Pride and Joy ✓

three

THURSDAY. 18. NOVEMBER.

"SORRY."

Denver turned to face Nate and glanced from side to side. "Apology accepted."

Nate half smiled, his lips quirking in a way that almost made Denver nervous. Pretty boys had that effect: they could barely smile and angels in the heavens above would start damning themselves.

His head was tilted ever-so-slightly to the side and his brown hair was disheveled, bruises still violent and scratches faded but still fresh. "You don't know what I'm apologising for, do you?"

He closed his locker. "No," he said.

"You told me the truth yesterday," Nate informed, his back pressed against the pale blue lockers next to Denver's and his hands shoved in his pockets, "and I thought you were lying to me. I spoke to my Nana after you left and she said she was teaching you how to express your feelings."

"Told you so," he said.

Sarcastically, Nate sneered at him.

"You don't need to apologise for stuff like that," Denver told him.

"Well I'm apologising," he said with a little shrug, eyes scanning up and down when he turned his head towards Denver.

"Apology accepted."

"That was easy."

"I'm not one to hold a grudge," he said.

"Great, you wanna go out later?" Nate asked, grinning at him.

"What?"

"You wanna go—"

"No, I heard you," he interrupted, waving his hand from side to side. "Don't you have other friends?"

As soon as the words were out, he was cursing himself. "I didn't mean like—"

But justifying himself didn't seem necessary anymore when he realised that Nate was laughing, his thumb against his temple and his forefinger and middle finger covering his eyes. "Jesus, Denver," he laughed. "Jesus. I wanted to hang out with you but I can go ask the others if you'd prefer that."

"No, no," he said quickly. "I can hangout. I just thought you'd rather hangout with them, that's all."

"Why?" He frowned. "It seems like plenty of people want to hangout with you."

That seemed like an exaggeration in Denver's mind. He had a solid group of friends (seven, including him) and they hung out regularly enough for them to not find his distance off putting or insulting— which was a relief— but he didn't hangout with a lot of people outside the group. Frankly, he wasn't sure he hung out with anyone outside of his friendship group.

It never made any sense to. He had everything he needed in them. The only problem was that he wasn't sure how he'd become friends with them in the first place. It just sort of happened.

That, unfortunately, meant that he worried about making people who weren't used to him uncomfortable with how quiet and nonchalant he could be. Apparently, that wasn't a problem for Nate.

"No, I know," he frowned. "I'm not saying I'm friendless or anything. I just. . . I don't usually hangout with people I'm not already friends with."

"Then how do you make new friends?"

"I don't."

"Huh," Nate said, brows gently furrowed, eyes narrowed and lips parted. Confusion looked good on him. "Well I wanna be your friend. Even if you are a potential sociopath."

"He says after admitting to getting into multiple physical altercations," Denver scoffed.

"Nothing to do with me being a sociopath. I'm just very passionate," he said matter-of-fact and pointing to Denver. "You, however, are a different story."

"I'm not a sociopath," Denver told him firmly. "I have feelings. I have emotions. They just make me feel gross."

"They make you feel gross!?"

"Yeah, dude," he said, nose wrinkling and brows tightening. "They make me feel weird. I don't like them."

"Maybe I shouldn't be your friend, you freak," Nate muttered, rubbing his arm after Denver punched him.

"You don't get it," he dismissed before beginning his walk through the hallway. As expected, Nate pushed himself off of the lockers and tagged along beside him.

"Alright, I don't get it," he agreed, hands in the pockets of his jacket as they sauntered alongside each other. "I don't get why having feelings would make you feel gross."

"Because they're uncomfortable and intimidating and I don't know what to do with them," Denver scowled.

"I've never met someone so afraid of their humanity before," Nate said, a hint of curiosity threading through his voice and, painfully, a hint of amusement hidden behind it.

"First time for everything," Denver mumbled. "Where do you wanna hangout?"

"Let's get food," Nate said. "We'll go somewhere after class."

"Okay," he nodded. "I could go for some food."

Someone else in the hallway caught Nate's attention then and he was grinning and mouthing to them. "Hey, Den, listen— do people call you Den?"

"Friends and family," he said. "We're neither."

"We're gonna be friends," Nate insisted. "Might as well skip past all the boring stuff and just call ourselves friends already. So I'm gonna call you Den."

"Wonderful," he responded drily.

Annoyingly, Nate only beamed at him. "I gotta run. My other friends are calling me over. Don't miss me too much," he said.

Denver smiled tightly. "I promise that's not something you'll ever have to worry about."

"Dick," Nate mumbled.

"It's pronounced Denver," he corrected.

"Bastard," he muttered.

"You were closer the first time."

"Shut up," he laughed. "I'm going, alright?"

"Alright," he shrugged, catching the eye of his friend Maria who was waving over to him. "Don't miss me too much."

Nate glanced at him and sighed melodramatically. "I'll try."

note
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next update
tuesday. 30. nov.

originally published
sunday. 28. nov. 2021.