forthsofar | of course you wouldn't know that you were so a-glow

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nick

of course you wouldn't know that you were so a-glow

Before they--so reluctantly--went their separate ways, returning as best they could to the familiar patterns and places of their life before the snow and goblins and all they'd suffered, Nick had pressed a key to his apartment into her hand. She'd been confused, and pleased, and a little uncertain, but she hadn't tried to give it back. Charlie and Sabrina, of course, already had ones of their own; in a way, perhaps it made sense for her to have one too.

After everything.

She'd put it, silver and shining, on her keyring and tried not to think too much of it. If nothing else, it was sure to come in handy the next time some absurd peril descended upon the city--or, as was the case today, if her knock to his front door went unanswered. Huffing a soft sigh, she put the bag with the now-clean clothes she'd borrowed from him on the ground and dug through her purse.

"Nick? Are you home?" she calls as she pushes the door open, looking around at the empty living room. "I know I should've texted, but I had to come over here anyway to look in on someone's cat on the third floor, so..." She can hear music coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment; still holding the bag of clothes, Rosie wanders towards it.

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Since the sun returned, Nick has found a love of the little deck that he can access through a door off his kitchen. It's barely big enough to lie flat on, but he's got a blanket and books, music playing and, since he's not overlooked from any angle, he's stripped down to his skin.

He hasn't been this warm in his life. It's amazing.

Edited 2019-07-04 22:20 (UTC)

The music leads her towards the door standing ajar near the kitchen, and Rosie smiles a little. Maybe it was still rude, having come in so abruptly, but better to surprise him out on his deck than by barging into his bedroom or something equally awkward. She doesn't think anything more about it.

"Makes sense you wouldn't hear me out here," she says, starting to pull the door open slightly more. "I was saying, I--" The rest of her sentence dissolves into an abrupt, slightly squeaky gasp. She doesn't drop the bag of clothing, but it's a near thing. As quickly as she can--not quick enough not to have seen, well, more of Nick than she'd expected to--she throws her free hand over her eyes. "Sorry! Sorry, I...oh, goodness."

"Oh, shit!" says Nick, half laughing, scrambling for his shorts when he hears her voice. "Rosie! Hi!" He's grinning when he stands up, back still to her, to pull on his shorts. "I wasn't expecting company. Clearly."

"I should say not, Nick," she says, blushing hot as she keeps her eyes covered, even after she turns away from the open door. She can hear him getting up, fumbling around out there; getting dressed again, she assumes, though she doesn't dare look to see. "I can...I can go, really. I just came by to drop off the clothes you let me borrow."

"Don't be silly," says Nick, fastening his shorts. He doesn't have a shirt outside, so he just folds his arms over his bare chest. "You don't have to run away."

Her face is still flaming and Rosie's quite certain she's a deeper shade of red than she's ever turned in her life, but she turns back around and--with no small amount of hesitation--uncovers her eyes. "I know I don't have to," she murmurs, looking at him, then away and back again. "But I can. I didn't mean to walk in on you in...well, like that."

For lack of anything else to do, she holds the bag of clothing out to him.

"Naked." He's still grinning. "You know you're naked underneath your clothes too, right?" He reaches out and takes the bag. "Thank you. Do you want tea or something? Something cold, maybe?"

"Nick!" He's grinning at her like it's funny, rather than the most humiliating thing Rosie can imagine, and she nearly turns to go. If he wants to be amused, he can do so just as well on his own, wearing (or not wearing) whatever he likes. All she'd tried to do was be polite, and this was the thanks she got. "Of course I know that," she says, a little sharp. "But lounging about in nothing at all seems quite different than doing the same thing in--" Rosie waves a dismissive hand at him. "In just that, even."

She could go. She should go, even, having fulfilled her obligation and returned his clothes. If it occurs to her then that the last time she'd worn them, they'd been all she'd had on--let alone that she'd worn them while closely entwined with the grinning, self-satisfied boy in front of her--she tries not to let it show.

"I think I would like something to drink, actually," Rosie says instead, with as much dignity as she can muster despite the blush still staining her cheeks. "Something cold would be perfect."

It takes an effort, but Nick manages to get himself under control, wiping his hand over his mouth, leaving just a hint of a smile behind.

"Cold it is," he says. "Do you want to sit out here or..."

"Out here is fine," she says, vindicated--and, yes, maybe very slightly entertained--by the clear effort it takes him to get himself under control. "Since it's such a nice day."

She does grant him a smile then, quick and a bit cool but present. Once he's turned away and gone back inside to get the drinks, it even grows to something a little more amused. Embarrassing as the situation had been, and still was, it was also a little hilarious.

"Make yourself at home," says Nick, gesturing to the blanket spread out on the floor. He pads into the kitche on bare feet and comes back a minute or two later with tall glasses of soda, both loaded with ice. "By way of apology," he says. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Rosie takes a seat on the blanket, curling her feet under her and turning the music down a little so they won't be shouting over it. The little deck is nice, bathed as it is in sun and warmth with the city spread out before them, and it's not difficult to understand what Nick likes about it.

"Apology accepted," she says, looking up at Nick from where she's sitting as she takes the glass from him. "And I'm sorry too. I should've sent a text or something, rather than just barge in."

Nick sits down with his back to the rail, his knees bent and legs drawn up a little, sunglasses pushed back up onto his head. He sips his drink.

"You aren't barging in," he says. "You know I want you to think of this place ilke a second home. All of you..." It seems only right after what they'd all been through together.

"I know," she says, smiling at him again before taking a sip of her soda. It's cold and sweet, a little soothing--exactly what she needed after the embarrassment of the last few minutes. "And I appreciate it. Quite a bit, really."

Rosie looks at him, then out at the surrounding buildings. Thinking, mostly. "You really don't care?" she asks after a minute's silence. "That I walked in on you out here? And don't give me any of that 'it's different for witches' business. I already know that has to be part of the reason, but I care about what you think of it, not whatever everyone else thinks is done or not done."

She hadn't meant to say quite that much, and she blushes again, fainter, as she takes another drink.

Nick takes another sip of his soda, thinking about that for a moment.

"I really don't care," he says. "And some of that is just that it's different for us. That Lupercalia with Sabrina was my third but I honestly can't remember the first time that someone saw me naked." He shrugs. "But also...I don't have anything to be ashamed of. I don't think I have, anyway."

For just a moment, she recalls the brief glimpse she'd gotten of him before her instinctive, silly reaction; the way he'd looked stretched out in the sun and completely at ease. He really didn't have anything to be ashamed of. The fault, as always, had all been hers--growing flustered and snappish at first and belaboring the point for far too long after.

"Then if you're not upset by it, I won't be either," she says, laughing softly. "I'll try, at the very least."

"It's just skin, Rosie," he says. "Maybe mortals see nudity as inherently sexual, but..." He shrugs. "That's just now how I was bought up, I guess. But I will definitely try to make it more obvious if you're about to walk in on something you might not want to see. I promise."

"That's not..." Rosie blushes again, shameful and silly and terribly naive, when he mentions his perspective on the mortal view on nudity. That hadn't been at all the reason why she'd gotten so flustered, she thinks; it was simple embarrassment, mixed with her own surprise and the wish not to ruin the comforting closeness of their developing friendship. Nothing more than that.

"Can we please talk about anything else?" she asks, trying to keep her tone as light as possible. "It's...I'm fine now. Really."

Nick holds his free hand up in apology, smiling at her, then stretching his back and tipping his face up towards the sun. "Okay, okay," he says. "We can talk about anything you like..."

"Thank you, Nick," she says, watching him tilt his head up and simply bask, relaxed and happy and bathed in light. Despite how awkward she still feels about everything that's occurred since she walked into the apartment, she tries to find a bit of that same ease for herself. As much as she can manage, anyway.

"They've finally rescheduled my emancipation hearing," she says after taking another sip of her drink. "After Tuesday, I'll know whether I'll be out of the Home for good or not." Rosie smiles then, bright and hopeful.

"That's excellent news," says Nick and he means it, utterly. He's been to the home a few times, always walking Rosie home, and he can't help but think she'll be much better off once she's out of it. "You must be looking forward to that, right?"

"So much," she says, the immediacy of her reply making her laugh softly. For the most part, the staff there had been decent to her; strict on curfew, and a little overbearing at times, but decent. But she'd been ready to leave almost since the day she arrived--all the more so, after Creepy Tim--and to have the possibility of an end so close at hand was almost overwhelming.

"I'll miss living with some of the friends I made there, but it isn't as though I won't ever see them again."

"Exactly," says Nick. "You'll have the freedom to come and go as you please. That's got to be worth a lot." It's something that Nick's still getting used to, really - having his own apartment, instead of a bed in a dormitory. He'd always been able to astrally project, and witches aren't big on curfews, but it's a completely different kind of freedom here.

"What are you most looking forward to?"

"Precisely that, actually," she says with a grin. "No longer needing to sign in and out with somebody every time I leave or come back, or call to check in if I'm staying the night somewhere else. Well, other than letting Neil know since he'll be my flatmate, but that's different." Though she doesn't say it, Rosie almost suspects it may be Neil who'll be texting most often to say he'll be out of the apartment of an evening.

She pauses then, taking another sip of her drink. "It's silly, but...having someplace that's mine again, too. A room, rather than just a bed and a chest and a portion of a closet."

Nick nearly teases her about where else she might be staying but, honestly, he knows the answer to that question, and it's the reason that she has a key to his apartment's front door. He hasn't met Neil yet; he supposes he'll have to make itme for that.

"No, I totally get that," he says. "I must have had my own room before, but...I don't really remember it. Not clearly."

She nods, thinking she understands at least a little of what he means. Though she hadn't forgotten her life back home, and hopefully never would, the longer she stayed here the hazier the memory of it grew. And that was without the sort of magically-induced longevity that Nick had experienced; it had to be all the more difficult for him.

"I'm trying not to get too excited about everything, just in case it doesn't work out," Rosie admits, ducking her head slightly. "But it's difficult not to."

"You're definitely allowed to feel a little excited," says Nick, reaching out to stroke her arm, squeezing her shoulder before he takes her hand back. "It's exciting to be on the edge of a new world like that."

She doesn't expect the touch, but his hand is warm and comforting on her shoulder, reassuring in a way she's so quickly come to recognize as familiar. "It is," Rosie agrees, leaning into him a little before he pulls away again. "Exciting and a little scary, but only in a thrilling sort of way."

It's not quite the same as stepping through into Anterwold, or even Darrow. Those had been far greater leaps, far newer worlds, than the near-adulthood she's hoping will be conferred upon her in a few day's time. But in some strange way, the thought of emancipation feels like more of an adventure than either ever did.

"I'll text you once it's been decided," she says, looking over at him and smiling. "Either way. David's promised to come with me to City Hall, but...I want to make sure all my friends know too."

He feels the way that she leans in and smiles, a little, as he resettles himself. All of the touches that they've shared recently have coalesced into something more meaningful for both of them.

"You'd better," he says, grinning. "We'll need to celebrate."

Cognizant of the fact that he's still not wearing much, Rosie doesn't move as close as she might have otherwise--as she had before, on his couch in the middle of a long and exhausted night. Just his presence, really, is enough.

"I'd like that," she says, pleased by the suggestion. "I was already thinking of having a party once I'm moved in, but I should do something on Tuesday, too. Something smaller, but just as special."

She pauses, blushing faintly as a ridiculous, curious question forms in her mind; one she's not sure she ought to ask, given how likely it is to lead to yet more teasing. She stays silent for a beat before giving in. "Dare I ask how you might've celebrated something like that--or anything else, whatever's similar, really--back home?"

"Well, it would depend," says Nick, sipping his soda as he thinks about it. "On what exactly the occasion was. If it was something that the Church of Night was interested in, there would be big ceremonies. Speeches. All kinds of weird stuff. But if it was just for us? There was this place that we used to like to go dancing and drinking."

To her great surprise and appreciation, there isn't any of the teasing she'd expected, just a thoughtful answer to her question. As curious as she always is about everything--and all the more so, when it comes to things she'd never have encountered back in Oxford--she'd happily listen, fascinated, to anything Nick wanted to tell her about his life back in Greendale.

His mention of dancing and drinking makes her think of the last time she'd gone out with Sabrina and Charlie, the thrill of showing her fake ID at the door and praying that it'd hold up under the bouncer's brief scrutiny. She'd come to love those nights, full of wild possibility and a little bit of scandal, all of it like nothing she'd ever had at home.

"What, like a...witch club?" she asks, smiling brightly. "That sounds fantastic. Much more fun than speeches or weird stuff, anyway."

"Exactly like a witch club," says Nick, his smile echoing hers. "Called The Grey Room. Some nights, he only admits Warlocks, although he always seemed to make an exception for Sabrina." No part of Nick was ever surprised by that, either. "It was...Yeah. It could be pretty fantastic."

"He'd better," Rosie murmurs, though it's not hard to imagine Sabrina simply ignoring any stricture meant to keep her out--of the Grey Room or anywhere else. It's one of the things she admires most about her.

She does roll her eyes a little at the idea of a warlocks only night. Though she doubts they'd be anything like the sort of clientele who'd attend one--not just because they were mortal, but because they were so very uninteresting--something about it makes her think of her brother and his pack of friends and the way they'd thundered through the house on their way to the parks for football, leaving half-empty glasses on the kitchen table and streaks of mud on the carpet in their wake for Rosie and her mother to clean up. Everything was always so different for boys.

"Have Sabrina and Charlie taken you out to any of the clubs here?" she asks. "Not that there'd been a lot of time, between when you arrived and...the snow and everything else."

They're safe now, she knows that, but even the thought of the last few weeks sends a chill down her spine. She takes another sip of her drink.

He shakes his head, stretching out his legs so that he can nudge her thigh with one of his bare feet.

"We haven't been out like that, yet," he says. "Are you inviting me to go dancing, Wilson?"

Rosie blushes again at that, and at the gentle nudge of his foot against her. "I was simply asking if you'd been dancing," she points out, fixing him with a slightly pointed look--one that dissolves after a moment into an easy grin. "Not that we shouldn't all go out one night. I'd like that."

"I'd like that too," says Nick, with a nod. He stretches his back, tilting his head back to catch the sun on his face. "How's the boyfriend?"

"He's doing well." As reluctant as Rosie had been to leave the security of Nick's apartment, reuniting with David had been more of a relief than she'd anticipated. "He stayed safe, during the...with everything. Stuck at home and bored, but it seems no goblins, thank goodness."

She looks down and away, frowning slightly. "I haven't known what to tell him. About what happened to me. He assumed I'd gotten sick because of the cold, laryngitis or something, and I haven't corrected him." Her stomach twists with uncertainty, the sense that she shouldn't be burdening someone she barely knows--no matter how deeply she trusts him--with her worries. "Is that awful?"

Nick think about that for a moment, and then shakes his head.

"I don't think so," he says. "It's something that you went through, you and Charlie, the others, and he wasn't...in it with you? It makes sense to want to keep the two things separate in your head."

Somehow, he tells her exactly what she'd been thinking--or maybe just what she wanted to hear. It's not unlike how she's felt about Anterwold, though her experiences there were far less traumatic than anything she'd endured within the cold stone walls of the mountain castle. But that, like this, was a strange and unexplainable event; something she'd never be able to discuss with anyone back home.

"It does make sense," she agrees, looking back at him with a grateful smile. "Even if it does feel like keeping a secret. But I don't know that he'd understand anyway, he's..." Rosie shrugs. "The people here who've been in Darrow their whole lives, rather than coming from elsewhere like you or I, they're always a little odd about the weird things that happen."

"From what I've heard, they're never as wrapped up in it as the people who came here new," he says. "So maybe it's worth not having the conversation with him? Just let yourself move on."

"Maybe," she echoes, before finishing her drink. "It'd take an awful lot of explaining."

Something about it--the idea of moving on, of not trusting him the same way she trusts Sabrina or Charlie or even Nick--still gnaws at her, but she shelves it away as best as she can. The day is too nice to ruin further with her awkwardness and concerns.

Nick knows all about that. He's not sure that he'll ever share the truth of everything that happened at home with anyone who isn't Sabrina; not the whole mess of it, anyway. Sometimes, it's easier to just pretend that bodies can be wipe clean.

"Do you want another drink, or..."

He doesn't push further, and she's grateful for it. Rosie gives the question a moment's consideration, then shakes her head. "Thank you, but no," she says, a little reluctantly. "This has been awfully nice, but I should...I can let you get back to what you were doing."

She flushes a little pink again at that, at what's actually meant beneath the vagueness and near-euphemism, but lets it stand.

"Oh, because it was really, really important," says Nick, with a broad grin. "Surely it's me who's wasting your time here, Rosie. I didn't have any real plan for the day. Just sunning myself. I love being this warm."

"It is lovely out today," she agrees. "And warm, after..." Rosie trails off, trusting him to know what she means without her needing to mention it and bring back the memory of last month's cold and dark and fear.

"You're not wasting my time at all, Nick," she says instead. "I always like spending time with you. And Sabrina and Charlie, all of you."

"Funny how it works out, isn't it?" he says, getting up and taking her glass, padding into the relative cool of the apartment. "How important people can end up without you even noticing sometimes."

"It is," she agrees, something about the statement making her blush again. "And how quickly."

She watches him go inside, lingering out in the sun for another minute or two before pushing herself to her feet and reentering the apartment.

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