half a year
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There’s a jasmine plant climbing up the wall behind them, Nicky notices, all the way to the second-floor window of the cafe. The clean shapes of the petals catch the light, lovely in their simplicity. The symmetry to be found in plants has always pleased Nicky.
He reaches over and picks one, careful to leave the stem long, then leans into Joe’s personal space and feeds the flower through a buttonhole in his shirt. “Here,” He murmurs.
Joe looks down at his shirt lapel and smiles. “Thank you,” He says, earnest.
“Beautiful,” Nicky adds. It’s true, he is.
Joe’s smile melts into something old and comfortable and sincere. He looks at Nicky with warm, familiar eyes. “Thank you,” He says again, “You make me feel it."
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- Part 1 of half a year
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Joe gives a slow exhale. “Sometimes,” He begins, and he speaks quietly, like it's a secret only for them, not to be shared with the stove or the sink or the kitchen cabinets. “It’s like I feel too much for my body to contain.”
Nicky invites him with his eyes to continue. He has very inviting eyes.
“For example, sometimes I’m so in love with you that I have to do something about it. I can’t just sit with it,” Joe admits.
Nicky’s face cracks into a hesitant smile. “Yes, I understand that.”
They stand in silence for a moment, Nicky watching the food, Joe watching Nicky.
“I think I like that feeling,” Nicky says. “I like to be overwhelmed with you.”
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- Part 2 of half a year