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perfectactorTitle: "The one with the window"
Author: Nikki-Richian
Rating: Completely safe
Pairing: Nicky/Richey
Warnings: tl;dr | I love Nicky as much as an inexperienced author loves a marysue. Contains certain amounts of ridic.
Disclaimer: Never happened
***
Sometimes Nicky felt like he was watching Richey from afar. But loving isn't anything like that. And Nicky loved Richey.
One afternoon while they were on tour, Nicky woke up in his room with Richey, to find Richey sitting on the window frame. He shifted himself to the other side of the bed, to get a better look at Richey, who'd seem to not nod back or move his head slightly to look at him. Probably in the midst of some deep contemplation, Nicky thought.
Nicky didn't like the silence. To be fair to Nicky, he probably didn't even know what silence means. He could be attentive to a ridiculous extent, putting his mind into things no one else did, be it an object that seemed to be out of its rightful place, sounds that could be traced as coming from outside, too much light, or not enough light. It would all dissolve into one big mess that can only be articulated through his words or paintings.
And it's not like his head was an empty space for all these things. First there was homesickness, and making sure they got the right hotel rooms, and that everyone got what they need.
Then there were his deepest, most uncomfortable thoughts that he intended on showing as little as possible of. Those thoughts all seemed to gravitate towards the person he considered to be his best friend, who at the same time seemed like the loneliest person he's ever met. He went about sneakily and subtly making sure Richey was OK, for as long as he was there to watch him, at least, while careful not to break into his psyche, not knowing what he'll find there.
On his own, Nicky would fill stacks upon stacks of journals, and he had a knack for making new places appear homely, if he knew he was going to stay there for a while. He'd fill silences with escapism, most notably the buzz from a TV set, and replace boredom with perpetual movement, and routines. With Richey though, every moment spent next to Richey, but not focusing on Richey, seemed like a wasted moment.
--
Nicky hunches over, trying to keep himself small and closer to the ground rather than the ceiling as Nicky possibly could as he approaches Richey. It works as far as he knows, as Richey's small frame is still curled up staring at the window, looking serenely over the city landscape like a postcard.
Nicky is crouching, closer than ever to be sitting on the floor. He puts his hand over Richey's thigh, doing spider-like movements with his fingers tapping, hoping to shift his attention in the slightest. Richey shuts his eyes, in a way which makes his whole face contort for just a second.
"Did I scare you?" Nicky asks worriedly.
Richey shakes his head for 'no', smiling secretively. Nicky was the least scary of things he could think of. He puts his hand down on Nicky's.
Author: Nikki-Richian
Rating: Completely safe
Pairing: Nicky/Richey
Warnings: tl;dr | I love Nicky as much as an inexperienced author loves a marysue. Contains certain amounts of ridic.
Disclaimer: Never happened
***
Sometimes Nicky felt like he was watching Richey from afar. But loving isn't anything like that. And Nicky loved Richey.
One afternoon while they were on tour, Nicky woke up in his room with Richey, to find Richey sitting on the window frame. He shifted himself to the other side of the bed, to get a better look at Richey, who'd seem to not nod back or move his head slightly to look at him. Probably in the midst of some deep contemplation, Nicky thought.
Nicky didn't like the silence. To be fair to Nicky, he probably didn't even know what silence means. He could be attentive to a ridiculous extent, putting his mind into things no one else did, be it an object that seemed to be out of its rightful place, sounds that could be traced as coming from outside, too much light, or not enough light. It would all dissolve into one big mess that can only be articulated through his words or paintings.
And it's not like his head was an empty space for all these things. First there was homesickness, and making sure they got the right hotel rooms, and that everyone got what they need.
Then there were his deepest, most uncomfortable thoughts that he intended on showing as little as possible of. Those thoughts all seemed to gravitate towards the person he considered to be his best friend, who at the same time seemed like the loneliest person he's ever met. He went about sneakily and subtly making sure Richey was OK, for as long as he was there to watch him, at least, while careful not to break into his psyche, not knowing what he'll find there.
On his own, Nicky would fill stacks upon stacks of journals, and he had a knack for making new places appear homely, if he knew he was going to stay there for a while. He'd fill silences with escapism, most notably the buzz from a TV set, and replace boredom with perpetual movement, and routines. With Richey though, every moment spent next to Richey, but not focusing on Richey, seemed like a wasted moment.
--
Nicky hunches over, trying to keep himself small and closer to the ground rather than the ceiling as Nicky possibly could as he approaches Richey. It works as far as he knows, as Richey's small frame is still curled up staring at the window, looking serenely over the city landscape like a postcard.
Nicky is crouching, closer than ever to be sitting on the floor. He puts his hand over Richey's thigh, doing spider-like movements with his fingers tapping, hoping to shift his attention in the slightest. Richey shuts his eyes, in a way which makes his whole face contort for just a second.
"Did I scare you?" Nicky asks worriedly.
Richey shakes his head for 'no', smiling secretively. Nicky was the least scary of things he could think of. He puts his hand down on Nicky's.
