Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

36 - light up

A/N: Yes, it's horrible that I'm such a horrible updater. But

Happy reading x)

chapter 36 – light up

Luke

Lately there's this tension and it's not coming from me. So far I haven't figured out who it belongs to. I keep trying to read people, but realize that there's so much going on behind the closed curtains, if you can even call them curtains – it's more that people have brick walls instead of curtains. Some have layers and in order to get to the core, you have to climb all of the brick walls. But there's a limit. Humans have limits. It's not that you can climb to reach the person behind the walls. It's that they have to climb too. You have to meet in the middle, or it's not going to work.

But this tension...the air feels different. It feels thick with worry.

I narrow my eyes. The lights are blinking and the music's loud. I hear a thud and a groan. I heard laughter and gasps. There's different kinds of worry shimmering on faces but in the form of sweat and glitter. I can't figure it out, so I give up. The glass is cool in my hand, the ice cubes melting. I close my eyes and try to tune out the secret meanings of all the little details. It would be so much easier to not feel so much. To not suspect the shifts of moments. And I know some people are like that. Not me. Not my friends. But someone out there experiences less of these undertones, these high notes. And at the moment I am jealous of them.

"You okay?" Nolan asks and kisses me on the cheek.

I nod, but I'm hesitant. "I think so."

"Did you place any bets?" he wonders, his hand running circles on my back. He's trying to soothe me. Does he notice it? How he's subconsciously trying to ease my mind?

"Should I?"

"I mean why not. Let's make it interesting even. You place your bet and I'll bet on the opponent."

I raise my eyebrow. "You want some competition?"

He licks his lips, his eyes falling to mouth for a moment. Then he averts his gaze, smiling to himself.

Distracted, I think. He's distracted by me.

"I want competition, yes," he says. "And I want there to be a prize."

I lean against the counter, the glass in hand. It grounds me.

"I can think of something," I tease.

He grunts and rolls his eyes. "I bet you can."

"Oh, you bet?"

Nolan stomps his foot. "Let me know who you pick." He looks at me and presses his lips together. Then he rests his head against my collarbone. "I'm so in love with you it's insane."

And the world stops for a moment. I can breathe more easily. "Thank you," I say.

He laughs. "For what?"

I lift my hand and play with the strands of his hair. "For loving me, you fool. Thank you for loving me."

"You didn't say it back," he mumbles.

"What?" I felt his breath against my skin, but didn't hear because of the music and noise.

He pulls back and holds my face. "You didn't say it back! And that is rude. You're playing with my heartstrings."

"My whole life is an ode to you."

He closes his eyes, taking it in. It's as if my sentence was a song and he's swaying to it. "I still want you to say it. You can speak pretty words, you can woo me, but– It's the simple things. It's the simple words."

I take a sip of my water, making him wait for it. He already knows the language of my heart, he knows the truth. But there are things in life one never tires of. Things one always hopes for, in which one reminisces. And being loved, hearing the words said out loud – it's the simple things in life, yes. But also the most important things.

I set the glass down on the counter and then slowly bring my hand closer to his face. I grab his jaw and force him to look me in the eye. His eyes are hopeful, big and bright. I see the drops of sweat gleaming on his forehead. Like jewels. I let my eyes trail over his cheeks, slightly flustered, over the curve of his cupid's bow, onto his lips. Then I lift my gaze and open my mouth, leaving just enough space for silence for him to get a bit irritated.

And then I say it. "I am in love with you."

"I'll never get tired of hearing it. Say it again," he says. And when I don't immediately respond, he adds: "Please. Pretty please. Say it again, Luke."

It's the way he says my name that gets me weak in the knees. It's the way my walls melt. It's the way he looks at me. It's the way of us being the only people in the room, the only souls that matter because everything else falls away. All I hear and see is Nolan.

I kiss him on the lips and mutter: "I love you."

Eileen walks past and grunts. "Will you please stop rubbing it in my face that you are in love? Some of us have commitment issues."

"That's your problem," shrugs Nolan.

"Yeah, I'm aware, asshole."

But it's playful. She's not actually mad. At least not at us. She's definitely mad at herself though.

"There's alternatives to relationships," Farley chimes in.

"You're not one of them," she replies, and Tom chuckles.

Farley frowns and jabs Tom with his elbow. "Shut up!"

"Will you dance with me?" Nolan asks. He takes my hand, our fingers intertwined, and takes a step towards the dancefloor.

"Only if you give me a hint about who to bet on."

He nods. "But it's up to you to believe me."

I forget about my previous worries. I forget about the tension. It's almost as if it slips away. It becomes someone else's problem (even though it was never my problem to begin with). And even though there is a fight happening behind us, it doesn't bother us. Nothing does. If I could write about this moment, I would. But some moments are to be experienced, not written about. This is one of those moments.