Call Me Romantic (BxB)

Chapter 24

{ꔫ NASH ꔫ }

Nash runs out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him before he runs over to Sam's lawn. The rain poured down in thick droplets, making his blue hair a deep blue. The sky is gray from the clouds, and the wind doesn't help with the freezing weather plus rain, but he doesn't care. 
 
A week and a half—that's how long it has been without a real conversation with Sam. Finally counted, Nash realizes it's been too long for comfort. Not even trash-talking to each other in practice is happening. It is so exhausting to have a conversation with a man who doesn't give a shit but does at the same time. So he's going to do something about it. He's going to do what Archie guided him to do. 
 
Nash stops right in front of Sam's muddy lawn, which leaves mud on the bottom of his black Uggs. 
 
"Sam!" Nash yells through the rain. Sam flinches again before turning his body. His hand is on the handle of the front door, about to twist it open to his home.
 
"What?" he replies in a nonchalant tone, but he can tell by the way his hands interlock together that he's nervous. Damn, that stupid face and the way it can make him look so innocent, like a puppy who just got into the cookie jar and is begging for forgiveness. The way his lips curl down and his deep eyes soften. Sam knows he's wrong, but he won't ever admit it. At least not right now, but Nash will make sure he knows how much he affected him and won't let him slide. Not again; this time he's going to stand up for himself. 
 
With the rain still pouring down hard, Nash quickly jogged under Sam's portico, brushing his shoes off before stepping on the small step that led to his home. The portico is already a tight squeeze, so they are only a few inches away when he gets on the main platform.
 
Sam turns his body more towards Nash, ready for the best and worst things to happen.
 
 
"What is wrong with you?" Nash hisses, feeling all that anger come undone with his words. The urge to kiss him, slap him, or maybe both are itching his brain and twitching the muscles in his arms, but he keeps his hands to himself. He can't rush it. Not after what Sam thought would be such a smart idea to say they were dating his mother.
 
"What?" Sam repeats with an innocent and confused expression. Nash swallows the lump in his throat. He can do this; he knows he can, but he doesn't know how to say it without getting too upset. He can stand up for himself and acknowledge what's going on with communication, even if it's not healthy communication. 
 
"You ignore me all week, and then you just come over to my house like nothing happened? Like, you're my boyfriend or something!?" 
 
There's a thick silence beside the rain and wind. Nash is staring up at Sam, and even though he is about 7 inches shorter, he feels so tall when Sam looks so trapped in this situation.
 
"Oh, so you're just going to play the silent game again?" Nash groans before stepping away from him. "Sam, I've sat here for days waiting for you to come up to me and just talk. Even a word would make my day better, like... good morning or some shit!" 
 
Sam doesn't say a thing, but his eyes say it all—how they look down to the floor before looking back up. They aren't sure where to go. Just use your mouth—just one word. Even if it's 'what' again, Why won't he just talk? Nash thinks to himself. He sees Sam's lips quirk, but no words come out of them. 
 
 
Nash continues, "And the worst thing about that is that it's been like that for years! I'm always in the shadows, always behind the curtain when others get praised on the stage. I have stood by for years, waiting for you to talk to me and to look my way. I waited for you to break up with that one girl, waited for an apology when you hit me, and now I'm waiting for you to speak. Speak! Why do you always shut down like this? I would be this upset if you just talked." 
 
Sam's body tenses, and he can tell he struck a nerve with that topic. Still, Nash goes on because it's all rolling off his tongue; it feels so refreshing but regretful. He can't stop.
 
"I don't even know why I like you so damn much." His eyes start to sting, and he knows the waterworks are about to start rolling. “Sam, please. Just…"
 
Sam does move, though, like he's aware of some awful news that would make someone mentally shut down. That's not what Nash wants. He wants to hear his voice, not just listen. He was the one who was supposed to be quiet and listen. the art kid. not the popular jock who is outgoing and brave socially. 
 
"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ANSWER ME?" He yells as Sam just stares, his eyes holding every emotion as they stare at him. Nash shakes with fury and sorrow. Feeling all his sentiments from the past week puddle out of him. Before he knows it, the tears are dropping down his cheek like a dripping sink. They come down fast. 
 
Then the embarrassment that he just admitted to all of that. He acknowledged that he liked Sam for years, never stopped, and just yelled at a wall at this point or at a boy who is struggling too but doesn't know how to cope. Nash backs up again before turning and jogging away, trying to wipe his tears. He doesn't hear Sam call out or run after him; a part of him is happy, but another part of him wants him to follow through. All he feels is Sam's hand trying to grab his hoodie without much strength.
 
Say anything Nash wishes to himself as he sprints into his house away from his crush. A crush that never faded, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, did. 
 
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