Work Text:
As expensive as it is, Schmidt expects his car to die far more dramatically. In the end, all it does is shudder and shut off silently, forcing him to glide to the side of the road before it runs out of momentum. He drops his head down on the steering wheel and curses.
He'd been driving through upstate New York; he had met a client in Montreal and his agent had urged him to drive rather than fly, for some reason (he hadn’t asked, to be fair. And, also, he doesn’t get to drive much in the city, and he misses it, even though this is an absolutely absurd amount of driving for one day). And now he’s stuck here, in the middle of a blizzard, with only the clothes he’d worn that day, his phone, wallet, and a single granola bar he’d grabbed on his way out. Two days before Christmas. How perfect.
Schmidt fishes his phone out of his pocket and does a cursory Google search, hoping to find some sort of reputable tow company and also to figure out where the actual fuck he is. His phone struggles for service for a moment and then blinks him into existence in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere, New York, with only a single tiny town in view on the map. He screams, quietly.
Thankfully, the town has both a tow service and what seems to be a small bed and breakfast, so Schmidt dials the number for the tow company and presses the phone to his ear.
“Come on, pick up, pick up .” He groans, shivering slightly. The wind outside the car howls ominously, like he’s in some sort of horror movie.
“Hello?” mumbles a gruff voice over the line, sounding almost like they just rolled out of bed. Are you fucking kidding me? Schmidt thinks.
“Hello? Is this T&A Towing?” he responds, and rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, what’s up?” the gruff voice says back, conversationally. Schmidt has never been in a town this small in his entire life, so he assumes that’s why the person sounds like they’re greeting a family friend and not working at their actual job, what the hell.
“I need my car towed. I’m broken down on the side of the Heirloom Avenue, by Tyler Street, and it’s fucking cold,” he bites out, and the person laughs over the line.
“I’ll put you on the list, pal, but we’re not doing anything until the snow ends. You can give us your info and then we’ll call you when we pick it up. You’ll pay when you come get the car.”
“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” Schmidt recites his phone number and hauls his ass out of the car to read the license plate to the worker.
“I’m assuming you don’t gotta place to stay? I don’t recognize your voice from around here,” says the worker on the other end of the line. “You should check out the B&B on Main. Nando’s got a good place there. We’ll call you when we get your car.” The phone clicks as it hangs up.
The snow melts into the shoulders of Schmidt’s coat as he stands in the middle of the street, and then it hits him that he’s going to have to walk to the bed and breakfast.
*****
Thankfully, the B&B is well marked even in the snow, because with the storm and the fact that he is literally in the middle of nowhere, Schmidt’s phone barely comprehends the fact that he exists on Earth, let alone where he is on the street. He throws the door open and stomps in, frozen to the bone and completely coated in snow. The main room is blissfully warm and small, all soft yellows and oranges and haphazardly festively decorated, with a small dog asleep in front of the fireplace crackling in the far corner. It’s surprisingly not-hokey, certainly more attractive than he’d been expecting - and so is the man behind the front desk, tipped back in a chair with his legs propped on a stool to his right.
“Can I help you?” the man asks, all business despite his relaxed posture. His purple hair falls forward a bit, covering his forehead. He’s wearing a maroon shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and Schmidt spares him a glance up and down.
“Sorry to bother you so close to Christmas. I’m looking for a room. My car broke down. The towing place recommended I come here. Are you Nando?” The man - Nando - dips his head slightly and swings his legs off his stool, reaching under the desk for a set of keys.
“I’ve got a room. It’ll cost-”
“I don’t care. I can pay,” Schmidt cuts him off tiredly. “I really just want to get out of these fucking clothes and - shit, I don’t even have anything extra to wear. Shit.”
Nando pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not a butler.”
“I don’t mean to ask you for anything, I can run to a store or something. Where can I even buy an outfit around here?” It’s been a decent amount of time since Schmidt wore clothes that weren’t picked out for him, or from high-end designers or absurdly expensive “leisure” brands, and honestly he’s not even sure he’d know where to go in a tiny town like this.
Nando looks him up and down, completely exasperated. He takes a deep breath. He has a look on his face that Schmidt is intimately familiar with, the utter disgust people get every time he says something “upper class.”
“Everything’s closed because of the storm. You’re lucky I live here.” Nando shakes his head. “I... Jesus. I’ll get you something to wear. Go up to your room and warm up and I’ll leave them outside the door.” Schmidt blushes, feeling his ears burn, and takes the keys from Nando’s hand.
“Thank you,” he mutters, and looks away. He glances down at his peacoat, dripping with slowly melting snow, and turns to face the stairs across the room, lit by the glow of the fire.
“One second,” Schmidt hears, and turns his head back towards Nando in time for a towel to slam into his face. “Dry yourself off before you go up there. I don’t want you dripping water all over my floor. You’ll mess up my floorboards.”
As he goes up the stairs, he can hear Nando scoff behind him.
“Fucking rich asshole. At least he’s paying me to put up with him.”
*****
His room is small, but nice. Schmidt’s not trying to be picky when the alternative is his broken down car or the blizzard outside. He throws the contents of his pockets on the bed, strips down, shivering, and hangs his clothes on the towel rack in the small bathroom. The water heats up surprisingly fast and he steps in, his skin burning deliciously in the heat.
He’s never liked how quiet small towns are, and this is no exception; aside from the rush of the water against his skin, it’s nearly silent, the snow muffling what little sound there is. In the hush his mind turns to Nando. Schmidt doesn’t really know how to feel about him - it’s nice of Nando to give him clothes, but their entire interaction had had such an undercurrent of “I can’t believe this fucking idiot.” As if Schmidt had planned to get stuck in this hick town during a blizzard. And that comment at the end, like Schmidt had done something to slight him personally. It’s not Schmidt’s fault he has money.
He groans as he steps out of the shower, missing the warmth immediately, and wraps a towel around his waist. His phone, thankfully not destroyed in the walk over, rings in the other room, and he fumbles out of the bathroom in a rush, hoping it might be the towing people. It’s not. The picture on his lockscreen is a manicured photo of Schmidt and his boyfriend last time they’d been booked for a photoshoot together, Nick’s name at the top of the screen.
“Nick!” he exclaims, answering the call.
“Where are you? You should be home by now. We’ve got plans this week,” Nick says, and Schmidt deflates a little.
“I got caught in the storm on the way back from my gig, babe. I’m stuck in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I’m at a bed and breakfast.”
“Ugh. That sounds awful. Make sure you get back before the shoot on Wednesday, it’s important. I have to go to a meeting. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll try. Love you.” The call ends without a response. Schmidt drops his phone back onto the bed. He’s just stressed about the photoshoot, it’s okay. He reassures himself, and runs a hand through his hair.
“I have clothes for you,” a voice says, just outside his door. He startles and turns, opening the door. After years as a model he’s not particularly modest, and besides, he doesn’t have clothes to wear anyway. The voice belongs to a woman with dark hair that’s blonde at the ends and a kind face. She’s got a small pile of clothing in her arms, all dark jeans and maroons.
“Hi, I’m Schmidt,” he greets, and sticks his hand out. To her credit, she seems mostly nonplussed about his almost-nudity and shakes his hand in return, shifting the pile of garments into his arms.
“I’m Daniella. Fernando sent me up here to give these to you. He said he’s not sure how well they’ll fit, but honestly your next best choice is me, so. I think they’ll fit well enough.” Oh. I see, Schmidt thinks. This is Nando’s partner. He recognizes the way she talks about him, the easy affection on her face, and it hurts for a reason he doesn’t quite understand.
“Thank you.” He takes the clothes. “I appreciate it. I didn’t realize there was anyone else here.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s just me and Nando and Nadia here right now, you’re the only guest. Nadia’s probably hiding upstairs, anyway - Nadia’s my kid, by the way.”
“Good to know. Well, uh. I’m gonna...” He gestures back into the room with the clothes, and Daniella laughs.
“You do that. Don’t let Nando bully you, by the way. He’s an idiot. Come join us for dinner,” she says, and leaves without waiting for an answer. He likes her. She’d seemed nothing but nice to him, shown none of the resentment that Nando had.
Schmidt pulls on the provided boxers and socks, and then the black jeans, which fit him better than he expected. They’re just a bit short, so he cuffs them a little - he cuffs his jeans pretty high normally. There’s a maroon henley, which he realizes as he dons it that it is also a little short. It’s cropped just a bit on his torso which, honestly, he’s not complaining about. They’d given him a fur-lined acid wash denim jacket, too, so he shrugs it on overtop, enjoying the immediate warmth.
He looks himself in the mirror and brushes his hands through his hair, attempting to style it as best he can without a comb or products or anything, and then he looks down at his - Nando’s - clothes, feeling just a little guilty. In his defense, though, he does look damn good. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and lets himself breathe, pushing the thoughts of Nick’s call and of Nando’s ... attitude out of his head for a moment of silence. Feeling marginally more ready to face Daniella and Nando and maybe Nadia, Schmidt grabs his phone and leaves the relative peace of his room.
*****
Schmidt can hear Nando and Daniella laughing. There’s a third voice, young and exasperated, that he assumes is Nadia. As he descends the stairs, the voices get clearer, talking about some regional thing he has no hope of understanding.
“Oh, that’s probably Schmidt on the stairs,” he hears Nando say. “I’ll go grab him. I don’t trust him not to get lost.” Nando emerges from a door behind the desk, wiping his hands on the apron around his waist. He stops in his tracks when he sees Schmidt, and even from the distance Schmidt can see his cheeks darken in a blush.
“Uh. Hi. Uh. The clothing fits better than I expected,” Nando observes. His eyes drift down Schmidt’s torso and jerk back up to his face, abruptly. Nando’s blush deepens.
“Thank you,” Schmidt responds, a little taken aback. He knows he’s hot, but this is the first emotion the man has shown him other than irritation or annoyance, and it’s... Nando, flustered at the sight of him? “Good color choices, looks good on me.”
“Try not to spill anything on yourself, I happen to like that shirt,” Nando bites out, turning away. “And since Dani is convinced that this is some sort of restaurant, you can come with me to the kitchen.” He heads back towards the door he had come from. “Oh, also? I know you met Daniella, but my kid’s back here too - try not to upset her. And don’t let her bully you.”
Oh. Schmidt had realized that Daniella is Nando’s partner, and she had mentioned her kid, but Schmidt hadn’t put together that the kid in question is also Nando’s kid . He swallows, not sure why that realization is hitting as hard as it is, and follows after Nando.
The kitchen is mid-sized - big enough to make breakfast for the three of them and however many guests they might have, he supposes. There’s a small table off to the side, and Daniella is seated at it, a book laying open and face-down in front of her. A younger girl is sitting on the counter in the middle of the kitchen; looking at her, Schmidt can tell that she’s Nando and Daniella’s kid, even if he hadn’t known beforehand. Her face looks like the perfect combination of the two of them, and the way she looks at her dad as he enters is a perfect echo of the way Daniella had looked when she’d been talking about Nando earlier.
“Sit down, don’t break anything,” Nando tells him, and Nadia laughs. He clears his throat and sits next to Daniella. She smiles at him, giving him a once over as he lowers himself into the seat.
“Hey there. The clothes don’t fit too bad.” Schmidt tugs on the shirt a little, feeling conscious of his appearance in a way he usually never does. He doesn’t like it. He’s always been the pretty one, the model, not some fool who blushes and hides himself when people look.
“Yeah, they’re pretty okay. I pride myself on my ability to make anything look good, though, so it’s not hard to pull it off,” he shoots back, and Daniella chuckles.
“I’d say you look pretty damn hot, yeah.” She winks.
“You absolute gremlin child! How dare you!” Nando shrieks. Schmidt looks over at Nando and Nadia just in time to watch her pull her flour-covered hands away from his face, two white handprints clear on his cheeks. Nando reaches for the salad dressing on the counter and squeezes, spraying her, and she screams, laughing uncontrollably. Schmidt glances back towards Daniella to find her watching the proceedings with amusement.
“Let them tire themselves out. Nando’s just as much of a child as she is.” She rolls her eyes, talking over the chaos. Nando takes a spoonful of broth from the stove and carefully blows on it before splashing it on Nadia, and she grinds a handful of flour into his purple hair. Nando grabs a scrap of pastry dough from the counter and rubs it across her cheeks, and she retaliates with a healthy splash of egg wash to the face. Nando leans forward and rubs his face against Nadia’s, smearing flour and egg and whatever else was on him all over her as she sputters and protests. He leans back and grins at her, a smug, shit-eating grin, and then reaches out to gently wipe the egg from around her eyes with his thumbs.
Oh. Oh no. There’s no reason Schmidt should find that as attractive as he does. Oh no, does he have a thing for dads?
“Are y’all done?” Daniella complains. “Go take a shower, you absolute cretins. I’ll cook the damn food.” She pulls Nadia off the counter and all but shoves the two of them out of the kitchen. “Schmidt, darling, feel free to stay and hang out with me. I’m a delight.”
“Can I help you clean up?” He stands, thinking back to how Nando had all but said Schmidt’s presence was a burden.
“Absolutely not. Sit your ass down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sits. Daniella pulls a rag out from under the sink and wipes down the counters, leans down to look at the floor.
“Eh, I’ll leave that for later. Schmidt?”
“Uh. Yes?”
“Nando’s a bit of an asshole. I know you’ve noticed it. If he crosses a line, tell me and I’ll force him to apologize.” She reaches over and stirs the pot on the stove. “God, I love that man, but he’s fucking ridiculous.”
Schmidt swallows.
“Good to know,” he says, and screams a little inside. God fucking damnit, Schmidt, Nando has a partner and a kid! Cool yourself the fuck down. “How did you and Nando meet?” Nice. Smooth, casual. Just make conversation.
“We grew up together. Went to high school together and all that. He’s been my best friend from the start, I guess.” She smiles down at the pot, and turns to face Schmidt. “What about you? How did you end up here?”
“I was on my way back from a modeling gig and my car broke down and, well, you can see the weather. It’s fucked out there.” The small talk is surprisingly not awkward. If he can just keep it going until dinner’s over, he can go back to his room and have a crisis on his own.
“A model? I’m not surprised. You look the part. You got a partner? Someone like that?”
“Yeah, I’ve got my boyfriend, Nick. He’s a model, too, same agency and all that. We met through it. He’s nice.” She must hear something in his tone, because she gives him a look of disbelief.
“Nice? That’s what you have to offer? Nice? Do you have, like, a picture at least? I have high expectations from whoever managed to catch your attention.” Schmidt reaches into his pocket and frees his phone, passing it her way. Daniella taps the screen, waking the display to show the picture of Schmidt and Nick together - and a text from Nick saying, “Well? Are you going to make it back in time for the shoot Wednesday? Come on, I can’t afford you missing this. There will be consequences.” She looks up at him. "This is... I know I barely know you but this is a super huge red flag. Like, this isn't a message you should be getting. This is super manipulative." At that moment, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it from her pocket. “It’s Nando. He asked if you’d meet him upstairs.” He nods and turns to leave, desperate to avoid talking about the message. "Schmidt? If you don't see what's wrong with that message, talk to me about it later. Please. You don't deserve that shit." He pauses for a moment and nods again.
Schmidt pushes through the kitchen door and slumps up the stairs, the force of Daniella’s anger pushing him forward but anxiety about what Nando wants holding him back. At the top of the stairs he pauses, unsure of where to go, and a voice calls out to him.
“Schmidt? That you? I’m in the last room on the right.” Nando’s voice is slightly raspy, maybe from the shrieking, and Schmidt is absolutely fucked . He plasters on his most confident air and strides forward, pushing open the door to find Nando standing at the mirror in the corner of the bathroom. He’s only wearing a pair of joggers, a few stray droplets of water clinging to his torso. Absently, Schmidt notices how much darker his hair looks when it’s wet.
“Uh. You wanted to talk to me?” Nando turns and Schmidt has to fight to keep his gaze level.
“Yeah, I. Well, I...” Nando takes a step closer to Schmidt. He has a light dusting of hair on his chest and a massive tattoo of a tiger on his arm and all Schmidt wants to do is admire him. “I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I don’t think I’m being fair to you.” His voice is low and rough, like he’s telling a secret.
“Yeah?” Schmidt asks, and steps into the room further. The steam from the shower presses against his skin as he enters.
“Yeah. I was a dick to you, and you don’t deserve that.” And then, suddenly, Nando’s hand is on Schmidt’s cheek, skin rough and a little damp, and Schmidt steps into Nando’s body. He can feel the warmth of Nando’s skin and the cooling water from the shower and Nando grabs the back of his neck and says, “It wasn’t right of me,” and then they’re kissing, lips pressed together desperately, and Schmidt slides his hand into that water-dark purple hair and grabs and gasps for breath. Nando bites at his lower lip and Schmidt’s mind is completely blank, full of nothing but the way Nando tastes and the way their bodies fit together.
And then he remembers Nick, and Daniella sitting downstairs, and he shoves Nando away from him. Nando’s lips are swollen and his hair mussed and Schmidt has never wanted anything more than to kiss him again.
“What, what’s wrong?” Nando asks, breathless.
“I just cheated on my boyfriend? And you just cheated on Daniella. What the fuck. What the fuck did we just do?” Nando stares at him for a second.
“Well. That first bit is certainly a problem, but, uh. I think you have vastly misunderstood my and Daniella’s whole deal. We should... Let’s go talk to Daniella about this,” he says, taking in Schmidt’s shell-shocked expression. He turns and slips on a shirt (Schmidt would rather Nando stayed shirtless so that he could memorize the lines of his muscles, but he can see why that’s a bad idea) and gently grabs Schmidt by the arm, leading him out of the room and towards the stairs. “Nadia always takes a million years in the shower, so we don’t have to worry about her.”
As they enter the kitchen, Daniella turns from the stove, mouth already open to talk. Schmidt braces himself for a comment about Nick’s text, but Daniella seems to catch herself, double-taking.
“You two kissed. You kissed?” She brandishes her spoon at them. “Y’all need to talk your shit out if you’re going to do anything like this.”
“You’re okay with it?” Schmidt asks, still trying to wrap his head around everything that’s happened.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?” Nando shakes his head and brings Schmidt over to the table, pushing him into the seat.
“Schmidt here thinks we’re in a relationship,” he tells her. She bursts out laughing immediately.
“Oh, Schmidt, I am so sorry. Here we are in the bed and breakfast we run talking about our kid. I am so fucking sorry.” Her apology is undermined a little by the laughter, but he’ll take it. “I’m asexual and aromantic. We’re not together. We dated when we were young, when we had Nadia, but we’re not together now, I promise. Nando’s my best friend, and my soulmate, but it’s absolutely platonic.”
Schmidt blinks, and closes his eyes. “Well, I read that one wrong.”
“Yeah, you sure did. But, uh, while we’re on the topic, we should talk about your boyfriend?” Nando prompts.
“Yeah, you should talk about the fucking boyfriend,” Daniella says. “Let’s start with that text.”
“Can we please do this after dinner?” Schmidt pleads. “I’m hungry and stressed and flustered, and I do not need your daughter walking in on this discussion.” Daniella, in all of her terrifying glory, fixes him with a stare.
“Okay. But if you try to sneak away after dinner, I will end you.”
*****
The dinner is... fine. Schmidt can say that. The food is good and the other three are comfortable together in a way Schmidt has never been with another person. It’s easy for him to sit back and let them joke with each other, to let them carry the conversation while he watches. Easy for him to shoot—What are these, longing ? glances at Nando before he realizes what he’s doing. Shit, it’s hard to keep himself from doing it, though, with his newfound realization that he finds Nando-the-dad really fucking hot . The look of pride on his face the entire conversation is something Schmidt barely knows how to comprehend.
“Have you seen that, like... that TikTok-” Nadia starts.
“Nadia, I have not seen a single TikTok other than what you have shown me,” Nando says, and Nadia kicks him.
“Shut up. Have you seen that TikTok with the guys who look like paintbrushes and they, uh, they’re trying to guess who painted the Mona Lisa and they say ‘Da Vinky?’”
“I have to ask, my child, why you think I would have seen this video.”
“I don’t know, because it’s funny? You’re just boring, I guess.”
“You literally made me get an account so you could send me videos. I don’t, like, use the app. I’m too old for TikTok.” Nadia lights up at that, pulling her phone from her pocket.
“That reminds me! There’s a new dance going around and I’m going to force you to learn it because I think it would be fun and you can’t tell me no. Also, you’re right, you are too old. I’m sorry for putting my faith in your media consumption, Grandpa.” Nando rolls his eyes, but if Schmidt had to place the look on his face he would call it somewhere in the ballpark of “adoring.”
“You can teach him the dance after dinner,” Daniella says, with the air of someone who has diffused similar conversations many times before. “You said you’d do the dishes today, Nadia.” Nadia sighs and looks down at her empty bowl.
“I mean, yeah , but I said that so you’d let me leave lunch early. I didn’t think you’d hold me to it.” Daniella gives her a look. Nadia gets up from her chair and moves towards the sink.
“Schmidt, Nando, shall we go upstairs?” She gathers their dishes from the table and places them in the sink, dropping a kiss on Nadia’s head. Schmidt halfheartedly follows her from the room. They end up in what Daniella explains is her bedroom; Schmidt is seated miserably on a couch next to Nando with Daniella leaning on the arm. The small dog from earlier is asleep on the bed.
“So. Your boyfriend. Your boyfriend that you work with. That text, Schmidt, that’s not cool. That’s such wild guilt-tripping. And “there will be consequences”? What the hell?”
“Sorry,” Nando interjects. “What text? I just said we had to talk about your boyfriend because I would really like to keep kissing you and a boyfriend is probably gonna cause issues with that.” Schmidt doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone from his pocket, knowing it would have come out somehow. He unlocks it and swipes to his messages with Nick, and hands the phone to Nando.
Schmidt doesn’t really do emotions. This is a thing he knows about himself. He doesn’t like to deal with other peoples’ emotions, and he doesn’t even like to deal with his own. He doesn’t understand them. But the look Nando gives him after reading the text? He knows what it means.
“Schmidt, this man is using you. He just told you that he can’t afford you missing the shoot, and none of us have mentioned that Wednesday is literally Christmas! As if his time is more important than you. Has he even spoken to you today other than this?”
“Yeah, he called me!” Schmidt insists, defensively. “He wanted to ask where I was, and ask if I was going... to make it back in time for the shoot.” Nando and Daniella give each other a look.
“You are more important than this man’s work, I promise. He’s more worried about your job than your health and safety when you are quite literally trapped in a blizzard. That’s not caring about you.” Daniella reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Also, I just want to point out again that it is literally two days before Christmas, and this shoot is on Christmas , and yet it’s still more important than, I don’t know, spending time with your partner?”
The phone buzzes in Nando’s hand.
The three of them look at the screen in unison as Nick’s name flashes on it.
“Schmidt, please let me answer the phone,” Nando says.
“Absolutely not,” Schmidt responds, and reaches for the device.
“Schmidt, this man is not good for you, and I’m pretty convinced he doesn’t care about you. And, also, you have this look on your face that makes me desperately want to kiss you, so please please PLEASE let me tell off your douchebag boyfriend. Please.”
“I. Uh. Okay.”
“I’m going to stick around for this call because I want nothing more than to hear Nando tear this man to shreds, but I’ll give you two some privacy after that.” Daniella winks. Schmidt turns bright red.
“Schmidt? You never answered my text. I need to know about Wednesday.” Nick’s voice rings out from the phone.
“Hi. Not Schmidt, and he won’t be making it to Wednesday’s shoot. Also, he won’t be seeing you again, except to—Sorry, Schmidt, does he have anything of yours that you’d need back?” Schmidt nods. “He won’t be seeing you again, except to pick up his things.”
On the other end of the line, Nick sputters. “What do you mean, he won’t be seeing me again? That’s my boyfriend! We work together! Who the fuck are you?”
“To start: he’s not your boyfriend anymore. Shall we count the reasons? You obviously think your job is more important than him. You’re just using him to make you look better, and he’s more attractive than you, anyway. You don’t care about him or spending time with him, which is very explicitly clear by the fact that your only concerns are about the job you have on Wednesday, not your boyfriend’s health or the fact that the shoot is literally on Christmas. No plans to spend time with your boyfriend over the holidays? No concern for his well being? No? And, as for the job, I figure it’s not too hard to ask his agent or whoever the fuck to not book him with you anymore. Like I said, he’s far prettier than you are, so.”
Schmidt clears his throat. “Nick? We’re done. I’m not doing this anymore.”
“You’re leaving me for him, aren’t you? You cheated on me! I knew I couldn’t trust you. I can’t fucking believe this.”
“Uh, yeah, eat shit and die.” Daniella taps the “end call” button on the phone. “Well, that really could have gone worse.” Schmidt buries his head in his hands.
“I, for one, think it went perfectly,” Nando says. “But now that you’re a free man I feel like we should move to my room so Dani doesn’t have to deal with us. Sorry, Dani.”
“I’ll be fine here with Watson,” she responds, reaching out to stroke the sleeping dog. “But please give this poor man a minute to process his feelings if he needs it, I swear to god, Fernando.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Nando corrals Schmidt to his feet and pulls him along by his upper arm, leading him gently across the hall into his room. Schmidt is torn between wanting to cry and wanting to scream.
“I just... I do not know how to deal with literally anything that just happened. Since my shower, really. I was in a car accident and I’m in a coma and all of this is an elaborate dream. I don’t know what the fuck else this could be.” Schmidt grabs a handful of his hair and pulls.
“Hey, it’s been a lot. It’ll be okay. Me and Dani can help you figure out your work shit, and you’ll get your stuff back, and - can I kiss you?” Nando reaches out and carefully removes Schmidt’s hands from his hair. “I want to distract you.” Schmidt isn’t sure if his nod is perceptible, but it must be, because Nando slides his hands down Schmidt’s sides and pulls their bodies together, pressing a soft kiss to his nose.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Schmidt murmurs back, and leans down to kiss Nando. He laces his fingers into Nando’s hair again and breaths in his scent and, for a few moments, thinks only about the man in front of him.
“Hey, Nando?” He pulls away for a second to admire Nando’s face. “Merry almost Christmas.”