#ik (part 1) implies continuity but this has actually been sitting undusted for two years so um

[mannerofwhump]

A Normal(cholas) Day (part 1)

All characters belong to @spookyboywhump and are used with their permission :) This has genuinely been sitting in my drafts for AGES but I couldn’t write a way to continue it (and have yet to do so) but I really wanted to post it lol. So here it is in all it’s unfinished glory and do forgive the abrupt ending. Enjoy.

RIGHT for context, this is an au where a Normal Nicholas who does not, in fact, regularly torture people gets isekai’d into canon Nicholas’ body/universe. (Very fitting to be posted on Saint Nicholas’ day).

———

It was a regular Saturday morning, he was sure of it. He had checked. He’d woken up, brushed his teeth, styled his hair, and existed in the normal sort of way that he always had.

That is, until the truck came.

From the beginning, it had come, sinister in its approach. There were no flashing lights, no warning sounds. There was just Nicholas, the truck, and then his intimate acquaintance with the ground. And then nothing.

Blissful sleep overtook him. Thoughts still rang in the background. Was this it, then? Life, and then not. He wasn’t even allowed the courtesy of realizing he was dying, until the darkness washed utterly and devastatingly over him.

Far, far away there was a light. In the distance, it had no shape or form to it. Just a glow in the raging sea of inky black. Of course, of course, he ran—swam—floated towards it. There was no real choice when the only other option was to succumb.

He awoke with a gasp.

The chair underneath him was solid. He gripped the armrests, knuckles going white. He touched his head, his body, felt at the utter lack of blood. Still, he was alive. God, it didn’t even hurt. He felt completely fine, as if nothing at all had happened.

Wait. Why was he on a sofa? Where was the beeping? The bed? The hospital gown? Maybe even the IV drip in his hand?

He stared at his hand, gaze intent. He turned them over, both of them, staring wildly at the evidence of completely unmarred skin. Unless he had dreamt up the whole thing, all of this made absolutely no sense.

Wait. His brain caught up to his surroundings. Right. Obviously he had dreamt up the whole thing. That made sense. Especially now that he was looking around and realizing this was his own house—

“HOLY SHIT,” Nicholas said calmly.

Ok. That part wasn’t right. Definitely not right. The black-haired man kneeling on the floor next to him was not a regular fixture in his choice of home decor. He was pretty confident about this one. Ok. Maybe he was staring. Maybe he was looking at the man with eyes that practically screamed what the fuck? But that wasn’t his fault.

Because there was one thing ringing in his mind right now, and it was not the ringing that came with vehicle-pedestrian collisions. Instead, it was the incessant echoes of what the absolute fuck in the now-empty cave that was his mind.

He smiled sheepishly, stretching his lips in a way that felt anything but natural. “Would you excuse me for a second?” he said, politely. Higher than his usual level of politeness, but he felt that the poor man fettered in his home who he didn’t even know deserved that much at least. He could do that much.

With that, he darted for the bathroom.

Nicholas splashed his face with cold water, trying to sober himself up. Dispel the nightmare. How drunk did he have to be to imagine a whole live man in his living room? A man who looked like he’d been beaten up upwards of 6472 times and counting? Not that he’d remembered drinking, but hey, maybe he’d forgotten that too.

He splashed his face again for good measure and rubbed at his eyes. Hard. Hallucinations begone! The bathroom door was left ajar as he peeked outside again, hoping for the illusion to dispel itself. No such luck. The illusion in question was watching him with a raised eyebrow instead.

“What the hell is going on with you, sir.”The last word was said with a hint of derision. Like it was an insult. It probably was. But he also said it with a hint of familiarity, as if it had been uttered enough times for the word to not really mean anything any more.

Bad sign. Bad fucking sign.

“Um,” he started, the very picture of coherence, “who are you? What are you doing in my house? What the fuck?” He didn’t mean to say that last one out loud, but it had slipped, just like his sanity.

“Haha, very funny, sir.”

“No, tell me. Please? Please.”

The other man looked thrown off by his words. Confused. His words came out slowly, as if he believed Nicholas was playing a trick on him. God, he wished this was all a trick. “Zander. I’m here because you’re fucking sick and get off on kidnapping people and torturing them and making them fight other kidnapped tortured people. And yeah, what the fuck. A lot of all around fuckery going on on your end, sir.”

This, admittedly, made Nicholas feel worse.

———

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