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“A raver, seriously?” Nick laughs into his drink. “Oh, man, I would have paid to see that.”
“I’m sure Brass got some photos, you can go try asking him,” Greg jabs back, his cheeks flushed even though he all but raised his hand to volunteer to go, more than happy to put his knowledge of the rave scene for good use. He doesn’t know why his ears burn, as Nick continues to fall into an odd fit of tipsy giggles at the thought of him dressed up in neon-bright clothing and a snap back cap. Embarrassed, almost, though he still loves to reminisce on that time in his life, free of worry and full of peace and happiness, and love.
Perhaps he’s even more nostalgic over the fact that he’s close to that feeling once more, except this time without the dancing crowd, the pulsing music drowning his eardrums, the extra help from little pills handed to him out of generosity, dragging him down a rabbit hole into a world that does not actually exist.
Instead, the feelings is inspired by the Texan man, who, despite his current laugh at Greg’s expense, genuinely cares about Greg, is leading him down a different rabbit hole, one that isn’t as dangerous, even with all the bumps and closed roads, he’s enticed to continue on this path by the murmured affirmations of love in a more intimate setting than this public bar–though Nick seems to manage to do so in other ways, with small, secret gestures–by a promise, that he’ll accept Greg, no matter what.
And in turn, Greg accepts Nick, no matter what.
Even at the discovery of his cheerleader kink.
“Don’t pay him too much attention, Greg,” Raymond Langston chimes in to cut Greg some slack. “You should have seen the way he was looking at the models…especially the cheerleader.”
Nick’s ears redden as brightly as his cheeks as he nearly chokes on his drink.
“Cheerleaders, huh?” Greg laughs as Nick sputters.
“I, uh, well…they’re my…weakness…” he mutters, and Greg’s eyes widen, memorizing the exact look on Nick’s face as their feet gently kick into each other underneath the bar table. “Y’all can’t tell me you don’t have your own kinks!”
Oh, he must be really embarrassed if he’s this flustered, Greg laughs to himself, though he takes pity on his friend, reaches a hand to his shoulder.
“Don’t sweat it, Stokes. The list of mine would stretch out of this bar.”
“Oh, gross, man!” Nick winces with a grin and a small wink.
“Oh, would you look at the time! I have to get up early to attend a guest lecture. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me,” Langston dismisses himself, and Nick scoots himself closer to Greg.
“Well…since we’re alone now…” Nick starts, tracing the lip of his bottle with his finger. “How ‘bout we start comparing our lists?”
Greg initially makes it seem like he’s not paying attention, scrolling through his phone, occasionally tapping the screen while Nick flashes the “lost puppy” look at him with a gentle nudge into his shoulder. Greg holds up a finger, and responds less than a minute later.
“Okay, but we’re starting with yours,” he tells Nick, holding up his phone with a confirmation of an order for a cheerleading uniform. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to bring a pom-pom.”