Chapter Text
It happens so quickly.
The date had been perfect. Elliot’s studio apartment is small but wonderfully cozy. It turns out he’s quite the cook. Niko’s never been much for cooking. During his years of dance he’d seen it as little more than an annoyance needed to keep his body moving. He’d gravitated towards anything quick; protein shakes, granola bars, that kind of thing. But the chicken parmigiana Elliot had made was amazing. Of course, the company helps too.
The apartment’s too small for a proper table and chairs, so they sat on the floor, dinner on the coffee table as they’d sat and ate.
It had been going so well.
Elliot hadn’t asked any questions when Niko had denied a beer in favour of a diet coke from his bag and had switched his own drink without any fanfare. All of Niko’s protests were waved away.
“I like fanta just as much…”
God. How the hell was this man so perfect? Warm and kind and respectful, with arms like tree trunks which Niko bet felt just as strong wrapped around him as they looked.
And now he’s ruined it.
The attempt at a kiss had taken Niko completely by surprise. Tucked up together on the sofa, knees brushing together as the laughter continued.
But then Elliot had ducked his head and suddenly been so close. He’d been in Niko’s space and -
Well, Niko's mind suddenly wasn’t in the apartment anymore.
The panic crashes over him like a tidal wave, dragging him down into the depths of pure despair. Pressure builds everywhere, behind his eyes, against his eardrums, squeezing his chest like an iron press.
The memories come in varying levels of clarity. Some are perfectly crisp, like being in the back of a cab, tucked under Anthony’s arm. Though that’s probably not his real name. Other memories are more vague. A sharp pain of something tearing deep inside him. The oozing, sticky stench of body odor which could have been him or one of the faceless men. A wet slick between his thighs which dried over hours left alone on that disgusting mattress.
And the laughing…
God, the laughing.
The harsh, giddy chuckles of men with hours of entertainment ahead of them.
Hours of pain for him.
“... drink this…”
A cold glass is pressed into his hands and Niko’s fingers wrap around it automatically. The cold felt good against his clammy skin.
The acrid stench of odor stuck firm in Niko’s throat. Phantom hands clawing at his skin, pushing him into desired positions. Face ground into filth, held down and still while men just took and took and took…
“... feel the cold in your fingertips or the rug fibers against your toes…”
The voice sounded so sure of itself… Niko found himself giving his toes a little wiggle.
Soft.
Warm.
It’s not the mattress. Not that room.
I’m not back there…
Niko’s lips began to move in his own version of prayer, the silent recital of the mantras he’d practiced with Alex back in the shelter.
“... doing great…”
“... big breath for me?”
“... safe here…”
After what felt like hours, Niko manages to blink. And then again. Slowly, the studio apartment swims back into view. Elliot knees in front of him, hands palm up on his knees as if to prove there’s nothing to hide.
“.... so good, Niko,” Elliot praises, “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing.”
There’s unwanted tears in Niko’s eyes and down his cheeks, but it’s not those tears which Niko focuses on.
Elliot’s eyes are wet. Shining.
Niko had done that… He’d taken this kind, funny man and put those tears in his eyes.
“I’m,” Niko swallows, throat suddenly filled with glass, “I’m so-”
Elliot cuts him off, “Don’t.”
Niko’s mouth snaps shut.
“It’s me who should be sorry, fuck. I shouldn’t have - I thought - Well It doesn’t matter what I thought…” Elliot digs his phone out of his pocket and begins tapping away. “I clearly read the situation wrong. So wrong. I’m sorry. Let’s just make sure you get home safe, okay? Let me call you an Uber -”
Niko frowns. Uber? But he doesn’t want to leave.
“But -”
“No, I want to pay for it. Don’t argue. It’s the least I can do after -”
Niko gets a glimpse of the screen and realises Elliot is a tap away from forcing him to leave. He doesn’t want to go…
“Elliot - Elle - please,” Niko reaches out and latches on to the first thing he comes into contact with, “Can I explain?”
The touch freezes both men as if neither can quite believe it. Nervously, Niko wiggles his fingers against the soft dark hair of Elliot’s forearm. He can feel Elliot’s strong tendons as he flexes under his fingers.
“Okay…” Elliot’s voice sounds a little hoarse as he nods, “I’d like to listen, if that’s what you want.”
They don’t launch into it right away. Elliot insists on going into his tiny restroom for toilet paper (apparently the studio apartment doesn’t stretch to tissues) and refills their drinks. Once they’re back and settled on the little sofa, Niko takes a long steadying breath.
“So, you know I know Alex, obviously, I came to see him at the hospital,” God, this already wasn’t going well, “We met - well we met through his work. I was a resident at the shelter for a while, when I first got to New York.”
Elliot frowns at the admission. His hand twitches in his lap as if he’s itching to reach out. Niko pushes his hand forward in silent permission and Elliot immediately takes it.
“How long were you at the shelter?”
“6 months, give or take,” Niko explains, “Alex is the pastoral manager there and I… Well I needed a lot of support. Panic attacks were a big thing for me. Nightmares too. At the beginning there was detoxing too, which I had a hard time coming to terms with since drugs hadn’t been my choice.”
Elliot doesn’t say anything as his dark brows knit together. He seems to be working hard to take in what Niko is saying, even though it feels like a lot.
“What made you come to New York?” Elliot asks.
And Niko knows he’s barely begun.
With a sigh, Niko looks down at their joined hands and begins.
“I was trying to grow a social media presence around my dancing. Mostly on Instagram, a little on TikTok. This guy DMed me, he said his name was Anthony. He said he was an agent who specialised in booking Broadway dancers. I was so stupid but I believed him. It felt like I was living in some story I’d be telling on some late night talk show in 20 years.”
Niko feels a humourless laugh bubble out of him. God he had been so stupid.
“He met me off the bus and said we’d take a cab to the hotel he’d booked for me. I didn’t even know that fake cabs existed… Turns out it was a friend of his driving so didn’t even blink when he dosed me with rohypnol…”
Over the next 30 minutes, Niko tells his story. Of waking up in some disgusting dingy room, naked under a soiled towel with angry needle pinpricks in the crook of his arm. Screaming hadn’t worked, neither had crying. He’d just been left alone with his thoughts as he desperately tried to recall memories of how he’d ended up there. It’s taken a long time to accept Shaan’s hypothesis that the drugs likely blocked memories from forming. It’s likely Niko will never remember those missing hours.
After the initial waking, things get hazy. Niko remembers more pills forced down his throat and sharp pricks of needles in his arms. The creaking door as men entered and left, some alone and others in groups, but all to abuse and pillage his body. After the first attempt at resistance had resulted in calloused hands around his throat, Niko hadn’t fought. He’d knelt when told, opened wide when told. Nobody cared if he cried, if he bled, as long as they got their turn.
Sleep became his one escape. Fueled by whatever drugs they fed him, the blissful unconsciousness and first few moments of waking became the only warmth Niko could cling to. But reality always came crashing back. The stink of the room. The ache of his abused muscles. The cold dread which left Niko so sure he was going to die in that room.
“I don’t know what made them abandon me at the ER,” Niko admits. He’d given up looking Elliot in the eye around the 10 minute mark. Having to maintain eye contact during the story was too much. Niko doesn’t think he wants to see the exact moment which disgust wells in them.
“I wasn’t conscious. They said I was pushed out a car wrapped in a sheet… When I woke up I was in a hospital bed. It had been 10 days since I’d arrived on that stupid bus. I agreed to the rape kit and -” The words get stuck in Niko’s throat, ”They found… evidence of multiple assailants. It didn’t seem like condoms were top of their priority list, ya know? Surprising.”
The story is coming to its conclusion. Then Niko will have given Elliot all the facts and it will be up to him what happens next.
“Once I was physically ready to be discharged, I realised I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t feel like I could go home but also didn’t know anyone in the city. I was just sitting on my hospital bed in borrowed clothes, silently panicking, when Alex knocked on the door.” It’s the first time Niko finds a smile in this whole conversation. “I don’t even remember what he said but he felt… safe somehow. He offered me a place at the shelter and I agreed. That night I had my own bed behind a door with a lock. Alex was always there. Right next to me even in the worst of it. I don’t think I’d be… here… without him.”
There’s more to the story. The reconciliation with his parents, the new apartment, but Niko feels at saturation.
“I still have panic attacks, especially if I’m surprised or caught off-guard. It doesn’t mean what happened is bad, it just kicks my cortisol up and my body’s alarms just go crazy.”
Elliot still isn’t saying anything.
His hand still covers Niko’s but - but why hasn’t he said anything.
The silence stretches into what feels like hours though it might only have been seconds. It’s hard to tell.
“I know it's a lot to put on you,” Niko begins to babble, the silence feeling suddenly impossible to leave unbroken. “I just didn’t want you to think that it was your fault. It’s not. It’s mine. I’m -”
What? What was he?
Broken?
It felt like it.
Beyond repair?
Maybe.
And Elliot still. Isn’t. Speaking.
Fuck.
Niko shoots to his feet before he’s truly even decided too.
“Sorry, Elliot,” He steps back, vaguely looking round for his jacket. “You didn’t invite me over to listen to my sob story. Fuck, you’re looking for someone to kiss without trauma dumping all over the place. I’ll just - I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry again. Have a good night.”
Fuck his jacket. Niko just needs to get out of here. It’s easier to just leave before he’s told to go. That would hurt so much more. Niko just needs to guard what little is left of his heart. He stumbles toward the studio apartment’s door. He has his phone and wallet, that’s enough. He just needs to get out.
“Niko - Niko, wait!”
Footsteps follow.
Elliot doesn’t touch him, but does a ridiculous little dance around him until they’re face to face.
“I’m sorry - fuck - I’m doing this all wrong. But don’t leave, please? I mean, I’m not asking you to leave. I just need - shit, sorry, I was processing but -” Elliot reaches out, as if to draw Niko in but forces himself to stop. “God, Niko, can I hug you? Please? I just - those fuckers… Please can I -”
Niko nods and immediately Elliot’s arms are round him. They feel just like Niko had imagined. He’s enveloped. Smothered. Elliot feels like a fortress, granite walls between him and the world. Nothing can get to him, nothing will hurt him again. Not while Elliot is here.
“You weren’t stupid…” Elliot promises, “You were trusting. They took advantage of that. That says nothing about you and everything about them. Fuck... I’m so sorry that happened to you…”
Niko feels one large hand cup the base of his skull, cradling it as Elliot’s chin comes to rest atop of his head.
“You’re so strong. Fuck, Niko. You know that, right? You survived hell. Fuck, I’m in awe of you… You’re amazing.”
The compliments warm and bubble in Niko’s chest as peaks out from the hug.
“You know…” Niko swallows, deciding to be brave, “I wanted the kiss. If it hadn’t surprised me… If I hadn’t, y’know… I’d have been excited to kiss you.”
The admission is small, and yet somehow all encompassing. It was a truth too big to hold onto alone. Niko just had to share it.
Elliot doesn’t answer right away. He moves his hands slowly, slow enough that Niko won’t be surprised, and cups his face between his palms. Niko shudders happily. Like everything else, the size just leaves Niko feeling so safe.
Careful eyes look over Niko’s face, as if searching for any reticence.
“You’re sure?”
Excitement flutters inside Niko’s stomach, an excited ripple of something Niko thought was gone forever.
He nods, tongue twitching out to wet his lips. “Please?”
Well? How was Elliot meant to deny him anything when asked so kindly.