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“I keep better time during hockey season,” Jack tells him once. “Easier to track a life in wins and losses than in idle days, eh?”
And Nursey can definitely relate, but he definitely doesn’t say so. Not when Bitty gets that look on his face at overhearing the conversation, like what Jack’s just said is the saddest thing to ever be uttered. The hockey robot who can’t quite human the way he should.
The thing is that Nursey is his own kind of robot, if he’s honest with himself. Which he tries not to be anymore. “Honesty” usually packs a punch that he would rather not suffer through if he can help it.
Robot Nursey is very good at projecting the appearance of a person that is the polar opposite of the person all of his internal thoughts and emotions want him to be. He can compartmentalize nearly any situational response that goes against this outward ruse. And he can neatly divide his own life up into a series of challenges that his careful mask has faced, and a collection of coping mechanisms to go with them.
Loving Dex has somehow become both.
Dex all by himself is already a challenge. A barely contained thunderstorm on a good day, a force of nature on a bad one. He’s the most difficult person Nursey has ever met. Developing feelings for him was an accident, but seems inevitable in retrospect. Nursey’s always been his own worst enemy, and falling in love with William Poindexter is probably the meanest thing he’s ever done to himself.
As challenging as dealing with that love is, keeping it a secret is even harder. It refuses to stay locked up. It makes its presence known in Nursey’s scattered brain and in his guarded chest and in his wandering gaze at every opportunity, threatening to reveal itself to everyone around him.
And yet, it’s also the easiest thing he knows about himself some days.
When his skin is too tight, and the words all blur together on the page, and he’s suddenly terrified that everyone in the entire world can see right through him… Dex still occupies the exact same space and shape in Nursey’s heart as he always does. There is a weight to his mere presence that grounds Nursey in a reality he often is too busy lying to himself about to recognize as truth.
Nursey’s world can be falling down around him, but if he just sits with his homework at the Haus kitchen table, Dex on his laptop in the chair across from him, then things like breathing and writing aren’t so difficult.
“You’re gonna have to stop doing that once we live together,” Dex says idly, not taking his eyes off his laptop screen.
Nursey startles internally, but outwardly just raises one lazy eyebrow and drums his fingers against his textbook. “Doing what?”
“Staring at me.”
Nursey freezes.
Dex still hasn’t looked up from his homework.
“I’m just saying,” Dex continues, somewhat distracted, fingers still typing on the keys, “if you want to keep pretending you hate me, fine, but if we’re both living in the attic together next year, that’s gonna be a lot harder to do if you never take your eyes off me.”
Robot Nursey pauses for a system reboot.
Actual Nursey folds his arms tightly across his chest and bites hard on the insides of his cheeks before saying, “How did you—“
Dex looks up sharply then, finally, to catch Nursey’s eyes and interrupt him. “Shit, are we actually talking about this? I thought if I didn’t make a big deal out of it you’d just tell me to fuck off and everything would go back to normal.”
“…Sorry? Fuck.” Nursey pulls in a deep breath through his nose and curls into himself, eyes trained down at his knees.
The resulting silence is akin to suffocating.
Until, what feels like hours later, the sound of Dex’s laptop snapping shut breaks its hold. Nursey glances back up just in time to see Dex crouching down in front of him and reaching a hand out to rest lightly on the back of Nursey’s neck. “You still with me, Nurse?”
Nursey huffs a watery laugh. “Always,” he croaks, rolling his eyes at himself while Dex frowns.
“I can go back to pretending not to notice the staring and the– you know, the feelings or whatever. It’s not a big deal. But if you want me to keep pretending that I don’t notice you pretending to be alright, that’s gonna be a little harder.”
Nursey swallows roughly. “I am alright.”
“You’re a liar is what you are.”
“I can be alright and a liar at the same time.”
“Derek…”
“I don’t know if I can stop the staring, okay? Or the– the feelings. I’ve tried to turn it off, but I… I’m sorry. I don’t have to move into the Haus next year if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“If it made me uncomfortable, do you think I’d be here in this kitchen with you right now?” Dex sighs and removes his hand from Nursey’s neck to run it through his own hair. “You still piss me off all the time, is the thing.”
Nursey barks an unexpected ghost of a laugh. “Nah, really? Never woulda guessed, man.”
Dex scowls. “My point, asshole, is that we’re gonna end up killing each other if we start anything before we’re ready.”
Nursey’s mouth goes slack and he blinks dumbly at Dex, not sure he’s processing the words correctly. Dex couldn’t possibly mean…
“I just think it would be prudent to continue figuring out how to be friends first. If you want to see the pro/con list I made about it last semester I still have it saved somewhere.”
“…You made a list?” A tentative smile starts to pull at the edge of Nursey’s lips.
“Yes, Nurse, you are that much of a headache that I needed to write down a list of reasons not to punch your perfect face in order to make it through the school year.”
“I’m sorry, which one of us is the asshole again?”
“Shut up. I also needed to write down a list of reasons not to kiss you yet.”
“Yet,” Nursey repeats, a little breathless at the idea. His robot self has still yet to come back online, an impressive record for an extended interaction with another person. “I like learning how to be friends with you,” he offers.
Dex snorts, but the smirk that blooms across his face is more fond than Nursey’s ever seen, and his cheeks are stained with a light blush. “Well I don’t exactly hate it.” He shrugs a shoulder and glances to the side, then back to Nursey. He places a hand on Nursey’s knee and squeezes once. “We’ll get there, Nurse.”
“Yeah, alright.” Nursey nods. Grins. “That’s chill.”
Dex groans and pushes himself up and away to return to his seat across the table. “We’d get there a lot faster if you’d quit being such a douche.”
“Hashtag–”
“Don’t.”
Nursey laughs, and the smile left in that laughter’s wake is as true to the person he projects as it is to the person he is underneath it all. Which is kind of a first.
What’s more, this entire conversation suddenly doesn’t feel like an obstacle he’s overcoming, or like the introduction of a new coping mechanism to store away for future use. It feels important, yes, but not in a way he knows how to label.
It feels like something he doesn’t have words for.
Yet.
But he’s more than happy to take his time learning to navigate the path that will eventually get him there. He stares at Dex, who has easily segued back into doing his homework, but has pressed one leg under the table a little closer to Nursey’s. Their knees hover near enough to each other without quit touching that it feels like a butterfly-kiss, while their calves press tightly together.
Nursey thinks about the lies he could tell himself later about what just happened, and also the lies he could tell the rest of the world about it.
He picks up a pen to write them all down rather than enact them.
He hooks his ankle around Dex’s just to see if he can.
He closes his eyes.
He allows himself to be honest.