Chapter Twenty-Five #2
This part always feels like an age to him.
Not surprisingly, really, that he had a seizure given all the change and stress of the last few days.
All the rushing around and probably not sleeping enough.
The big emotions and decisions. It’s like a checklist of all his triggers.
His neurologist would probably call it a melting pot of micro stresses or something.
The exact kind of jumble of messes he tries to avoid just to keep his brain going.
And yet, Christopher sits here, watching like a guard on duty. An ache swirls through his stomach as the anxiety of what happens next manages to brew up, even though his brain is still coming back online.
The pink of Christopher’s bottom lip is curled under his front teeth ever so slightly, and Nash thinks, once again, about touching it. About kissing it again.
His body is still disobeying him, even if he wanted to. Not that coming out of a seizure is exactly the time when he wants to instigate a make-out session.
‘Nash?’ Christopher calls, probably not for the first time. His voice is a soft, guiding light. Nash wants to follow it. He wants to wake up.
He tries to say hi, but he knows the sound that comes out isn’t quite right – his tongue and lips and brain have not yet linked back up, which feels especially rude when Christopher is literally kneeling before him looking like that.
The cat hops off his lap, and curls down between the two of them, seemingly satisfied that he’s awake enough now.
‘Hey. Are you back?’
Nash nods. His body shakes slightly with the adrenalin and misfiring, everything a little disconnected. To his embarrassment, a few tears run down his cheek.
‘Can I touch you?’ Christopher asks, which makes the tears run faster.
Without another word, Christopher wraps a quilted blanket from the back of the couch around him. Then he takes Nash’s face in his hands, gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs.
‘It’s okay, you’re safe.’
Fucking hell. This is not what Nash needs right now. He does not need Christopher to whip out his goddamn humanity and kindness just when Nash is at his most vulnerable. This sort of behaviour could make you fall in love with a man.
‘Shall I get you a drink and a snack now? In fact, I’ll just get it now, so then you have it if you want it. You don’t have to have them now. I’ll just be a few moments.’
Nash’s smile is almost certainly wobbly and uneven, and he manages the smallest tilt of his head in a nod through the heavy thickness that still settles in his brain.
As Christopher leaves, Nash runs through his senses.
He rubs his hand on the soft cushion of the couch – though this is interrupted by the cat who insists he is a much better thing to touch, pushing his little head right into the soft pad of Nash’s palm.
The cat smells like warm, a scent he can’t narrow down but knows isn’t one conjured by his own brain at least. Plus, he can still smell the lingering flavours of Christmas dinner on his clothes and hair.
In his lap drops a Snickers.
‘I know you said it didn’t have to be a Snickers, but when you mentioned it I thought I’d make sure we had some in. I hope that it fits the bill and – sorry I’m rambling.’
Nash’s heart catches on the we of that sentence. How is it possible that this man can be so thoughtful and kind while also still being an enormous dork? Or is it Nash he’s reducing to dork status?
Christopher drags the coffee table closer and sets down a glass of water and a steaming cup of tea on it.
He’s still muttering about the Snickers.
‘To be honest, I’m not even sure if they’re the same here as in the States or Canada, but hopefully it’s the kind of thing you need right now. Lots of energy.’
He sits down on the couch on the other side of the cat, which seems to have taken up permanent occupation of the middle cushion.
‘If you’d rather—’
Nash stills Christopher’s babbling with a hand on his arm. ‘This is perfect,’ he says, each word heavy on his tongue and leaving a residual ache in his brain.
‘Do you want some quiet? Or I can help you to bed?’
Nash shakes his head very slowly and then regrets it when his brain swirls like it’s in a pot of stew. ‘Stay. Let’s watch something.’ He tucks his legs up underneath him, sprawling a little into the middle cushion, but the cat accepts the intrusion and curls up into his side.
‘You should drink some water,’ Christopher urges.
His hands shake slightly but a couple of slow sips later, he feels a bit more himself. ‘Thanks.’
Christopher gets up and refills the glass from the tap. He hovers, clearly looking for something else to do.
‘Christopher, come sit down. I’m fine.’
He means to say this in his usual snarky way. Sit down, you giant oaf, and stop stomping around me, you’re frightening the horses.
But no, instead it comes out as a soft plea. And possibly one of the first times Nash has called him Christopher instead of Calloway. It makes him feel even more vulnerable.
It works, either way, and Christopher sits down on the couch, narrowly avoiding both Nash’s toes and the cat.
Clearly, Christopher has been so shaken up by this whole incident that he doesn’t clock what he’s doing until he’s logged back into Netflix and navigated to the main page, which shows his Watch Again list. It’s essentially just everything they show that Nash stars in.
To add insult to injury, a teaser trailer starts playing at the top of the screen and of course it’s for the Christmas at the Clinic series.
On screen, Nash wears reindeer ears and veterinary scrubs, but let’s be real, he did look very handsome when filming this scene.
Nash cackles to himself as he unwraps his Snickers, and Christopher finally seems to realise what he’s done.
‘Oh God. Well. This is rather embarrassing.’
‘I knew you knew who I was. This is too good.’
Christopher flushes and rolls his eyes, trying to style it off as though he’s not deeply embarrassed. ‘This is totally normal. They’re just good films!’
Nash laughs, almost choking on a peanut.
‘I might have downplayed how aware I was of your work when we first met. I’ll admit that.’ He looks sheepish.
‘Christopher, if your Netflix is any indication, I am pretty sure you are singlehandedly supporting my whole career. I’d say thank you for all the residuals if I got residuals.’
‘I’ve just seen a few!’
‘A few?’ Nash laughs, reaching for the remote. ‘Scroll back up. Go on, search my name! I just want to see how many you’ve liked.’
‘Get off,’ Christopher laughs, playfully slapping his hands away. ‘I’m not going to go easy on you just because you’re feeling poorly.’
‘If I were not quite so mentally incapacitated right now, I’d make some kind of innuendo there,’ Nash says. ‘You’ll have to imagine it yourself, but be assured it was funny and just a little flirty.’
‘Just a little?’
‘Just a little.’
‘Fine. I might have seen . . . all of them.’
‘Of course you have. I’m excellent. Now come on, Kathy Bates, pick something.’
‘What?’
‘Misery? Going to keep me in the basement for your own entertainment?’
‘The point of Misery is that she chains him up so he can keep writing. How would you make more films if you were trapped in a basement, which to be clear, I do not have. That would be useless if I wanted to watch more of your movies.’
‘Could be a sexy dungeon basement?’ At this Christopher flushes, which makes Nash cackle again.
‘You are very irritating,’ he huffs, resuming his scrolling.
‘I can’t believe I’m running out of obsessed-fan references. What have I used so far?’ he says, counting off his fingers. ‘All About Eve. Misery. Ingrid Goes West. Ooh, does the second act of Gone Girl count?’
‘For someone so nervous they’re about to get kidnapped you are very aware of related media. And you missed Perfect Blue.’
Nash leans back to peer at Christopher’s trying-to-be-casual face. ‘What’s that?’
‘A psychological horror anime about fandom and celebrity through the lens of a pop idol.’
‘Hahaha, you absolute nerd,’ Nash says, kicking Christopher in the thigh.
‘It’s not nerdy to watch foreign films. Wasn’t one of the ones you mentioned before a German film?’
‘Yeah, but anime? And not even Studio Ghibli anime. Come on, Christopher, you’re making it too easy for me even in my post-ictal state. Give me a challenge.’
‘I liked you better when you were quiet,’ he says, which produces the biggest laugh from Nash.
‘A total lie, but that’s more like it. I knew he was in there still.’
‘Who?’ Christopher frowns in a way that scrunches his nose up.
‘Bitchy Christopher. Bitchstopher.’
‘Do not call me that. I do not need more nicknames.’
‘Fascinating. I’ll be sure to pick up that train of thought at some point, if I don’t forget it. Anyway, tis the season and all that, put on a Christmas movie if you’d like,’ he says, scratching the cat behind its ears.
‘Is that not too close to work for you?’
‘Only if you insist on putting on one with me in it, which I rather you didn’t.’
Christopher hesitates. ‘Are you going to judge me?’
‘Based on what you pick?’
Christopher nods, remote poised in mid-air.
Slipping a hand out from the blanket, he pats Christopher on the arm and says, ‘Probably.’
He chuckles. ‘You’re the worst.’
After a few loud objections, they settle on Single All the Way for the Jennifer Coolidge of it all. Definitely. No other reason.
Nash feels the heavy lure of sleep flood his bones. He shuffles in his seat, and blinks in and out of a nap.
Much later, he wakes during the ‘third act argument’ – always his favourite bit – to find he is curled up against Christopher. He breathes in the smell of ginger and cinnamon which seems to have impregnated itself in Christopher’s skin.
‘Do you need anything?’ Christopher whispers, not taking his eyes off the screen.
And Nash could answer him. He could say all the things that he’s thinking, tell Christopher all the needs in his heart. All the things he wants right now.
Like, to pull Christopher’s arm around him, and curl up more deeply against him.
To kiss him again, with less fury, but no less desire.
Or how terrifying it is that Christopher has been so gentle with him tonight, when that’s all he’s ever wanted from someone.
But he’s too afraid to voice any of it. So he keeps his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
After a moment, Christopher’s attention drifts back to the film, and without a word, he wraps his arm around Nash.