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Admitting Flame is in love is a terrifying thing in and of itself. It's such a strong word and he's never been in a situation where he's had to use it before. He had crushes on girls at school or who he passed in the gym occasionally, but this is different.
He blames Spoke. During the making of some Unstable SMP videos, they'd somehow started up a tradition of editing in call together, simply enjoying each other's presence, giving input, talking about everything and nothing for hours on end. They could only do that for a couple of weeks before they became each other's safest space, like they'd known each other for years.
He's pretty sure it started with Spoke complaining about a thing his siblings did. Flame let him vent, talked him through his feelings, gave him as much advice as he could and actually wanted. Spoke had quietly thanked him for allowing him to let it all out, not without an apology that Flame quickly waved off. Another time, Flame could do the same, and he wasn't met with judgement. A listening ear and comfort was what he got instead. Spoke became to Flame what Mane had been for much longer.
Somewhere in between all of that, Spoke shyly came to the conclusion he was gay while in call with Flame.
That moment replays in his head a million times over. He taps his foot impatiently on the squeaky floor of the airport, biting his lip as he waits for his luggage to come around. He's thinking so hard about Spoke's nervous face—because yes, they had their cameras on that day—that he almost misses his suitcase when it comes around. He can't shake it from the forefront of his mind.
Spoke's gay awakening had been Flame's gay awakening. The way his best friend had explained that he fell in love with a boy and can't stop thinking about him, the way he'd hidden his smile as he talked about being in love with them after Flame hadn't judged him … his heart genuinely skipped a beat.
Maybe all the girls in school he had crushes on really were nothing in comparison to Spoke. Those girls never giggled in a way that had Flame at a loss for words. They never made him forget words in real time when they made eye contact with him. And yes, even through a screen, Spoke leaves him breathless. It's unfair, if you asked him, because he fell in love with his best friend out of nowhere and Spoke loves some other guy.
His shoes feel heavy as lead as he exits the baggage claims area. How is he supposed to act normal around him now? They planned this meetup and Flame promised himself not to be weird, but now he's worried he might not be able to make it through the weekend without a slip-up.
And there he is: Spoke is waiting for him. Flame's breath catches in his throat.
It's hard to miss him. He's tall, sticking out above the people that are around, but that's hardly the reason why Flame sees him immediately. It's the nervous smile on his face that betrays the excitement crawling under his skin—which Flame understands more than well enough. Their eyes meet sooner rather than later and his heart stops all over again when the grin finally breaks out on Spoke's face, and neither of them waste any time in rushing over to each other, weaving through the crowd to finally, finally meet up.
Spoke runs pretty warm. It's the first thought he has when he wraps his arms around him, that he's warm. He laughs despite himself, face buried in his shoulder. Spoke is giggling too, and Flame can feel his hands curl into his shirt. The feeling makes his throat clog up. Was he really this excited to see him?
In the end, Flame is the one to let go first, when he can control himself enough to put a normal expression on his face. He can not be caught pining.
He's not the only one struggling though. He doesn't stray far, unable to with Spoke's hands that slide to his shoulders before one twitches towards his face, the slightest frown on his own face, smile freezing into something else for just a split second. And then he's gone, turning away, laughing as he takes Flame's suitcase. There's not even a chance to protest before the handle is out of reach and he walks away.
"My dad is waiting in the car, we should probably start heading there," Spoke says, and the pureness of his voice has Flame's shoulders sagging a little with relief. There's no microphone to taint his voice. He's real. He's right here.
Flame hasn't said a thing yet. He's painfully aware of it when they start walking. So far, it hasn't broken Spoke's excitement—he's practically bouncing through the airport—but Flame can't help but feel his chest constrict with nerves. Is he already ruining this? His feelings are out of control, at every bounce and every time Spoke looks back at him, his heart is betraying him.
He's just so adorable when he's excited. And he's kind, dragging his suitcase for him. And he's pretty … good god, he's pretty.
"Flame?"
He swallows the lump in his throat, humming when Spoke stops to look at him.
"Are you okay? You haven't said anything …" He sounds like he's trying to cover up his nerves with the smile he wears. In person, it's easier to see the searching look in his eyes and the slight effort it takes to keep up said smile. Guilt punches Flame in the gut.
"Yeah—" he starts and his voice immediately cracks. With a laugh, he clears his throat, face burning. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just—it's so good to see you, bro."
Spoke melts. Maybe he tries to hide it, but Flame doesn't miss the happy little shine in his expression. Never before has he ever thought someone could look this pretty just smiling. He feels like an idiot for thinking it while he's right in front of him, but sue him, right now that smile is just for him.
"Dude, I'm so glad you're here."
It's not the voice he uses for his videos. This soft tone isn't used for just anyone or anything. A redness spreads over his cheeks, subtle but there, and Flame zeroes in on it before grinning and scratching the back of his neck. With the way Spoke is acting, he has to remind himself he knows better than to think he might like him, he knows the other has a crush on someone else after all.
He sucks in a deep breath and urges Spoke to keep walking. Despite being a friendship mainly through the internet, there isn't an awkwardness to stifle their interactions. Like nothing has changed beyond the lack of screen between them, they settle into their usual conversations. Content is an easy topic, melting any uncertainty away in an instant.
Nothing has changed, except now he can brush his hand against Spoke's accidentally and he'll have to suck in a deep breath as quietly as he can. He tears it away to fix his glasses.
Meeting his father and the car ride is only awkward at the start. Flame finds himself liking him rather quickly, and the two hours of the ride to their place is filled with chill conversation and music they all enjoy playing in the gaps of silence.
And yet, even in the back of the car, both of their hands rest on the seat, close enough to make him painfully aware of every minuscule move. Flame tries his hardest not to look. They're a single bump in the road away from touching pinkies, the thought of which makes his face burn so he turns to stare out the window. Genuinely, what is his problem? He made a deal with himself that he wouldn't make a big deal out of anything that had to do with Spoke and here he is trying to calm his racing heart at the mere idea of holding his hand as if he's in high school and some cute girl winked at him. Awful comparison, because those girls never managed to make him lose his breath with just a glance.
Things only get worse for him. Not at first, because getting to Spoke's place and meeting his family is great, and dinner is wonderful. But after? He should've known he was doomed from the start.
The place is silent. Spoke starts his pc back up to open up Minecraft when they're in his room. In the silence filled with just the whirring of the pc's fans, they're left alone with their thoughts. For the first time since they met up at the airport, neither of them can figure out what to say. Flame is sitting on Spoke's bed, closing up his suitcase after he's unpacked his things onto the air mattress set up for him, throat suddenly dry.
"So …" Spoke starts, thankfully. He taps his fingers lightly on his keyboard before glancing at Flame for a quick second. "Do we have to wait until midnight until we start with serious topics out of tradition or …?"
He snorts. The joke is enough to lessen the load of the scary question and Flame shakes his head. "No, I don't mind. What's up, bro?" He leans back, leaning back on his elbows to get comfortable and still be able to look at Spoke. It's the perfect angle to look nonchalant and still be able to admire—or, well, look at his best friend.
The other laughs too, then leans his elbow on the desk to rest his chin on his palm. "Okay, then start talking." There's a mischievous little smile on his lips that Flame struggles not to stare at.
When the question finally sinks in, his smile freezes. He frowns, tilting his head to prompt Spoke to keep going. What is he talking about?
"There's obviously something, bro." Spoke sits back in his chair now. He's jittery, nervous. Unsatisfied even now, he pulls up one leg onto the chair to hug to his chest. "You're not talking about it and I don't know how long you've been keeping quiet about it but spill, bro."
Oh no. His smile is gone. Flame shuts his mouth with a click, glancing away. Shit, dude. Spoke knows something has been up for a while. He can't laugh his way out of this one.
"I've told you my deepest, darkest secrets. You know I won't judge. Unless it's bad, then I'll judge." Spoke grins, but he's quieter than before, like he doesn't want the words to make it past the door into the hallway for others to hear. He's not begging but he's curious, as he always is. He's not pushy but Flame knows that keeping secrets isn't the greatest thing between friends, he knows it looks like he's been keeping secrets.
He struggles to find the words. His fingers dig into the covers of the bed before he sits up a little more, lifting a hand to push his glasses further up his nose, a slight distraction from the fact that he's stalling. His face is already burning at what he's about to say.
"I think, um … I think I'm also, I don't know, gay?"
He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His shoulders rise with a weak shrug and he scratches the back of his neck. They both know damn well it's not the full story.
But Spoke's smile freezes entirely. "You are?" Flame disregards the small voice in his head telling him how hopeful Spoke sounds.
"I think so." He only manages a small glance up at him. "I don't know, I'm still figuring it out. I'm pretty sure I like uh, men? Guys. Whatever. More than I like girls, I think. But I don't know, man—"
"Do you want to kiss?"
Flame doesn't even register that Spoke cut him off. All he knows is that he's staring at the other, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. In turn, Spoke's face is ablaze, red with a blush that reaches his ears. A hand covers his mouth in embarrassment, but he's not taking it back. The question is very much real: Spoke wants to kiss him.
"Yeah, sure bro," he replies, hoping it's casual enough to show he hasn't dreamed of this. In reality, it's not casual at all. His heart is failing to keep calm. It pounds in his chest and stops him from breathing in any kind of normal way.
Any thought of it being a joke is thrown right out the window when Spoke tackles him in the blink of an eye. Flame doesn't even get the chance to react before Spoke is on top of him, only a few inches between them. No moment where he's thought Spoke was adorable compares to this. He looks torn between the giddy smile that has almost not left his lips since they met up and looking nervous beyond belief.
Only right there does Flame realise that this 'guy' Spoke has been talking about has to be him.
"Spoke—" Forget being casual. His nerves don't stop his hands from finding the other, resting on his legs, hips sides, sliding back down to his legs when he thinks that might be the best place. Neither of them have much—if any—experience with this, he knows that much from how often they've talked. He can't help the way he holds on, digging into into the fabric of his pants as he takes a deep but shaky breath.
He gets no more warning than Spoke grabbing onto his face before he leans down to kiss him. There are no expectations here, there's nothing holding them back and no one telling them to get this right. When Spoke kisses him, it's unfiltered wanting. If neither of them fully know what to do, they don't give a shit. Who cares about getting it right? His glasses might be in the way a little bit and they both struggle to figure out what to do with their hands but it makes the butterflies in his chest stir up more than he's had with anyone before.
When Spoke pulls away to look at him, he laughs like he's out of breath. His cheeks are flushed pink. Flame almost chases after him to kiss him again—he's not sure if it would be weird, damn his nerves.
And then neither of them know what to do next; Spoke is sitting on top of him in a way that's surely gonna end up with his legs falling asleep and he's towering over Flame a little bit, who's unable to escape him but also really doesn't want him to go. He kind of wants to tell him he's definitely in love with him, but he can't even get himself to say that Spoke is so pretty when he smiles, how is he supposed to say that out loud?
"Whoa …" Spoke's lips twitch into a grin. He leans down to kiss him again, something that's much less an attack this time and more gentle, pressing his lips against Flame's like he's savouring it.
Flame cups his face, tilts his head to give them both more space as they figure this out, slowly this time. His eyes slip closed. This feels good, it feels right. As much as the butterflies in his stomach make him struggle to keep his composure, holding Spoke is the best feeling he's felt in a while. The slide of their lips is shy, unsure, but full of everything they haven't been able to talk about this whole time.
Again, they don't stray far when they pull back to breathe. Spoke is holding onto his shoulders and their foreheads are pressed together—Flame fights the urge to pull out his hair at how adorable Spoke is being. A mean part of him wants to ask what this means for them and how they're going to navigate this if it means anything at all, but he swallows down the question in favour of staring at the other. He's going to have a severe case of cuteness aggression at this rate if he doesn't stop smiling like this.
They both freeze when footsteps sound in the hallway. Heads whipping around to the door, neither of them dare to make a sound. The steps get louder, louder, louder, then finally recede when they pass the door without interruption.
Spoke heaves a sigh and sags in relief on top of him. This would be … a hell of a situation to explain. So far, Flame has left a good impression on his parents, but if they find him with their son in his lap in a position that's in no way explainable as straight, he might be done for. The thought has his stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots. As much as he loves Spoke's parents, the fear lingers in the back of his mind; in this day and age you can never know what people might think of them.
"We're not telling anyone, right?"
He shivers at the hot breath on his ear. His tongue shoots out to wet his lips before he looks at Spoke again, quickly shaking his head. "No way, bro."
"Okay." Again, Spoke giggles, but at least he's trying to be quiet now. "It's our secret."
Flame might choke. A shiver runs down his spine. The idea of a secret makes his face burn and the knot in his stomach twist a little tighter with excitement. This can be just for them, no parents, no friends, no cameras; just them. He's fine with secrets if it's Spoke.
He doesn't need to voice his agreement, not when he can mess with Spoke's curls and kiss him again, just to savour the feeling.