Love Language

Physical Touch

I am yours as the summer air at evening is

Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,

As the snowcap gleams with light

Lent it by the brimming moon.

Without you I'd be an unleaded tree

Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring

'Yours' by Daniel Hoffman

___

"How many times do I have to fucking explain it to you for you to understand?" Quinn laughed halfheartedly, shaggy ginger hair waving across the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean?" Matt retaliated, eyebrows furrowed, and staring daggers into Quinn.

"Well, maybe if you listened to me for once, you would know what I mean, idiot." They were arguing again, half-jokingly, because that was them. That was Quinn and Matt. They argued over dumb, meaningless shit, and then they would sit together, playing video games on the couch while everyone else rehearsed for their gigs. Today, the subject of their bickering was whether Luigi or Mario was the better brother.

"Well, maybe if you weren't always- I don't fucking know- spewing nonsense at me, I would listen more, you moron," Matt giggled at his response as Quinn sat up in his place on the other end of the couch.

"You're- you're calling me a moron? You're the one saying fucking Mario–Mario!–is better than Luigi." Quinn spat back.

"Yeah, because he obviously is, you just don't have the superior intelligence to understand why." Matt said, smug.

"Yes, I do! You just aren't smart enough to come up with a valid reason for why Mario is better!"

"Maybe, but do you have a reason why Luigi is better?" Matt reasoned.

There was a deafening silence in the room they were in, alone. All their other bandmates were downstairs in the garage, practicing for an upcoming gig they had at a bar.

Quinn stopped to think for a second before caving, "No," he muttered.

"Exactly! That's what I fucking thought, moron."

"Shut up! You didn't have a reason either, idiot," he defended.

It's true. Matt didn't have a reason. He didn't have a real reason to start this argument but it had become so habitual of them to just argue over silly little things that mattered only to them. It was never because Matt didn't like Quinn. Quite the opposite, actually. When they first started their band, The Closed Caskets, Matt had never met Quinn. He was a mere acquaintance of Charlee's. It quickly became apparent that the only way they could talk to each other was when the entire group had one of those silly little arguments. And competing in video games. So, they did just that. They had silly little arguments neither rarely won and put off practicing by playing video games. And their friendship blossomed.

"Okay fair, but like- you- whatever. You started it." Matt said, slumping back down onto the couch.

"Nuh-uh," Quinn grumbled.

They sat in comfortable silence, only the sound of muted practicing playing. There was always an intensity to the silent atmosphere when it was just the two of them. It wasn't awkward–never awkward– just...full.

"We're gonna make it big someday, you know," Matt said, quiet enough for only Quinn to hear. Spontaneous, he always was. Quinn learned not to question it. There was an unwavering determination in his voice, eyes hopeful, staring at the wall in front of him. Quinn warmed at the sight of it.