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A familiar sense of calm fills Shawn as he peers over his post-dinner cappuccino, watching his boyfriend sign the check and close the leather card holder. Nearly two years in, and he never tires of it. It always remind him of the moment he knew he was gone for Niall.
A bundle of nerves through most of dinner, Shawn had obsessed over every appetizer, every shared plate, every chorus of “why not?” in response to the waiter asking the boisterous group of eight if they’d like another round. Did he have enough cash for his share? Would they do an even split or each pay for what they actually ordered? Were they really going to plop down eight cards? Isn’t that too many? What about the couples? Were they going to put double shares on one card or throw in two cards between them to keep it simpler? Was Shawn going to have to find someone to partner up with and work it out later between them? Who was going to decide? Who was going to explain it all to the waiter?
Shawn hated this part of group dinners. How did everyone else seem to just enjoy themselves throughout the meal? Was no one else agonizing over what to do when the waiter inevitably dropped the check on the table with a soft smile and a gentle assurance to “Take your time” that Shawn knew rationally was genuine but still worried must be at least a little sarcastic.
He remembers vividly the pit in his stomach growing as he watched the tall, handsome, black-vested twenty-something who’d been delivering their party food and drinks all night – each with a side of anxiety specifically for Shawn – approach their table holding that unmistakable black folio. Shawn’s heart had started racing as he’d shot furtive glances around the table, searching for anyone else who had noticed the leather-bound dilemma headed right toward them. No one had given themselves away.
The waiter, as though his tip depended on how much he could torture Shawn, placed the check exactly in the middle of the table. “No rush, gentlemen. Just whenever you’re ready.”
Shawn had sat immediately back in his chair, as if the check might literally – and not just figuratively – explode any moment. Just as he had begun his first of ten deep, slow breaths, an arm casually reached out from the other side of the table, palm down, and pulled the offending item away from everyone else.
“I got this, lads.”
Niall.
Normally, Shawn would have expected that statement to be the beginning of a conversation, not the end of one. But the ease of the gesture combined with Niall’s steady brogue was definitive. Final.
No one made a fuss, least of all Niall himself. It was all just settled. Just like that. The bill and Shawn’s nerves all at once.
He thinks of that moment often - the precise moment his confusing (to the point of near distress) but insistent feelings for Niall had finally solidified. The moment after which he never again protested or even wondered whether he simply admired Niall or looked up to him as a mentor or hoped for similar success. The moment he knew he didn’t want to be like him – he wanted to be with him.
Shawn’s chest fills with warmth as he watches his love set the pen down and lean back in his chair with the same ease he had that night two and a half years ago.
“Thanks, babe.”
“No such thing as a free dinner, Shawnie.” Niall winks at him. “I plan to collect the second we get home.”