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You’re over at Dave’s house a lot lately.
Sometimes it’s just dinner. You laugh and bicker over steaming bowls of ramen or boxes of Indian food ordered from the place down the street. The two of you argue over what to watch until you settle for something dumb and mindless so you don’t miss anything when you turn and press his face to yours.
Other times you cuddle on the couch. You lay wrapped in each other’s arms, his much stronger than they look. Your chests stay pressed together to let his heartbeat match up with yours until he says something that leaves you no option but to kick him off the side.
His laugh is glorious and you wouldn't trade it for the world.
And sometimes, you bring the duffel bag with you. Just like that, he knows. You like that about him, the fact he plays stupid but when it comes to what’s important, he knows what to do and how to do it.
It’s not too different from other nights. You eat, you joke, and you sprawl in front of the TV twisted into each other like pretzels. But this time the kiss doesn’t end. You don’t redirect your attention back to the characters on the screen.
Instead it deepens, and the heat between you begins to grow, and it starts to feel something like swimming out into the ocean right before high tide. And as the clothes fall and your hands begin to roam, you can’t imagine any place you rather be when the big wave hits.
You wake up before him, as always. There’s dried sweat on your skin from the overly heavy covers he insists in sleeping in. You definitely need a shower. But before you do, you look at Dave. Your eyes trace his freckles into new constellations and memorize the way he looks more peaceful then he ever could awake. You watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, and then you go. He’ll never know, and you’ll never tell.
You’re drying your hair when he wakes up.
“How do you always wake up before me? Do you have some magic fairy that grants all of your greatest wishes? Wish one; let me be as cool as Dave Strider. Sorry Mr. Vantas, I’m afraid that's impossible.”
“It's simple. I just think of you, and all of your horrible characteristics. Wakes me up faster than a cup of caffeinated grubbrew.”
“Aw sweetcakes, don’t be like that.”
And that’s how your banter continues. Only something’s wrong. Dave’s off by a step. He’ll pause for a second, before jumping right back into the conversation. It’s small, but it’s enough to make you question what’s up.
Finally Dave stops talking. He rolls out of bed and stretches with both arms raised to the ceiling. He takes a breath as if he’s going to say something, then lets it out as he looks at the duffel bag.
“Hey. Middle drawer, it’s yours.”