Vacation // Joick // PG-13
They’re in the car, on the way to the airport, and the silence is twisting between them, overgrown and horrible and altogether crushing to endure. Because this time, they’re not going off together. It’s not like they’re leaving for tour, off to New York or Florida or wherever it’s starting. Mom and Dad and Frankie and Kevin and the dozens of other people they always travel with aren’t there. It’s just the two of them, silent and both secretly torn apart.
Nick is on his way to Memphis to work on an album with Jordan Pruitt. It’s dumb and it’s ridiculous and honestly the only reason he’s even going is because his label is making him. It’s good for business; it’ll sell better if he’s involved…or something like that. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t particularly enjoy Jordan’s company. He doesn’t really dislike it, either, but she’s just…not…Joe. He thinks that, and he cringes, he flinches, he mentally slaps himself.
Because Joe is off to Australia. He’s going to be living it up Down Under with the girls from The Veronicas. He says it’s for business or tries to make it sound like he’s just going to visit a couple of old friends. But they both know why he’s really going. Nick knows that Joe had a fight with Camilla a few days ago. He heard it from his room, snuck into Joe’s bed when he knew everyone but Joe was asleep, felt his older brother’s hot, angry tears on his shoulder. It isn’t a coincidence that this trip is so last minute, so impromptu.
So yeah. Nick knows better. He knows that Lisa Origliasso has had her eye on his brother for quite a while now. And he knows that Joe is very aware of her feelings. And he knows that the leggy brunette will not be holding anything back during the next few days.
Nick feels a little sick as these thoughts come into his head, and he visibly cringes, making a face and attempting to keep the bile from rising. Unfortunately, they’re now at the airport, in the parking garage, and Nick realizes too late that the car has been turned off and stopped for several minutes, that Joe has been staring at him for just as long, that Joe saw that face.
“Nicky,” he hears Joe mutter softly, voice broken, and he knows that Joe knows why he’s so upset. But it’s something that neither of them can say out loud.
Joe’s fingers brush lightly across the skin on the back of his hand, and as much as Nick wants to melt into the touch, wants to let his senses enjoy it, his mind is too much in control right now. With an even more upset looking cringe, he jerks his arm away, turning angrily toward the door and reaching to open it.
The thing is, Nick doesn’t really have the right to be mad. He’s had as many relationships as Joe has. They’re guys. They have girlfriends. It’s what they do. And it’s stupid and petty and immature for him to be so angered by something like this, by the fact that his older brother is growing up and going on a vacation without him, but he kind of can’t help it. It feels like a betrayal, like Joe’s leaving him in a bigger way than for just a few days, like he’s being looked down on.
He refuses to allow himself to turn back, to look Joe in the eyes, but he knows what’s going on behind him. He can practically see his brother’s face, torn apart and heartbroken and confused. But Nick’s pretty sure he deserves it. Maybe Joe isn’t even that upset about his behavior. Maybe he’s just flattering himself to think that Joe cares for him as much as he wants him to.
Nick squeezes his eyes shut at this thought because, really, it’s kind of physically painful to even imagine Joe not caring. But, these days, that’s what it’s looking like more and more. And it scares the hell out of him to think it might be true.
Not a word passes between them as they make their way into the airport, to their respective gates. They don’t even properly say goodbye. Nick just mumbles “See you later,” over his shoulder without another glance at his brother, and walks away from the international terminal.
He half expects to feel Joe’s hand catching his arm, pulling him into a hug, forcing him to make a real goodbye. But, honestly, he’s not altogether surprised when nothing comes. Not even when he realizes that Joe never even responded to his half-hearted farewell.
Nick feels the lump rising in his throat, and he clenches his hand tightly in the fabric of the bag he’s carrying over his shoulder, trying desperately to hold back the fucking tears. Because, dammit, he’s almost a fucking adult. And it’s ridiculous for him to cry over something this fucking stupid. And he hates cursing, even in his head, but it just keeps flowing. Fuck, he thinks to himself. Fuck.
And he has to duck into the bathroom, has to lock himself into a stall for just a minute, because fuck, he just realized that Joe is gone. Gone, and he didn’t even fucking say goodbye. Nick holds his sides tightly, sinking onto the toilet seat with an expression on his face that makes him look like he just got punched. And fuck it hurts. It honestly feels like someone’s ripping him in half. Like someone’s reached into his stomach, into his core, into his heart, and ripped something out.
His first thought is honestly that he’s going into insulin shock, and he fumbles with the test strip in a panic, because he really can’t operate while he’s in this much pain. But everything’s fine. His levels are normal. And he knows that this pain is because of Joe. And fuck that’s not good. Because Joe’s his fucking brother. His older brother who apparently doesn’t care that they’re apart for the next few days, who didn’t bother to say goodbye, who’s going off to party with a couple of really hot Australian girls.
Fuck.
Not much can be said about the trip. He met his dad in the airport as soon as the flight landed. Yeah, he had been able to pull himself out of the bathroom, onto the plane, into the recording studio. But that’s kind of all he had been able to do. He lived out of the studio, burying himself in what should have been someone else’s work, trying to keep his mind off of Joe. When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping. It didn’t help at all that Joe never bothered to pick up the phone to call or to say hi or even to text. And it didn’t help that Nick had seen the pictures of Joe with the twins, the pictures of Joe with just Lisa. And Joe hadn’t looked much like Joe in any of the photos. He looked older, like he was trying too hard. Honestly, he looked a bit ridiculous.
But to Nick, all that it meant was that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know Joe as well as he thought he did. And that thought had struck him cold and numb with fear. And he had remained that way, cold and numb, for the duration of the trip.
But now he’s sitting at a Burger King in the airport with his dad, picking at his fries, sipping at his Diet Coke, listening to his father’s voice wash over him, but not really paying any attention to what is being said. His mind is on Joe, wondering what his brother is doing right now, wondering if he’s anywhere near Joe’s thoughts, if he had even crossed the older boy’s mind at all while they were apart.
Okay, so maybe Nick has a tendency to overreact. He’s sensitive, his feelings easily hurt, and he knows that Joe probably didn’t mean anything horrible by not saying goodbye. At least, that’s what he’s trying to tell himself. Maybe Joe was just as hurt by the whole situation as Nick is. Or maybe Nick’s just making way too big of a deal out of all this; maybe he just looks like a stupid little kid; maybe Joe just simply doesn’t see anything wrong with going on vacation without his sixteen year old brother in tow.
But to Nick, life without Joe just seems kind of…pointless. Empty, almost. And he hates that he feels that way. Absolutely hates it, because if he feels that way, then that means he can’t make it on his own, that he’s dependent, that he’s everything he’s always strived not to be. He also hates it because these feelings that he’s been trying so desperately to keep out for the past few days mean something so much more significant than just him missing his older brother.
It’s something terrifying and huge and unspeakable. He can’t even begin to think about the consequences of what’s beginning to race through his mind, of the jealousy that’s been burning in the pit of his stomach, raw and hot and gnawing, for the past few days. He knows that the jealousy isn’t stemmed from the fact that Joe got to hang out with really hot girls, but rather from the fact that Joe hung out with those really hot girls instead of with him.
He can’t be jealous in this way. He really, really, just…can’t. And it’s monstrous and terrifying and he--
He’s shaken out of his darkly spiraling thoughts by his father’s snapping fingers in front of his face.
“Nicholas, please at least try to pay attention to me,” his dad says. “There’s paparazzi right there, and you’re making me look like an idiot. I’m practically talking to a blank wall these past few days. What’s wrong with you lately?”
“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, staring down at the untouched burger in front of him, and his voice is hoarse and kind of scratchy from lack of use. “Just…it’s nothing.”
“Well, please try to get some rest on the plane. You look exhausted,” his dad says, a small, sympathetic smile on his face.
Nick knows that his dad is only trying to help, knows that he doesn’t really understand why Nick’s upset, and he’s grateful that he isn’t alone right now. He doesn’t want a repeat of the other day. Maybe if he’s forced to pay attention to someone other than himself for a little while, he’ll be able to pull himself out of his thoughts.
It’s when he lands in LA that he realizes he’s wearing Joe’s sweater. He steps out of the airport, sliding his sunglasses onto his face. He quickly notices how warm it is, and when he goes to pull the green cashmere off his body, the fabric slides past his face, and, yeah, he catches a whiff of Joe’s scent. He almost forgets for an instant that he isn’t with Joe, that things aren’t totally normal between them right now, and he almost smiles as he almost pulls the sweater back down over his body. Almost. He takes it off, draping it over his arm with something like a heartbroken scowl on his face, and follows his dad to their car without a word.
The silence on the ride home isn’t nearly as bad, not nearly as crushing as the silence on the way to the airport had been. It isn’t so out of the ordinary for Nick to be out of sync with his dad, with anyone, for that matter, as it is for him to be out of sync with Joe. So he doesn’t feel entirely uncomfortable with drifting off to sleep in the passenger seat.
Without really thinking about what he’s doing, he balls up Joe’s sweater, using it as a pillow against the side of the door. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that he fell asleep much easier with the smell of his older brother filling his nostrils, but right now, he just kind of needs to feel like Joe’s right there, needs to pretend that he’s leaning against his older brother’s shoulder instead of the hard plastic wall of his dad’s BMW.
The ride home doesn’t feel nearly as long as Nick would have liked, and he’s pretty sure that he looks drunk as he stumbles in the front door of their house and up the stairs in a half-asleep daze without saying so much as “Hello” to his mom or other two brothers. He knows that Joe will be home tonight, and he doesn’t want to be conscious to have to face him.
And he’s really so tired because he just hasn’t slept in days because he’s been waiting up, hoping Joe would call or text or something, and his mind just needs to rest because his thoughts are coming out in one big, long sentence, and he just doesn’t understand why he cares so much about what Joe does, about whether or not he cares, that he doesn’t even notice that he turned too early on his way to his room, doesn’t even notice that he collapses into Joe’s bed instead of his own, doesn’t even notice that the reason he is able to fall asleep so soundly, so quickly, is that his face is buried in pillows and blankets that smell just like his older brother.
He drifts off to sleep clutching at the sheet for dear life.
When he wakes up, the room is pitch black, and the clock on the dresser across the room is glaringly red, burning his eyes painfully as he tries to make out the numbers. It’s dark and disorienting enough that he’s able to forget for a moment that he isn’t on such good standing with Joe or his emotions or anything, really. He forgets the torture he’s been through in the past few days, and he hears noise in the corner of the room, sits up halfway in an attempt to see who it is that accidentally woke him.
“Go back to sleep, Nicky.”
As soon as he hears Joe’s voice, soft and tired and rough, everything comes rushing back to him in one incredible slap to the face. As much as it feels amazing to hear his brother’s voice for the first time in days, it hurts just the same.
He wants to yell at Joe, wants to scream in his face for being so fucking inconsiderate. He wants to tell him to just fuck off, wants to tell him how heartbroken he is. He wants Joe to know how much it cut to his core when he didn’t say goodbye. He wants to let him know how horrible the past few days have been for him without losing his dignity, without looking immature, without seeming like a stupid, desperate, sniffling child.
He opens his mouth to speak, to say all of this out loud, and suddenly, his entire body is shaking. His shoulders heave up and down as he sits the rest of the way up, curling into himself, hugging his knees to his chest and ducking his head. He’s sobbing, taking deep breaths that wrack his poor, broken body, and he hates that this is all because of Joe. He feels so ridiculous, but he just can’t stop.
He lifts his head up, straining his eyes to see Joe in the dark, and he finds him standing silently in the corner, staring at his shoes in something resembling shame. Nick averts his eyes stubbornly and burrows down into Joe’s comforter, trying to use the pillow to hide his tears.
It isn’t long before he feels the weight of the bed shift, and he knows that Joe is sitting near him. When he lifts his head to peek at his older brother, he sees Joe bent over, hanging his head, grasping fistfuls of his own hair in frustration or anger or something, and Nick suddenly feels just as guilty as he wanted Joe to feel. He feels horrible, because he realizes that he never really said goodbye to Joe either, that he never even thought to call Joe.
Nick’s hand reaches out automatically to comfort his older brother, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so that he can get closer. His fingers close around Joe’s wrists, pry his older brother’s fingers from his hair, bring Joe’s hands into his own. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, pulling him close and kissing the skin at the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, Joey,” Nick mumbles softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”
And now Joe’s the one shaking and crying and desperate, and even though Joe is older and more experienced and generally more happy, Nick knows that he needs this right now, that he needs to be a quivering mess of emotions. So he rocks Joe in his arms, stroking his hair softly, whispering that everything is going to be alright. And they lie down like that. And they fall asleep like that. And Nick knows that something between them has changed. Something is there that never was before. Something new. Something intimate. Something huge.