7 Days (BxB)

~22

          I think the band was called something along the lines of a chalkboard and a giraffe. Very indie, very rock'n'roll, very acoustic, somehow all together. It was a mess, but organized and wonderful. Noah and I even managed to sneak some beers from a booth nearby. Turns out he's a lightweight. Who would have thought, with his small frame and innocent charm? Everyone would have thought, that's who.

So after we were done cheering at the awful and amazing band, we ran. Why? We didn't know. But the night was getting to our heads—or the alcohol—and we ran, ran, ran until our breathing betrayed us. We fell side by side in a grassy spot just underneath the moon.

We were a heaving, smiling mess, and I couldn't be happier.

I turned my head to face him. "I like you, Noah Maddison." It came out in bursts.

He turned his head. Brilliance echoed from him and his lips had never been so tempting. "You said that already."

"I'll say it a million times over and over again until I die."

"Say it again."

"I like you. Goddammit, I like you."

He pumbled my body with a tight embrace, desperate and needy, full of emotion enough to make me cry. Maybe I was crying, I couldn't tell. All I did was bury my head in the crook of this sad boy's neck and hug him until my limbs went numb and we could only stare. At his eyes, at his lips, at his freckles, at everything. At this god in front of me.

"George," he breathed.

I cupped his face, brushing a strand of hair behind his air. He leaned into my hand and my heart swelled. "Yeah."

"I think . . ." His face fell and eyebrows furrowed. "I think I'm gonna pass out."

Oh. I get it. He was struggling to hold himself up above me, so at some point, he just slumped down on top of me, limp and tired. I could stay here for ages if I had the time. But he needed water and food. I wouldn't let him pass out now, not on my watch.

With a sharp inhale of breath, I scooped him up underneath his arm so I supported him as we walked. His steps were lazy and drunk. I couldn't help but laugh at every stumble. "You know the beer literally said light on it. Meant to not get you drunk."

He hiccuped. It was the cutest thing I have ever seen, I swear. "The label lied."

"Mmm. Okay. Let's get you home."

He tightened his grip on me with his head leaned into my shoulder.

I put my Nirvana hoodie on him. It engulfed half his body and partially devoured his face with the hood on. He couldn't stop sniffing the sleeves either and then blushing, only to hide his face in it and repeat the process. Every second that went by I could feel myself falling farther and farther into the temptation of Noah. My hoodie on him didn't help anything, either.

I bought a hotdog for him from a food truck illuminated in neon signs. He examined it, skeptical and wary as if he had ever seen a hotdog before. Actually, he probably rarely does.

Even if you eat hot-dogs every day, you'd have to be crazy to not even be a little skeptical of the contents residing in that meat.

Regardless, he devoured it in no time.

We were back at his house sooner than I would have liked, climbing up his tree with the help of my supporting hands and words.

"No, dummy, to the left! Left! That's your right." I scoffed, but couldn't contain a grin. "Did you go to kindergarten?"

He giggled—hiccup.

Wow, he's cute.

Finally, he was in his room, breathing heavier from the drunken struggle. I thought he had passed out because his head didn't pop out to wish me goodnight like it normally did. But no, there he was, out of his wits and grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, George."

I laughed. "Go to sleep, please. Drink tons of water and open your blinds slowly in the morning."

"Slowly," he said slowly, nodding with furrowed eyebrow. "Slowly. Wait, why slowly?"

Impossible, this boy was. "You'll see."

He thought about this before finally shaking his head and looking back at me. "I like you too, by the way."

I chuckled, softly and starstruck. "I know."

And off I dashed into the night.

Then came Saturday.