Pride and Joy ✓

eight

SATURDAY. 20. NOVEMBER. (unedited)

IT was three a.m. and Denver was drunk, but Nate was drunker.

A friend of Denver's (who, thankfully, wasn't a drinker) had offered to drive him home from the party. Since Edith's was just across the street and everything, Denver had dragged Nate along with them.

For safety purposes and whatever.

Unfortunately, his friend had been arguing with his girlfriend at the party when he'd agreed to drive Denver and Nate home, and Nate did absolutely nothing on the ride over to make him feel good about that decision.

The entire drive, he was exasperatedly throwing his hands out and drunkenly declaring 'you must've done something to piss her off, dude' and 'why don't you just drive back to the party and apologise to— what do you mean you did nothing wrong? You probably did something wrong'.

His already raspy voice was even gruffer and noticeably much more slurred, his words all melting into each other as he sat forward in the backseat, leaning towards Denver's friend, who had a tight frown firmly knitted into his face. His dark hair fell in a mess of short, loose curls and waves, and his sage eyes were glassy and dark. His lips were flushed and plump and the soft freckles sprinkled over his face were invisible.

"Nate, Nate, Nate," Denver had mumbled, his words slow and tangled, tugging at the arm of Nate's sweater. "Leave him alone."

"'M helping!" Nate had cried, clearly frustrated as he fell back against the seat.

"Shut up," Denver had murmured back, his head falling onto Nate's shoulder as they neared his neighbourhood. He was soft and warm and still smelled vaguely of expensive aftershave.

In response, Nate had merely huffed and grumbled something incoherent but slouched down besides Denver in the backseat of the car. Denver's hands had been resting limply in his lap when Nate began drawing invisible patterns over his warm, buzzing skin with a slender index finger.

"You have soft skin," he had said, his voice tired and hushed.

Denver was so at peace next to him that he could've fallen asleep, the alcohol still bleeding through his body and Nate still drawing on his hands and his eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. That exhaustion was interrupted, however, when his friend stopped the car and opened the backseat door on Nate's side, jutting his thumb to the outside.

Nate ungracefully clambered out of the car and Denver slid out after him.

"Where are your keys, Den?" His friend asked, doe brown eyes soft with concern, a flattering juxtaposition against the tense frown lines still prominent in his face.

Rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn, Denver unzipped his coat pocket and jangled his house keys in front of his friend. "Can get in," he yawned. "Don't worry."

"Let me open the door for you," his friend had offered, holding his hand out for the keys.

Denver shook his head so fast that he almost stumbled backwards from the dizzy spell that fell over him, promptly withdrawing his keys back from his friend's reach. "Go to the party," he slurred. "Go see Emma."

"Den, I—"

"It's fine!" He insisted, waving a dismissive hand and losing his step for a second. "Can get in on my own."

"Text me then," his friend warned, pointing a stern finger at him.

"Thanks for driving us," Denver mumbled.

"Thanks!" Nate yelled. By that point, he was lying down on Denver's front lawn, his hands tucked beneath his head while he gazed up at the sky.

The look on his friend's face told Denver that laughter probably wasn't an appropriate response— especially not with how loud Nate was— but he couldn't find it in him to care. He didn't care at all. In fact, he thought it was hilarious and began laughing hysterically like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Right then, it was the funniest thing in the world. When you're drunk, every funny thing is the funniest thing in the world. The air feels like jelly and the stars look like magic and you can touch the sky and you can't stop smiling because everything is so funny.

Denver was that kind of drunk. The kind of drunk that makes you wonder how you could ever be any less happy than you are in those minutes. Any less happy than you are when you're young and alive and there's a pretty boy stargazing on your front lawn. The boy is so drunk he probably can't remember his own name but it stays in every beat of your heart, repeating itself over and over again like a mantra.

Embracing happiness is easy when you're intoxicated. It's easy when your body feels like it can handle anything and your pain stays imaginary until the morning when you wake up and find yourself covered in bruises. It's easy when the sky is inside your lungs and you're melting into the universe. It's easy when your fingertips feel like they're sparking and every breath is greater than the last.

It's easy to grin until your eyes are scrunched tight and your cheeks are rosy and your face hurts. It's easy to smile when the joy behind it overwhelms you in a way that makes you excited, that makes your legs feel like springs and your body feel like a dancer, spinning and twirling and falling and getting back up again to keep spinning and twirling and falling.

Denver liked being drunk every now and again because everything was rosier for a little while. The night obscured all your fears and your delight burned right through the darkness.

Sometimes you couldn't even remember what you were smiling for or what you were so delighted about. Sometimes you were just aware of the fact that you were smiling when your face started to feel sore, and then you never wanted to stop.

Sometimes it all gets away from you and you feel okay about it anyway. Sometimes you look around and wonder how you got to where you are but you're still safe and alive and vibrant so everything must be okay.

The sky is all around you and you don't remember when your friend drove away and you don't remember collapsing on your front lawn but that's where you are.

That's where Denver was.

He was giddy, smiling like an idiot and lying on his front lawn next to a pretty boy, laughing and laughing and laughing when said pretty boy grabbed hold of him and shoved him playfully across the grass.

His head was tilted towards the sky and he was grasping Nate's hand in both of his, to stop himself from being shoved further. His chest was aching with laughter by the time he was begging Nate to stop and had turned his head to look at him.

"Pretty when you smile," was all he murmured in response, smiling softly at the sky.

note
this is late and I wrote it while severely sleep deprived so I apologise in advance for any glaring errors!! I will definitely go back to edit this. also double update to make up for the missed one on Friday :')

thanks so much for reading! if you enjoyed then remember to vote and comment as it massively supports my work! Thanks again, have a lovely rest of your day or night <3

next update
today!!

originally published
sun. 12. dec. 21.