GONER

26 • Humiliation Sighs and Deep-Rooted Lies

A/N: llams tums gninraw, esuaceb small tums.

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Josh's mom was asleep when we came in, and so were his brothers. His house was deadly silent, and I could smell cookies. My house never smelled like cookies, or anything good, unless my mom wanted to surprise me with something stupid. Josh's house felt comfortable and soft, just like his hands. And maybe a twinge of nerves fell through me when he put his hands on my shoulders, and set me on his bed.

He hadn't spoken since we'd gotten in his room, and his feet made silent movements against the carpet. I've never actually seen his closest, and I didn't know if he wanted me to, so I cast my gaze to my hands in my lap. I didn't want to intrude. But, I guess I already was.

"Close your eyes for me, babe," he said quietly. And despite the strange feeling in his words, I closed my eyes, because he wanted me to. In all honesty, I didn't know what he was taking about, or where this was going, but I could hear him shuffling through things. I tried to work out what he was doing, but I gave up when the bed dipped down beside me with his weight. "Hold your hand out."

So I did. And he placed a cold, glass object in my palm. "I know it's stupid and mildly illegal, but it made me think of you." He said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I couldn't just not get it for you." I couldn't figure out what it was off of just holding it, and so when he told me to open my eyes, my curiosity and anticipation was clear in my movements.

And it was a shot glass, with the words Shot At The Night printed on it. A small laugh jumped from me, and I held the glass in my hand, looking up at him with small amount of amusement in my eyes.

"Thanks," I said softly, my hand migrating to his. I was trying as hard as possible to keep the touching to a minimum, but he didn't seem to mind it, and grabbed my hand back. "I'm surprised you remembered that."

"Honestly, Tyler. How could I forget that?" He asked me, his eyebrows raised. Setting down the gift he gave me, my fingers trailed up to his forehead, smoothing out the familiar creases. "What're you doing?"

"You always have a crease," I started, "right here."

"Do I?" He asked, pressing his mouth to mine as lightly as humanly possible. But I didn't wanna let him go yet. So I moved my hand to the side of his face, and brought him back to me. A surprised noise rose from the back of his throat, but he just gripped at my shirt, and suddenly, I was feeling a lot of things all at once, and I couldn't believe how complex this feeling was. I didn't even know what it was.

And it scared me. So I moved away from him, embarrassment spilling over me. Slow and heavy. Like paint.

"Sorry. I didn't," I choked out, my voice cracking with nerves and with the warning of tears. And I couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." I rambled quickly, shaking my head. My hand fell from his face, and almost immediately, he picked it back up. "Y-you make me nervous, and I-"

"No," he said lowly, shuffling closer. "No. It's okay." He raised my hand again, and placed it over a space on his chest. Over his heart. "You make me nervous, too. Can you feel it?"

As soon as he asked that, I tried to focus on the beating, and it was much quicker than I anticipated. It was almost humming inside of him, and he nodded. "See?" He asked quietly, smiling. "Don't feel bad. And don't feel nervous," he smiled gently.