lovelikedestiny - Tumblr blog

lovelikedestiny · 6 months

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I wrote a little something for Halloween. Hope you enjoy🎃

Nicky likes Joe. Very much. Way too much, in fact.

He always seems to be in a good mood, and the effect of his easy grin and the vibrant, mischievous sparkle in his warm eyes spreads out to others too. Joe is literally a pure ray of sunshine.

He always makes you feel welcome and is such an attentive listener even to unimportant small talk that you feel like the crux of the entire universe.

He's always brimming with passion when it comes to the things he likes to do like tell you about the piece of art he's working on or recommend a hot drink suitable for fall, or talk about the pair of ducks he saw on his way to work.

Nicky likes Joe more than is probably good for him.

The only problem is that Joe is dead.

And Nicky hasn't the faintest idea why he decided to appear in the middle of Nicky's tiny dump of an apartment. A lie.

Just to be clear: seeing ghosts isn't exactly anything new to Nicky, and practically part of his job description, as the sign on his equally puny shop states - Spiritual Worlds.

But usually the spirits of the deceased don’t come to him until the dependents do, to which they continue to cling without being able to detach.

The main purpose of Nicky's freelance job is to help spirits pass from this world to the afterlife. He is the bridge between them and the world of the living, which they are still stuck in because there is something they couldn't do while they were alive and now want to finish.

Medium is what many call him. Weirdo, most of them.

When it comes to things that they do not understand and that have no logical origins and explanations for them, people tend to meet them with rejection and skepticism and are content to dismiss them as nonsense and never deal with them again, because they are afraid.

Which, conversely, implies that they usually react very hostilely when they have to deal with things that make them feel uneasy due to their strangeness.

And that in turn means Nicky often has to deal with repulsion of this sort in his job, especially at the beginning of the whole process, which he can't even blame those involved for.

Losing a loved one is a painful blow, no matter how you turn it. There is no set way of grieving, after all everyone is an unique individual with their own handling process.

What Nicky finds absolutely disrespectful and outrageous is not embracing and accepting a variety of methods, but for instance, labeling a person as heartless and cold simply because they don't show their emotions as openly as someone else.

To grieve is to take the time to clean and bandage the wounds in one’s heart.

To grieve is to take the time to acknowledge and allow the sheer pain within.

To grieve is to take time.

Though it must seem bewildering to many to deal more with the dead than with the living, Nicky loves his job, regardless of how sad and stressful his tasks can be.

Because he takes the time to assist troubled spirits find their way into the light and peace. And just knowing that their loved ones have found peace often helps those left behind just as much.

Nicky's work provides a symbolic line after the bumpy path of grief, the end of the suffocatingly dark tunnel, the light of hope for final closure.

During his séances, he is able to communicate with the loved ones his clients have lost because the spirits cling to their relatives, friends, beloveds or neighbors like delicate cobwebs.

Despite numerous people not taking it seriously, most can sense the attendance of ghosts, in the form of shivers, rising temperatures, or even the mere sense of the presence of the deceased.

However, this presupposes that the ghosts do not make themselves known by their own powers through the creaking of wooden floorboards, flickering lights, billowing curtains or falling glasses.

Everyone experiences at least one ghostly encounter in their lifetime, but dismisses it as a draft, technical problems, or imaginings due to a lack of sleep.

But no matter how many people Nicky's work has enabled to come to terms with the death of a loved one, or how many souls he's shown the way to the other side, one thing has always remained the same.

One single thing that gives his profession a bitter aftertaste, like a biting wind on an otherwise bright, sunny autumn day. The ulterior knowledge that the brightly colored leaves that danced like elves from the trees were, in truth, only performing this spectacle of beauty because they had died. Dead foliage.

One single thing.

As Joe's wide, doe eyes meet his, vulnerable confusion and undeniable fear flaring in them like fire in water, Nicky's heart clenches to the size of a walnut, and an iron fist crushes his throat.

It is not fair. The one thing that never changes.

Whether it's a little girl standing in front of him whose parents are desperate for a way to move on. Whether it's a young woman whose girlfriend has never had a chance to say goodbye. Whether it's an old man who has experienced so much and yet hasn't had enough of life.

Life and death walk hand in hand, two different sides of the same coin, and yet it never seems fair.

"Oh Joe..." Nicky whispers, setting aside the plate of pasta and his glass of red wine, not taking his eyes off Joe's apparition in the middle of his living room, suddenly far from ever being hungry again.

The infinitely deep sadness filling him and turning his heart to stone surprises Nicky, even though it shouldn't.

Because it was predictable.

But just because something is foreseeable doesn't mean that the force of the impact will be mitigated immediately. A blade can always hurt, even if it's dull.

For a brief moment that feels like an awful eternity to Nicky, giving him too much time to memorize every last detail of Joe, they just stare at each other and the silence cracks like melting ice in Nicky's ears.

When Joe finally speaks up, Nicky flinches, he recoils. From the flat, resigned tone of the otherwise so warm, cheerful voice, the missing spark in the glowing eyes, the whole of reality and its bone crushing weight.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

All the air escapes Nicky in one fell swoop, and he doesn't dare to say more than a quiet "Yes".

Joe nods, having already expected this answer, and Nicky thinks he's taking it rather calmly. Yet, there is something disturbing about the picture, because although Joe is obviously aware of being dead and the typical emotions of grief, despair, confusion and disbelief surround him, Nicky almost thinks he can perceive something like...regret from him.

Regret for what? A matter that is still unresolved?

"And you can see me?"

"Yes." Again, the same answer, a broken record player of damnation.

"Why?" Such a simple question, getting right between Nicky's ribs anyway, aimed at a fixed target with deadly precision.

He needs several attempts to swallow. His mouth is bone dry - how exceedingly macabre. "I wish I could give you a satisfactory answer, but I don't know."

The smile that Joe's beautiful lips twist into lacks radiance, and Nicky wants to scream until his throat is sore. "I have an inkling what it is." The brown of his eyes becomes the enlivening, comforting sweetness of hot chocolate and towering hickory trunks that surround you, safe and secure in their wild center, and Nicky forgets how to breathe because it hurts so much. “Through your kindness, Nicky. The kindness you extend to everyone you meet."

"You don't think it's weird?" Nicky asks hoarsely, recovering his voice, dropped and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. Joe's weak, short laugh is a needle in his ear canal.

"Considering that I seem to have died and am now standing in your living room, even though I've never been here before, I don't think it weird." Joe scratches his cheek, a nervous gesture. "Now it also makes sense why you were so mysteriously vague when it came to your profession." He points to a stack of flyers on the table. "It's more than just a spiritual store for books and stuff, right?"

"Yes." A third time. "I...hold sessions for people who have lost someone and want to get in touch with them."

The affection suddenly so evident on Joe's face is searing his gut. “Like I said, kindness.”

But Nicky feels anything but kind right now, confronted with Joe's form, in his familiar leather jacket, now tattered in places, indicating the last vestige of the cause of his death, positioned on the completely opposite scale of existence.

He feels shabby and guilty and awful for living while Joe's time is already up and it's not fair.

He wishes he could trade places with Joe. A lightning impulse that sets his nerves tinglingly on fire.

Nicky wants to trade places with Joe, but he is powerless.

And he cannot bear the warmth with which Joe continues to watch him, as if Nicky wasn't a symbol of everything he's lost through his passing.

"Why are you here?" The question is far too weak to be considered a solid part of their conversation.

Joe shrugs. “Maybe because you have a cozy interior? That painting over there is amazing.”

The revival of Joe's good-natured humor is akin to the exhilaration of flying before free fall. "No, why are you here?" With me?, fades into the insurmountable space between them. "Do you need my help? Do you want to deliver a message to someone? Do you want me to tell Booker something?" To be honest, Nicky really doesn't want to know how Joe's closest friends are doing right now. Wants to stay away from the pain.

"I..." Joe stops, uncertain. His tongue restlessly sliding over his upper lip, and Nicky struggles to take his eyes off him. "...I am not sure. Does there have to be a reason? I have no idea how this works, I died for the first time." The joke is a germinating seed in a barren wasteland, and Nicky tastes rot.

"All the ghosts that haven't...passed over yet" Nicky almost chokes out those words, ash on his tongue. “have something that keeps them here. A task they couldn't finish, a conversation they still have to have, a wrong they want to right, a…” His voice fails miserably.

What's your reason?

But he already knows the answer.

Knows it's in the left drawer of his desk, between pages thirty-seventh and thirty-eighth of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

And Nicky wants to deny it, wants Joe to say it and put it into words, even though he's so afraid of it.

Furrows dig into Joe’s forehead as he frowns in strained concentration, desperately trying to remember. “I don't know…I feel like I was going somewhere or waiting for something. Something important, I think…” He growls in frustration, tugging at those wonderful curls Nicky wanted to touch so badly. To see if they really are as soft as they look. Looked. "W-why can't I remember?"

It's not uncommon for ghosts to have memory lapses shortly after they die, and the thought that Joe might have died only hours ago is nauseating. As well as the realization of how he died.

There's a stifled gasp, someone struggling for breath like there's no oxygen in the room, and as Joe takes a step toward him, a hand outstretched, concern in his eyes, it occurs to Nicky that this someone is himself.

"Nicolo?" It's the first time Joe says his full name and the way his tongue curls around the syllables makes Nicky die a little more inside. "What's going on?"

But Nicky can't answer. No sound penetrates the wall of misery and pain that plants his mouth with thorns. How can love hurt so much?

Realization washes over Joe, like the evanescent twilight outside the windows, and Nicky thinks his heart stops beating. "You know it, don't you? You know where I was going...can you please tell me?"

Crucial is the pleading in Joe's voice, fearful and desperate, and Nicky knows deep down he can't do it to him. Joe should never have to beg for anything, and Nicky has no right to keep anything from him that concerns him because he's filled with fear of it.

To love something is to let it go.

"To whom." It's no more than a faint breath.

"What?"

Nicky swallows against the growing lump in his throat. "Not where you wanted to go, but to whom." Inhale, tearing shards. "You wanted to see me, Joe." I'm the reason you're dead.

As Joe's eyes widen in horror, Nicky braces himself for the revulsion, the blame, the hatred, and he's sure he can't hold out. Not this. Not with Joe. Even though it's his job, even though Joe needs him, even though Joe's death is his fault.

Lost in himself as the memories gradually return to Joe, Nicky doesn't dare move a muscle, wanting most to blend into the background, to cease to exist to escape the coming destructive storm that is about to engulf him.

The aching understanding that Joe's lips - beginning to tremble - tell of is far worse. The anguish in his eyes - the dark mirrors of his soul that always so expressively reveal his emotions - threatens to shatter Nicky into irreparable fragments.

"That's right..." He notes timidly, oh so timidly. "I wanted to see you, to find out what you decided..."

The heart is a vital organ - made of flesh and blood, tendons - a muscle. And yet Nicky hears his breaking in two in that very breath. Wordlessly - there are no words, how could there be, what is there to say - Nicky moves to his desk, not knowing how he manages to use his numb limbs at all, and opens the drawer.

The book shakes in his hands as he opens it and grabs the piece of paper that rested between the pages, carefully hidden like a precious treasure.

The image of the small drawn smiling coffee cup and the question written in Joe's italics - Would you like to go on a date with me? Mark with a cross… - blur in front of Nicky's eyes, washed away by the bitter salt water.

Breathlessly, he shows Joe the note and bites his lip so hard he tastes blood as Joe clutches his chest as if he were still able to feel that endless heartache making your spine freeze. "No...no, no, no, this must be a nightmare...please..."

Behind the answer choice “Yes” there is a clear cross. And a smiley face because Nicky felt reckless answering Joe's question, a silly smile on his face that now seems foolish to him.

Yes.

A crooked grin, frayed at the edges by underlying nervousness, flashing in a dark beard as Joe sets Nicky a plate next to his coffee, distracting him from the book he'd buried his nose in.

Confusion and pooling of warmth in Nicky's stomach because Joe is so close to him he can see the individual threads of his apron. "I didn’t order a chocolate cake."

"I know." A folded note slid across the table to him. "It only serves as compensation in case I’m crossing a line with this." An exchanged, sheepish smile, heat rising in Nicky's cheeks.

"What is that?"

"It would be unfair of me to spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

The simple question next to the drawing, the electrifying joy, invigorating like the sun's kiss after the gloomy winter. His prolonged silence, Joe shifting his weight uneasily. "And? Is there an answer or does the chocolate cake need to clean up the misstep I made?”

Nicky's mischievous grin, which is not at all typical of him, spurred on by Joe's interest in him. "It would be unfair of me to spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

Joe laughs in surprise, and Nicky finds himself chuckling too. "Oh? And how am I supposed to find out the surprise?”

“Come to my apartment this weekend and get the answer in person. I'll give you my address."

"And what if the answer is no?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out."

Joe's flirty wink. "I love a challenge."

In the here and now, Nicky's voice cuts through the yawning chasm that has opened between them, unexpected and unbridgeable by any force on earth, like a butter knife meeting stone. "I would have loved to go on a date with you, Yusuf."

Joe silently begins to cry, his mouth formed to a soundless sigh of agony, and Nicky forces himself to continue. To help Joe whose soul had led him here - to the only thing still keeping him in this world. "And I...can't tell you how sorry I am...if I had answered you straight away, none of this would have happened..."

His words don't matter because they can't erase and rewrite what happened. But Joe is here for one reason only, caught between the worlds Nicky can both visit, and it is in Nicky's power to bring Joe's soul the peace he truly deserves.

Regardless of the external circumstances. Regardless of Nicky's feelings.

So he goes on, verbally taking one step after the other and pretending that Joe is a ghost like any other and not his love, whom he never even got the chance to know that way. Couldn’t get to know that way.

"I would have suggested a picnic in the park." Nicky ignores the husky sound of the syllables, eyes firmly fixed on Joe, anchoring himself with him. “to watch that pair of ducks you always talk about. I would have confessed to you, stammering and red-faced, that I've been trying for months to work up the courage to ask you out because you're an amazing person, Joe. And, that I couldn't believe my luck when you asked me out in that sweet way. I would have loved you with all my heart, I'm absolutely sure of that. I would have told you every day how much you mean to me, but now that we don't have time, I'll do it at this moment.”

Nicky fights for control, putting everything he can never say now into the emphasis of his words. "You mean everything to me, Joe...and that's why...you have to let go now."

"How can you expect me to do that?" Joe demands with a quivering bitterness that springs from the battlefield that was once his heart. "After everything you just told me. How can you expect me to let you go?"

Nicky has the feeling of drowning in Joe's tears, notices his control slipping, unstoppable. “Because you can't stay here, Joe. If you do, you’ll eventually lose touch with reality, become a mere shadow of yourself, and you can't expect me to let that happen. I beg you…”

His dam bursts as Joe rubs his face in palpable distress, as if he could thus hide the tears wetting his cheeks. Rivers of silver pour from two clear mountain lakes, creating a reflection of Joe on Nicky's skin.

"I've already lost you." Stating the truth corrodes his mouth, salt in a wound that's only just begun to bleed. "Don't ask me to condemn you to such an existence as well."

A date that will never happen. That precious taste of more, snuffed out like it never existed.

Nicky has never despised his job so much.

"I do not want to go. There is so much to live for."

The pain inside Nicky is a living thing, wreaking havoc in his body. "I know. I...love you Joe."

For a fraction, Joe is at a loss for words before - finally - a tiny smile breaks through the desperation, like a ray of sunshine through thick fog, and Nicky knows that look on his face. Found peace.

Before Joe can return his words, Nicky asks tonelessly, "Do you see a light? You have to tell me if you see a light."

"I do." It entails a certain relief to see Joe no longer so distraught and helpless, but it doesn't last long. "I love you Nicky."

Nicky's smile feels like a snarl, but Joe seems to get what he's trying to tell him. "Thank you for everything. You were my dream." There is no magical gust of wind, no earthquake, or gleaming flash of light. It’s over in the blink of an eye, painfully unspectacular.

"And you were mine." It's a hollow whisper swallowed by the deafening silence in Nicky's room, where no one can see the tears on his cheeks in the darkness. And the clock strikes midnight.

#halloween rebloop!!!#the old guard #halloween #ficlet #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #nicky #joe #joe x nicky #joenicky #kaysanova #<3<3<3

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lovelikedestiny · 9 months

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Nicky was in the kitchen making something for us to eat, because you know Nicky…

The Old Guard v1 #3 by Greg Rucka, art by Leandro Fernández

Bonus:

#screaming crying etc etc #nicky #i miss him so much #💙💙💙

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lovelikedestiny · 9 months

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luca & gina stop making me cry about nicky challenge

#stoooooooop #i'm so soft for nicky #like literally #even after three years him being the heart and soul is making me emotional #🥺💙

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lovelikedestiny · 9 months

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Is Joe’s arm around Nicky’s chest in the shot of them sleeping together before Nile wakes up from her Quynh nightmare? I can never tell.

you: [this question]

me, immediately: Oh Boy Another Opportunity To Talk About The Wrist Hold™

but yes he did!! and also as You Can See: he had a grip on nicky’s wrist, fingers on the outside and thumb over his pulse. (HIS PULSE!!!!)

(some people have Speculated that nicky’s left hand over his head is holding onto joe’s, but that’s just the pillow, not joe’s hand. nicky’s prolly holding onto the headboard or his jacket on the headboard there)

also additionally, his right leg might have been thrown over nicky’s hip (its hard to tell)

AND his left leg was between nicky’s. absolute octopus vibes

#*cries in a corner*#them <3

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lovelikedestiny · 9 months

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#lovely lovely art #as always<3 #the old guard #fan art #joe x nicky

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lovelikedestiny · 9 months

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1. The cute quick check in they do

2. Flirting at the kitchen table

3. The relief that they're both ok

4. Cozy cuddles

5. The endless love and adoration in their eyes

6. Kings of nonverbal reassurance

7. True loves kiss

8. The way they can make each other laugh under any circumstances

Favorite soft Nicky and Joe moments in no particular order requested by anon 💕

#i love them so much #the old guard #immortal husbands #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova

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lovelikedestiny · 10 months

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i had three fic ideas. wrote one. i still have three fic ideas. this is not how math is supposed to work.

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lovelikedestiny · 10 months

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Luca (+ Mino) and Marwan while filming The Old Guard 2

#literally hanging on to straws #I'll take any crumbs of TOG2 I can get #luca marinelli #marwan kenzari #tog2 #the old guard 2

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lovelikedestiny · 10 months

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joe & nicky | soft background intimacy

#my sweet babies #the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe #nicky #joe x nicky

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lovelikedestiny · 10 months

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joe & nicky + being playful

#my babies #<3

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lovelikedestiny · 10 months

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Love is not something we wind up, something we set or control. Love is just like art. A force that comes into our lives without any rules, expectations or limitations.

SENSE8 | Death Doesn't Let You Say Goodbye (1.09)

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lovelikedestiny · 11 months

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Forever emotional about the fact Nicky reaches for Joe's face first before settling on his arm

#*screams into pillow*#you can't do this to me #bubudbecbjwbc #imma cry #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #eternal love #joe x nicky #kaysanova

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lovelikedestiny · 11 months

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For @socialanxietyrabbit<3 I hope some blind!Nicky can cheer you up a little.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap-tip-tap. Tiptaptiptap.

The rain creates an unique symphony of sound, each droplet of water forming a different tune as they’re pouring their life-spending beauty over the world. Jewels of the sky. Crystal and glass, so fragile and yet unbreakable.

Nicky tilts his head a bit more to the side, fully immersing himself in the masterful piece nature is only playing for him. A private concert meant to be cherished. Meant to remind mankind of the humble gifts their environment offers them every day. Meant to make them aware what they have been blessed with and what they tend to forget in the fast paced daily routine. When they cannot even take a tiny fragment of time to themselves to simply breathe and exist.

That’s precisely what Nicky is doing at this very moment. He is.

Letting his mind wander without aim or intention, relishing in the various sounds, smells and other sensations he can perceive during this magnificent cloudburst.

The air tastes vivid and promising with a hint of lightning’s tingling electricity, the rich earthiness of the forest surrounding their current residence, and the sweet humidity of the rain Nicky is listening to.

He can smell the trees more clearly through the extreme moisture, distinguish the whiff of delicate moss and comforting resin. It’s the promising tale of summer, already speaking of days filled with kind sunshine and mild evenings under a sky Joe likes to describe to him as a kiss between night and day, moon and sun, before he kisses Nicky, because “you’re my moon in darkness, habibi, how can I kiss you not?”.

Nile simply describes the sky as purple.

The raindrops sound differently when they splash on leaves, a staggered rhythm created as they get unexpectedly caught by branches in various heights on their way down. On the rooftop of their safehouse it resonates constantly, almost like a monotonous lullaby, and on the meadow it is nearly quiet like the rain wouldn’t want to wake the sleeping flowers, thriving in its fall.

Nicky is so engrossed in harking to what mother nature is telling him that he misses Joe’s soft, unhasty footsteps approaching behind him, and only registers his presence by his scent having accompanied him for centuries, the whiff of freshly brewed coffee, and a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch, though.

“Thank you,” he says as Joe places a warm mug in his outstretched hand, letting his fingers linger longer on Nicky’s knuckles, caressing the sensitive, thin skin.

“Not for that.” Joe’s voice is drenched in the honey of love and Nicky wants to tell him that he will thank him every day as long as they live for his mere presence and each smile Joe gifts Nicky with which he may not be able to see but can feel whenever he maps his beloved’s face with his hands.

Nicky only smiles, because Joe knows his trail of thought, savoring the cinnamony steam of his hot beverage.

It is strange how the pure simplicity like Joe being aware of the way Nicky prefers to drink his coffee - black with just a touch of cinnamon - can have so much power to make his heart stutter in his chest.

The real source for the comfort seeping into his bones and erasing the last remains of the past mission however, is the missing taste of copper in the air.

Joe has freshly showered and the clean, soapy scent of an unharmed body without the sticky, overwhelming thickness of blood and death lets Nicky relax with a silent exhale of relief.

On their job this morning, in the crisp, breathtaking cold of dawn, Joe had been shot three times while shielding the abducted children with his body to protect them.

A heart too big for this world.

Even though it hasn’t been the first time one of them has died and it certainly won’t be the last, Nicky had still waited in agony next to Joe, anxiously spending the dragging on seconds it took his husband to heal listening for a sharp inhale or feeling for the onset of his heartbeat under shaking hands, pressed to Joe’s chest.

The physical reminder of this nightmare may be swept away, down the drain, but Joe’s missing breathing and warmth have persistently taken root in Nicky’s own chest. A parasite in its own form.

Joe and he sit and drink in silence for a few minutes, content with each other’s company, shoulders touching, thighs plastered together. Nicky is focused intensively on the sounds Joe creates, not paying attention to the rainstorm anymore - cooling blows in his mug, sipping the hot fluid, black like Nicky’s own, but with precisely three tablespoons of sugar. Focused on any signs of discomfort, a tense shift of Joe’s posture, a suppressed hiss of pain, an uneven breath.

He perceives none of that but one reassurance is left for the sake of Nicky’s soul.

The hand he holds out to the love of his life moves hesitantly, almost timidly, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper. “May I?”

Joe hums fondly before grabbing Nicky’s wrist, slim artist fingers curling protectively around delicate bones, to guide his palm to the place where Joe’s heart is reliably and strongly beating in his ribcage.

“You never have to ask, Nicolo.”

Joe places his own hand on Nicky’s, sensing the familiar thump of the other half of his soul, the rhythm engraved in his very bones.

And finally, finally, the last trace of unease diminishes, melting away under the sheer devotion Joe radiates like a cozy campfire with his warmth.

Nicky’s own personal sun.

“I’m okay,” Joe promises him and crosses their fingers until their palms are slotted together like a perfect matching puzzle.

“I’m glad you are,” Nicky replies, allowing the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth to come into bloom.

Joe kisses the top of his thumb, letting Nicky’s breath hitch with a faint touch just like this, and continues to press his lips to each of his fingertips. “I was worried about you.”

Incredulously Nicky moves his head to the side, a twitch of confusion, and instinctively tightens his grip on Joe’s hand. “About me? You got shot,” he reminds him softly, oh so softly as to not rouse the begone horrors of today. “You died, Yusuf.”

“But I know how it feels for you and I am sorry it happened this morning, hayati.”

The uncertainty. The suffocating vines of nothingness. The overwhelming thorns of fear. The helplessness of listening, praying, for a noise of life. The disorientation.

Most of the time, Nicky doesn’t miss his sight. How could he miss something he never had? But whenever the other half of his soul dies, he feels so utterly lost it frightens him, shaking him to his core. How dependent he is on sound.

Spending seconds without an indication of Joe coming back to life, returning to a world they both share, is excruciating. Torture. Making his handicap more obvious to him which ignites a spark of self-hatred in him that comes with the dangerous feeling of being useless.

Nicky stays silent a little too long, prompting Joe to scoot closer to him, bridging the last minimum of free space between them, so that their whole sides are pressed together. Sharing warmth and comfort like life-spending oxygen.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more gentle this time. The real apology behind it brushes gossamer over Nicky’s cheekbone.

I’m sorry for leaving you.

Nicky shakes his head no, an automatism because he never has to apologize for something he has no power over.

A heart too full of love.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he points out, setting his mug carefully down on one step of the stairs they’re perched on to use his free hand to touch Joe’s face, cupping his beautiful jaw like something infinitely precious.

Joe smiles, lips curling into the beloved shape under Nicky’s thumb. “It wasn’t yours either.”

Yes. Because I hadn’t got your back. Because I couldn’t protect you. Because I was useless.

“You led the children to safety.” Joe has guessed where his bad thoughts have dragged him. Of course he has. “You did great, Nicolo.”

I didn’t do enough.

He doesn’t voice it, though, Joe can read the words clearly on his face anyway and makes an unhappy guttural sound.

“You saved them,” Nicky points out.

Joe doesn’t respond to that but the stiffness in the atmosphere gives Nicky enough indication. As he withdraws his hand from Joe’s face, letting it fall limp in his lap, Jow draws a pattern onto the skin of the hand he is still holding. Each brush of his fingers conveys another emotion Joe is wordlessly communicating to him. Pride. Trust. Devotion. Support. Concern. Heartache and sadness for the troubled thoughts on Nicky’s mind.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did great, ya amar. We saved them. Together.” Needless to say, Joe knows of these moments of doubt and self-consciousness Nicky experiences from time to time about his missing sight. And as always he does what he can do best: show Nicky his love.

You’re not worthless, their first kiss tells him.

You’re worth something, the second says.

You're worth everything, the third and final kiss expresses.

Exhaling deeply, his nose buried in the safe crook of Joe’s neck, Nicky stays for a few minutes, allowing the supporting words of his partner to wash over him, plucking the seeds of self hatred out of his heart before they can sprout.

Joe holds him without disrupting the pleasant rush of the rain weaving a protecting cocoon around them. Hiding them in their personal little bubble. For now.

“How can I make it up to you?” Joe eventually wants to know tenderly, not for Nicky’s but his own sake, his own guilt for contributing to Nicky’s feelings although he certainly is not to blame.

Nicky moves his nose slowly across Joe’s mouth, following the curve of his cheek until it boops slightly against Joe’s, causing the latter to huff in amusement.

“Enjoy this concert with me,” he invites him with a lopsided smile.

Relaxed, Joe settles back, reaching for his mug again, but not breaking their skin-to-skin contact one. “It would be my pleasure, tesoro. What is it called, if I may ask?”

“The lullaby of the rain.”

#self rebloop #whoops #the old guard #tog #ficlet #blind!nicky #joe x nicky

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lovelikedestiny · 11 months

Text

For @socialanxietyrabbit<3 I hope some blind!Nicky can cheer you up a little.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap-tip-tap. Tiptaptiptap.

That’s precisely what Nicky is doing at this very moment. He is.

Letting his mind wander without aim or intention, relishing in the various sounds, smells and other sensations he can perceive during this magnificent cloudburst.

Nile simply describes the sky as purple.

He doesn’t flinch, though.

“Thank you,” he says as Joe places a warm mug in his outstretched hand, letting his fingers linger longer on Nicky’s knuckles, caressing the sensitive, thin skin.

Nicky only smiles, because Joe knows his trail of thought, savoring the cinnamony steam of his hot beverage.

The real source for the comfort seeping into his bones and erasing the last remains of the past mission however, is the missing taste of copper in the air.

Joe has freshly showered and the clean, soapy scent of an unharmed body without the sticky, overwhelming thickness of blood and death lets Nicky relax with a silent exhale of relief.

On their job this morning, in the crisp, breathtaking cold of dawn, Joe had been shot three times while shielding the abducted children with his body to protect them.

A heart too big for this world.

The physical reminder of this nightmare may be swept away, down the drain, but Joe’s missing breathing and warmth have persistently taken root in Nicky’s own chest. A parasite in its own form.

He perceives none of that but one reassurance is left for the sake of Nicky’s soul.

The hand he holds out to the love of his life moves hesitantly, almost timidly, and his voice is nothing more than a whisper. “May I?”

“You never have to ask, Nicolo.”

Joe places his own hand on Nicky’s, sensing the familiar thump of the other half of his soul, the rhythm engraved in his very bones.

And finally, finally, the last trace of unease diminishes, melting away under the sheer devotion Joe radiates like a cozy campfire with his warmth.

Nicky’s own personal sun.

“I’m okay,” Joe promises him and crosses their fingers until their palms are slotted together like a perfect matching puzzle.

“I’m glad you are,” Nicky replies, allowing the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth to come into bloom.

Joe kisses the top of his thumb, letting Nicky’s breath hitch with a faint touch just like this, and continues to press his lips to each of his fingertips. “I was worried about you.”

“But I know how it feels for you and I am sorry it happened this morning, hayati.”

The uncertainty. The suffocating vines of nothingness. The overwhelming thorns of fear. The helplessness of listening, praying, for a noise of life. The disorientation.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more gentle this time. The real apology behind it brushes gossamer over Nicky’s cheekbone.

I’m sorry for leaving you.

Nicky shakes his head no, an automatism because he never has to apologize for something he has no power over.

A heart too full of love.

Joe smiles, lips curling into the beloved shape under Nicky’s thumb. “It wasn’t yours either.”

Yes. Because I hadn’t got your back. Because I couldn’t protect you. Because I was useless.

“You led the children to safety.” Joe has guessed where his bad thoughts have dragged him. Of course he has. “You did great, Nicolo.”

I didn’t do enough.

He doesn’t voice it, though, Joe can read the words clearly on his face anyway and makes an unhappy guttural sound.

“You saved them,” Nicky points out.

You’re not worthless, their first kiss tells him.

You’re worth something, the second says.

You're worth everything, the third and final kiss expresses.

Joe holds him without disrupting the pleasant rush of the rain weaving a protecting cocoon around them. Hiding them in their personal little bubble. For now.

“How can I make it up to you?” Joe eventually wants to know tenderly, not for Nicky’s but his own sake, his own guilt for contributing to Nicky’s feelings although he certainly is not to blame.

Nicky moves his nose slowly across Joe’s mouth, following the curve of his cheek until it boops slightly against Joe’s, causing the latter to huff in amusement.

“Enjoy this concert with me,” he invites him with a lopsided smile.

Relaxed, Joe settles back, reaching for his mug again, but not breaking their skin-to-skin contact one. “It would be my pleasure, tesoro. What is it called, if I may ask?”

“The lullaby of the rain.”

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