Loud Like Love

Chapter Twelve: Bosco

'He's not gonna chuck up all over my seats, that one, is he?' the driver asked gruffly.

Matt shook his head. 'No. He's done with that part. He just needs to get home. That okay?'

The driver looked hesitant, but then he nodded.

'I'm sorry,' Nick mumbled again, once they were underway. His head was on Matt's shoulder, his eyes closed. Unconsciously, Dave reached for his hand and held it. Nick appeared to have fallen asleep. His hand was cold, and Dave rubbed it between both of his own to warm it. He didn't know what else he could do.

He still felt guilty. The others could tell him as much as they wanted that this wasn't his fault, but he still felt like it was. Or, at the very least, it was because of him, even if he wasn't directly to blame. He shouldn't have come to the gig. He had wanted to see the band again. And he had thought it was the right thing to do, that they needed to see each other, be in the same room, that it would help them both. He had been so wrong.

When Nick had kissed him, barely ten minutes ago, it had taken every ounce of willpower Dave had not to kiss him back. He had wanted to, so, so badly. Had wanted to put his arms around him and tell him everything was okay now, that he loved him, because he did. He knew this, now more than ever, but Nick couldn't know. Dave had to keep it from him, at all cost. Knowing that Dave still loved him would hurt Nick far more than it would help him. It would give him false hope.

He thought of Patrick again, and he wanted to cry. Patrick had done absolutely nothing wrong and absolutely everything right. He was probably a better boyfriend than Nick had ever been, objectively speaking. Not three hours ago, Dave had thought of how happy he was, how much he looked forward to seeing Patrick once he was well again, how much he wanted to kiss him and hold him and take him to bed. And he still wanted those things, but he knew now how fantastically cruel and unfair that would be. If he didn't tell Patrick about his feelings, he would be a far worse person than Nick had been when he cheated on him.

The taxi pulled up outside Nick's house, Dave paid, and they all got out. The light was on in the sitting room. At least they wouldn't be waking anyone up, hopefully. Dave deliberated with himself about whether he should go to the door with Matt and Nick. In the end he had an excuse to do so by carrying Nick's guitar. Alan hung back and lit a cigarette.

Dave knocked on the door and about a minute later, it opened to reveal Zoë in her dressing gown. 'Dave? What—' She caught sight of Nick, where he clung limply to Matt. 'Nick! What's happened to him?'

Matt and Dave shared a look, and in the end Matt was the one who spoke. 'He's . . . just drunk. Had a few too many after the concert . . .'

'What, that club serves minors?'

'Who serves minors?' Richard Javelin appeared behind her. 'Oh! Hi, Dave, what . . .' He trailed off and fell silent. Dave stepped to the side so Matt could carry Nick all the way to the door. 'How much did he have?'

'Not sure,' said Matt. 'But he had them fairly quickly.'

'Has he vomited?'

'Twice.'

Richard nodded. 'Nick?' he said softly and lifted Nick's chin. He snapped his fingers. Nick's eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes. 'Nick, can you hear me?'

'Yeah . . .' Nick swallowed. His voice was slow, slurred. 'Fuckin' . . . Yeah, hear ya.' His eyes slid shut again.

'What's your name?'

'Nick Davis . . .'

'How old are you?'

'Seventeen.'