Chapter Text
It had been five days since the incident at Gatsby’s poolside. Five days since he was shot in the shoulder by Wilson. Five days since Daisy abandoned him. Gatsby wasn’t thinking right. He was so far in his chasm of depression, with seemingly no little light to guide him out. To guide him back to land for air.
Gatsby lies in his bed, just as he has for the past five days. Or was it six? Seven? He didn't know. All he knew for sure was that he was alone. No one left to be there for him, no one to care about him, no one to hold him. He feels disgusting, laying in his week-old grime. His clothes are filthy, reeking of the alcohol he's downed. His once shining, silk, golden locks lay matted and soaked in grease. His normally smooth chin is covered in scratchy stubble. His sheets are rumpled and dirty, Whiskey bottles and burnt cigarette butts litter the floor.
Gatsby is knocked out of his state by a gentle knocking on his bedroom door. Who would bother? He trudges off his mattress, not even bothering to put on a robe. If this person can interrupt his wallowing, they can deal with seeing him in his underclothes. “Yes?” Gatsby’s voice is shot and hoarse, simultaneously from the lack of use, and from his sobs.
Nick. Gatsby’s neighbor. His friend. His ally. Nick's eyes widen in… disgust? Shock? Horror? … concern. “Gatsby… god you look like hell” Nick sighs, putting a hand out, offering it to Gatsby. “Ah. Really? Thanks, old sport. I would’ve gone out looking like this” The taller man’s voice oozes with sarcasm. “Now, did you come here simply to make fun of me, or did you perhaps need something, old sport?” He puts on a fake smile, wanting nothing more than to go back to his bed.
“Gatsby. Jay. I’m worried about you. You… you need help. Let me help you. Please?” Nick practically begs, his soft green eyes gazing into Gatsby's blue eyes with such… adoration. Gatsby can’t look at the shorter man. He can’t bring himself to stare into loving eyes when he knows that's not what he deserves. “I… I’m just fine on my own, old sport. I've survived 33 years now. What’s another?” He smiles politely “Besides. I’m sure you’re simply itching to get long away from me. All the others seemed to have.” He slumps on the doorframe, no longer truly speaking to Nick “Daisy is gone. She chose him. She chose familiarity. I've built my life around her, and she's not here anymore. What else am I to live for?”
“Live for you.” Nick offers and smiles, oh-so softy. And Gatsby can't help but chuckle, before he can get in his caveat, Nick grabs his hand. “Live for the sake of living. You have all of this!” He gestures to the hall of Gatsby's manor. “You have things I would never even dream of seeing in life! You have people who stick by you to the end. I will be here.” Nick wraps his arms around Gatsby's neck… hugging him. Slowly, Gatsby’s arms wrap around Nick's waist. No words are exchanged. They just hold each other for what feels like both forever and no time at all.
“Now, with all the love in my heart… you reek.” Nick chuckles, patting Gatsby's back. Gatsby can’t help but chuckle. He knows. By god he knows. “Ah… I admit old sport, I haven’t had the- the drive to keep appearances.” Gatsby sighs, his eyes downcast. Nick, tragically, pulls away from the embrace. “Let me help. If you want, I’ll tidy your room while you bathe?” Nick offers, smiling that lovely smile once more. “Old- I- Nick… Thank you. That would help me more than you understand.” He softens his gaze, reciprocating Nick's smile. His cheeks almost hurt. It’s been far too long since he’s had something to smile about.
…..
It’s a long shower. Difficult, certainly. The injury on his shoulder being not only tender, but not being able to get the area wet. Losing the mobility of his right arm, you can imagine how that makes simple tasks difficult. Thankfully for the most part, Gatsby is left-handed. When he finishes up, he walks out of his bathroom. Seeing his room tidy… it smells fresh. The horrible must he got used to over the week disappeared. The empty bottles that scattered around his wooden floors are gone. He almost sobs at the sight.
“Oh… oh Nick. You-“ Gatsby starts, not even knowing where to start “Thank you…” he speaks with such reverence, it would be reasonable to assume Gatsby was speaking to a god. “Please, no need. I’m happy to have helped!” Nick smiles wide, straightening out the sheets on Gatsby’s bed. “Now, there's a nice hot dinner on the table for you. Please go eat as soon as you’re dressed.” Nick smiles, stepping out of the newly cleaned room. Gatsby has never felt so… warm in his chest. His light is back. His enchanted light. Those green eyes, his beacon back to hope.
Gatsby changes into night clothes, walking downstairs to the kitchen, seeing Nick at the table “Oh! Old sport, not to sound rude. But why are you still here? Isn’t there anything else you’d rather be doing?” Gatsby chuckles softly, sitting down. “Nonsense! I… if I'm being entirely honest with you. I’m nervous. What if when I leave you, you’ll fall back down that spiral… what if… what if you end up getting hurt? Or… hurting yourself…?” Nick frowns, reaching over and grabbing Gatsby's hand. “Ah… well, the company definitely won’t hurt. I’ll have someone set up a room for you. I can assume you’ll want to stay by the library, old sport?” Gatsby chuckles softly. “Oh Gatsby. You know me so well!” Nick smiles.
The two men eat dinner together, laughing. Eventually, the sun sets. Nick is guided to a guest room. The room itself is bigger than Nick's whole cottage. Gatsby curls up in his bed, yawning. He has someone. He’s cared for. And for the first time in days, he sleeps easily.