Take my heart

Chapter XX

One of the Naruto movies plays on the TV as Connor sets the chicken nuggets tray on top of a blanket. Caesar accommodates himself on his side of the couch, bringing half the blanket to cover his lap, and waits for Connor to take a seat before eating. They've cleaned and bandaged his hands before anything else, but now it's time for a break.

"Well I think that's stupid," Connor states once Caesar finishes his retelling of this morning's events.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I mean, I get where they're coming from, I have been slacking off in school and..." A smack to the head interrupts him.

"Don't you dare," says Connor, threatening him with his soda glass. "How is having some of the highest grades in our year slacking off?"

"They're not the highest, are they? So it could be better."

He splutters when Connor commits to his threat, pressing the cold glass to his cheek with an exasperated look.

"Idiot. It doesn't have to be better, anyway. If your parents are not proud of you, doesn't matter, 'cause I am." He grins then, bright and unwavering.

"Who cares if you are, asshole." Slapping Connor's hand out of the way, Caesar grabs a fry and dips it in ketchup. "Anyway, do you think they're right about the rest? Like, yeah, I know I'm not anywhere near you guys in terms of talent, so... What if I don't make it to college? And after that? Will I fail in life?"

Connor gives him a long sideways glance. He's been getting a lot of those in the last week, and still can't decipher what they're for most of the time.

"First off, dear, I love your parents, but I never think they're right," he starts. "Second, I say you should just tell them to fuck off."

"Cheers, I'll drink to that bro," says Caesar, raising his glass. Connor's laughter is contagious, always has been—it takes a few minutes for them to stop. The conversation dwindles as they set their attention on the food and the movie, though they've watched it enough times to know some of the lines by heart.

When there are no fries or chicken nuggets left, Caesar picks up the tray and leaves it on the floor next to the sofa. By the time he turns back, Connor has crossed the space between them, without even looking away from the TV. Caesar smiles to himself, accommodates the blanket over them and hooks his foot under Connor's ankle. In response he gets a smirk and a nudge to the shoulder, after which they end up closer than before, someway. He doesn't complain.

They exchange an excited look when their favorite part is coming—and then forget to look away. The TV casts blue and orange lights on Connor's profile; he has something on his hair, the dimwit. Caesar lifts his hand to brush the dirt away, but almost forgets his intentions at Connor's sharp intake of breath. Still, his fingers don't wait for permission, instead they graze his friend's hair and, when the action is not rejected, they go a little farther. Their eyes remain locked, although there are no silent words shared between them, just static. Caesar recognizes it like anticipation, but it's not his own.

A sudden burst of light in the movie makes Connor's lips glint when his tongue slides over them. There are still no words, only waiting. Without Caesar noticing, his hand has fully buried itself in Connor's hair.

It would take nothing. One tug at his hair and the message would be understood, and then.

His phone rings.

They both jump at the sound, drawing apart with their hearts in their throats. Caesar can feel Connor's rapid pulse as close as he can feel his own. With a dry mouth and shaky fingers, he scrambles for the phone and checks the name on the screen to know who he has to curse.