Are You Nervous?

Summary: When Greg shows up intoxicated on Nick's doorstep, the Texan takes him in, completely unaware of what's in store for him.

Author's Note: I know I've been AWOL on "Icarus Drowning" and please know that I fully intend on updating-- soon. But last week I was really sick, and I couldn't write or get the recent chapter to my beta. But now, I have the chapter, I just need to go through it and it will be posted. In the meantime, read this. It has NOT been betaed, but I figured you deserved something now to tide you over until I post the other chapter. So here.

The clock blinking on my end table told me that it was 4:53AM when an incessant banging woke me up. For a moment, I thought it was a headache pounding inside of my skull, but then I realized that it came in bursts, and it was outside of myself. I rolled out of the bed, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants and sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I dragged my feet across the hardwood floors. I finally made it to the door, which was moving in its frame.

He was drunk. He could barely stand. But he was laughing so hard that it reminded me that nothing was ever as bad as it seemed. Somehow, though, just the sight of him seemed to always remind me of that.

"I shouldn't be here," were the first words he said, but he was jsmirking like a kid who knew he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and just didn't care.

I cocked an eyebrow, curiosity rousing my senses. "So why are you here, Greg?"

He sniffed and raised his finger as if to answer my question before he stumbled backwards. I stepped forward instinctively, but he regained his balance and held up a hand.

"Don't need yer help," he slurred. He opened his eyes wide then blinked repeatedly.

"How much have you had to drink?" I asked quietly.

"See, s'not the point," Greg said matter-of-factly, as if we had been in the middle of some other conversation and I had said something he disagreed with. "What I'm sayin' is… what I mean is… Can I come in?"

I smiled, wearily and nodded, reaching out to take his arm and help him into the house. Contrary to his actions before, he didn't pull away from my touch. I guided him to my living room couch where he gratefully plopped down into. He looked at me with a toothy grin and wagged his finger at me.

"You…" he said approvingly. "Aw, you…"

I closed my eyes and rolled them behind my lids as I tried to walk past him to the kitchen to get him some coffee or something, but he seized my wrist rather tightly and pulled, making me fall forward, grabbing the back of the couch for balance. I looked at him incredulously, but he simply gave me that toothy grin.

"Wanted to talk to you. That cool?"

"Um… yeah, that's cool," I said slowly, lowering myself to sit next to him. "What's up, G?"

He giggled. "You say funny things."

"I do?"

"Like my name. You say funny things like my name."

I gave a curt, amused grunt. "What are you doing here, Greg?"

He blinked again and rubbed his eyes. "You know… you know, you know, it's so funny!"

"Your name?" I muttered, praying for patience.

"Nonononononono," Greg said rapidly, shaking his head sloppily. "No, things are funny. Sichyooations are funny. Ya know?"

"Situations?" I echoed. "Greg, what's going on?"

He put his hands in front of himself and made a conscious effort to remain serious. He began to gesticulate, moving his hands to make certain points. "See, I had this whole… plan, right? Like, this idea… and it all made sense, and it was perfect, and like I had an excuse and a way out and—if things went bad, I mean, I had a way out, and I had… this idea… Like, this plan, right, ya know? And then I come here… And I knock on… knock on yer door…" He paused. He seemed to have lost his train of thought. He looked up, his mouth half open as his soft brown eyes peered into mine, and I had no idea what he was seeing. And then, he smiled again. "And then I knock on yer door, and you're there, and it's like… It's my chance, ya know? But even with, like… you standing there… I couldn't… I mean, I couldn't think…" He shook his head and closed his open mouth. "You know, that's not even the point. The point is… the point is, the point is…"

"What is the point, Greg?" I asked quietly.

He frowned, trying to figure things out, like a child trying to solve a difficult math problem. His brow furrowed and his nose wrinkled up, and I couldn't keep my lips from twitching. "The point is that I… The point is the penguins."

I cocked an eyebrow. I honestly had no idea what he was trying to tell me. "Penguins?"

"Yeah, penguins," Greg said, nodding vigorously and triumphantly. "Yeah, see, um, you know, penguins, in the, um, North Pole, right, with the elves and the reindeer and Alaska and—Well, you know, the penguins."

"Yes, I know the penguins," I said. "Greg, seriously, how much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough," said Greg with an almost ironic laugh. "Not nearly enough."

I frowned and tilted my head, trying to figure him out but Greg Sanders was, as ever, an enigma.

"Anyways, the penguins," said Greg, getting back on track. "So you have these penguins, in the arctic, and stuff, and they're sitting there, and then one day, these penguins, or—or this one special penguin, you know, he's a penguin—"

"I get the penguin thing," I said.

Greg sighed with relief and smiled. "Oh you do! Good… Good." He was quiet as he simply chewed on his lip and stared at me. "Well?"

"Well what?" I asked.

"About the penguins! Well?"

I shook my head. "No, I mean, I get that there's a penguin, but I don't understand what you're trying to tell me!"

"I was talkin' to Sara…" Greg began slowly.

"About penguins?"

"About penguins," Greg said, nodding. "And you know, there's this penguin, and he's just sittin' there in the North Pole all lonely, and he's got his other penguin friends, ya know, right? But he's pretty lonely anyway, and then one day, there's like… This other penguin, right, and this other penguin is all cool and smart and… stuff, and so like the first penguin is all, wow, I wanna be like… Ya know, that dude, on the egg, he's awesome."

"This other penguin has an egg…" I muttered, skeptically.

"Yes he has an egg!" Greg cried, as if it were obvious. "All the penguins sit on eggs and do nothin' till the lady penguins come home. Didn't you see that Morgan Freeman flick where he plays a penguin in a marching band, or… something… And maybe Jack Black was in it, I don't remember, the point is, the point is… There are these two penguins."

"And they both have eggs?" I asked.

"Yes," said Greg decisively. "I mean, no. I mean… The eggs don't matter, alright, there are these penguins and they're chillin' and they… I mean, the first penguin is all… You know, they pick mates for life, you know that? Penguins do, I mean? They have their other penguin and they stay with that penguin for… you know… penguin eternity. Which is… like… longer than human eternity because penguins are… I dunno, the point is… There are these two penguins…"

"Greg!" I finally cried out, my patience wearing thin. "Why are you drunk? What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm drunk because I didn't know how else to tell you 'bout the penguins!" Greg exclaimed. "Figured if you didn't like… what I said about the penguins I could just be all, 'Well I'm drunk and I don't know what I'm sayin' or nothing so… fergetit.'"

"Greg, I don't think you do know what you're saying," I said.

And then, suddenly, his hand was on my knee, squeezing it tightly, almost desperately. "Would you just listen to me for once, Nick? Please?"

I said nothing as I stared at the hand on my knee, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as I heard the blood rush in my ears. I couldn't take my eyes away from that hand, and he didn't move it. He didn't even twitch.

"In… high school…" he began, quietly. "Did you ever… play that game?"

I blinked a few times before I was able to pull myself out of my trance. I looked up at him to find him staring at me again, his curls framed by a halo of moonlight that was streaming in through the window. It was the only light in the room.

"What game?"

He smirked and his hand crept up my thigh like a spider sending chills across the surface of my skin. "Are you nervous?"

"No," I lied.

"No, it's the game," said Greg. He blushed slightly. "You know, with the… I mean…" He couldn't finish, but that impish smile remained in place.

"How do you play?" I whispered, not trusting my voice. Anticipation blossomed inside my chest and unfurled its tendrils into my bloodstream.

Greg's hand moved further up my thigh. "Are you nervous?"

I glanced down. It was in the middle of my thigh now. Any closer and this could definitely end badly. Every fiber of my body was vibrating like crazy, my thoughts dancing around in circles as I inwardly panicked, wondering what Greg's deal was with penguins, and why he had suddenly decided to play some teenage game in the dark. My heart wanted to leap out of my chest and my head was screaming at me to tell him to stop, to tell him that this wasn't funny, that I was scared, beyond scared, and that I was so confused that I didn't know whether to push him away or… or… or…

"No."

It was a simple, one syllable word, and it came out so calmly I was astounded at myself. I had no idea where I had found my voice again, or why it sounded so low when I spoke, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from Greg, whose smile was slowly fading as his hand crawled up to the top of my thigh.

He swallowed. "Are you nervous?"

I thought I would have a panic attack right there in my own living room, but instead, I felt my body respond, my hand reaching up, cupping his cheek, tilting my head down to deepen our gaze. "No."

His hand didn't move, his smile completely gone and he resembled a stunned deer, paralyzed in my headlights. In the silence that followed, I could hear his heavy, shaking breath. All of a sudden, I was the one who was drunk. My mind was swimming and I tried to grasp one coherent thought, one answer to tell me what was going on, but everything slipped through my fingers like sand.

My hand was on his cheek. His hand was on my thigh. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, my mind caught up with my body, and I realized with horror what was going on. I pulled my hand away from him immediately and looked away, my face burning as I moved away from him on the couch. My hands rested on my knees and I clenched them into fists, which gathered my sweatpants in them. What was I thinking? What was he thinking? What had just happened? Oh God, I wished he would just leave…

Greg coughed, doubtlessly to dispel the awkwardness that had settled itself like a wall between us. He shifted loudly and sighed. "You see, the problem is… problem is, we aren't penguins, are we? We're people."

I was silent as I stared at my clenched fists, afraid to look up, to see his expression, to see what he was doing, afraid I would want to touch him again, afraid I would do worse than touch him.

"People don't… they don't do the things penguins do. You're not a penguin."

"I'm not a penguin," I muttered, though I wasn't sure what I was saying.

"No, you're not a penguin," Greg said again, this time with a sigh, his voice hanging in the air like humidity.

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence as I hunched my shoulders and tried to fold in on myself like a lawn chair, but I was in my own house, and I couldn't just dump a drunk man on the street because I was feeling insecure. There was nowhere I could run, and there was no way I could get rid of him. Of Greg… Of sweet, goofy, happy-go-lucky Greg Sanders, who just randomly decided to appear on my doorstep at five in the morning, drunk as a pirate, and blabbering on about penguins.

And I still couldn't figure out what he had hoped to achieve.

"What does that even mean?!" I suddenly burst out, falling back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. "I'm not a penguin? What? You're not a penguin either, Greg!"

Greg was quiet, which, I knew from experience, was unusual when he was inebriated. I dared to turn to look at him, but he was staring out my window. In the darkness, I couldn't make out his expression.

He couldn't have wanted this. He couldn't have anticipated this. Could he have? Was this what he'd wanted? Or was this what he had planned against, why he had his escape plan, what he had wanted to blame on the booze if he had to… Was Greg Sanders at my door at five in the morning to tell me that he…

"Are you… a penguin, Greg?"

He said nothing. He didn't even move. It was reminiscent of watching a statue.

"How drunk are you, Greg?"

"Not drunk enough," he mumbled.

My eyes flickered down to the floor. I moved a little closer to him on the couch. This finally caused him to move and he turned to cast me a curious expression. My heart sounded like a hummingbird's as I licked my very dry lips and placed a hand on his knee. "Are you nervous?"

Gradually, his eyes widened and they glistened in the dull light. He reached out and put his hand over mine. "What about the penguins?"

I couldn't help it. I burst into fits of laughter and all the tension drained away, though my hand remained on his knee. By the time I had sobered up, I opened my eyes to see that Greg was smiling. The laughter slowly dissipated and I shook my head at him. "Would you shut up about the penguins?"

I leaned forward slowly, carefully and he followed. Closing my eyes, my fingers curled on his knee and I felt his hand crawl up my arm. It would probably have been the most intense kiss I had ever experienced, if his forehead didn't collide with mine.

"Ow…" he groaned, his hand against his head.

I chuckled again and put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him backwards. "You should lie down."

"Why?" he whined, like a little boy who didn't want to go to bed yet.

"You are so uncoordinated when you're drunk," I said. "Just lie down. You'll feel better."

He slowly reclined until his back was flat against my couch. I pulled his legs up underneath me and I was poised over him as he looked up at me.

"Am I… I'm drunk, so is this, like, um, some sort of… I mean, am I passed out on your couch right now and dreamin' or… or somethin'?" His lids fell lightly over his eyes and he yawned, letting out a small, tiny noise that was reminiscent of a kitten. He blinked slowly, looking up at me from beneath half lidded eyes, his lashes soft, inviting.

I reached out and pushed back his hair, soft and curly after a long night. I leaned forward and gently brushed his lips with mine. When I pulled away again, his eyes were fully closed, and he had a contented smile on his face.

"You should get some rest," I whispered. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"Mm…" he intoned happily. "Love you…"

I told myself that he didn't know what he was saying, lightly kissed his forehead, and let him sleep.