Pride and Joy ✓

twenty one

WEDNESDAY. 15. DECEMBER. 21. 

THEY hadn't talked about Friday night past Nate thanking him via text message on Saturday morning and it was starting to play on Denver's mind.

Every time he looked at Nate he saw the bruise on his sculpted cheekbone, a glaring reminder of the fight that he'd gotten into, and they still didn't talk about it. They didn't talk about that or Nate telling Denver about the scar his mom gave him, and they certainly didn't talk about Denver telling Nate how much he liked him.

Painfully, Denver wasn't sure how much of it Nate could actually remember. When he'd overheard one of Nate's many friends asking why he'd even gotten into a fight, he'd also managed to overhear Nate insisting that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember and he didn't seem to care either.

So if he couldn't remember why he'd gotten into a fight then who was to say that he could remember anything past Denver taking him home? Exploring that territory with the disadvantage of not knowing how much Nate knew was uncomfortable to think about.

Admittedly, that was mostly because Denver's mind was lingering on how he'd ran his fingers through Nate's  (impossibly soft) hair, and how they'd held hands (frighteningly gentle), and how he'd told Nate how much liked him (he couldn't think about it without blushing), and how he stayed by his side until he fell asleep (he argued with himself that not staying by his side was inconsiderate, but he knew it was an excuse).

Now Nate was sitting across from him while they studied in the library. He was scribbling down notes about the symbolism of the red hunting hat in Catcher in the Rye and his dark, fluffy hair was falling messily about his head. His green, amber-flecked eyes were dangerously concentrated, his eyebrows pulled into a gentle frown. Clutched tightly between his index finger and thumb was his pen and, as Denver watched the ink dance along the page, he recalled the feeling of Nate's hand in his and decided then that he would like to experience that feeling again.

It wasn't until Nate had finished writing and looked at Denver that Denver realized he was staring.

"You okay, Den?" He asked, watching him with those curious green eyes, considerate pink lips pulled into a small smile.

Flushing a rosy pink, Denver briskly looked to the other side of the library and hummed nonchalantly, but the way that the amber of Nate's eyes glinted, the way he fought to suppress a grin, informed him that his attempts to seem disinterested were in vain.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, still gazing at a bookshelf at the other end of the library, still blushing a rosy pink, still pretending that his heart wasn't hammering in his chest.

"You know, I meant to tell you this morning how good that sweater looks on you," Nate remarked after a moment, observing him with an affection so fond that he almost melted, "but some of my friends caught up with me when I was on my way over. Point still stands though."

Denver flushed deeper and felt an uncomfortable heat prickling along the back of his neck as he swallowed his nerves down. "Thanks," he muttered shortly, gently digging half-moons into his palms.

"It's alright," Nate shrugged, daring to smile a little wider and gesturing to the blue sweater Denver was wearing. "Matches your eyes. You look good."

"Thank you," he murmured, now running his palms along his jeans and praying that it would help them feel less clammy.

"You look good everyday but you know what I mean," he corrected with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, I know," Denver nodded, daring to meet Nate's eye. It was embarrassing how that alone released a parade of butterflies into his stomach. He couldn't help but wonder when it had happened— how, even.

"You know you look good everyday? Den, your confidence has really come a long—"

"Shut up, you know that's not what I was saying," he interrupted, shaking his head and suppressing a smile at Nate's sarcasm.

"If it was then I'd understand," he beamed, leaning back against his chair and clicking his pen.

"You're the worst," Denver mumbled, still fighting to keep his lips from spilling into a smile as he shook his head and tried to focus on the notes he'd written.

"No, I'm not," Nate corrected. "I think you're probably very fond of me."

"Very fond seems like an exaggeration," Denver scoffed, glimpsing up at him.

"I don't think so," Nate shrugged, offering a small smile. "I think you like me more than you pretend you do."

The glints in his eyes, teasing as they were shy, gave Denver the answer to every question that had been on his mind: Nate remembered Friday night— he remembered all of it. In fact, he remembered feelings, he remembered thoughts, that Denver didn't even know existed.

He remembered how concerned Denver had sounded over the phone and he played that concern in his head like a song that never ended, he remembered the way Denver had ran to him and, without thinking, held his face so gently and said everything to him that needed to be said without even parting his lips.

He remembered the glimpses that Denver gave him the whole ride home, flustered in his eagerness to make sure everything was okay, he remembered the way Denver had stroked through his hair, and held his hand, and stayed by side. He remembered talking about the scar his mom gave him and he remembered the feeling in his chest when he saw how deeply it stirred something inside Denver as sat at the edge of his bed. He remembered thinking that Denver looked like an angel and he remembered being too nervous to tell him.

He remembered that when he was falling asleep, his brain chanted the same words over and over again like a mantra. I like you enough for all of them. Those words had lived inside of his heart since Friday night and he hoped that they stayed there forever.

"So what if I like you?" Denver asked, swallowing down the nerves rising inside him. He could hear his heart beating inside of his ears; any joke had been buried now and a flower of confession was blooming on top of its grave.

Assuringly, Nate was blushing a little now, too, his lips still drawn in that soft, tender smile. "What are you doing Saturday?" He asked.

"Nothing," Denver replied, studying him curiously.

"There's somewhere I want to take you," he informed, "if you'd like to go with me."

"I would," he responded, so quickly that it embarrassed him immediately afterwards.

Nate grinned at him and the butterflies fluttered so intensely in Denver's stomach that he almost lost his breath.

"It's a date."

note
thanks again my loves!! Remember to vote and comment if you enjoyed :')

very happy new year to all of you!! Wishing you all the best for 2022!!

next update
sunday. 02. jan. 21.