Nicky counts the amount of texts he sent within the last hour.
Fifteen. Fucking fifteen. And Shane hasn't even bothered to reply or to call him. He grits his teeth as he types again.
Last chance. It's already well past 1 AM. If you don't come home in ten minutes, God knows what I'll do.
***
Shane's phone buzzes for the sixteenth time tonight. Sure, he's scared and he knows he'll pay for this, but he shoves it back in his pocket and focuses on the loud music in the club. On the way the floor thumps underneath his feet and through to his veins. On the way pretty boys give him flirty looks as they dance.
At least he feels alive. Knowing that Nicky's at home worrying about him, doing nothing but thinking about him, that's enough to make the aftermath worth it, whatever it may be. Because Nicky has barely had time for him recently. Work was at the top of the list, and Shane was starting to feel neglected. It was always work. Work. Work. Then a quick dinner together until Nicky went back in to his home office and ordered Shane to clean up.
Shane had tried to get attention by acting out. He'd occasionally miss out on some chores. Or fuck up an ironing job on Nicky's favourite shirts. But Nicky didn't even look like he had the energy to punish him any more than a few half-hearted spanks over the knee. He needed more. This wasn't enough.
If Nicky didn't want to care, then fine. Shane was going to make him care.
He had called Kian out for a proper night, and Kian had asked if he was going to get in trouble for this later. Shane had replied with "probably".
Nevertheless, here he still was. An hour after Kian had already left with another lad at his hip. An hour of trying to ignore the constant foreboding buzzing of his phone and relishing the fact that Nicky is at home right now, thinking about him and only him. He just wanted some attention.
It's almost two in the morning, way past his curfew, by the time Shane decides to leave the club and take a taxi back home. The reality slowly starts to sink in. Nicky... Nicky will probably fucking murder him. Sweat fills his palms as this car brings him closer to his death.
When he ambles out of the car, he notices the lights are still on. Well, fuck. He's probably not going to be able to move tomorrow. He swallows hard and forces himself to take a few deep breaths.
The moment he steps inside and closes the front door, his back is shoved up against it. He's too surprised to even scream. A hand wraps around his throat. He sees blue eyes glowing in a bloody red underneath this dim light. His toes curl in.
"Where the fuck were you?" Nicky growls.
Shane realises he's made a mistake. A big mistake. The anger, the disappointment, the hurt studded in Nicky's eyes is not the type of attention he craved. He didn't want to hurt the person he loved with the life of him. This isn't what he wanted. But the milk had spilt already, and guilt flash-floods over his chest as he feels the first layer of tears brim in his eyes.
"I... I'm sorry."
"That's not what I asked." The hand tightens and Shane can't breathe. Not that he deserves a clear breath. He whimpers as his nails dig into the wood of the door. "Where. Were. You."
"I... At a club, I..." Shane can't bring himself to look into Nicky's eyes. It's too painful.
"At a club," Nicky repeats with pure venom swirling on his tongue. "You have no respect for me, do you?"
"I do." That, he can say with pride. "I really do."
"You're out without telling me about it. You ignore my texts. You come home at two in the morning when you know your curfew is twelve. Does that sound like respect to you?"
