Work Text:
Nigel isn’t answering his phone.
Nigel isn’t answering his phone, and he was supposed to have been at Adam’s apartment approximately 45 minutes ago.
Worry is twisting uncomfortably in Adam’s stomach, all slithering and wrong. Nigel’s been late before, it’s not even that uncommon. Nigel is, to put it kindly, horrendous with time, but Nigel also understands the importance of schedules to Adam, and if he’s going to be late, he always texts him, or gives him a call to let him know.
Nigel didn’t text or call this time, and now he isn’t answering his phone.
Adam paces the length of his living room again. He’s wearing one of Nigel’s sweaters, it’s big and soft, and it swallows up his hands when he lets them hang at his sides. He brings the collar of it up to his face, buries his nose into the soft material and breathes in. It doesn’t smell like Nigel, though, because yesterday was laundry day, and Adam had washed everything- and so now even Nigel’s sweater just smells like the faint scent of non-offensive laundry detergent.
Adam lets out a soft, frustrated sound in his throat, letting go of his grip on the sweater, blinking back the stinging threat of tears.
He paces the length of of the living room, tries counting each step, but all that manages to do is make him realize the passing of time like a clock ticking in sync with his steps. The longer and longer he paces, the longer he’s left waiting without Nigel, and the more it sinks in.
His chest feels tight, and Adam checks his phone again with trembling fingers. None of his messages have even been seen let alone answered, and he hasn’t received a call back.
Nigel promised that he was going to be more careful, that he was going to take a couple of steps back in his work, for both of their safety- but Adam isn’t stupid. Nigel’s work is dangerous.
People want Nigel dead.
Suddenly, breathing doesn’t feel so easy. Adam’s chest is uncomfortably tight, and even his clothes feel suffocating. His throat feels like it’s being constricted, and he has to put actual effort into every breath. He manages a couple of unsteady steps towards the couch before he lets himself sink to the floor instead, sliding down against the wall.
His pulse is rabbit fast, and it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, like he’s choking on it.
He brings his knees up to his chest, burying his face into them to try and block out everything else. He isn’t sure when it started, but he’s shaking so badly now it feels like he’s going to fall apart, and all Adam wants is for Nigel to squeeze him back together again.
The sound of his own sob is startling in the otherwise silent apartment, loud and broken. Once it starts, though, he can’t seem to stop, and soon his entire body is shaking with the force of his sobs, wrecked and terrified. He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that his vision dances with spots, and he threads his trembling fingers through his hair. No matter what he does, he still feels like he’s floating away, like he’s being pulled out to sea without anything to tether him down.
He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, his heartbeat and his own, frantic breathing, and everything else is fading to a distant hum as he rocks back and forth against the wall, trying to grasp at control that isn’t there.
“Adam, sweetheart?”
Adam squeezes his eyes tighter, a strangled noise escaping him.
“Star, can you look at me?”
Adam’s eyes blink open, bleary with tears, and realizes his face is still pressed into his knees.
“There we go, angel,” Nigel says gently, and suddenly there’s a hand overtop one of his own trembling hands.
Realization crashes over Adam like ice water and his head snaps up to look at Nigel, his hands are still gripping at the roots of his hair hard enough that it pulls uncomfortably with the movement.
Nigel’s crouched in front of Adam, concern written across his face, a hand still covering one of Adam’s. “Hey there,” he says softly, and Adam feels himself crumble all over again.
A fresh wave of sobs bursts through him and he tugs on his hair to try and ground himself.
“Hey, hey, none of that, star, okay?” Nigel says, voice gentle but still urgent as he carefully works Adam’s fingers from his hair. Adam grasps tightly at Nigel’s hands instead the second his death grip on his hair is pulled free. “There, that’s better…What’s the matter?”
Adam tries to get the words out, to string together a coherent thought, but all he can do is cry.
Nigel’s frowning down at him, forehead wrinkled with worry, and that only makes Adam feel worse. He doesn’t want Nigel to worry, and he hates being the cause of it, so he manages to struggle himself into an awkward kneeling position before practically throwing himself at Nigel, burying his face into his chest.
Nigel makes a startled ‘oomf’ sound at the impact before he wraps his arms tightly around Adam, pulling him close.
The pressure is everything he’s needed; to feel Nigel firm and solid, and real. Adam breathes in shakily, inhaling the warm smell of Nigel’s body wash and his cologne, and all of the things that make him, him.
“Y-you’re- o-okay?” Adam manages between sobs, muffled by Nigel’s chest. It comes out more like a question that he meant it to.
“Of course I’m okay,” Nigel says, stroking through Adam’s hair while keeping an arm firmly around him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Adam fists the front of Nigel’s shirt in his hands, shuttering through a breath. “Y-you didn’t come home-“
“I know,” Nigel says softly, regret evident in his tone.
“You didn’t c-come home, a-and, and- you d-didn’t answer your phone,” Adam cries, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him away. “You promised you’d a-answer your phone, Nigel!” Adam sobs, chest heaving.
Nigel presses a kiss to the top of Adam’s hair, shushing him. “It’s okay, you’re alright,” he whispers, rocking them both gently. The repetition of the movement feels good, soothing, and Adam makes a soft sound between his sobs as he nestles closer, tears wetting Nigel’s shirt. “Everything’s okay, star. I’m so sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to, baby. I tried to text you to let you know I was gonna be late, but my phone fuckin’ died on me, and everything ended up taking way longer than it should’ve.”
Adam sniffles, trying to burrow impossibly closer, like maybe he can mold himself into Nigel if he tries hard enough. “I-I thought- I didn’t…”
“I’m sorry, baby, I know,” Nigel says again, voice strained. “I tried to hurry back.”
Adam curls up as small as he can, until he’s practically in Nigel’s lap. “Y-you’re okay, though?”
“I’m okay,” Nigel promises, petting his hair again. “Are you okay?”
Adam pauses, taking stock of himself. He’s tired. He feels like all of his energy has suddenly been zapped from his body, and he’s a little achy from all of his muscles tensing up so much, but he no longer feels like he’s choking on air, or like his heart is beating out of his chest.
Most importantly, Nigel is home.
“I’m okay,” Adam nods, sniffling. “Tired.”
“I’m sorry, angel,” Nigel hums, tilting Adam’s head back to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, even though Adam thinks he probably looks gross, covered in snot and tears. “Do you wanna take a bath?”
Adam smiles softly, nuzzling into the juncture of Nigel’s neck. “You too?” Adam asks sweetly.
Nigel isn’t usually one for baths, can never sit still long enough- but Adam loves them.
“Yeah, me too,” Nigel agrees, giving Adam a tight squeeze, and Adam feels it putting all his pieces back together.