Pride and Joy ✓

thirty four

SUNDAY. 20. FEBRUARY. 2022.

LIGHT streamed through the trees, seeping into the soil and grass of the forest floor, bouncing off of the leaves, splashing across the flower petals.

They hadn't stayed at the cemetery long because Denver was worried that he might start crying (not that he had admitted that to Nate, not that he had needed to anyway).

So, instead of lingering with the ghosts and the fresh flowers, they strolled, hand in hand, into a forest that was a short walk away, and sat on an old wooden bench that Denver had remembered from months and years before.

Nate was sitting beside him, blossoming like a rose. His sharp cheekbones and freckled nose were splashed with a faint pink flush and his eyes were bright; there was a home inside of them, the lights on and fire burning. He was holding Denver's hand.

Gently, Nate kicked his foot. When Denver turned his head to look at him, Nate was already looking, gazing with an endearing concern. "You okay?" He asked softly, sheepishly. He knew it was a stupid question and he wanted Denver to know that, but he'd wanted to ask it ever since they'd first sat down.

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice light. "Why?"

"Because I don't know where you are," Nate replied, smiling a little. There was a glint in his eyes, glittering curiosity, glazed unease. "You're not here."

"I am," he retorted, playfully knocking his closed fist against Nate's forehead. "Right here. See?"

"No," Nate said, shaking his head a little as Denver's hand dropped in his lap. "I don't."

Denver stared straight ahead, gazing at the gaps between the trees like they meant something, like they were there for a reason. "I'm here," he insisted.

He wasn't. He didn't know where he was. In the ground, maybe. Buried under dirt and grass and flowers and angels with all that love and sorrow and regret piled on top, falling over itself and crushing the earth, but somehow still not strong enough to push through it.

"Denver," Nate frowned. He was using that voice he always used when he wasn't happy about something. Denver smiled a little. "Let's talk."

"There's nothing to say," he shrugged, still gazing at the gaps between the trees, still thinking of all that love flattening the ground. "He's buried. That's all there is."

"That's not all there is," he replied swiftly, frown tightening, "and you know that. You know there's more to that. Talk to me, Den. Please talk to me. It doesn't even have to be me if you don't wanna talk to me, but please talk to someone. Please."

"What do I say, Nate?" He asked, turning his head to face him and immediately wishing he hadn't, not with that look in his eyes. "What do I say?"

"Tell me how you're feeling."

"I don't feel anything," he stressed. "Not a thing. It's all numb. My bones feel like they're empty."

"I'm sorry, Den," he murmured, throwing his hands around Denver's shoulders and pulling him closer.

With a stiff laugh, Denver reciprocated by hugging around his waist. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. I'm okay."