Ficlet: Nick/Louis, sprain
Dec. 16th, 2018 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magicalrocketshipsSCOTTIEDARLING ASKED: tomlinshaw, 10. sprain.
Originally posted here.
“You’ve done what?” Louis asks, quite patiently, all things considered.
“I’ve sprained my wrist,” Nick says. “And don’t make a wanking joke, I’ve already made them all.”
Louis continues to draw a large penis on the inside back cover of his mum’s Yellow Pages. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, drawing Nick’s hand wrapped around the Yellow Pages dick. “Not being funny, but is there any reason at all why you’re calling me over, I don’t know, anyone else on the planet?”
“Because I’m stuck in bastarding Doncaster, that’s why, and you’re the only person I know in the whole of Yorkshire, so.” Nick clears his throat. “So, um. I’m at the Premier Inn on High Fishergate.”
“You’re telling me this, why?” Louis asks. He might be bored staying at his mum and Dan’s when his sisters are at school and the babies are at nursery now that his mum’s back at work, but that’s no reason to start making up with Nick Grimshaw.
“Because I’ve fucked my arm up,” Nick says. “I can’t do anything. And I’ve written off my car, and all my jeans are button flies, and I just need someone to, I don’t know, buy me some yoga pants or something.”
Louis puts down his pen. “You wrote off your car?” he asks, suddenly gentle.
“Yep,” Nick says. “And I broke this old lady’s garden wall.”
“You were in an accident?”
“Front tyre blew,” Nick says. “I can’t fucking open anything or do my jeans up and I’m hungry and the food here’s shit. And you need to be able to use a knife to eat it. I can’t even get into a bag of crisps.” He coughs. “And I don’t feel well.”
“Nick—”
“Don’t,” Nick says. “Like, lord this over me another time. I give you free rein to do and say whatever the fuck you want. But you’re in Doncaster, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Louis says. He shuts the Yellow Pages and stuffs it back in the cupboard by the coat rack. He’s already reaching for his keys.
“You’ll come?” Nick asks. He sounds desperate. Louis doesn’t know why he hadn’t heard that note in his voice before. Too busy being pissed off by his existence, probably. He and Nick haven’t spoken since the ill-advised Louis-makes-a-drunken-pass-at-Nick-and-is-knocked-back debacle of March 2013. That was the fucking vodka cocktails’ fault, and no amount of Harry cajoling the two of them to just get into a room and fucking talk was going to make Louis face Nick if he didn’t have to.
Fuck, a car accident. Nick getting hurt.
“Yeah,” Louis says. “Okay.”
Nick lets out a breath. “Thanks,” he says, softly. “It just—it hurts, okay? It hurts.”
“I know,” Louis says.
“Be quick,” Nick says, and he sounds choked up. “It hurts, Lou.”
“Yeah,” Louis says again, and he reaches for his coat.
~*~
ANONYMOUS ASKED
I need you to write the whole Nick/Louis sprain story. Does Louis bring him tea and cakes and cuddles? Is he all fiercely protective over Nick. Does Nick go all gooey over a sleeping Louis after they nap on a couch together?? I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS!!!!!
orginally posted here.
Louis brings him a DVD that Louis loves and he’s heard tell Nick has always said is terrible, a multipack of Skips, and a four-pack of Lucozade Sport, even though he knows Nick prefers the non-sport kind. He brings him a dressing gown too, Louis’ from before he was famous, so it’s scruffy and faded and a bit threadbare. When Louis gets to the hotel room, he makes Nick a cup of tea just the way Louis likes it, and Nick curls up in the sheets, propped up on inadequate pillows, and neither of them say anything much at all.
They sit there for the duration of Louis’ DVD on his laptop, next to each other on the bed, not touching. It’s only afterwards, when the credits are rolling, that Louis bumps his foot into Nick’s. “What can I do?” he asks.
Nick’s breath catches. “It hurts,” he says, and his arm is in a sling and his jeans are buttoned up wrong and he’s got bruises on his face. “It really hurts.”
“You and me still aren’t friends,” Louis says, but he stands up and makes Nick a coffee, and goes through the bag of prescriptions from the hospital and asks boring questions about how long it’s been since Nick last had any painkillers. Then he makes a list in the margins of Nick’s copy of The Guardian of things he needs to go and buy in M&S, pyjamas and tracksuit bottoms and extra pillows and food and things to drink, because he doesn’t know what else to do, because Nick is all beaten up and he’s not well enough to travel back down to London on the train just yet.
“How bad was the accident?” he asks, finally, when he’s getting his coat on and tearing his list out of the newspaper.
Nick shrugs. It looks like it hurts. “Tire blew,” he says. “There were roadworks and I had this meeting in Sheffield—”
“I don’t care,” Louis says, because he doesn’t want to know anything about Nick’s life. “Get on with it.”
“There was just this bang. Apparently you’re not supposed to swerve the other way, but I did. I came off the road and hit this old lady’s front wall. Proper wrenched my wrist, sprained it. Hit my head off the window. Have fucked my ribs up too. And my car’s all broken. I liked that car.”
“Nick—"
"And I phoned you,” Nick says. “I was stuck at that hospital for ages, and it was rubbish, and it hurt, and I phoned you.”
"We’re not even friends,” Louis says, softly.
“No,” Nick says. “I know.”
“Text me if you need anything,” Louis says, a long, desperate moment later, brandishing his list. “I’ll be in M&S.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Nick says.
“Yeah,” Louis says. “I know you think that.”
He spends way, way too much money, and tries not to think about why.
ANONYMOUS ASKED
MORE OF THE TOMLINSHAW SPRAIN THING. omg there's not enough of tomlinshaw hurt/comfort stuff and your writing is as always perfect
Originally posted here.
But just imagine if Nick WAS in a car accident, and he was hurt, and he was a long way from home and his family and his friends, and the person he picks to call, out of everyone, is Louis. Imagine how they got to that point, and how deliciously, terribly painful the two of them would be, and how spiky and mean, but how if Nick said he’d been in an accident, Louis wouldn’t stop for a beer to be there for him; he wouldn’t fucking stop for red lights.
And how it’s usually Louis that gets hurt and needs looking after in the fics I imagine up and never write, but this time it’s Nick, and Louis is so fiercely protective of him, and won’t let anyone else close, and no one knows how they got to this point, or where they’ll go after Nick stops being so hurt.
Louis being so terribly, desperately, fiercely protective of Nick when he’s hurt, and afterwards being so humiliated by how obvious he’d been about how he felt about Nick. Nick hating being so useless, and getting hassle on all sides about Louis, and Louis in the glare of the press, and underneath it all, Louis knowing that if he was ever hurt, Nick would be the person he’d want by his side too, but not knowing how to say it out loud. Neither of them knowing how to say it out loud.
Originally posted here.
“You’ve done what?” Louis asks, quite patiently, all things considered.
“I’ve sprained my wrist,” Nick says. “And don’t make a wanking joke, I’ve already made them all.”
Louis continues to draw a large penis on the inside back cover of his mum’s Yellow Pages. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, drawing Nick’s hand wrapped around the Yellow Pages dick. “Not being funny, but is there any reason at all why you’re calling me over, I don’t know, anyone else on the planet?”
“Because I’m stuck in bastarding Doncaster, that’s why, and you’re the only person I know in the whole of Yorkshire, so.” Nick clears his throat. “So, um. I’m at the Premier Inn on High Fishergate.”
“You’re telling me this, why?” Louis asks. He might be bored staying at his mum and Dan’s when his sisters are at school and the babies are at nursery now that his mum’s back at work, but that’s no reason to start making up with Nick Grimshaw.
“Because I’ve fucked my arm up,” Nick says. “I can’t do anything. And I’ve written off my car, and all my jeans are button flies, and I just need someone to, I don’t know, buy me some yoga pants or something.”
Louis puts down his pen. “You wrote off your car?” he asks, suddenly gentle.
“Yep,” Nick says. “And I broke this old lady’s garden wall.”
“You were in an accident?”
“Front tyre blew,” Nick says. “I can’t fucking open anything or do my jeans up and I’m hungry and the food here’s shit. And you need to be able to use a knife to eat it. I can’t even get into a bag of crisps.” He coughs. “And I don’t feel well.”
“Nick—”
“Don’t,” Nick says. “Like, lord this over me another time. I give you free rein to do and say whatever the fuck you want. But you’re in Doncaster, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Louis says. He shuts the Yellow Pages and stuffs it back in the cupboard by the coat rack. He’s already reaching for his keys.
“You’ll come?” Nick asks. He sounds desperate. Louis doesn’t know why he hadn’t heard that note in his voice before. Too busy being pissed off by his existence, probably. He and Nick haven’t spoken since the ill-advised Louis-makes-a-drunken-pass-at-Nick-and-is-knocked-back debacle of March 2013. That was the fucking vodka cocktails’ fault, and no amount of Harry cajoling the two of them to just get into a room and fucking talk was going to make Louis face Nick if he didn’t have to.
Fuck, a car accident. Nick getting hurt.
“Yeah,” Louis says. “Okay.”
Nick lets out a breath. “Thanks,” he says, softly. “It just—it hurts, okay? It hurts.”
“I know,” Louis says.
“Be quick,” Nick says, and he sounds choked up. “It hurts, Lou.”
“Yeah,” Louis says again, and he reaches for his coat.
~*~
ANONYMOUS ASKED
I need you to write the whole Nick/Louis sprain story. Does Louis bring him tea and cakes and cuddles? Is he all fiercely protective over Nick. Does Nick go all gooey over a sleeping Louis after they nap on a couch together?? I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS!!!!!
orginally posted here.
Louis brings him a DVD that Louis loves and he’s heard tell Nick has always said is terrible, a multipack of Skips, and a four-pack of Lucozade Sport, even though he knows Nick prefers the non-sport kind. He brings him a dressing gown too, Louis’ from before he was famous, so it’s scruffy and faded and a bit threadbare. When Louis gets to the hotel room, he makes Nick a cup of tea just the way Louis likes it, and Nick curls up in the sheets, propped up on inadequate pillows, and neither of them say anything much at all.
They sit there for the duration of Louis’ DVD on his laptop, next to each other on the bed, not touching. It’s only afterwards, when the credits are rolling, that Louis bumps his foot into Nick’s. “What can I do?” he asks.
Nick’s breath catches. “It hurts,” he says, and his arm is in a sling and his jeans are buttoned up wrong and he’s got bruises on his face. “It really hurts.”
“You and me still aren’t friends,” Louis says, but he stands up and makes Nick a coffee, and goes through the bag of prescriptions from the hospital and asks boring questions about how long it’s been since Nick last had any painkillers. Then he makes a list in the margins of Nick’s copy of The Guardian of things he needs to go and buy in M&S, pyjamas and tracksuit bottoms and extra pillows and food and things to drink, because he doesn’t know what else to do, because Nick is all beaten up and he’s not well enough to travel back down to London on the train just yet.
“How bad was the accident?” he asks, finally, when he’s getting his coat on and tearing his list out of the newspaper.
Nick shrugs. It looks like it hurts. “Tire blew,” he says. “There were roadworks and I had this meeting in Sheffield—”
“I don’t care,” Louis says, because he doesn’t want to know anything about Nick’s life. “Get on with it.”
“There was just this bang. Apparently you’re not supposed to swerve the other way, but I did. I came off the road and hit this old lady’s front wall. Proper wrenched my wrist, sprained it. Hit my head off the window. Have fucked my ribs up too. And my car’s all broken. I liked that car.”
“Nick—"
"And I phoned you,” Nick says. “I was stuck at that hospital for ages, and it was rubbish, and it hurt, and I phoned you.”
"We’re not even friends,” Louis says, softly.
“No,” Nick says. “I know.”
“Text me if you need anything,” Louis says, a long, desperate moment later, brandishing his list. “I’ll be in M&S.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Nick says.
“Yeah,” Louis says. “I know you think that.”
He spends way, way too much money, and tries not to think about why.
ANONYMOUS ASKED
MORE OF THE TOMLINSHAW SPRAIN THING. omg there's not enough of tomlinshaw hurt/comfort stuff and your writing is as always perfect
Originally posted here.
But just imagine if Nick WAS in a car accident, and he was hurt, and he was a long way from home and his family and his friends, and the person he picks to call, out of everyone, is Louis. Imagine how they got to that point, and how deliciously, terribly painful the two of them would be, and how spiky and mean, but how if Nick said he’d been in an accident, Louis wouldn’t stop for a beer to be there for him; he wouldn’t fucking stop for red lights.
And how it’s usually Louis that gets hurt and needs looking after in the fics I imagine up and never write, but this time it’s Nick, and Louis is so fiercely protective of him, and won’t let anyone else close, and no one knows how they got to this point, or where they’ll go after Nick stops being so hurt.
Louis being so terribly, desperately, fiercely protective of Nick when he’s hurt, and afterwards being so humiliated by how obvious he’d been about how he felt about Nick. Nick hating being so useless, and getting hassle on all sides about Louis, and Louis in the glare of the press, and underneath it all, Louis knowing that if he was ever hurt, Nick would be the person he’d want by his side too, but not knowing how to say it out loud. Neither of them knowing how to say it out loud.
