he very much missed the sound of footsteps and jingling keys.
"Oh! Hey, it's good to see you up and abou-"Jess greeted, pausing mid sentence as she turned and saw Nick frozen with one hand on the front door and the other yet to have found its way into his shirt.
His hair and body were still damp and he was panting slightly from his Olympic spring into the closet. They stared at each other for a moment, maintaining eye contact as Nick crept the door open, filling the room with an awkward squeak.
Jess spoke first, looking away from him and clearing her throat, "So uh, are you-" She paused a moment and looked at him, dark curls bouncing ever so slightly as she took him in, about to continue her thought when he interjected loudly, swinging the door open with a crash, "I used shampoo today!"
Her mouth opened a closed a couple times, trying to come up with a response. She was too slow, however, as Nick took the opportunity to moonwalk out the door, still struggling with his shirt and looking confusing as all hell.
She didn't move, staring at the door and trying to remove the image of a half naked and damp Nick Miller from her mind.