Chapter Text
The first time Nicky hears anything about Joe is at work, of course. He's going cross-eyed reviewing the fine print of a foreign contract—no one should have to translate German before noon, it's too harsh a language for early mornings—when Nile stops by his desk to drop off a cup of very black coffee.
"Danke schön," he mutters, still engrossed in the dense legalese, then blinks. "I mean—"
"You're welcome," she replies, cheeks dimpling. "Germany today, I take it?"
"Austria, but close enough." Nicky warms his hands on the coffee cup, debating whether it's worth burning his tongue or if he can bear to wait a little longer before taking a gulp. "What's the occasion? Not that I'm not grateful."
She shrugs, a little too casually. "So there's a new guy in Marketing. Joe. We were in line at Starbucks together this morning and got to chatting. He seems nice." She lifts an eyebrow. "Rainbow pin on his messenger bag."
"I suppose he's devastatingly handsome, too," Nicky says drily. "And told you all about how he's looking for a very boring Italian boyfriend."
Nile rolls her eyes. "Of course not. Although he is pretty hot. But no, I just thought maybe I'd invite him the next time we all head out to the Guard. Solidarity, you know. He's new to London."
The Old Guard is a pub run by a mutual friend of theirs, and one of the only queer bars in this city that Nicky can stand. "Sure, why not?"
"Cool."
His coffee is still too hot to drink safely, but he needs the caffeine too much to care. They chat idly for another few minutes before Nile returns to her own desk, and he promptly forgets the exchange.
The second time is at their quarterly all staff meeting a week or so later. Buried somewhere in the endless powerpoint deck is the usual slide about new hires. Joe al-Kaysani's name and staff photo appear along with a few others, but Nicky doesn't put two and two together until after the meeting when the head of Marketing waves him over. He detours to greet her—he helped her out with an ad campaign earlier this year, she's nice enough—and comes face to face with one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen.
That photo in the powerpoint did not do him justice.
"Nicky, I wanted you to meet Joe, he's our new graphic designer," the head of Marketing says. "Joe, Nicky's in International Affairs, he's one of our translators. I think you two have a lot in common!"
She leaves them with the sort of smile that straight people get when they think they're being such good allies.
"Uh," Joe says. "Nice to meet you?"
Nicky briefly covers his face with his hand, then meets Joe's bemused gaze with a rueful smile. "Sure. Hi. Sorry about that." He offers a hand, which Joe shakes politely enough and which does absolutely nothing to dispel the awkwardness. "She...means well, I think."
Joe still looks more confused than anything else, but smiles gamely. "So you're a translator, huh? I grew up speaking four languages, so maybe that's what she meant?"
"It's really not," Nicky sighs. "Though that's interesting. Was English one of the four, or did you pick it up later?"
"Definitely one of them, I don't think I have space in my head for any more at this point. English, Dutch, French, Arabic." At Nicky's raised eyebrow, he elaborates: "Tunisian, but we moved to Amsterdam when I was six. And you? Italian, I take it?"
"How ever could you tell?" Nicky asks drily. Joe's smile widens into something more genuine, a flash of mischief in his dark eyes. Oh, that's going to be trouble. That smile is dangerous. He should be very careful how he uses it. Nicky's brain stutters and he briefly loses command of the English language, which is very worrisome considering that knowing words is literally his job.
"Lucky guess," Joe says with a wink, which does not in any way help matters. "Oh, hey, I think I met one of your colleagues already. Nile?"
"Ah, yes, she mentioned." He needs to stop staring at Joe's face before it gets weird, so he glances down at his wristwatch instead, and curses under his breath. "I'm sorry, I need to get back to my desk, I have a call in five minutes. It was nice meeting you."
"Sure," Joe says. "I guess I'll see you around."
And that's that.
The next weekend is Pride, which means of course Nicky has to go out to the Guard. Even if it's the one weekend each year when all he really wants is to lock himself in his flat alone with a book or something. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the spirit of the thing; he just doesn't actually enjoy being in clubs so crowded that you can't breathe without choking on someone else's body glitter. Not to mention all the straight tourists gawking.
But Nile insists, so out they go. She even oversees his wardrobe for the evening, which means he's wearing jeans that are practically painted on and a shirt he's pretty sure shrank in the wash, plus eyeliner—the bare minimum he was able to negotiate her down to. Nile, in contrast, has all the colors of the rainbow in her eyeshadow, but she makes it look good, so that's all right. On him, he's pretty sure it would just look like clown makeup.
"I suppose that will do," she says, giving him one last critical onceover. "I swear to God, we will get you laid tonight."
Nicky groans. "I don't—"
"You absolutely do," she retorts. "It's been ages, Nicky. Anyway, it's Pride! Ill-advised hookups are obligatory."
The Old Guard is sufficiently off the beaten path that it's only twice as busy as usual, not packed to the gills like the other gay bars they passed en route. Lykon's behind the bar tonight, so their usual drinks are waiting for them by the time Nile and Nicky manage to shove their way up to it. "You are a prince among men," Nicky informs him, and Lykon winks and moves on down to the next customer.
The ground floor of the pub has been cleared for a makeshift dance floor, which is positively hopping tonight; upstairs has a cozier atmosphere. That's where they find Andy and Quỳnh, up by the balcony where Andy can keep an eye on the crowd.
"No Booker yet?" Nile asks, claiming the last free stool. Nicky just leans against the balcony railing and sips his drink.
"He'll probably give it a miss tonight," Andy says. "Not his favorite scene."
Nicky arches an eyebrow at Nile. "Oh, so Booker's allowed to skip out on Pride—"
"Booker is a sad disaster bi who still freaks out a little when guys hit on him, even if he does think they're hot," Nile says sternly. "You are a proud gay man. It's different."
"Whatever you say."
Nicky's about halfway through his drink when Nile catches sight of something downstairs and leans out over the balcony, waving frantically. "Joe!" she yells, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Hey, Joe!"
Nicky promptly swallows vodka down the wrong pipe and chokes for a minute, but is mostly done coughing through it by the time Joe manages to make his way up to them. The balcony is poorly lit enough that Joe probably can't tell how red his face currently is. Joe, of course, looks unfairly amazing in a linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his curls artfully tousled.
"This is Quỳnh," Nile is saying, "she works with me in International, and her wife Andy, who owns this place. And Nicky—"
Joe's smile lights up the dim space, teeth flashing against his dark beard. "We've met."
His teeth are crooked, Nicky notes, a little dazed from the full force of that grin. It should make him feel better to have found the one flaw in this man's appearance, but instead it just makes him gorgeously human, and touchable. That's worse, somehow. That's terrifying.
"Ah, yes," Nicky says belatedly. "Hi, Joe." Nile glances between them, and Nicky absolutely refuses to meet her eyes. He gulps down the remainder of his drink instead. "I'm going to get another round, anyone else?"
They all make their requests. Nile smiles sweetly and adds, "That's a lot to carry—Joe, can you go with him?"
"Sure thing," Joe says, and of course Nicky can't turn him down. He does glare at Nile behind Joe’s back. She just grins and winks at him.
This time Lykon's too busy to have seen him coming, so they have to wait their turn like everyone else. Pressed shoulder to shoulder by the crowd, Joe gives him a little nudge. "So this is what my boss meant," he remarks, his mouth very close to Nicky's ear in order to be heard over the music. "When she said we must have so much in common."
"Yeah, probably," Nicky sighs. "It's...I just remember back when I was in school and there was only one other boy in my year who'd come out—"
"—and everyone assumed that of course you must be into each other," Joe agrees ruefully. "Because you were the two gay kids."
Nicky snorts. "You got it. Even if you had literally nothing else in common, or couldn't stand each other." He hadn't been out himself as a teenager—he'd been so deep in the closet he nearly found Narnia—but he'd certainly seen it happen to the boys who'd been more obvious about it. "I'm sorry she, ah, foisted me upon you like that."
"Eh, no worries. I can stand you just fine so far."
"You're too kind."
Joe shoots him another quick grin, which Nicky can't help but return.
Once they've successfully wrangled the drinks back upstairs, Joe turns his attention to charming all of Nicky's friends, which is honestly a relief. Nicky's not sure he could have handled the full force of the man's focus for much longer. He relaxes into just watching and listening for a while, enjoying the easy flow of conversation around him. Nile and Quỳnh devolve into complaining about one of the clients they both had to work with that week, and Andy rolls her eyes at the inevitable shop talk.
"If it helps," Joe tells her, "I have no idea what they're talking about either."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Nicky advises. "You may not be in our department, but it's not that big of an agency."
Joe leans back against the balcony, eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement. "Is everyone in International, you know…"
Andy grins, sharklike, eyes glittering. "Ragingly queer? Pretty much, yeah, based on how many of them wind up in my bar. There's a joke about cunning linguists in there somewhere."
"There is, and Quỳnh makes it regularly," Nicky says drily. Joe tilts his head back with laughter, and Nicky quickly finishes his drink. It's too damn warm in here; too crowded, even upstairs, and heat rises. Between that and the alcohol, that's the only reason his face feels flushed.
Booker actually makes an appearance at that point, looking vaguely haunted from the mortifying ordeal of pushing his way through the crowd of horny gays. The women rib him mercilessly for the next few minutes until Nile decides it's time for them all to hit the dance floor.
"Don't worry, Booker," Nicky tells him with a grin. "I will protect your virtue."
He means it, too. Unlike Nile, who has a strict "hoes before bros" policy when it comes to Pride weekend, Nicky has no particular interest in finding someone to take home tonight. He dances with Booker for a while, then he and Nile grab hands and start jumping around like idiots when "It's Raining Men" inevitably comes around on the playlist.
She manages to wrangle the others into their manic little circle, and Nicky finds himself abruptly face to face with Joe. "It's obligatory," he explains, breathless, and Joe laughs with him and joins in.
He somehow manages to make even this look good. Because of course he does.
The song changes, and their dynamics shift in the nature of such things. Andy and Quỳnh split off to grind together while Nile turns her sights on a girl with bright blue hair. Booker and Joe wend their way back toward the bar. Nicky gets pulled into dancing with a stranger, and it's all right for a few minutes until the guy starts getting a bit too handsy, so he extricates himself and retreats back up to the balcony. He's starting to get a headache from the noise. At least it's less intense up here.
A glass appears in his hand as if by magic, and he turns to see Joe beside him. "Hey," Joe says, with that crooked little smile. "It's just water. Figured we could all use the hydration at this point."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." Nicky downs the water in a few long swallows, and it does clear his head a bit. "What happened to Booker?"
"He was chatting with the bartender, seemed happy enough where he was. Another friend of yours?"
"Lykon? Yeah, he's a sweetheart." Nicky leans back against the balcony, giving Joe a rueful smile. "Sorry, this is probably not the best introduction to the Guard. It's normally not quite so busy, but, you know. Pride."
Joe joins him at the railing. Their elbows bump companionably. "It's not so bad. I don't really know anyone here in London yet outside of work, so this has been nice. I'm glad Nile invited me."
"Me, too. Though, do we count? I mean, apart from Andy and Booker, we are still just coworkers."
"We're physically outside of work right now, it absolutely counts," Joe retorts, grinning. "And you definitely don't dress like this in the office."
Nicky groans, covering his face with his hands. "That is entirely Nile's fault, so don't get used to it. I feel like I'm wearing a costume. This whole…" He gestures vaguely out to the dance floor below them. "I don't know, club scene, hookup culture, whatever you call it. It's not really my thing. I'm just here to hang out with my friends."
Joe's expression is unreadable when Nicky glances sidelong over at him. "I can respect that," Joe says, quietly enough that it's hard to make the words out over the music. "They seem like good people. I'm enjoying getting to know you—getting to know them all."
"You're welcome to join us again anytime," Nicky tells him. "I know you and I keep getting kind of...pushed together, but seriously."
"Right, there is that." Joe's mouth twists wryly. "The only two gay guys. Or, wait, Booker…?"
"He mostly dates women, but he's been known to make exceptions." At Joe's raised eyebrow, Nicky laughs and shakes his head. "No, I am definitely not one of them. Why, are you interested?"
Joe blinks rapidly. "Am I—oh, you mean interested in Booker? Uh, not particularly."
Good, Nicky very much does not say aloud.
"Listen," Joe goes on, looking down at the empty water glass in his hands. Nicky can't help but follow his gaze. He has very nice hands, with a couple of intricate silver rings adorning his long, tapered fingers. "Like I said, I'm new here. I'm not looking for...I mean, I really could use a few friends, if I'm being honest." He meets Nicky's eyes, then.
Oh. Nicky's stomach sinks a little, and he does his best to cover it. "Of course, I understand that."
"And I really like you all, so I don't want to, like, mess that up by…"
"Joe, it's really okay." Nicky smiles, and it almost feels genuine. It is genuine. He enjoys Joe's company, and Joe wants to be friends, there's absolutely nothing bad about any of this. "I promise not to sleep with you and ruin our friendship." He hesitates, then extends his hand, as though to formalize the agreement.
Joe cracks his own smile at that, and shakes his hand firmly. "And I promise that I'm not just trying to get in your pants like, oh, literally half the guys down on that dance floor."
"They were not!" Nicky protests, feeling his face get hot. Joe's grin widens. He gives Nicky's hand one last quick squeeze before releasing him.
"They absolutely were. Have you seen yourself tonight?"
Nicky shoves at his shoulder, snorting, and tells himself it's fine. Honestly, as rejections go, this was one of the nicer ones. And it's no big deal. He only met Joe a few days ago; he'll get over this little crush. It hardly even counts as such.
They head back downstairs to dance after that, and if Nicky does wind up picking up a random attractive stranger and going home with him that night, well, what of it? Nile was right; he just needs to get laid more often.
On Monday Nile drags him out to lunch, which is not terribly unusual but ominous nonetheless. "All right, spill. Lykon said you definitely didn't leave the Guard alone on Saturday. So you had fun, then?"
"Ah, it was all right. A nice change of pace, I suppose. And you?"
"You know I did. So…" Nile raises an expectant eyebrow, and Nicky just waits her out. "Oh, come on. It was Joe, right?"
"No, it was not," Nicky says primly. "Not that it's any of your business."
She pauses and narrows her eyes at him over their bowls of ramen. "I thought you two were hitting it off."
"We did! He said he enjoyed getting to know us. I think he'll fit in well at the Guard. We should invite him out again sometime."
"You know that's not what I meant."
Nicky rolls his eyes. "I know this may come as a shock, but gay men are capable of being friends without having sex."
She flicks a drop of soup at him like a child. "Obviously. Look, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. You two just seemed pretty into each other. That's all."
"Well, we're not. Not like that." Nicky toys with his chopsticks, staring down into his bowl as though it holds an escape from this particular conversation. "He's looking to make some friends here in London, that's all. I remember how that felt, when I'd just moved here."
"Yeah, me too." Nile kicks him gently under the table, and smiles when he meets her eyes. "And I found you and Quỳnh, so that worked out pretty well for us both, I think." He nods, matching her smile. "Cool. So next time we go out to lunch, okay if I ask Joe to come with?"
"Of course," he says, and means it. "The more the merrier."
Summer in London is always a bit of a crapshoot; it's either warm and gorgeous or chilly and raining. Nicky has long since learned the trick of always keeping an umbrella handy, but he deeply resents the necessity of it. So when he steps out of the office building one evening to a torrential downpour, he has to brace himself under the awning for a minute before he can muster the will to run for the nearest Tube station, several long blocks away. The umbrella won't keep his shoes from filling with water, and he hates wet socks.
"Fuck," someone standing nearby says with feeling. It's Joe, staring forlornly out at the rain without so much as a jacket for cover. He glances over and does a low-key double-take before breaking into a wry grin. "Nicky! Hi. So, weather, huh?"
"No kidding," Nicky says, an answering smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Welcome to England. You should probably get used to this."
"I swear it was sunny this morning."
"Yes, but that was this morning." Nicky looks him over with no small amount of sympathy. "Where are you headed?"
"Just the Tube, but, ah...shit." Joe grimaces. "I guess I could call a cab home, but I should really just suck it up and make a run for it."
"Liverpool Street?" At Joe's nod, Nicky proffers his umbrella. "We could share, if you like. I think it's big enough to cover both of us."
"I would be very happy to take you up on that, if you really don't mind."
The umbrella isn't quite large enough to cover two grown men, but it's better than nothing. After some awkward shuffling, Joe huffs out a laugh and takes Nicky's arm, pulling them closer together as they walk, and that improves matters. They're more or less of a height, which also helps.
"Thanks," Joe says. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
"It's no trouble." Nicky elbows him gently. "What are friends for, right?"
Joe bumps his shoulder against Nicky's and smiles. "Careful, I might take advantage. Now I just need to convince you to walk me home at the other end."
"You can buy an overpriced umbrella from a street vendor in the station like everyone else," Nicky retorts lightly, trying not to think about the way his heart stuttered a little at Joe's words.
"Ah, of course, the kind that flips inside out at the first gust of wind?"
"The very same. Penance for forgetting that you live in London now."
Joe laughs, and Nicky can practically feel it vibrate along his side where they're pressed together. He tugs Joe just the slightest bit closer and pretends it's because of the rain.
They keep up a light patter of conversation for the rest of their commute. As it turns out, they both live along the same line, only one station apart from each other, which is frankly astonishing given the size of the city.
"No, it makes sense, though," Joe points out. "It's an artsy neighborhood full of young-ish professionals that's relatively affordable—for London, anyway—so of course we'd both gravitate to that general area. I work some evenings at a gallery near the station, you should stop by if you're free. Well, assuming you like very eclectic art collections."
"Are you an artist, then?" Nicky asks, and then mentally smacks himself. "Of course, you're a graphic designer. Why should this surprise me?"
"Ah, that's just to pay the bills." Joe shifts his grip on the handrail as the train rattles along, giving Nicky a quick grin. "I work mostly in pencil and charcoals when it's my own stuff. Oil paints as well. Digital art is fun, but it's not my primary interest."
"I'd love to see your work sometime."
Joe ducks his head, oddly shy. "Sure, we'll see."
Nicky disembarks first. He's still smiling all the way home, despite the rain.
Nicky and Nile usually head to the Guard after work on Fridays to celebrate getting through another work week. Quỳnh is there more regularly, of course; she's technically a co-owner with Andy and picks up the occasional bar shift if they're short-staffed. Booker, who handles the pub's bookkeeping as one of his many side-hustles, also hangs out there most weeknights.
After Pride, Joe winds up tagging along with them more often than not, though his shifts at the gallery are irregular and sometimes prevent him from making an appearance. "We're definitely keeping you," Booker informs him sometime later that summer. "It's nice to have another bloke along. Keeps me and Nicky from always being outnumbered."
"Yes, because that's the problem with queer spaces, too many women," Nile says, deadpan.
Joe laughs. "I do like that the Guard has more gender parity than most. Why are there so many more gay bars than lesbian, though? I'd never thought about it before, but now that you mention it..."
"Because we all U-Haul on the first date and then snuggle up at home together," Quỳnh says from behind the bar, grinning. Andy leans over to give her a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Nile and Booker start up a game of darts after that, which gets competitive pretty quickly. They cajole Joe into joining. He turns out to have better aim than either of them, or possibly he's just had less to drink tonight. Nicky joins in briefly, just messing around, but Booker gets that glint in his eye and he smiles to himself. After the next round, which Joe wins handily, Booker asks if he'd like to make it interesting.
"What, you wanna bet?" Joe asks, grinning. "Sure, I can take you."
Booker glances at Nicky, who gives him a subtle nod. "No, you've already proven that. How about you against Nicky, hmm? Three throws, closest to bullseye wins."
Joe gives Nicky an assessing look, likely considering his odds, then nods. "Sure, why not? Thirty quid?"
"Sure," Nicky agrees.
Joe's first throw is pretty good, only a couple of inches off center. Nicky follows, and his is just a hair closer, enough for Nile to whoop and Joe to narrow his eyes a little. Joe's second is better, just outside the green, and Nicky starts to aim his own when Booker interrupts. "Hey, Nicky, you gonna throw left-handed all night?"
Nicky grins and switches hands. "Well, now that you mention it."
"Ah, fuck," Joe groans, catching on.
It's not even a contest. Nicky's second and third darts cuddle together in the middle of the red bullseye, while Nile and Booker laugh their asses off and Joe goes for his wallet. "You're a damn hustler is what you are," he informs Nicky, but he's laughing himself by then.
"It's a trick that only works once," Nicky says, pocketing the cash. "No hard feelings?"
Joe claps him on the back. "Of course not, that was well played. How'd you get so good at this?"
"I just have a decent eye. You want to see good, you should get Quỳnh up here. She's unreal."
"We don't let her or Nicky play with us anymore," Nile agrees. "Unless we're all on a team together, of course."
They head back to the bar so that Nicky can treat them all to a round with his winnings, even Joe. "It's only fair," he points out. "It's your money, after all."
"So really, it's just you buying us a round," Booker agrees, elbowing Joe companionably. "Thanks for playing along."
"How did you fall in with this lot, anyway?" Joe asks him.
Booker shrugs. "Me and Andy go way back."
"That's all you'll ever get," Nicky adds. "I've been friends with them three years and have still never heard that story. Nile has many theories."
That's Nile's cue to launch into a series of increasingly ridiculous speculations as to how Andy and Booker first met, running the gauntlet from being primary school sweethearts to overthrowing a drug cartel together. Quỳnh contributes spurious embellishments between serving other customers. Andy manages to keep a straight face throughout, with the occasional serious nod as though in confirmation of the most outlandish possibilities. Nicky just sips his drink slowly, enjoying the way Joe's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the line of his throat as he tilts his head back to laugh.
The warmth in his gaze when he exchanges amused looks with Nicky over Nile's head.
They catch the last Tube home together and sit peacefully side by side in the nearly empty train car, shoulders bumping. Nicky's starting to drift off by the time they get to his stop, and Joe nudges him awake, teasing him gently for it and waving a cheeky goodbye through the window as the train pulls away from the station.
One Sunday in September dawns to the sort of perfect weather you never get in London. After sipping coffee at his window for a while, Nicky decides to go for a walk.
He's always been a morning person, which can feel a little lonely on the weekends. Sunday mornings especially. He left the Church for many good reasons, but he does miss that sense of community sometimes.
It's well past ten at this point, which seems reasonable enough for company. He considers texting Nile, but she lives all the way across the city and he's not quite willing to spend an hour on the Tube today. Andy and Quỳnh are also out; Andy treats morning as a theoretical concept, and likely won't be awake for several hours. Booker might be up for it, but he would also require another Tube ride. And Nicky's never actually seen Lykon outside of the Guard before; it would probably be weird to ring him now after three years of never hanging out one-on-one.
Then it occurs to him that he does in fact have a friend in the neighborhood now.
Before he can overthink it, he pulls up Joe's contact on his phone and shoots off a quick text: Good morning! It's too nice out to sit in my flat all day. I was thinking of getting brunch or something. Would you be interested in joining me?
It only takes a minute for Joe to respond.
brunch before noon is homophobic :(
Nicky snorts out a laugh. Before he can come up with a response, Joe goes on: Seriously though I'd love to but I'm working at the gallery from 11-3. Want to meet up for coffee after if you're still out and about?
Sounds good!
The morning doesn't seem so empty now that he has plans lined up for later. He grabs breakfast at the nearest cafe and heads over to a little park to read for a few hours. Joe texts him the address of the gallery, which turns out to be only about a fifteen-minute walk from Nicky's flat.
Nicky gets there a little early and finds Joe sitting behind the counter with a book. He looks up when the bell over the door jingles, and a smile like a sunrise breaks out across his face. "Nicky, hey! I need to close out and wait for Valerie to show up for her shift. Okay waiting for a few minutes?"
"No worries, take your time. I've never been in here before, I'd like to look around."
Joe waves a hand. "Go right ahead, I'll find you."
It's not a very large gallery, and as Joe had once mentioned, rather eclectic in both the media and styles on display. There are paintings and sculptures and pottery of all shapes and sizes and colors, plus some intricately decorated furniture and several glass cases of jewelry. Nicky wanders at random, stopping at anything that catches his eye. There are some cute robot-like sculptures constructed out of found objects, which he finds charming; then a series of very pretty photographs of the countryside, though it looks a bit generic to his admittedly unpracticed eye.
One painting at the back of the gallery catches his eye. From a distance he thinks it's similar to the photography: rolling hills of the English countryside. But the colors are curiously muted, accented with sparks of silver moonlight, and as he draws closer, the hills look more like ocean waves. No matter how long he studies it, he's not quite sure which it's meant to be. Perhaps that's the point: the whole effect is luminous, dreamlike. Art isn't really his thing, apart from a general aesthetic appreciation; he prefers language, literature or history or poetry. But he thinks he could stand here just looking at this painting for quite a long time.
"You like that one?"
Nicky starts a little at Joe's voice so close to his ear. When he turns, he can't quite read the expression on Joe's face. He looks oddly hesitant.
"I do," Nicky says. "It's very beautiful. There's such motion in it, but it's strangely...calming, maybe?" He ducks his head. "Sorry, I know many words in a number of languages, yet I've never been able to speak intelligently about art. But yes, I like it very much."
Joe grins. "No, no, you're doing fine. Thank you, that's very flattering."
Nicky blinks at him. "Wait, this is yours?" He looks down at the little printed card by the bottom corner of the painting. The artist's name is apparently Yusuf al-Kaysani. He'd never thought to wonder what 'Joe' was short for, and feels a little foolish. "I genuinely had not noticed that."
"Then I'm doubly flattered." Joe's smile creases the corners of his eyes. "This is one of my favorites as well."
"Joe, this is really wonderful," Nicky says softly. "I did not know your own work was on display here or I would have stopped by sooner."
Joe shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. "The gallery is a co-operative, all local artists. We all take turns working behind the counter every week."
"Do you have any more paintings here? I'd love to see them."
They end up spending half an hour more at the gallery while Joe points out his other pieces to Nicky and talks about a few of the other artists as well. His are a mix of paintings and sketches—mostly portraits, beautifully rendered, and one other painting in a similar vein to the first, though this one is a cityscape. It's all strange angles and bright streaks of color, with that same glint of moonlight casting silver shadows. Nicky finds himself equally entranced.
"I would like to live there, I think," he murmurs, almost reaching out to trace the outline before catching himself.
Joe glances at him sidelong. "Me, too."
Nicky tries to be a positive person, or at least a relatively calm one, but some weeks are just utter shit from start to finish. It's been pissing down rain for days, there's a leak in his living room ceiling that his asshole landlord hasn't fixed yet—normally he loves having a top floor flat for the light, but not so much at the moment—and he's been dealing with corporate dickheads all week at work, some Milanese company his NGO is trying to partner with. You'd think their being Italian would make his job easier, but they're such colossal pricks that he's tempted to speak exclusively in the Genoese dialect instead, just to see their heads explode.
Or maybe ecclesiastical Latin.
"What the fuck does some fashion retailer have to do with our work, anyway?" he grumbles to Nile over his third vodka tonic. It's barely gone eight o'clock, he doesn't normally go through drinks this quickly, but fuck it, he wants to step outside of his brain for a while. Not that it's working so far. "We're a goddamn international aid charity, not a designer brand!"
"Halo effect," Nile sighs. "They think it'll make them look good to drop a few million for the cause."
"Then they should just give us the money and leave us the fuck alone to spend it where it's actually needed, not this bullshit circus act—"
"Remind me never to set you loose on Development," Quỳnh remarks, pulling up a chair. It's busier than usual tonight, so they're up in their preferred spot by the balcony instead of just at the bar. Lykon needs to actually be able to serve other customers, for some reason. "Hey, speaking of work—Nicky, do you know where Joe wandered off to? I've been meaning to ask him something about the new ad campaign."
Nicky hunches his shoulders forward. This is also part of why his week has been the worst. "I am not his keeper, how should I know?"
Nile lets out an exasperated noise. "He's been down at the bar for the past forty-five minutes," she tells Quỳnh. "With a new friend, apparently."
Quỳnh is not subtle about leaning over the balcony to have a look. Nicky stares into his drink instead. He's already done that, he does not need to continue seeing it. "Oh, wow, his new friend is very pretty."
"Yup," Nile says, popping the 'p' in a deliberately annoying fashion. "He's been making sure that Joe notices, too."
Quỳnh elbows Nicky sharply in the side. "You really gonna let some twink move in on your man like that?"
"He's not my—" Nicky huffs out a breath, swatting her away. "We're just friends, Quỳnh, you know that. He can do what he likes."
"And who he likes," Nile adds under her breath. Nicky glares at her.
Quỳnh folds her arms across her chest, eyes narrowing. "Look, I get that you two aren't, like, official or whatever, but you can't seriously be telling me you aren't shagging yet."
"They are not," Nile says, singsong. "Though God only knows why."
The only excuse Nicky will be able to give, later, is that he must be a lot closer to drunk than he thinks he is. "Because we made a fucking pact not to."
The women look at him, then at each other, then back at him. "Excuse me, what white nonsense is this?" Nile finally asks.
Nicky sighs, swirling the melting ice around in his otherwise empty glass. "On Pride, that first time he came out with us. I was, I don't know, I must have been coming on too strong or something. He was probably just trying to let me down gently. We promised not to sleep together and fuck up the friendship. Shook on it and everything." He spreads his hands wide on the table, palms up. "So."
"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, and I deal with drunk people for a living," Quỳnh informs him.
"No, you deal with high-profile international partners for a living, your wife deals with drunk people."
Quỳnh rolls her eyes. "You really think there's a difference?"
"He was new to London, and we were the first friends he was making," Nicky says, more softly, directing it mostly to the table. "He was right. If we'd hooked up that night—which he was not interested in, by the way—then he'd just have been a one-night stand and we would never have seen him again. I mean, except at work, which would have been very awkward as well. It's much better this way." He forces himself to meet Nile's eyes across the table. "I would not trade Joe's friendship for anything. I mean it."
Nile shakes her head, but she also covers his hand with her own. He squeezes it gratefully.
"All right," Quỳnh finally says. "I'm going to get you a refill. On the house. Something tells me you need it."
He doesn't get too drunk that night, but he's definitely not sober enough to want to take the Tube home on his own, so he calls a cab instead. Joe's long gone by then, along with the handsome man he met at the bar, though he did send them all a group text earlier to let them know he was heading out.
Nicky's phone buzzes just before he falls asleep, and he sits up so fast it makes him feel a little nauseous. It's nearly one in the morning. There's a text from Joe.
u make it home ok? sorry to ditch my train buddy
It takes him longer than he would care to admit to tap out a response, desperately trying to avoid typos: Yes, home now. You?
oh i'm good ;)
Nicky stares at the stupid winky emoji for a while, hating pretty much everything about it, before giving up on a response and rolling over to sleep instead. It takes him a while to finally drift off.
In retrospect, though, he decides Joe's hookup was actually a good thing. They never see the guy again, and the next week Joe is right back at the Guard with the rest of them, laughing off the razzing they give him about it. He's just as friendly with Nicky as he was before, pulling faces behind Andy's back and knocking their knees together under the table, and chatting a mile a minute on their Tube ride home. So Nicky takes this as proof that their Pride pact was to a purpose after all: this way he gets Joe's friendship, his smiles, and his fond attention in a way that one night stand never even knew he was missing.