#blind!nicky is back babyyyyy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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.”

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