In my sleep, I'm not your lover anymore
When I wake, I have to remind myself that I'm lying on your shore
Nick was done with romance. Casting aside the slightly worn copy of some stupid John Green novel his stupid ex-girlfriend had lent him, he sighed and brushed the shaggy black locks from his eyes. His head leaned fell against the back of his stupid couch in his stupid apartment with its stupid floors and stupid walls and stupid street-view… Okay, maybe he was overreacting. Or, maybe Nick Burkhardt had finally come to find something even more terrifying than any wesen he had ever battled: love. Stupid, stupid love.
Nick wasn't typically a romantic kind of guy. Yeah, he had crushes all the time. Sure, him and Juliette had had their fun while it had lasted. But that was all bullshit. All of it was; love, romance, crushes, all of it. It was all some ridiculous emotion that novelists and screenwriters capitalized on, and Valentine's Day blew out of proportion. Everyone always made love out to be some beautiful emotion that was all kittens and rainbows and fairy-princesses, blah blah blah. But he knew otherwise; he knew that love sucked. It was a constant feeling of anxiety, wondering if you're truly good enough to be loved, and how to please the one you loved. Your stomach is constantly in knots over ridiculous pretentious little things. And then, when love came to an end… well, we all know how that works.
Now, sitting in the apartment he had bought after Juliette had kicked him out, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to call the one person he knew could help him out of this rut: Monroe. The blutbad, though constantly fumbling over them, always had a way with words. Nick always loved listening to him ranting about things, like sports teams or politics or clocks. And that voice was what he really needed right now. Punching the number into his phone, Nick held the receiver to his ear.
"Hello?" The familiar voice of his friend drifted through his ears like music.
"Hey Monroe, it's Nick. Listen, I know it's kind of last minute, but do you want to go grab a beer?" Nick found his tone lightening as he spoke to Monroe.
"Dude, you just read my mind. I had this fix today that was just… well, it was pretty much like fitting a square peg in a round hole. Just let me grab my stuff and I'll swing by and pick you up."
"Sounds good. See you then." A small smile on his lips, Nick hung up, sighing contently to himself. It was nice having a guy like Monroe around; somebody who understood when to talk, and said all the right things. Pulling himself from the couch, Nick walked to the little bedroom where he had just sort of haphazardly discarded his clothes and shoes, and found a new shirt to throw on. He then ventured to the bathroom to spritz on a little cologne. No sense meeting a blutbad if you smelled like sweat and nerves, right?
It wasn't until about twenty minutes later that Monroe pulled up in front of the complex, and called up to Nick to meet him outside. Walking through the crisp early evening air, book in hand, Nick spotted Monroe's little vintage yellow bug, and clambered into the passenger seat.
"You know, I don't know how you manage to get in and out of this thing without decapitating yourself." He laughed.
"Yeah, because you're the one to be making decapitation jokes." Monroe sneered, then chuckled alongside him. "And besides, this car is my baby. You know, the Volkswagen was originally a German design, right? There's even word that Hitler himself may have been the one to design it!"
"No kidding!" Nick smiled, buckling in. Monroe started the car up once they were both seated and comfortable, and they were off. It didn't take long until they were at their favorite little haunt, a place downtown with old wood-panelled ceilings and brick walls with oak pillars that had soaked up the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey throughout the years. Climbing out of the car, the two walked inside and grabbed a seat.
"So, how goes the single life?" Monroe asked, getting to the one question Nick was hoping he would dodge.
"Oh, you know, just kind of slow and boring." And stupidly agonizingly painful.
"Yeah, I know how that goes. But hey, maybe this is for the better. I mean, maybe this means Juliette wasn't the right one, you know? Maybe you've just gotta wait things out and find the right person."
The right person. Funny how he didn't say anything about finding the right woman.
"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe this is life's way of saying screw you." Nick laughed. A server popped by their table quickly, asking each of them what they wanted to drink. While Monroe opted for a micro-brew, Nick went straight for a margarita. After the woman left, he leaned back in his chair, placing the book on the table. He didn't know what had possessed him to grab it on his way out the door, but he had anyway.
"Hey, I didn't know you were reading that!" Monroe blurted, taking the book. "I love The Fault in Our Stars! I mean, I know it's for young adults, but it's so good!"
"Well, I'm glad you think so. I'm just not that into it." Nick sighed. "I guess I'm just not in a very romantic spirit these days."
Looking at him with sad chocolate eyes, Monroe reached out a comforting hand, placing it on Nick's, whose hand was only about three-quarters the size of the clockmaker's. "Hey, don't beat yourself up over this, man. So Juliette wasn't the right one. It's her fault for leaving, not yours. And honestly, she's missing out on a pretty great guy." He said with a sincere smile.
Looking up into those big brown eyes with his own sea-green ones, Nick smiled back. Not one of those stupid sappy grins he had plastered on his face all week; a real, sincere smile. "Thanks Mon. I needed that."
After they finished their final drinks, Monroe and Nick had hopped back in Monroe's car, and drove back to that stupid little apartment. They talked the whole way about sports and alcohol and such, things that Nick had always found comfort in discussing. When they arrived, Monroe offered to walk Nick back upstairs and grab some of the leftover pizza in his fridge to take home.
"So, you think you're gonna be okay tonight?" Monroe asked when they got through the door of the apartment. "I mean, you're not still broken up or anything?"
"Actually, I think I'm gonna be alright, thanks to you." Nick smiled, leaning against the counter in the kitchen.
"Well, glad I could be of assistance." Monroe smiled. "And hey, if you need anything, you've got my number. Although, if you call me at three in the morning and want to talk about which Spice Girl is the hottest, I will come over here and rip your throat out." He laughed.
"Hey, no worries here." Nick laughed, putting his hands up defensively. "Alright, here's your pizza." He said, reaching in the fridge and pulling out the box. "No worries, it's just cheese. No meat or anything."
"Dude, yes." Monroe grinned, taking the box and heading for the front door. "Hey, uh… thanks. For the drinks and stuff. It was nice to get out for a little bit."
"Hey, no problem. I'm just glad I got to have a night where I didn't feel completely alone." Nick smiled sweetly.
Waving goodbye with his free hand, Monroe opened the door. "Remember, I'm just a phone call away." He called back, shutting the door.
Closing his eyes with a sigh, Nick leaned his head against a cabinet door. Tonight had been the first night in what felt like ages that he didn't feel horrible and stupid. It was the first time in what seemed like forever since he'd actually really enjoyed himself. And it was all because of Monroe. Somehow, the blutbad had managed to turn his whole attitude around all in less than three hours. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Nick hit number one on his speed-dial.
"You know, when said I was a phone call away…" Monroe's voice came from the receiver.
"I know. I just… can you come back here, just for a minute?" Nick asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, hang on."
It only took about a minute for Monroe to get back to the door of Nick's apartment. He knocked, and Nick immediately opened up. Without warning, he pulled Monroe inside, and into a kiss. He was half expecting the man to push him away, or try and run. But he didn't. No, Monroe stayed there, frozen for a moment, then kissing back. There was a thunk as the pizza box hit the floor, and Monroe reached behind him to kick the door shut. Pulling away after a moment, they looked at each other, neither of them saying anything.
"That was…" Monroe started.
"Yeah, I know." Nick panted. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn-"
"Shh." Monroe shushed him. "I never said I didn't like it."