Call Me Romantic (BxB) [BEING REWRITEN]

Chapter 18

{ꔫ NASH ꔫ }

Nash is standing in the living room, a few feet away from the front door, waiting nervously. Val forced him to go downstairs and wait like a gentleman. He has no idea how this night will go—so many different ways, so many different possibilities. They could come closer or hate each other more. He gets goosebumps thinking about it; he doesn't mind, Sam. It's just the things he says and does that make Nash feel so wanted. Sam's constant flirting is getting out of hand, and Nash thinks about talking to him about it, though he doesn't know what to say. ‘Hey, I need you to stop flirting with me because I once liked you and you're egging me on.’ Scratch that idea. Yet again, Sam said he wants to change and learn from his mistakes. For all Nash knows, Sam is just some angry, stubborn boy who doesn't know how to control his feelings because of how he was raised. While he is a calm, overly vulnerable boy who was raised a bit too soft and loving, which is not bad, sometimes people need tough love. He never got that. 
 
 
Nash doesn't even know what Sam is to him. A friend wouldn't make much sense because they aren't close like friends; in a way, they are closer yet not at all. Someone wouldn't catch them talking together willingly, yet they know each other's secrets and mental illnesses. Well, Sam doesn't know as much, but his friends did bully Nash, so he knows that bit, and anyone with common sense would know that fucks people up. And it's not like Nash likes Sam as a crush; he's over that phase and won't go back into it. Or he won't admit it out loud; either way, it's a hard no. Well, one thing is for sure: they aren't strangers; they've never been. Either in innocent childhood games, middle school being popular because Nash was bullied and outed to the whole grade, or now in high school, where they bicker but also care for each other. Man, why do boys have to be so complex? 
A soft knock snaps him back into reality from his endless thoughts of Sam and where they stand together. His stomach is in knots right now, and he feels himself starting to sweat thinking about this conversation. He's not even sure what to say yet; this is something he would have to sit down and draw on as his mind runs wild.
 
Nash's heart leaps out of his chest when he goes to open the door as if it wants to run away. Or maybe his heart wants to run towards Sam, and Nash is holding it in a tight grip, reframing it from going anywhere. 
He is greeted by Sam's brown, dark eyes below him, and a small grin spreads on his lips. Sam is wearing gray sweatpants and a band t-shirt.
 
"You listen to Deftones?" Nash asks, keeping his eyes on Sam's shirt, too scared to look into his eyes in case of any given-away hints of some lingering romantic feelings.
 
"Is that the first thing you say?" Nash can hear Sam's light-hearted chuckle in his voice: "Going to invite me in, Blueberry?"
 
"Oh, right. Come in.' Nash steps aside, and Sam enters their house, his eyes scanning the neatly put-together living room. Blueberry is the nickname he chooses out of everything—god, even Twink is better than Blueberry. It's sweet and cheesy. 
 
"huh. I've been here before." Sam comments as he looks around at all the decorations, the fake vines, and the old multicolored couch with countless family pictures on the sage green walls. Behind the couch are stairs that lead up to everyone's rooms, but in front of them on the wall is a TV. Each of them has a different personality. Even Embers and Sienna's shared room is diverse on each side of one shared bed. 
 
"Well, we are neighbors; my mom probably cooked something for you at some point. She loves spoiling other kids," Nash replies, closing the red front behind him. 
 
"Right. I keep forgetting that. Maybe I should visit you more often since you miss me so much and I'm not that far." Sam teases and watches as Nash's cheeks swell to a light pink, giving him this kind of cotton candy effect with his blue hair. 
 
"Can I be honest with you?" Nash turns to Sam.
 
"Sure," Sam shrugs, but he's interested in what Nash is going to confess.
 
With a deep sigh, she said, "My sister stole my phone to prank you."
 
Nash finally meets Sam's eyes, and they look... Disappointed? Because he feels like he's wasting his time by coming here, Nash quickly shoots down any feeling of hope. He knows Sam doesn't like him that much. But the look in his eyes makes Nash feel guilty. Doubting, possibly just Sam felt the way Nash had; they are both feeling it right now. Yet they won't say a word about it because they both hate to admit it.
 
Nash crosses his arms over his chest, feeling insecure all of a sudden, especially with his binder off, making his chest unflattened. Sam didn't seem to notice, though, or maybe he just didn't want to say anything about it because this was all unique to him. "Well, okay. I have missed you. I just don't know why. I guess I want to get to know you more."
 
Sam tilts his head. "So you do miss me?"
 
"...yes."
 
Sam wrinkles his eyebrows with a snarky look on his face. "You know, I think you're obsessed with me. I mean joining lacrosse, drawing me, reacting to my teasing, staring at me when I have my shirt off." Sam can go on, but he stops because he knows that's more than enough evidence.
 
Shit, Nash had no idea he knew. "What? Looking at you with a shirt? Ptf, gross. I would never stare at your muscles. And your back, or your waist." Nash waves off that idea, feeling himself heat up. Sam chuckles. "I'm just teasing; it's cute how you're getting so defensive all of a sudden.”
 
"Oh—”
 
After an awkward silence that just calls Nash out even more, he asks if Sam would like to go to his room. He can see Sam raise his brows before relaxing and agreeing. They walk up the stairs until they get into Nash's room. His wall by the window has been decorated with his paintings since his mom let him. The paintings are all mashed together, like one fading into another. bittersweet memories of his past on his walls, so when he moves away and visits his old room, he can look back at these drawings and remember it all.
 
Nash can see Sam has his eyes on the one lake Nash painted not too long ago. Maybe a year or two? That painting holds so many memories of family, trans issues, bullying, peaceful landscapes he's seen, and even old crushes. Including Sam, though the paintings are very symbolic, and Sam wouldn't be able to guess it's about him even if he tried. Nash made sure it hid the meanings well. 
 
"Did you paint these?" Sam asks, and Nash nods dryly.
 
"Yeah, all of them have memories and meanings."
 
Sam's eyes shift to one of an angel shooting a man in the heart. "What does this one mean? Cupid?"
 
"No, my dad had heart cancer. He died before I was 4. I don't remember much about him, but I know my mom didn't want me and disowned me. He took care of me until he couldn't anymore." He pauses, trying to control what he's going to say without getting emotional. “I had a lot of religious struggle after that. I believed God hated me and took away my dad as punishment. I got over it later as a preteen because I just started to not believe God was real with all the messed-up shit that happens in life, no matter how hard you pray. I now just believe life happens; it sucks, but at the end of the day, we all want to be loved. Hence, religion and one heart.” normally hates explaining his art and telling people what they think they mean, but it's been a while since he thought about his dad. It's nice to talk about him; he's such a sweet man. At least that's what Sienna said. Bad things always happen to good people, making them into people too. 
 
If he lived, what would he be like? Nash will never know, though; he can take as many DNA tests as he wants and see the different things he is. Who is he related to? Different percentages, and then brag to friends. That doesn't change the fact that he never had a dad. He won't ever have a family. Not by blood, at least. However, Nash is used to relating to people through love, trust, and not blood. 
 
Sam exhales deeply, "Shit, I couldn't imagine being in your shoes. I mean, my dad and I don't get along at all, but I can't imagine a world without him. He's still my dad.”
 
"I understand, and it's fine; I don't remember him much. I have Sienna and Ember to look after me. They are the best parents I could've asked for."
 
Sam turns towards Nash, adding, “They are nice people; I like them.'
It was weird to have Sam be so nice. Ember hates Sam because of what happened at the lacrosse game, while Sienna doesn't know a bit about it. Nash just said he got hit by a ball, and that's how he got the bruise. Now, the bruise is only a bit of a dark fade, nearly gone, nor does it sting anymore, almost meaning no more headaches. 
 
"I always wondered what it would be like if I just had my mom. I didn't always have my dad over her shoulder. Maybe she would live more freely. Go out more with friends instead of hiding in her room." Sam runs his hand through his curly hair, though it doesn't go through all the way, so he doesn't mess up his curls too much. 
 
Yes, this is what Nash wanted. To open him like a book and read him. Is this a dream? To get close to Sam feels like a fairy tale the 7th and 8th grader Nash would die for.
 
"I don't know which is worse.' nash replies
 
"What do you mean?"
 
"to have no dad or an asshole dad."
 
Sam presses his lips together. "I guess either way you have no dad, right?” 
Nash stares at him in this slightly intimate and vulnerable moment. “Actually, I think if I had a dad, I barely knew who died than an asshole dad. I can't get mad at someone who I barely know, even if he's my blood.”
 
“True, but sometimes dads can be sweet and... just change. For no reason besides, he fell out of love with life, meaning with your mom and you.” 
 
Nash frowns, itching to hug him again. No son or child should go through stuff like that, and it makes him sick to his stomach thinking about how some parents don't love their creations. 
Sam looks away from the paintings on the wall to the transgender flag and gay flag on Nash's ceiling. Sam's eyes stay locked on it like he's in deep thought. "What is it like to be umm—" he awkwardly pushed his hands in his sweatpants pockets, looking at Nash. "You know."
 
"trans? You can say it." Nash grins softly at how careful Sam is about it. A part of Nash finds it annoying, and a part of him likes how soft he is towards him, like a flower he doesn't want to pluck. "It's hard, but—"
 
"I mean gay. What is it like to be gay?" Sam has this worried look on his face. As if Nash is going to tell him it's the worst thing ever. Is Sam gay? Or bisexual, since he did have a girlfriend? 
 
A second later, Nash smirks. "Why are you asking?"
 
"It's not what you think; I'm just curious."
 
"uh-huh, curious. That's how it starts."
 
"Shut the hell up. I'm not gay. Or in the LGBT...w..c.."
 
"Lgbtq." Nash then can't help but laugh at how Sam's rosy cheeks get even redder from the embarrassment of not being educated that much in this type of stuff. It's cute, Nash has to admit. 
 
For once, he feels bold. Very bold. Guess talking to your childhood crush roosts your ego. Furthermore, because he's questioning his sexuality,
 
"'Wanna find out?"
 
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