Work Text:
rhett didn't recognize you when he saw you a few weeks ago, that first time. wasn't until you approached him, "still have that staring problem, rabbott?" that it clicked. that something old swelled in his throat, blocking any response he might've thought of.
distantly he could hear his mom's voice, warning his dad to 'keep decent to mavis' boy' earlier in the week. she was talking about you, he knows that. knew it then too. didn't really hit him until he saw you in town, just outside your parents' bakery, lit cigarette in hand. mavis slapped your arm as she went in. rhett can't hear what either of yous said, but he can imagine. your mom never did like you smoking, always blamed rhett for you picking up that habit.
he kept you out of enough trouble to make up for it, he guesses. she never bothered banning rhett from the house, which he appreciated, but always figured it was bound to happen someday.
he could see why cecelia gave royal a warning, looking at you then. you came back looking a little more jagger than john wayne. he could see how it'd be a shock to his dad. could already hear everything cecelia didn't want royal to say. has a few thoughts of his own he doubts his parents wouldn't be thrilled to hear for entirely separate reasons. thoughts that are already sending a flush over his face. a flush that'll come back later when you're brought up at dinner. a flush perry will have to tease him for. because you have a few more tattoo's than before, much more visible than would generally be acceptable in wabang, barely hidden under that coat that's not quite leather. just something that looks like it. you got a few piercings, new ones. professional ones.
nothing like the one you impulsively gave yourself when you and him where fifteen. that one was through the ear and only on the one side.
your mom caught you before you could do the second one.
which was rhett's fault. he yelped when he saw you doing it. didn't really think you were serious. wasn't ready for you to already be doing it when he turned around in your desk chair.
"rabbott."
maybe that's why mavis doesn't mind rhett.
he was squeamish. at least, a bit - he's used you as a shield through too many gorey movies to not admit that. not to say rhett was straight laced, himself. just quieter. and usually the downfall of your more 'inspired' ideas.
just not the one that made you leave. he knows it makes him a horrible friend, but that was something he never stood a chance of fucking up. no matter how badly he wanted to. not when you wanted it so bad. still remembers finding the acceptance letters because you never really told him.
some were community colleges.
"hey, rabbott. you good?"
but some were from bigger schools. kendall. cia. johnson & wales - those are some of the ones he remembers, but there were more. because there were more than a dozen. some of those schools weren't awfully far, either. he knew you though, likes to think he still does. you never would've picked one of the closer ones. not if there was something better.
rhett hits the ground before he realizes you pushed him. it wasn't a huge fall. he'd been kneeling, at some point. his legs were folded under him by the time you shoved him down.
"i'm not doing this shit by myself just 'cause your smokin' green."
he hadn't smoked. not that, at least.
not since he was a teenager.
not since you and him used to sneak out to barn. always after you two thought everyone else was asleep. you two were right usually, but you'd been caught by perry more than once. he had a knack for knowing what bullshit you two were up to and when.
always too enrapt by each other and the floaty high you were caught in together to notice him to notice him. that he wasn't asleep. or that he was already smoking out in the barn. more than once, rhett had given his brother a sizable chunk of his stash. much more than perry would've asked for, but rhett was always far too nervous to really think about it before shoving it in his hands. trying not to plead.
in hindsight, he doesn't think his brother would've snitched, regardless. rhett didn't bring a lot of friends around. certainly not ones like you. his family was careful not to fuck that up, worried he'd never bring anyone else around.
rhett still remembers how warm your skin was, though. how your breath felt against his face when you two were standing too close. in those moments when you were both a little too high to catch just how close you were, until one of you did. until rhett would tug at your arms, pulling you closer, while you licked into his mouth. because rhett never really started it, but he always let you fuck his mouth with yours.
he tried not to look forward to it when you smoked together. tried to just accept that it was apart of it. being high felt nice and boys will be boys. it's natural you'll do other stuff that feels nice too, rhett reasoned with himself back then. when he was still trying to convince himself that it wasn't, y'know. that that kinda stuff doesn't really count if you're too high to remember it.
rhett remembers you said that once. couldn't really tell if you were joking, just that he tried not think about it after the fact. pretended he was so high, high enough that he couldn't keep those memories for the few nights he spent without you.
regardless, rhett doesn't bother to argue that second part. "not asking you to."
"not doing much neither."
his face does that thing. where he squints, does a half frown. almost looks pained. rhett's not sure why his face does that when he's doesn't know what to say. or just doesn't want to say anything. just that you used say 'thinking shouldn't hurt you that much' when you saw it. that you're trying not to say it now, when he just opens himself up for it. "i was thinking."
"about?"
you.
"nothin'."
you reach out a hand, "bullshit."
rhett takes it. let's you help hoist him up, trying to think of anything to say. anything he could say that he was thinking about. anything that wasn't you. and him - in general. not like, well.
whatever.
he taps just below his bottom lip, where there's a labret on you. what looks like a hoop on your bottom lip. "how do you have that in a kitchen?"
"mask," is all you say. there's a shrug. your face is pinched like you don't quite believe him. "that really what you're thinking?"
he could say no. could tell the truth, but you smile something annoying. you continue, "you really sitting here thinking about my lips?"
there's that swell in his throat again. makes every breath ache in a way he shouldn't like as much as he does.
and it sounds flirty. is flirty. your brand of it. it's not wholly serious, he thinks. sounds more like a challenge, like you're daring him to push or double down. to give you anything. rhett never did - still doesn't. always got flustered in that quiet way he does. just kept his face schooled and struggled to find words after.
rhett figures it's not much different from how he is normally. perry could always tell. always teased him if he saw it. maybe you did, too. you never pushed him too hard, though. didn't goad and prod at him like you did with anyone else. rhett never gave you that rise you wanted, he guessed.
"it hurt?" is too easy of an out. one you don't fight him on too hard.
"that's really what you're thinking?"
"last time i saw you with a piercing, you did it with a rusty safety pin. just curious how... different that one was."
"it wasn't rusty, rabbott."
you couldn't say life had been slow, because it hadn't. from culinary school, to your dad, to every service you've worked since, you haven't really had a moment to catch your breath since leaving wabang. even this, being back, was temporary. you didn't really mind that. you've never been good at sitting still.
idle hands and all that.
you think it's probably why your parents pulled you into the bakery. it's hard to imagine they ever thought you'd fall for it so hard. that you'd uproot your whole life, make it the focal point. that you'd move so far away just to school for it. you try not to think about it, but the thought lingers, anyway; would your parents have taught you to bake if they knew that's what would drive you away from home?
your mom always found it funny. that between you and rhett, you were the one with the softer passion.
stereotypically.
and on the face of it, it is kinda funny thinking about that sensitive little boy you befriended in grade school, getting thrown off of bulls, walking away with (a minimum of) a few fractures on a semi-regular basis. seems like it should've been the opposite.
seems like it.
a rodeo, oddly enough, is a lot kinder of a place to be. almost relaxed. supportive. more so than you remembered. you were never really payed that much to the bullriders when you were younger, though. just rabbott. it's not so different now.
now there's just one bullrider you pay attention to.
you couldn't really imagine rabbott in a kitchen. not a professional one. you doubt he'd make it a full service. he'd probably come out about the same as he would thrown off a bull, anyway. there's something to be said about rabbott's proclivity for pain and his relentless intolerance for anything leaning towards decidedly dickish behavior. it has to be some part of why he ends up in so many fights. and undoubtedly why he finds himself in bullriding.
you suppose, on the matter of kitchens, there's also the much more glaring fact that rabbott can't cook for shit. he'd learned simple things. he can make a passable grilled cheese. and anything from a box is fine. otherwise everything is undercooked and underseasoned.
he's been long since been banished from your kitchen - your mom's kitchen, really. you've just taken it over for the time being - and that was before you were helping your mom prep and stock the bakery. even now, he's been relegated to the small dining table across the room. supposed to be keeping you company while you work, filling you in on everything that's happened since graduation. "assuming i didn't miss too much, then?"
you've really only been in wabang back once, since. you hadn't really cared to do any catching up after your father's wake.
rabbott was sure you'd never come back after that. he mentioned that one night you were drinking together. didn't mean to say it.
you've basically been attached at the hip, just like when you were kids, since that first day he saw you in town. and it's comfortable. familiar, but it stings if you think about it too long. he didn't say this part, but he didn't have to. you know him well enough - it's why he didn't mean to say the first bit - rabbott worries. worries you'll just disappear if you're gone too long. convinces himself he'll wake up one day and realize these past few weeks were just a dream. that you're still off in whichever city you live in, now.
its when his nickname slips from your lips again that he finally drags his eyes up to you. you're turned towards him, instead of the counter."you were staring at the pages, i'm guessing there's not too much to tell."
your voice isn't gentle. but you are. you've grown into it, a new brand of it.
"no," he drawls, letting each word sink in. letting himself catch up to the current moment. "no, not much to report."
"then," you pull away from the counter and step towards the dining room table. you lean over rabbott a bit, pulling the year book - your parents had insisted on getting one every year, despite how much you didn't want them - he had in his hands from him, setting it aside. there's just the slightest brush of your hands when you replace them with your old notebooks. "dig through these."
you used to journal everything. you brought most of them down, there were a few filled with some rather risque thoughts you'd rather not share. especially not with the man most of those thoughts were about."read anything that sounds interesting."
rabbott nods, staring at where your hand had touched his. absentmindedly sliding his hand over one of the books. flicking the cover open. but doesn't say anything. there's just a look on his face when you glance at him. it's familiar. old. something you haven't seen since you used to sneak out to the barn as teenagers. you realize just how close you got when his gaze flickers to yours. just as close as you were then. when he'd pluck at your sleeves, play with your shirt's collar.
you pull away when you feel your face go hot at the memory.
turning quickly, you continue, starting to ramble to fill the quiet. to push out all those little details. "or anything that sounds familiar, like that you remember-"
it doesn't work.
you can still feel his hand ghosting at the side of face, finicking with your hair. you can hear that low 'sorry, i'm being weird' when his hazy eyes finally met yours. you remember how he didn't stop, just looked at you. head down, looking through thick eyelashes. expectantly. like girls did when they wanted your attention, you remember thinking. it never worked for them as well as it did rabbott.
felt like he was waiting for you to...
you don't know.
but rabbott only looked at you like that when you were high together. just after he'd tug you behind some of the hay bale, just before your mouth landed on his.
"pantry," you abruptly cut your own rambling off.
saved by the metaphorically bell before your brain can pull anymore details. before it can place those details with current rhett. because you're missing ingredients for the next few batches.
that's why you stopped to chastise rhett.
'could you grab-" you pause, mumbling, 'er, fuck. i just reorganized,' to yourself before speaking up again. "pick out some good parts, ill be right back."
you almost scream when you walk into your mom's pantry.
instead, you laugh at the instinct instilled you from culinary school. the instinct that carried you through the worst (and often more prestigious) kitchens you've worked at. the instinct that followed you all the way home.
he liked it.
the closeness. the hesitance to pull back. the anxiety he could feel off of you.
it's shitty to say, rhett gets that. but, it put him at ease.
for the moment.
it was nice to know you were just as nervous as he was. rhett hopes that's what it is. that there's still that spark. that that nervous giddiness didn't die out in you.
it didn't in him. not with you.
rhett doesn't think it ever will.
the thought sates a particular worry. because you don't need him here. rhett is not very good in a kitchen. rhett never really needed to learn past the basics. that's what he'd always had you for.
that phrasing.
'have you'
makes him feel some type of way.
when you were kids, back in elementary when he was smaller than everyone else; when he was that quiet, awkward, sensitive little boy - it wasn't so complicated. it felt so simple. so honest to say he had you. that you were his. because you were.
somewhere through middle school that got muddied, but rhett couldn't say when. by the time high school hit, and he wasn't small anymore. when he was more gangly, still hadn't quite grown into his own skin. when he was still quiet and awkward, just in a way that most found more charming than before. when it got easier to hide how sensitive he could be.
it still felt honest to say he had you, then.
because he still did. you never really grew apart. always slept over at each other's houses, always sharing a bed. just like when you were kids. you were together most of the time. cecelia used to joke the only time yous spent apart was the time you were actually in class. which wasn't too far off.
but things were different.
they felt different.
felt more complicated to just say it. it was heavier in a way he didn't know how he felt about.
still doesn't.
he tries to ignore that thought, though. tries to push it to the back of his mind. flipping through the pages of your notebook until something grabs his attention away from the phrase 'have you'.
which isn't terribly hard. this notebook used to be a journal. but glancing through it, rhett can tell at some point this became a dedicated recipe test book.
there was plenty of words scratched out and written over in sharpie. sections covered in white out. or completely blocked out in marker. haphazard notes and stains litter the book, but if he strains, rhett can kind of make out some of the words. the first sentence he figures out is:
liking guys in this town is ass.
and gone is that comfort from a few moments ago.
because he didn't know that about you.
he never thought- well, y'know, sure. you and he did stuff. sometimes. just didn't think you saw guys like that. rhett always thought it was just him. puts him in a weird space. somewhere between 'how could you not tell him?' and 'how could you when he's getting pissy that you like other guys?'
there's an arrow his eyes follow without really thinking about it. points to a scratched out note in the margins, 'staring at rabbott's is a pretty good pasttime though'.
and he has to laugh.
not because it's funny, but because it's very you.
because even when you're in the other room, completely oblivious to the revelation rhett's coming to. one that feels heavy. heavy enough to shuck a weight from him that rhett never realized he was carrying. you manage to break the tension.
there's a few other notes in the margins. some scratched out, partially erased, or drawn over. most are some combination of three making them almost impossible to read. the few phrases he can make out are, in no particular order; 'hard to find'; 'that make rhett squirm', which brought that flush rushing back; 'stay in wabang'; and 'great ass' next to a half-erased drawing of peach. they're spread across the page and rhett doubts they're anything but unrelated thoughts.
he can't imagine what was originally written here.
rhett skims some more pages, finding a few more disjointed phrases. some explicit. ish. he can figure the general idea enough to keep a little color on his face. some of them aren't so crass, just random thoughts he can't figure the context of. some of them are about him, some he can't tell. some are definitely not about him.
the back of the book is much rougher than the front. pages are ripped out. some are partially there, some are pulled from the binding. there's loose pages. and too many that look like they'd tear if he touched them.
rhett doesn't bother with it. sliding it away gently, he grabs another. one that looks less mauled.
the first sentence gets a scoff.
rabbott's kind of a bastard.
the date doesn't give him any hints as to which fight this might've been. because there were so few, he could pin each one down to general time period.
i dont really know why i hang out with him. he aint mean, not outright. just hard to be around sometimes. i dont hate him.
that last part weighs heavy in his mind, sticks out and leaves a lump in his throat.
i'm not sure i ever did. it's hard to figure what i feel about him, just that it's a lot. maybe that's what i hate.
and past you is right. it is a lot.
he's had thoughts none too different, thinks he knows what you were getting at. that you, him. some of it might've meant a little more. nothing he's particularly keen to get into at your dining room table.
rhett flips to a random page.
the next one isn't any better. it's just confirmation he didn't want. scribbled and littered with misspellings like you wrote it quick, it read:
-suffocating and i can't come up for air. i can't tell anyone, least of all him. fuck. im so fucked. i am drowning. will it just burn me inside out until i can leave? just have to wait until i leave and then i can breathe?
it goes on.
there's another page and a half filled with that scrawl.
rhett doesn't bother reading it.
doesn't need to.
knows the feeling well enough to get the gist so he just sits with the growing consternation. that you felt like that. that you didn't tell him. that he could've, that you and he.
well.
you guys were you.
you and rhett.
you could've still been that, but. what. rhett doesn't know. different? more?
did anything have to be different? was there really anything that needed to be different?
the pantry door creaks. a second before you walk through it. "find anything good?"
rhett skips halfway into the notebook. doesn't think about it, just feels too raw with that page open. it feels too intimate to have read as much as he did.
"no," is what he settles on. "you're handwriting is shit. can't read any of it."
rhett misses sleeping with you. in the same bed as you.
it was one of the few pieces of closeness you never shed. it's hard to say why. he figures there was never anyone else around to comment on it. no one to ruin it.
you used to hold hands all the time. usually, you were leading rhett by the hand, keeping him close so you didn't get separated on the street. because closeness like that was easier when you were kids. because closeness was allowed to be innocent then. sometimes.
rhett can't remember which neighbor it was anymore, but he remembers your mom sitting you and him down - she'd never been very good with the delicate stuff, that had always been your dad's thing. mavis had said who it was, whoever it was that kicked up a fuss to her. so she explained that sometimes you just can't do things like that in public. things people might see as queer, even if it isn't. not because it's wrong, mavis was very clear on that. but because it's not safe, because certain people aren't safe.
so you two adjusted. you didn't hold hands in public, anymore. or really ever. it felt weird to do now that it had a label. queer.
he remembers one night, when you were kids. when he was over at yours, because despite all the adjustments you two had made, spending less time with each other was never one either you thought to make. neither was sleeping separately. you kept that up until you left, just after graduation.
he was curled up on his side, half asleep. only vaguely aware of you, laid out on your stomach behind him. he could feel your shoulder pressing into his back, because the bed was small and not meant to hold two pre-teens. he remembers the quiet apology that came from you. remembers the "'m not trying to make you gay or nothing. just like... being with you, like friends, i guess. sorry people get weird sometimes," that came after. there's a lot of things rhett's never responded to. some he regrets, some he doesn't. he usually knows where he stands on it.
he doesn't really know about that night. doesn't know if he should've said something. or nudged you. acknowledged the fear that had seeped into the safe haven of your bed. or if it was better to just ignore it. if he was right to just pretend he was asleep. because he didn't want anymore adjustments.
because you were always the gay one. not rhett. it wasn't a secret. neither of you were ever under any illusion. you knew what it looked like. that you were infecting him. so, you were always the one to stop those bits of closeness when they were pointed out.
rhett wouldn't have. it was all just rumors as far as he was concerned. just rumors and the barn and your bed.
rhett also never really considered that you actually liked men. you never said anything, he just found it in a journal almost a decade later by accident. back then, he figured you were just a little funny. creative. an old soul. all the words that sound nice, that older people use to say when they mean they think you're a fag. when they don't know what they're talking about. when they don't know how to mind their damn business.
it wasn't so bad in high school.
your "eccentricities" were suddenly cool and ironic. you weren't one of the cool kids, but you were deemed the funny kid. so all those coded words weren't a crime anymore. it was like a 'get out of jail free' card.
is that when you started to like him?
no, by the date in the notebook, that would've made it almost three years that you felt like that. freshman year up until the end of junior. you still didn't know how how you felt about him then. that's what you wrote. that it was suffocating feeling that way.
rhett can't stand that thought. leaves a pit in stomach and his mouth wet.
it's a sickly feeling. one that's been there since he read it. one that worsens when he thinks about you drowning. that you felt that way. was rhett with you when you wrote it? did he just not notice?
were you thinking about it when you slept together? not like- not that there'd be something wrong with it. but just in the same bed. were you thinking about that in the barn? or were those little moments the exception.
it didn't feel like you were. you felt present.
felt like you were all there was then. that there wasn't anything waiting on the other side of the hay. that was suffocating for rhett.
more addicting. every moment with you was then. every moment with you is now. rhett would choke on that feeling. let his lungs spasm and cramp, never try to come up for air again, if it could be satiated. if there was some relief that came with making himself sick on that feeling. if he could stop himself from chasing that dizzy, achy high he only gets with you-
oh.
oh, fuck.
"now what fucking bullshit-" you voice is too something.
"it's a thing."
"you're fucking with me." it's richer. smooth in a way that makes rhett's chest feel fluttery. he's always liked your voice.
he thought he did, but you didn't used to sound like that. you didn't have that same control of it. now it's something firm, mature. adult. you sound so much more you. like you managed to boil yourself down to a sound and speak in it. he needs it more than the drink in his hand.
hearing your bemused,"i'm not drinking beer from your fuckin' hat, rabbott," is better than anything he's ever won at a rodeo. if your voice was all he'd gotten for winning tonight, that'd be just fine.
he's still high on it when you're walking home. to your home.
it's in town. and the bakery sign out front makes it easier to find. they're aren't many advantages to your mom's business being attached to the front of the house, but finding where to stumble in drunk, well after last call, is pretty good one.
it's that high that pushes him to do it, rhett thinks. because, of the two of you, you were always the braver one. more adventurous and reckless. rhett could be those things too, after a couple drinks and some heated words. but that usually ends in thrown fists, rather than, "we should sleep together."
and distantly he can hear himself.
somewhere his brain gets it. gets that, said like that, spoken from him, it sounds more salacious than it is. sounds more like a proposition than a plead.
"rhett?"
but really it's your fault he has that 'whore' reputation. he had it most of highschool, but it was wholly unearned, then - now not so much. because rhett wasn't much of a conversationalist. definitely wasn't picking up freshman and sophomore year, not that he was really trying, yet.
you just couldn't sit still. you'd pull him into conversations you started and disappear part way into it, leaving rhett to continue it. it was a smooth transition. even rhett, who paid more attention to you than he'd likely ever care to admit sober, had a terrible time keeping track of when you left.
indirectly, it led to rhett gaining a few reputations. girls thought he was a good listener, and in all fairness that's not far off. it's about the only part of the conversation he doesn't struggle with. guys thought he was an ass. that probably wasn't too far off either. most agreed rhett was pretty easy. but it never caused him to much trouble one way or the other. nothing a scrap couldn't end.
rhett continues belatedly. barely registering his name from your mouth. "like when we were," he vaguely motions between you like that's explanation enough. "like before you left."
he gets why you did.
another belated thought he adds: "the other way's fine too, i guess."
kind of.
he's starting to, he thinks.
you were chaotic, a lot of people thought that. rhett didn't, to him you were just fun and weird and his sometimes. but you were liked enough to not be a total outcast, but not cool enough to be invited anywhere without rhett. usually you were only invited because it was an open secret that he wouldn't go without you. if he were any less popular, it might've been a problem. but as it were, it was another thing a handful of fights could handle. and there'd been a few, but they'd been few and far between.
it was peace contingent on being the right kind of weird. you wouldn't have been happy if you stayed. even if there wasn't a school pulling you away.
he has the passing thought, "never wanna go anywhere without you, again," when you're pulling the side door to your house open.
"then take your damn shoes off so we can go to bed, together, faster." and he does, quickly stumbling after you down the hall. trying to be quiet.
what he doesn't get is why he couldn't know. there's an ugly part of him that would've tried to stop you, to keep you in wabang with him. a part he'd hope you don't know is there.
maybe he could've gone with you. he could've been happy like that.
rhett thinks so.
he wouldn't've been too committed to anything, back then. school hadn't really been his strong suit. he'd been interested in bullriding, but nothing was confirmed. he hadn't been far enough in it for it to matter yet. he could've figured something else out he thinks.
if he'd known.
if he'd get this. you. all the time. rhett would have done it.
supposes he could've anyway, could've had this earlier. could've reached out. he never lost your number, just never used it.
you half pull him into your room. don't let go too quickly, though. there's something distant in your gaze, and you laugh.
"what?"
"nothing," and it really is nothing this time. a dumb, passing thought you don't care to repeat. you let go of him, pushing rhett back on the bed, "just lay down."
he goes down easy, saying your name as a protest. the bed's small. same one you had before you left, he thinks. the whole room is about the same as he remembers it really. makes sense, he guesses. you wouldn't have had time to update it in the weeks since you've been back, if you've been spending all of it at work or with him.
"nothin', rabbott. just a meme."
he's getting whiny. always used to get like that when he felt left out. rhett tugs at your sleeve a little harder than he means to, makes you sorta lean over him to catch yourself, pushing him back too forcefully to be cute. "what is it?"
there's a smile from you.
can never be too certain when he's blasted, but he can't imagine both if you will fit. not with any space between you. "just, was gonna ask if you wanted a kiss goodnight," you're so close. you both take up so much of the bed already.
rhett doesn't think he'd mind if you were closer still. "like a kiss from the homies, type deal."
it's meant to be funny. was when it just lived in your mind. was before you were close enough to do it. before those eyes, prettier than they have any right to be, flick up towards you. just like in the barn. before he asked, "are you fucking with me?"
"no" and there's that voice of yours again. full, warm. honest.
rhett nods, hesitant to let his hand rest on your cheek.
the kiss isn't passionate.
there's no force or sparks behind it. it's more of a graze. so soft you barely feel it. feels like an 'i love you' you're too used to hearing, something that's lost meaning when you have it. something you notice the moment you don't.
because it's hard to think you two were ever different. that rhett didn't just always have you this way. that every way he's ever had you didn't just boil down to this. that this is new. hard to think there was any reprieve from that itch currently clawing it's way back. that swell in rhett's chest that leaves him near desperate for air while he's still breathing.
a need that stays with him until morning. through dragging himself out of bed to follow you and while he pulls himself to sit on the counter, waiting for a hangover cure in the form of coffee.
until you hand him a mug: "i think i gave you the wrong notebooks the other day."
your handwriting wasn't that bad, is what he meant to say. he wouldn't usually think himself so bold to kiss you, even if so gently as you had him the night before. but he had.
which covered about all he had to say on the matter.
"go out with me" was the only thing left, but you beat him to the punch.
and the ache is satiated.