Pride and Joy ✓

thirty

FRIDAY. 14. JANUARY. 2022. (unedited!!)

"I WASN'T sure if it was too much," he admitted with an uneasy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, "but I decided to say fuck it and send it to you anyway. That's what I do with most things anyway, right?"

"I'm glad you did," Denver murmured after swallowing a bite of his waffle, savouring the coolness of the vanilla ice cream that he'd spread over the top of it.

Exhaling a high-pitched breath of relief, Nate grinned and picked up his knife and fork again, cutting off another piece of his own waffle and shovelling it into his mouth. As he chewed and swallowed, he nodded thoughtfully to himself. "Thank God for that," he huffed, brows raised and eyes wide as took a sip of his drink.

Smiling, small and playful, Denver rolled his eyes. "It was an appreciated gesture," he assured, pale blue eyes skipping curiously over Nate. He didn't want to try too hard to sound sincere because he worried it might sound manufactured, all artificial, but the words still tasted plastic on his tongue, like a hasty and painfully necessary formality.

He almost wished that Nate could see the heart in his hands. That way the proof of his earnestness would be on display between them, all of his humanity bared on the table for observation. Such a hypothetical vulnerability might've frightened him, but the honesty of the mayhem in Nate's amber-flecked eyes made it seem so obvious; so unspoken and understood.

But his heart wasn't in his hands and it wasn't on the table; it was beating ruthlessly inside of him and Nate couldn't see it, so he would have to tell him about it instead, describe the beat of his heart and the sweetness in his throat and the stardust in his veins. Nate could only work with what Denver gave him, after all.

"I'm glad, Den," he replied softly, the corners of his lips teasing in the way they tugged upwards.

"I—" Denver frowned, fiddling with his fingers underneath the table, hands stiff in his lap. "I can't figure out how to phrase what I want to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he shrugged, dropping his cutlery with a clutter against the plate. "I know you appreciate it."

"I want to tell you," Denver insisted, eyebrows furrowing tighter and pink lips pulling into a tight, uncertain line.

"Okay," he nodded, shuffling a little where he sat in the booth. "No rush."

They hadn't been at the dessert place long, but they'd been hanging out since they'd gotten out of school, and it was already dark outside. Evening had crept up on them and the black sheet of night was painted across the large windows, fading into a vivid navy and embellished with silver sparks, glittering with the same dust inside of Denver's veins.

Their booth was next to one of the windows and Denver, contemplating how to tell Nate what the playlist meant to him, peered out of it, watching the stars blink with a faint intrigue. Perhaps if he were a star and Nate could gaze up at him so brazenly then the words in his throat could merely burn out beside him, their clutter fading into the secrets of the sky; forgotten forever in the grand landscape of the universe.

Denver thought about the words in his throat and decided not to forget them.

He imagined pinching each one between his fingertips, lining them in front of him and threading a lace through them; an inevitable tapestry, even if a clumsy one.

"Nobody has ever sent me a playlist like that before," he managed, swallowing the lump in his throat and letting the words rise out of him like an inflated balloon, "and it was very intimate for me, right? Because you're the only person who knows my music taste that well and I didn't think that you knew me as well as you do, but you do and I stayed up for hours listening to it. Hours and hours, and I didn't skip a single song because they all sounded like you and that makes my heart feel funny and it makes my head feel light and it sends me a little dizzy. It was the last thing I listened to before I fell asleep and the first thing I listened to when I woke up this morning and it means a lot to me. I know that all of this sounds stupid and messy but it felt like you gave me a piece of yourself last night so I wanted to give you a piece of mine back. So thank you."

The balloon had burst and his heart had followed suit. His skin was burning; his face and neck prickled with an unbearable heat that made him squirm in the booth, his hands clammy and his fingers restless. One of his legs bounced erratically beneath the table, springs inside of his jittery bones. His veins pulsed and his cheeks were dusted with a pink that he hoped burned hotter than it showed. Once more, he swallowed the mountain in his throat and drew his lips tight.

Nate's eyes were flooding and there was a glassy weight to them that made Denver's chest ache. They were glazed with an adoration that made his stomach stir; amber flecks burning like the sparks of a fire, flying off of the heat of the flame. His eyebrows were drawn gently in a line and there was a small space between his roseate lips.

After a moment that felt both infinite and ephemeral, his lips spilled into a gentle, endeared smile. "You have such a way with words," he teased.

"Don't joke," Denver replied promptly, pressing his palm flat against the skin underneath his sweater; the heated flesh of his stomach.

Nate stacked Denver's almost empty plate on top of his own, the cutlery folded on top of both plates. He stretched his arms out over the table, holding his hands out to Denver who, after a skeptical hesitation, accepted them; hands meeting in the middle.

He raised Denver's hands to his lips and planted a soft kiss to them, pink lips blossoming bright against Denver's skin. "I'm glad that you hear me when you think all of those songs," he murmured, his hair falling messily around his head and his eyelashes grazing Denver's knuckles, "because I think that they all sound like you."

Denver squeezed Nate's hands, his heart pounding inside his throat, loud in his ears, and Nate peppered kisses over his skin. "You ready to leave?" He asked, glimpsing up at Denver.

"To go where?" Denver practically choked, unable to tear his gaze away.

Roguishly, Nate glanced out of the window at the blanket of stars and grinned.

"It's freezing," Denver remarked, like it meant anything.

"That a no?" Nate inquired, still holding his hands.

Denver exhaled a shaky breath. "I'll ask for the check."

"To the stars," Nate beamed.

He nodded and his lips pulled into a smile. "To the stars."

note
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