Give Me A Chance (boyxboy)

Twenty-Nine

It's the weekend of the tournament.

Three days and two nights out of town, playing frisbee, thinking about nothing else. Worrying about nothing else. Because this weekend is about frisbee, and me, and the team. Not my biological dad or Quinn. They're influences are numbed in my brain. They don't matter.

Which is why, one game into the tournament, I feel fucking great. I played awesome, even to my extremely high standards of myself. Broken ribs can suck my dick. I'm feeling proud of myself, which doesn't happen often.

"Okay," Nancy says, gathering us around. "We've got a couple hours until our next game." She's grinning. She likes to win. "Do what you like, but if you're not back here in time for the game..." She doesn't even need to finish her sentence. We all know not to test her.

"So," Aydin says to me as the group separates into small bubbles of people going their own directions. "What are we gonna do?" he asks, smoothing down his hair from where it stuck up with sweat.

"I don't know," I say. Our group consists of me, Aydin, Sadie, Blaine, Joshua, and, surprisingly, Bryson and Marc. Why they chose to tag along with us is a mystery to me. I shrug. I guess I've never really seen them hang out with anyone besides each other. Maybe they're branching out. "I like to think of myself as more of a follower, not a leader."

"You're a leader," more than a couple people say at once.

I raise my hands. "Okay, I guess I have a terrible sense of self-actualization."

More than a couple people laugh.

"I've got an idea," says a very recognizable voice as we walk out of the building and into the fresh air. It's Liza. She's standing next to her mom's car, which I assume she used to drive here, although why is not clear yet. "There's an ice cream joint about three blocks from here," she says. "Let's go."

Blaine smiles at her and I know he's done it again. What a sly little fox. I laugh in my head. Maybe his love language is surprises. I chuckle out loud a little bit. Love language. Hmm. I thought that without a second thought (see what I did there). Love. The thought just spawned. I think back to the heart he drew on that note he left me. Hearts mean love. I just absentmindedly (I did it again) thought about love.

I look at him, wholly. I see not just who he is on the outside, but who he is on the inside. He's not even looking at me, but I can see the color of his eyes. I can see the few little pimples on his nose, the dimples in his cheeks. I can see his compassion, his heart, his concern. I think I can see his love.

It hits me.

I think maybe I'm in some sort of love with him.

It's a lot to wrap my head around, but I might just be wrong. I've never felt that kind of love before. I've never felt what I feel with him. I don't know what it is. But I think it might be love. A wave of nausea rolls over me, and I feel sweat on my forehead. If I do love him, do I have to tell him? What if I love him and he doesn't love me? Does he? Is that what the little heart was for?

Stop, Lyam.

You're overthinking.

I shake my head.

"Really?" I ask, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "Again?" I pause. "Because I'm assuming you and Liza had equal influence with this."

"What can I say?" he says. "I like the look on your face when I surprise you. I've got to get creative." I bump him with my hip, unbalancing him. He chuckles and rights himself. "Plus, it's quite fun."

Liza worms her way between us, wrapping her arms around both our shoulders. "He's a keeper," she stage-whispers. She lowers her voice. "I actually love him."