Nathan
Crap, I shouldn’t have said that.
I feel Ryder’s body tense up and I chew the inside of my cheek nervously. So I blurt out, “And now I think they hate me.”
Ryder takes a while to process that, then his arms tighten around me comfortingly. “I. . . . Congratulations for coming out, Nate,” he begins. “But if your parents are gonna hate you for who you are, then that’s their loss. Fuck them - sorry, language - but yeah."
I laugh quietly, glad he’s not about to bash me for being gay. “Are you gay too?’ I ask without thinking.
He’s silent for a while, and I mentally slap myself for being so obnoxious. But he sighs and leans his cheek on the side of my head. “Yeah. I’m gay too.”
“Um, how did your family take it?”
He chuckles. “I have an aunt who’s married to a woman! What do you expect?”
I laugh into his shoulder. Oops, my bad.
“Then, Aunt Cam tried setting me up with a boy from school. I think his mom is friends with her or something . . .” he continues, trailing off.
“How did it go?” I ask, trying not to feel bummed. I mean, he’s definitely boyfriend material. But I’m sort of curious why he didn’t end up being one.
Ryder shrugs, careful to not overdo it because I’m still leaning on his shoulder. “I declined. He wasn’t the right one for me.”
“Then who is?” I ask. “I mean, have you found the right one?”
His voice is barely a whisper. “Maybe I have.”
I gulp, hoping he doesn’t feel my erratic heartbeat at that.
Ryder
Nathan’s heart is beating just as fast as mine.
Oh god, did I really just say that? Well, I didn’t really say his name, right? I just hinted. Fuck this shit. My face is burning so much you could fry an egg on my cheeks. Thank god we’re still hugging, or else he would see my annoyingly red face.
I want to disappear right now. Please, invisibility cloak. Now.
Then I feel a vibration in Nathan’s thigh - a very strong one - and we both jump back, startled. He clumsily adjusts his round glasses and I awkwardly clear my throat.
“I think you should get that.” I tilt my chin towards his thigh.
He looks lost for a while, then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone (which, surprisingly, isn’t spoiled for whatever reason). He looks at the caller ID and his now-brown eyes widen like saucers.
Nathan turns his gaze to me, brown eyes flashing to light blue in alarm. “It’s my mom,” he chokes out.
Oh shit. “Uh, don’t answer it!" I blurt out. Nathan throws his phone in the space between us in panic and we hold eye contact. Then, his mom hangs up.
And it rings again. We break our gaze from each other and stare at his phone instead. Nathan nervously toys with the hem of his shirt as I run my hand through my hair. “Okay, I think you should answer it,” I suggest.
He shoots me another panicked look. “But what if she’s going to yell at me?”
God, he’s right. “Then I’ll answer for you,” I offer.
Nathan looks from his phone to me, and back to his phone. Then he gingerly picks it up and hands it to me. I take a deep breath to collect myself and answer it.
“Hello- ”
Nathan’s mom cuts me off. “Nathan? Where are you? Sweetie, are you okay?”
Nathan looks at me curiously, head tilted, and I give him a small nod. “H-hi, Mrs Adler?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“This is, uh, his friend, Ryder. And he’s currently at my house,” I say with as much confidence as I can (confidence my ass). “Nathan’s fine, don’t worry.”
The woman sighs. “Thank goodness,” she says, then I hear her shout at someone, “Trevor! He’s fine!” She goes back to me. “Is he with you, Ryder? Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” I give Nathan a reassuring, smile and hand him the phone.
He looks a little tense as he puts the phone against his ear. “Mom?” he says in a small voice. “Mom, I- ” His voice becomes wobbly. “Mom, I’m sorry . . . I panicked. . . . Mom- I-I’m sorry. . . . I- I’m fine, I’m fine now. . . . Mom, I’ll c-come home, okay?” Then, he calms down a bit. “Of course . . . he’s nice, really. . . . Oh, okay. . . .” He sniffles. “Mom, I love you too . . . bye,” he says, ending the call.
I look at him. “Well?”
“My . . . my mom says that she's sorry for giving me the wrong idea. And then she said” - he looks at me - “that I should, um, spend the night with you. She, uh, thinks it’s better that way.”
“Oh . . . okay,” I say slowly, my heart pounding. “I mean, y-yeah, that’s cool. Very cool. Splendid!” Oh my god, stop rambling. My hands start to cover my face but at the last minute, I shove them unsuavely in my hair.
I abruptly stand from the sofa and go pick out some clothes for Nathan to change into because his is soaked through. When I emerge from my room, Nathan’s still sitting awkwardly on my sofa, staring at his phone.
“Nate,” I call out, and he looks at me. I go over to him and give him the bundle of clothes. He looks at me curiously. “They’re clothes,” I explain slowly. “Hoodie and sweatpants. They’re dry and comfy.”
I watch the gears moving in his brain and he lets out a tiny laugh. “Oh.”
“‘Oh?'” I feign offence, holding a hand to my heart. “Not ‘thank you?'”
He ducks his head. “Sorry.”
“Wrong answer.” I tsk at him. “But I’ll accept it. By the way, you’re welcome to use the shower.”
Nathan
Ryder’s dark blue hoodie and soft black sweats are a little big for me but he’s right: they’re dry and comfy, alright. And also warm. And they also smell like him; I had to stop myself from burying my face in his hoodie for the fourth time.
I’ve just entered the living room when Ryder looks at me from his sofa, slack-jawed and a little red.
“I know, I know.” I hug myself self-consciously. “I look ridiculous.” This is true because I have his sweatpants rolled up at my ankles and his hoodie sleeves go past my hands. I look like a dwarf in a giant’s clothing, even though we’re nearly the same height. (I suppose two inches are enough of a difference.)
“No, no! It’s not that.” He smiles, his honey brown cheeks turning a shade redder. “You really look cute.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, then to my ears. “T-thanks,” I mumble, sitting beside him on the drier part of his sofa. The TV’s on Netflix, and Ryder’s lazily browsing through it.
“Do you want to watch anything?”
I stifle a yawn. “I don’t know, I feel tired.”
Ryder switches it off. “Oh okay. Do you wanna sleep with me, then?” he asks, which catches me off guard. I open my mouth to say something but he cuts me off. “I mean, uh . . . the sofa’s kinda wet and I don’t think you want to sleep on it, right?”
That’s true. “Oh. Yeah,” I say and he leads me to his room.
He lets me climb into his bed first and he follows, switching on a small moon night light. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I hate it when my room’s super dark. It scares the shit out of me.”
I smile. “That’s fine,” I say, even though I can’t sleep when there’s light (even as little as the night light). But if it helps Ryder sleep at night, well . . . I’d be happy to stay awake all night just for him to have a good night’s sleep.
We awkwardly lie in his bed on our respective sides, our backs facing each other. I stare at the wall, thinking of something to say to ease the awkwardness (no luck). Then after a while, he clears his throat. “Goodnight, Nathan,” he says.
“Goodnight, Ryder.”
*
I think it’s half past two in the morning and I still can’t sleep. Ryder, on the other hand, is fast asleep with most of the shared blanket bunched up with him. I feel cold but I don’t want to take it from him. It feels plain mean.
The moon lamp softly illuminates Ryder’s face, outlining the soft curves of his cheeks and defined jawline with warm light. His dark hair is splayed on his pillow and his head peeks out from the blanket cocoon. That’s all I can see, but it’s more than enough for me.
He suddenly gives a disgruntled groan, abruptly turning to face me. My heart stops. Is he awake? Did he catch me staring at him? I’m about to turn to the other side when I see his still-closed eyes. I squint - I can't see much without my glasses. Okay, phew, he's still asleep. I calm down, staying in my position.
Then, he discards his blanket altogether. I raise an eyebrow. Wouldn’t he be cold? I mean, he’s sleeping shirtless - not that I'm complaining or anything - but those abs . . . I mentally slap myself. Stop looking at his abs!
Yeah, but. . . .
No, that's just creepy.
I’m still contemplating this when he unexpectedly throws an arm around my waist. My heart stops. He then pulls me closer to him until our chests are almost touching, his cold slender fingers on my back. And he lets out a satisfied grunt, nuzzling his head in my hair. My eyelids immediately droop, heavy with sleep, and I snuggle into him, trying to get as much warmth as I can.
As the tendrils of sleep begin to pull me under, I hear him murmur, “Mmm . . . warm.”
_________________
:D
I'll leave now bye~
Oh yeah I drew Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives podcast and I certainly will NOT shut up about it (and also I've posted it on my instagram)
So I'll put it here as requested by xinfinite_thoughtsx
I'm heavily invested in this podcast I cannot ;-;
Oh and it was international Asexual/Ace day yesterday :)) ily my ace babes *mwah* and of course everyone else ;)