Kiss & Tell | Nicolandria FF

Part 34 - Nic

a/n: pt 1 baby

Nic was sitting on his bed, running a towel through his hair. Taylor let him go through his closet, but he felt too lazy to move. Tired, actually.

Nic was fucking exhausted.

He didn't expect to make it into this game this long. Nic still had a hard time believing he was handsome, or likable, or even worth being loved most times. His sense humor was always a bit of a defense mechanism, but he couldn't even crack jokes the way he used to.

He just sat by Cierra, let her dote on him, and tried not to disassociate.

That made him feel worse. He was an awful person.

Cierra was trying to protect him, and he appreciated it. But god, did he want to learn that Olandria didn't say that. Olandria was so blunt, so honest—didn't even like drama. She wasn't the type of person to play someone, wasn't the type of person to lead them on.

Olandria always kissed him like he meant everything to her.

Just to tell him to close things off with Cierra.

She was a rollercoaster of mixed emotions, a big push and pull that Nic tried his best to keep up with. One minute her guard was down and she was giggly, soft and precious and Nic wanted to protect her. Then the next minute, she became so cold, so detached, and he felt like he had to slay that dragon every time to get those walls back down.

And it was why he couldn't be mad at her. She warned him. She told him to close things off with Cierra. She told him that she wasn't brave enough to make things work. She was going to stay where Taylor was because Taylor was comfortable and Nic wasn't.

Olandria was terrified of being vulnerable.

Nic hoped, god he hoped, that being vulnerable with her—by revealing that awful side of him that didn't deserve redemption, that side of him that was filled with self-loathing and disgust, always has been—would help her see how serious he was about her. That he was willing to peel his skin back and reveal that rottenness if it meant she'd trust him.

Maybe that's why he was so hurt that the opposite came from it. So surprised, but not at the same time. So bitter and resentful—not at Olandria (a little, maybe, but it was hard being mad at her.

He'd rather be mad at himself.)

His mom always caught him in these bouts, these deep deep deep bouts of burnout and self-loathing that worried her deeply. She'd hug him tight and tell him how much she loved him, how incredible he was. How much she wished he'd realize how incredible he was, how worthy he was of being taken seriously, how he should strive to take himself seriously.

That she wished he didn't feel the urge to water himself down and lower his potential just to be accepted by anyone.

Like that was easy to do, or something.

Nic sighed and stood up, scratching his arm. Olandria called him an ashy white boy when she realized he didn't wear lotion. He didn't really find the use, but Ace and Taylor immediately threw Eucrin at him and told him to lock in.

Now he was buttered up and tired.

And expected to stand on business for 6 fucking hours?

Fucking hell.

Nic found clothes to wear and threw them on. His hair looked a mess, and he didn't necessarily care. Cierra asked him to start styling it more, but he couldn't bring himself to.

The mirror caught his eye. He stared at himself.

Ugh, he was acting like a little bitch.

He smacked his face a couple of times. "Tighten the fuck up," he mumbled. "Acting like a fucking crybaby, shut up."