I think that my heart is built to last more than a night

3

It is past 2 a.m and the roads are vacant. Ishan blinks with heavy eyelids trying to stay awake. It's quiet. There's no traffic outside and Shubman hasn't been talking. Shubman knows how easily he falls asleep during car rides yet he hasn't made any efforts to prevent that. Ishan has been staring at Shubman for the past... well, he's not sure for how many minutes, but it has been a long time since Shubman looked back.

"Shubman," Ishan says. Shubman hums questioningly.

"Shubman," Ishan repeats.

"Ishan," Shubman says. He thought if he didn't pay him attention he would fall asleep. Shubman doesn't want him to get sick. He looks tired and Shubman knows how he gets when he's drunk. But it is clearly not working.

"Shubi?" Ishan says, quieter this time.

Shubman takes a glance at Ishan, his heart melting at the way he calls him. "Kya? Aage bhi toh bol," he says.

"Why did you..." Ishan gulps, "Why did you say I don't invite you to my home anymore?"

"I ... I was just teasing you," Shubman replies.

"But you meant it?"

"I did not."

"I can tell when you lie."

"Ish," Shubman says, smiling gently. He looks at the road and then with his left hand reaches for Ishan's face, he places his hand over his forehead and pushes his hair back, caressing, "It's the only thing you're extremely bad at. You can never tell when I lie."

"You think so?" Ishan shuts his eyes at the comforting feeling.

"I know so," Shubman says with his palm pressed playfully over Ishan's eyes. The only times he lies to Ishan are the times he wishes Ishan would catch him lying, but he never does.

"Kuch nahi pata tujhe," Ishan mumbles as Shubman retracts his hand back. His lies are easier to believe than hoping that there might be some truth hidden somewhere behind those lies. Ishan looks ahead at the road. He swallows down the lump in his throat as the uneasiness in chest increases.

"Shubman, you–" he pauses, trying to find the coherence between his thoughts. "You don't need an invite to go to my home."

Shubman hears the word, not knowing what to do with them. He knows Ishan means it. The sincerity with which he says things often scares Shubman.

"It's yours... It's yours too. You–" Ishan stops. He's not sure what he is trying to say. It makes his head hurt if he thinks about it, it breaks his heart as if it hasn't been broken before. He keeps taking deep breaths. "Everyone loves you there. You can always go there whenever you want," Ishan reaches for Shubman's face, his fingertips brushing his cheek and ear. Shubman tilts his head, leaning into his hand, "Always..." Ishan repeats, his voice shaking, "Even... even if."

Shubman doesn't like the tone of his voice. He wants to move away from his touch but is incapable of doing that. Despite all the sweetness and all the affection, Shubman doesn't like this drunk Ishan, and yet how can he not give in when this all he gets. Everyone loves you there? Shubman keeps staring ahead at the road, trying hard to not think or pay much attention to Ishan's words.

"Even if we aren't talking anymore," Ishan says, his thumb caressing Shubman's temple and the corner of his eyebrow. He stays like that for a few fleeting moments, holding Shubman's face affectionately, staring at him.

Shubman snivels, tightening his jaw, the corners of his lips tugging downwards. "Why..." Shubman pauses, swallows, not even trying to comprehend Ishan's words, "Why would we ever stop talking, Ish?" he asks softly like a kid asking an innocent question, his breath shivering as he inhales. He wants to hold on to Ishan's hand as it slips away but what's the point?