by Jerry Cole
"That wasn't it," Nick said quickly, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "I mean, that was part of it. But I wouldn't have pushed so hard for it if I didn't genuinely like you, too. I want to see you act, but I also just want to be your friend."
Clay beamed like Nick had just made his dreams come true, bright enough to light up the dark night. Thunder rolled again, and rain began to pour on them all at once, hard and heavy and freezing. They both swore and ran for cover. They reached the bus stop and huddled together under the awning, Nick practically pressed to Clay's chest as they tried to avoid the rain the wind was now carrying into their shelter sideways.
"This is ridiculous," Clay said. "I can't leave you in this. My place is like fifteen minutes from here. If we run, we can probably cut that in half. You can spend the night."
"You don't mind?" Nicholas asked, surprised.
"Better than leaving you to drown," Clay replied, wincing as the wind threw another bucketful of rain at them, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of thunder.
"Okay!" Nicholas said. "Let's run!"
They ducked out from under the bus stop and sprinted into the rain again, running flat out, Nick just a step behind, Clay leading the way.
The Brooklyn College Residence Hall was a huge, imposing building, and Nick slipped on the front steps, grabbing Clay's coat to keep from falling over. Clay caught him with a shout, and they fell into the lobby laughing and soaked to the bone. Their eyes met in breathless, exhilarated giddiness, and Nick was once again struck by how beautiful the other man was. He was struck by the sudden urge to...do something. He didn't have a chance to figure out what before Clay pulled away, but he noticed the other man's face was red as he turned toward the elevators, and he kept his grip on Nick's hand.
Drenched and dripping, they took the elevator up to Clay's private room, which was about the size of a walk-in closet with a bed and a desk jammed in. Clay began shedding his wet clothes unselfconsciously, and Nick followed suit.
"You can borrow some of my clothes for tonight," Clay said as he peeled off his shirt. "We'll toss this stuff in the dryer downstairs before we crash."
Nicholas found himself unexpectedly distracted by the sight of Clay shirtless, rain still glistening on his skin. He had a farmer's tan, which made him want to laugh, but he also had the muscles of someone who'd grown up spending all their free time working on a farm, and that made Nick's laughter dry up in his throat. He couldn't stop staring, still shivering in his own wet things.
"You all right there, bud?" Clay asked. "What, do you need help?"
Grinning, he grabbed the bottom of Nick's shirt and dragged it up over his head, trapping him in a wet cocoon. He let go laughing as Nick struggled to get loose. Nick threw the shirt at him in retaliation, and it hit him in the face with a satisfyingly wet smack. Clay threw it off and tackled him and they hit the bed struggling, laughing as they roughhoused. But Nick found himself somehow too aware of the weight of Clay over him, the slide of their wet skin against one another, and especially the thigh between his legs, pressing close, almost grinding...Clay's hand slid over his lower stomach, and Nick gasped, hitting the limit of his endurance. He scrambled to get away, face burning, and Clay let him go."
"Whoa, you okay?" Clay asked, reaching for him. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Shit, I'm sorry, I'm used to wrestling with my brothers."
"I'm fine," Nicholas laughed, quick to dismiss Clay's worry even as he was still struggling to get his heartbeat under control, his back still to the other man. "It's just been a long time since I did that. Guess I need more practice."
"Well I'm always available next time you want to tussle," Clay said with a grin. Nick swallowed hard, trying to quiet the storm of fluttering wings that smile set off in his stomach.
What was wrong with him? Was he sick? He put a hand to his forehead as Clay rummaged through his drawers for something Nick could wear. He didn't feel feverish. So why was he reacting like this?
They went downstairs to shower and throw their wet things into a dryer in the communal laundry room, then made their way back to Clay's room.
"You can have the bed," Clay said. "I'll take the floor."
"You don't need to do that," Nick said quickly. "I can sleep on one of the couches in the lounge."
"Don't be ridiculous," Clay refused at once, kneeling to pull a sleeping bag out from under his bed. "You're a guest. Plus, if you get caught down there and they find out you don't live in the building they'll throw you out."
"But it's your bed," Nicholas insisted. "I can't make you sleep on the floor."
"We can always share the bed if it means that much to you." Clay gave him a serious look, still kneeling on the floor, and Nicholas looked at the twin mattress considering. Something told him it was a bad idea.
"Just let me use the sleeping bag," he pushed. "As your guest, I'm begging you."
Clay finally relented and threw Nick one of his pillows as they both settled down to sleep. The rain was still throwing itself against the window outside, a soothing sound, lulling them both to sleep. Nicholas closed his eyes and tried to let it carry him off, but his head was full of confused thoughts about his behavior toward Clay. Behavior he had, until now, been working very hard not to think about.
Eventually the rain abated and the moon shone silver through Clay's window. Nick rolled over to face the bed, the nylon sleeping bag rustling as he moved. Eventually, the moonlight highlighted Clay's sleeping face as the other man lay snoring softly in his pillows. Washed white by its light, he looked like an ancient Greek statue of Apollo or some other divine figure.
I think I like him, Nicholas realized, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of him, lips slightly parted with his breathing. I think I really like him.
A giddy sensation overwhelmed him as he realized what he was feeling. This was what he kept waiting to feel with those women. Fireworks—a whole aviary inside him singing delight. He really liked this guy! He hadn't even known what this was supposed to feel like until now, but now he knew he'd never felt it before. He had his first real, no buts about it, crush on someone. And it was for a man.
He felt the giddiness drain out to be replaced by bitter anxiety. What did this mean? What did it mean for him? Was he gay now? Had he always been gay? If he didn't do anything about it would he still be gay? His thoughts rolled around and around in his head, keeping him awake. Maybe he was jumping the gun? He overreacted to one wrestling match. That didn't mean anything. He could just be mistaking close friendship for more, right?
He glanced over at Clay, sleeping peacefully, and felt his heart squeeze in his chest. This did not feel like friendship.
Anxiety hounded him through the night, and it was a long time before he slept.
Chapter Six
He woke before Clay the next morning, still exhausted, and rolled up the sleeping bag as quietly as possible. Sneaking out to the vending machine in the hall, he bought two plastic packaged muffins and left one on Clay's desk by a note.
"Thanks for letting me sleep over last night. I'll text you soon -Nick."
He had work early that morning. He got his things from the dryer downstairs and left in a hurry. After work he had writing to catch up on, and then he was busy working on the Guignol. He stayed busy all day. And the next day, and the next. Too busy to think about what he realized. And too busy to text Clay. Or answer the texts Clay sent after Nicholas had been silent for two days. He told himself he wasn't avoiding the other man, he just had a lot to do. But he couldn't even fool himself into believing it was true.
On Friday, the cast list went up on the Green Carnation's website, and Nick checked it with uneasy trepidation. His eyes skipped right over the lead role at first when he saw Clay's name next to Christian. He couldn't help being thrilled for the other man. He had known all along Clay could do it and he was overjoyed Walter agreed. And playing opposite him as Cyrano would be...
Nicholas swallowed hard as he saw his own name. He shouldn't have been
surprised. He knew Walter wanted him for the part. But he was surprised anyway. He got the lead role, for the first time. He was dizzy with overwhelmed excitement at first, until he remembered he would have to be on that stage every day, looking at Clay. Clay who he was, maybe, potentially, in love with.
He groaned miserably and put his face in his hands. He'd just have to get over this. Clay was straight. He wasn't going to be interested in someone like Nicholas. And Nick wasn't entirely sure he was ready to commit to possibly being gay yet. So he'd just ignore it until it went away. Which it would. He sure hoped it would anyway.
***
The first rehearsal was that Monday, and Nick still hadn't talked to Clay. The Guignol's cleanup was coming along well. They were still replacing the seats, but the stage area was ready for rehearsing on, and things were beginning to look like they would on opening night. It was a full cast rehearsal so everyone could make sure they knew their parts and who they would be working with. Walter was working with the stagecraft and costuming groups from the college as usual, and they were getting all the actor's measurements to start on costumes.
"The makeup artists are very excited to design your prosthetic nose," Walter confided, and Nick wished he could be as excited about it as he felt he should be. His confusing feelings were still thoroughly distracting him.
Walter decided to do a full read-through of the play, directing the actors on the stage as he figured out the blocking and made decisions with the crew about the sets. But Christian was in the very first scene, and as soon as he got on the stage things began going wrong. He stood stiff and mumbled his words, stammered and toneless, hiding behind his script. Walter let him fumble through it since today was more about establishing a starting point. He couldn't start fixing problems until he knew what problems needed fixing after all. But Nick watched from the sidelines, stomach squirming with sympathy.
He swept onto the stage for his first scene with all the force and bombast he could manage.
"You pug! You knob! You button head!" he roared, advancing on the hapless, nameless character who had insulted Cyrano's nose. "Know that I glory in this nose of mine! For a great nose indicates a great man!"
Practically shaking with his desire to make this work he threw everything into it and watched Walter's frown grow gradually deeper. Was he thinking he made a mistake, now? Was he regretting casting the two of them?
And then they reached the first scene where Cyrano and Christian were on stage together. Christian's fellow guardsman warned him not to mention Cyrano's nose lest Cyrano attack him, and Christian, wanting to prove himself brave to the others, had chosen to do exactly that. Nick stood on one end of the stage, attempting to tell the story of how Cyrano had the night before fought a hundred men to save his friend Raganeau. On the other stood Christian, interjecting every other line to turn it into a pun about Cyrano's nose. Cyrano, having sworn to Roxanne to protect Christian, could do nothing to stop the younger man. Between them, the crowd of guardsmen, their heads turning back and forth between the two men like they were watching a tennis match.
"On I went," Nick said, loud and boisterous, gesturing broadly. "Thinking that for the slightest of quarrels I was going to provoke some great man, some noble, who’d surely have me—"
"By the nose," Clay interrupted on cue, and Nick looked at him, at first with angry astonishment as Cyrano, but then with a frown as he saw the man, white, staring into his script.
"In his teeth!" Nick corrected, and took a loud step closer to the other man, making him look up. He fixed his eyes on Clay's ferociously, demanding the other man look at him. "Who’d have me in his teeth. And I, imprudently, was going to poke—"
"My nose," Clay broke in with his line and Nick couldn't help a little smile when he delivered it without looking down. Clay's shoulders seemed to set. He took a deep breath as Nicholas continued, staring hard at Nick.
"My finger!" Cyrano cried. "Between bark and wood, since he might be strong enough to crack me a fine blow—"
"On the nose!" Clay said at once, grinning as his anxiety began to abate. His stare was intense and part of Nick almost wished he would look back at his script, it was making him so nervous. He wiped his forehead dramatically.
"On the fingers!" Cyrano plowed on with his story, trying to ignore Christian. Nick's heart raced, and he was afraid his face was turning red. It was getting hard to even look at Clay so he mimed his story to the crowd of guards and the empty audience instead. "I cried: Come, Gascon, do what you must, don’t linger! On, Cyrano! And so saying, I went on, hopeful, when from the shadow someone gave me—"
"A nose-full," Clay put in, laughing. Nick was almost tempted to laugh himself
"I parry it," he rushed on. "And suddenly find myself—"
"Nose to nose," Clay finished.
Nick charged toward him in apparent rage.
"Ventre-Saint-Gris!" he said. "With a hundred drunken foes who stank—"
"To the nose!" Clay was grinning ear to ear, his discomfort forgotten in the ease of their banter, even scripted. It was a fight for Nick to continue pretending to be angry. It was a fight not to grab the man and kiss him.
"Of onions and brandy!" he bellowed instead. "I leap out, head well down—"
"Nose to the wind!" Clay closed the distance between them, bold and fearless in his character, and Nick was relieved to turn away from him to shout at the guards, all of whom were watching with genuine, unacted fascination.
"Thunder! Out! All of you!" he shouted at them, and they scurried off the stage with fearful lines of how Cyrano was sure to duel Christian and turn him into hash.
Instead, once the stage was empty, Nick turned back to Clay, still staring at him as though he were the only other person in the world. And then he remembered what his next line was. He froze. Several seconds of empty silence passed. Nick stared at his feet.
"Do you need the script?" Clay asked in a hushed voice, offering his own.
Nick didn't answer, steadily turning red. No, he remembered the line. He was very fast at memorizing lines, and he'd been reading over the script since the play was announced. He knew exactly what he was supposed to say. Silence stretched on.
"Mr. Bellerose," Walter called from the audience. "Your line is 'Come embrace me.'"
Nick nodded impatiently. He knew it! He just...couldn't say it.
"Nick?" Clay asked, taking a step closer.
Nicholas took a deep breath, turned his face away and opened his arms to Clay.
"C-come, embrace me," he murmured.
There was a chorus of laughter from the guards offstage.
"If you recall," Walter was snickering in his seat. "The romance in this play is between Christian and Roxanne, not Christian and Cyrano."
"You're not asking him to fuck you, Nick!" one of them shouted.
"I know!" Nick snapped, blushing voluminously. "It's a hard line after all that yelling, all right?"
Gradually, the laughter died down and they got back into it, but Nick struggled to keep his composure. When Clay was doing well, all he wanted to do was smile and cheer him on. When the other man got close, he could only think of running away. And Clay could only seem to keep his focus if Nicholas was on stage for him to stare at. With anyone else he'd gradually break down into stammering and sweating again. It was a long read through.
***
"I'll tell you one thing," Walter leaned back with a sigh as they wrapped up. "This is going to be a very interesting play."
"I'll keep working on toning down the overacting," Nicholas replied, knowing that was part of the problem, collapsing into the seat next to Walter, exhausted after miming out his death in the final scene.
"It's not so bad when you're on stage with Christian," Walter said. "And his stage fright seems to dissolve completely in his scenes with you. It's rather interesting, actually."
"Ah, well, we did make friends," Nicholas looked away. "Although now he has the whole theater troupe to get to know he'll probably make some mor
e. That should help his nerves."
"Still, I think it would benefit you both to work together more," Walter adjusted his glasses as he eyed Nick thoughtfully. "I want you to coach him and help him get over this stage fright."
"Shouldn't you be doing that?" Nicholas stammered, tensing up at the thought. "I mean, you just mean at rehearsals, right?"
"No, I mean you should take him out tonight and encourage him," Walter replied. "Find out if this stage fright has a source, and why you being on stage with him can fix it. After all, you can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation."
"Ah, I know that one," Nick said, allowing himself to be sidetracked. "Plato."
"Yes, but focus please," Walter said seriously. "I'm not kidding here. If he can only act when you're on stage with him, he can't act. Fix it."
Nick nodded, though reluctance crept like a snail on his heart. If he were alone with Clay again who knew what nonsense might come flying out of him? If he wanted this crush to wear off, he needed to stay away...
"And you know," Walter said, standing with a groan, his back popping as he stretched, "if you need anything—If you ever have any questions—you can always come to me."
"Of course," Nicholas nodded. "You're my best friend Walter."
"Best friend," Walter tittered. "That sounds like we're back in school. I would have been old enough to be your teacher when you were in school!"
He went off laughing, and Nicholas watched him, regretfully. This was one thing he really couldn't talk to Walter about. He doubted an old theater man like Walter would hold such inclinations against him, but somehow, he hated the thought of Walter's feelings about him changing at all. He didn't want anything to change. He liked things how they were when he was straight and uncomplicated and lonely. Being lonely was simple. Much more straightforward than trying to decide whether you loved someone or not. Someone who could never love you back. Someone who you would have to upend your entire life to even confess to!
