Nicholas allows it, but only because he’s not in the mood to argue, and he suspects Andrew might make this a fight. He used all his energy beating up something that can’t fight back, and now all that’s left is emptiness.
“Does this hurt?” Andrew questions, skimming fingertips over his battered knuckles.
It takes a lot of fucking self-control not to wince.
Over the years, he has taken pucks to the thighs, fists to the face, but none of those hurt as much as the gentle way Andrew is touching him. It’s not as if Nicholas has never had anyone check his injuries before, but that was always in the context ofone of the team trainers, or on a few bad occasions, the doctor. This is something entirely new. Even as a kid, his injuries were never treated like this. He was sent to one of the nannies while chastised for hurting himself.
Right now, Andrew should be chastising him, probably would be if he knew the truth. Instead, he’s carefully checking over Nicholas’s wounds like he needs caretaking. His hands will be fine by tomorrow, or fine enough to handle his stick, but the tenderness in Andrew’s touch is unlike anything he’s experienced before, and Nicholas isn’t sure what to do.
“Can you bend them?”
Not trusting himself to speak, he opens his hands to extend all ten fingers before clenching them again. It hurts like fucking hell, but he doesn’t let it show, refusing to deepen the worry lines on Andrew’s face.
“I’m fine,” Nicholas says, unsure why it comes out sounding like a question and not a statement.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Andrew replies in that no nonsense tone of his. He lifts Nicholas’s hands, holding them like they’re something fragile. Most people look at Nicholas like they’re a little scared of him or like they want to be in his bed, but either way, he’s used to being a commodity for other people.
“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, princess. I’ll be fine to play tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t thinking about your game,” Andrew replies. “Though now that you mention it, maybe you should see one of the team?—”
“No.”
Rather than flinch at his tone, the corner of Andrew’s lip quirks up. “Okay big guy.”
Unsure what to make of that response, Nicholas settles for hunching his shoulders and scowling. That usually makes people realize not to mess with him and leave. Hell, even his ownteammates have taken to mostly ignoring him off the ice. The only exception is Tony, who for reasons unknown, still makes an effort with Nicholas.
Being left alone to do what he wants whenever he wants is the goal. It always has been. No friends or relationships. No one to rely on him. No one to disappoint, and no one to use him or fuck him over.
“My younger brother Jason used to play football,” Andrew starts, guiding Nicholas towards the sink. He wets a clean cloth before dabbing it at the cracked blood on the back on Nicholas’s aching hands. “He used to end up with a lot of hand injuries, though not quite like this.”
“What’s your fucking point?” Nicholas asks, aware he’s being a dick but unable to stop.
“My point,” Andrew says slowly, allowing those big brown eyes of his eyes to look directly at Nicholas, “is that if you play a sport like football or hockey and ruin your hands you’re fucked. Do you want to be fucked, Nicki?”
“No,” Nicholas grits out.
“Then you’re going to stop doing this.”
“You’re not my dad,” Nicholas scowls.
“No, I’m not. I’m your boyfriend for the time being, and that means I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t think you want that either.”
The words make Nicholas want to hit something, again. This is exactly why he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t need some bullshit fake care.
“Nicki.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” Nicholas growls.
“Then don’t act like one,” Andrew replies, so unruffled by Nicholas’s outburst that something in him deflates. His anger has always gotten a rise out of people, but not Andrew. It’s unnerving and confusing.
“You don’t need to pretend to care, I’m fine.”
“I don’t pretend, Nicki.” Andrew pauses. “I should probably start calling you Nicholas if I want to prove that.”
Andrew smiles but all Nicholas can do is frown. He’s Nicholas to the world. To his fans. To his parents. To everyone who doesn’t matter. Somewhere along the line, he’s grown used to being Nicki to Andrew.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Nicholas growls.
