Title: Engulfed
By: emmonsail
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: G
Summary: Some things are harder to deal with.

***

His arms engulfed Greg, big and strong. He rested against his chest, the top of his head tucked under his chin, soaking in his warmth and breathing in his smell of fresh laundry and clean skin.

Greg let out a small sigh, closed his eyes, bringing one hand to rest on his chest and gripping his t-shirt lightly, felt the reassuring strength beneath it.

As he breathed slowly, his warm breath tickling the top of Greg's head, he could hear the air rushing inside of him, like putting your ear to a sea shell and hearing the ocean; and beneath it all was the constant rhythm of his heart, beating steadily against his defences, reminding Greg that he was permanent and strong. It sounded so loud within his head that it was almost as if it were his own heart beat, that they were one being.

His fingers began tracing a small circle on his shoulder, leaving a spreading, tingling warmth in their wake. Greg smiled contentedly and snuggled a little deeper against him, flexing his hand slightly, and opened his eyes.

The room was dark and deathly quiet, not even the noise from the street outside penetrating inside. Streaks of moonlight painted the walls and ceiling, filtering in through the thin curtains and silhouetting objects faintly, forming threatening shadows in the corners. Greg blinked sleepily and few times and raised his arm up slowly to rub at his face, careful not to disturb the body next to him.

Slowly, as Greg became more awake, he realised where he was, who he was laying next to, what he had done. He turned and looked at the man still sleeping on oblivious beside him, his wavy blonde hair sprawled across his peaceful face and the moonlit pillow, snoring quietly.

Greg rolled onto his back, pressing the heals of his hands into his eyes, trying to block it all out, to keep it all inside. "What am I doing?" he whispered into the darkness.

He eased himself out of the bed and started moving around the room collecting his clothes, his head starting to pound painfully and his dry mouth full of cotton, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the sleeping man, who rolled over onto his stomach, cutting off the snoring. What had his name been? Steve? Simon? Did it even matter? They were all the same really.

Greg paused, hand on the door knob and looked back over his shoulder. You don't deserve this, he thought to himself. He sighed and looked down at the floor, caught in a moment of self-doubt and conscience, but when he looked back at him, so content, he knew he had to leave, that he couldn't be there when he woke up in the morning. He couldn't bear the inane chat, the awkward glances, the tense silences and hasty excuses. He was making this easier for both of them, really.

He'd considered leaving a note, but what could he say? I'm sorry to leave you in the middle of the night; you're just not what I need. You're not Nick.



Greg sat at the end of his recently too large bed, holding in his hands a picture of himself and Nick. They'd taken it on their first weekend away together; they were smiling and hugging each other and so happy, completely in love and enthralled with each other. Nick had always loved that picture.

Looking at it, Greg felt as though a hand had gripped his heart and pulled it down, as old memories flooded into his mind and overwhelmed him. Tears filled his eyes, spilled down over his cheeks, blurring and smearing the picture.

God, I miss him so much.

***