Come to Your Senses // Something Rotten AU

Poetry

Nick's POV

"Nick, what are you doing?!"

I open my eyes, startled, to see Nigel at my bedroom door.

"What are you doing?!" I cry. "It's, like... just after midnight!"

"No, it's not." My younger brother is still standing idly in the doorway. "It's just after noon, Nick. Why are you still in bed?!"

"It's WHAT?!"

He backs up. "I'm sorry! I don't mean it!"

No longer tired, I look frantically from my clock—12:09—to the light grey sky outside my window. "What do you mean? Is this a prank?!"

"No—I mean, I mean it, but—" Nigel stands back awkwardly.

I stand up and approach him, distressed. "Shit! I work today!"

"You work every day," he mutters, turning back to the kitchen.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP?!"

"I—I don't know! I thought you were already gone when I got up!"

I've followed him out of my room in anger, and we're now standing in front of the kitchen counter. "You didn't think to check?!"

My brother keeps a solemn expression. "I would never look inside your room without your consent."

I lean against the counter with my head down, giving up. "Ugh. I'll just call in sick today. I don't feel like going."

"Hey, Nick..." he says from behind me, "I'm thinking maybe you should get a different job."

I turn around slowly. "What?"

"Well, you never seem to want to go to work, and it's taking up so much of your time—and you're clearly stressed out! We all are!"

"I can't afford to do that, Nigel," I breathe, trying to sound calm.

"Yeah, but maybe you will! Like when I start working at my job! Or if I move out—things are going pretty well with Portia—"

"Just... let me be in control of my own life, okay? Don't you have an interview to attend?"

"Nope!" he replies. "That was on Sunday."

I groan, making my way back to my bedroom.

"Hey, Nick, come on!" I hear from behind me. I stop reluctantly. "This is what I mean! We're literally brothers! We can't just have us fighting all the time!"

"We're not fighting right now," I reason.

"Then what do you call this?" he asks stubbornly. "Playing?"

"Whatever, okay, Nigel?! You don't even have a job! You think I can just calm down at will?!"

"Well... no, but maybe this day off will be good for you. Go, call your work!"

"I already would have, if you hadn't kept me," I mutter. And in spite of myself, I turn back to face him. "Might request bereavement leave instead."

He gets the hint and stops protesting.

-

Maybe an hour or so later, I come out to see Nigel sitting on the living room couch. He doesn't notice me.

I just stand there for a while, regretting always getting so worked up at him—because he's right. If it weren't for my job, I wouldn't be like this all the time.