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The music is too loud.
Naib stands in the corner of the dining room, but the music from the speakers still manages to blast through from the room over. Even the wall behind him vibrates, and as funny as Naib thinks it is that some of the paintings have become askew, he can’t find it in himself to laugh. The people around him have to yell over the music to be heard despite being within a foot of one another. It’s a sad sight to see. Or hear, rather.
The red solo cup in Naib’s hand stares up sadly at him. There’s nothing but ice left in it, having been originally filled with water. He has no plans of getting drunk tonight unlike his roommates. Asshole Roommate A is participating in every single drinking game tonight and Asshole Roommate B has always been more than happy to leave Naib as roadkill. Relying on them is like asking a baby to put out a house fire—it simply won’t happen, and if it does, it’s a miracle.
Sighing, Naib pushes through the crowd of yelling and dancing people to trek to the kitchen. Shouts of chug, chug, chug come from the living room followed by clapping and whooping. Naib’s willing to bet it’s Asshole Roommate A taking center stage of that absolute circus in there.
“Woah!” someone says, clapping Naib on the back and nearly sending him careening into a couple making out. “You actually came, Naib?”
Naib turns around and is greeted with Will’s broad grin. He likes Will well enough, if only because he isn’t even half as rowdy as the other football players. Will has his moments of…jockness, but it’s always bearable.
“Demi made me. You know how she is,” Naib says with a shrug.
Demi is laidback most days, but she also has the unfortunate tendency of dragging Naib with her whenever she goes out so he can socialize and “live a little”. However, Demi has a huge friend group that’s exhausting to hang around for too long so Naib tries to avoid them when he can. Naib only came because he knows a handful of people here who he can talk to when he’s bored.
“I promised to stay here for an hour minimum,” Naib says. It’s been forty-five minutes and he’s already seen one person puke up their dinner, three people passed out on the floor, and one person crying with makeup streaming down their face.
“Will!” a person from the living room shouts. “Come find the next song to play!”
“On my way!” Will shouts back, then claps Naib on the shoulder again, gentler this time. “I’ll catch you later?”
“Yup,” Naib says and watches Will slide through the crowded hallway with ease.
Back to the kitchen.
Surprisingly, the kitchen is empty besides one guy sitting on the island. As Naib goes to the fridge to refill his drink with water, he glances at the other man. He has the prettiest blue eyes Naib has ever seen. They’re like the light blue at the horizon of the sky. There are black glasses perched on his nose. His short brown hair curls in every direction. He’s cute. Very cute.
“Um,” Cute Guy says, looking over at Naib, “your water is spilling.”
The water is indeed spilling into the tray beneath. Naib grabs the cup, careful not to waste it even more and takes a sip so it’s no longer teetering over the edge. Well this is fucking embarrassing. He sees someone mildly attractive and forgets how to function like a normal human being.
“Mind if I join you up there?” Naib asks, pretending he didn’t make a fool of himself seconds ago.
Cute Guy nods with a smile and even scoots over a little despite there being more than enough space for Naib’s small frame.
Naib places his cup as far away from Cute Guy as possible in case he somehow manages to knock it over and spill it all over him. An event that would certainly make Naib want to crawl into a hole and die. He hops up on the island and sighs, relieved after standing so long.
“So, were you also dragged to this party or do you just like sitting in kitchens?” asks Naib.
Cute Guy laughs, a quiet yet pleasant sound. “The former. My friend told me I need to get out more.”
“Same here.”
“I’m Eli, by the way,” Eli says.
“Naib.”
Eli hums. “Naib… That name sounds so familiar.” He knits his eyebrows together im concentration. “Oh! You’re on our university boxing team, right?”
Naib nods, ego a little boosted from being known for his boxing.
“That’s so cool,” Eli says. “I haven’t had time to attend any matches, but I’ve seen some of the clips that the university uploads—you know, on their Twitter—and you’re so fast, like a blur. You make it look so easy. I literally can’t throw a punch to save my life.” He laughs, sheepish.
Many people have complimented (and insulted) Naib’s boxing, both fellow boxers who’ve rattled his brain and onlookers who watch in awe, but none of them compare to the genuine, unfiltered ramble Eli just gave him. Naib’s heart squeezes.
“Thanks,” Naib says. He drinks some of his water to hopefully cover up the blush taking over his cheeks. “Anyone can learn to box. It doesn’t have to be for competition.”
“But I have noodle arms, Naib,” Eli whines, holding out his rather thin arms, and Naib nearly snorts his drink up his nose.
“If you start boxing then you won’t—you won’t have noodle arms anymore,” Naib says between laughter. He’s never seen someone be so silly and serious at the same time.
“When you say that, do you mean firm like your arms or al dente?”
“Eli.”
Naib can’t stop laughing at this stupid conversation that has escalated into puns about noodle arms and pasta. His stomach hurts.
“I’m just saying.” Eli pouts, which will probably send Naib into cardiac arrest soon enough. Then, with a grin, Eli says, “Next time you see me, I’ll have al dente arms, minimum.”
Next time. Naib has never even seen Eli on campus before, much less in one of his classes. But next time implies that Eli might purposely seek him out to talk to him. Unless he’s just making small talk, which is also reasonable. This doesn’t feel like just small talk, though. Or maybe Naib is being a little too hopeful about a cute guy he met at a frat party, of all things.
A comfortable silence falls over the kitchen. Well, as silent as it can get when the music still shakes through the house, perhaps even louder than earlier before. Eli keeps checking his phone, making frustrated faces and sighing.
“Something wrong?” Naib asks, hoping he’s not prying.
“Oh, no, well, yes. Kind of. Nothing serious,” Eli says. He puts his phone down on the island. “My friend—the one who dragged me to this—isn’t ready to leave yet and she’s my ride home. I don’t want to be rude and leave early, but Brooke Rose gets grumpy when I stay out too late.”
To say that Naib feels his heart drop to the floor and plummet to the center of Earth to be burned up by its core is—not inaccurate. Eli is still talking, yet Naib can only hear the thoughts in his head chiding him for thinking he had any chance with Eli. It’s not even because of anything Naib did, which somehow makes it worse.
“…and then she’ll start ripping into my sweaters like the menace she is because she knows how much I love them.”
“Huh?”
“My cat?”
“Your…cat…”
Eli nods. “She has separation anxiety issues that we’ve been working on. It’s like she has a curfew for me.”
Naib’s heart shoots back up, soaring at the unexpected change of events.
“Right. That sucks,” Naib says as if he’s been paying attention and not quietly mourning because of a damn cat . He checks his phone to confirm that he’s stayed his minimum promised time. “Do you want a ride home?”
“Really?” Eli asks, beaming. “Are you sure it isn’t a bother?”
“Nope, not at all.”
It doesn’t occur to Naib until after he texts Demi that he’s leaving that there might, in fact, be a problem.
“You have a motorcycle,” Eli says, staring at said motorcycle that’s parked carefully next to the curb.
Mentally, Naib facepalms at forgetting to mention this very important detail. Out loud, he says, “If you’re not comfortable, then—”
“No worries,” Eli says. “I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle.”
Crisis averted.
Unfortunately, Naib only has one helmet, so he gives it to Eli, making sure it’s on properly. Naib will never forgive himself if a passenger gets hurt while he’s taking them on a ride. Once Naib finishes briefly explaining the best way to ride as a passenger and how to tell him to slow down, Eli gives him the directions to his apartment.
“I’ll be the best passenger,” Eli promises as he climbs on behind Naib. He wraps his arms around Naib’s waist, tight enough to hold on but not too tight that it restricts Naib’s movement. Eli is so close. “Ready when you are.”
“Alright,” Naib says after willing himself to not think about how Eli is technically hugging him. Major boxing matches have been less nerve wracking than this. The motorcycle revs to life and Naib heads off down the street.
The streets are surprisingly empty and quiet tonight, so Naib pushes over the speed limit a little. So far Eli hasn’t given him the signal to slow down, which hopefully means he’s enjoying himself so far. Streetlights and what few cars there are turn into blurs as Naib navigates the streets with ease. Riding a motorcycle is great, but riding at night time is even better—the city lights up against the dark sky, cool night air passes by him, just him and the road. Well, he’s not alone tonight, but he’s not complaining either.
“Definitely different from a car ride,” Eli says once they come to a stoplight, “but it’s fun.”
“Not too fast for you, is it?” Naib asks.
“It’s not quite as fast as my favorite roller coaster so I think I’m fine.”
Naib laughs. “Sorry but I can’t go top speed without a helmet on.” There’s been a handful of days where Naib’s went joyriding in the middle of the night for the hell of it. Never without a helmet though. Then, without thinking, he says, “Maybe next time though.”
There’s a long silence that follows until Eli finally says, “Next time, for sure.”
Naib keeps his mouth shut, thankful for the light turning green because honestly, even he doesn’t know what he was about to say.
“We’re here.” Naib pulls in front of the apartment complex, dead quiet at this time of night. “Careful getting off.”
Eli, of course, dismounts carefully. He takes off his helmet and gives it to Naib with a grin. Naib can barely see under the streetlights, but his face looks flushed. “Thanks for the ride, Naib. I had a lot of fun tonight.”
“Seriously, it’s no problem,” Naib says.
For a moment, Eli stands there fidgeting with his fingers and staring at the ground. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s thinking hard about something. Then—
Eli leans forward and gives Naib a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Goodnight, Naib,” Eli says, then walks away with a speed that Naib thinks would put some athletes to shame.
Naib’s face burns. Is that allowed? A kiss-and-run?
Heart racing, Naib speeds off into the night.