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John pushed open the door to the roof of the building and peered out at the sky above him.
He was previously at a party with his best friend and bandmate, John Flansburgh in one of their shared friend's apartments in New York City. The festivities were the cause of Fourth of July, but who wanted to be cooped up inside when you could be watching fireworks?
He paced over to the edge of the building where Flansburgh was sitting. It was kind of scary. Images of him and Flansburgh toppling off came to the forefront of his mind. Despite this, he slung his legs over the edge and sat down close next to John. Linnell could feel the warmth of his best friend's body where they touched. Normally he wouldn't sit so close, but he figured Flansburgh wouldn't mind since they were both at risk of fall. He needed an anchor. Flansburgh often was.
They sat in silence for a while, just watching the sky. It was still pretty early on in the night so not many fireworks were being shot up. Mostly it was just cold. Linnell looked to the side to see John'. A firework went off in front of them and lit up Flansburgh's face. His eyes looked glossed over and his mouth was parted in awe.
Linnell's eyes drifted to his lips. They were soft and smooth despite the cold, not chapped like his. Linnell thought of taking Flansburgh's face in his hands and pressing his own lips against his. He thought about kissing his best friend. He looked peaceful at this moment. Linnell thanked the darkness for hiding his blush.
This wasn't a normal thing to think about. This was strange. Linnell tried to block out the thoughts he knew he had thought before, but it was too much.
He thought about holding Flansburgh when the fireworks got too loud for both of them during past Fourth of July's instead of being cooped up in their respective rooms. He thought about Flansburgh's warm body against his, he thought about how pleasant it would be to share a bed with him. He thought about kissing Flansburgh on a December walk through the park together, the snow whisking around their bodies. He thought about kissing Flansburgh now.
He thought about kissing Flansburgh now.
Before he could avert his gaze, Flansburgh noticed him staring. He turned his head to the side and looked at Linnell with a soft smile.
"What's with the stare?" Flansburgh said.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing much at all." Linnell responded. What a horrible time to be thinking about kissing the man beside him.
Flansburgh chuckled. "Alright man."
They went back to looking at the sky. The fireworks in front of them were irrupting loud in booms, each one accompanied with a burst of colors.
Red and orange, purple and maroon, blue and green, red and blue, orange and green. Yellow and blue.
Yellow and blue.
Linnell looked over at Flansburgh to see him looking. He could see soft thoughts behind his eyes. His glasses reflected each burst of color. Linnell could see Flansburgh's pupils flick to his own mouth. He could almost see the motions of Flansburgh's eyes trace the bow of his lips.
"Now you're staring, Flansy!" Linnell grinned.
"No I'm not!" Flansburgh grinned back.
"Seriously man, what's with?" Linnell said softly.
"Oh not much."
Flansburgh paused.
"Do you ever think about me, John?" Linnell was taken aback by the question for a moment, but he responded.
"I do."
"What do you think?"
John stayed silent for a bit. He held some restraint for what he really wanted to share.
"I think about how great of a guy you are.
How you… How you laugh at dumb things that I say, even if it really is pure idiocy.
I think about your fingers when you're strumming the guitar.
I think about your glasses sit on your face.
I think about how good of a friend you are." He responded.
Flansburgh didn't say anything back. He simply looked at the sky. He watched the light pierce it. John knew Flansburgh knew he was staring. He stopped. John looked at the spot where his and Flansburgh's knees met. He looked up at the sky again. He didn't know what he was feeling. It probably wasn't good. It probably wasn't good to feel things about another man. What even is good anymore, though?
Linnell felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked to the side to see Flansburgh's head there and he saw John looking up at him.
"Do you think about me, John?" he asked.
"I do." he responded
"What do you think about me?" his voice was soft as he asked.
"I think about how good of a friend you are.
I think about how your mouth curves when you smile.
I think about how your hair swoops to the side when you move it out of the way on stage.
I think about how your voice sounds when you talk.
I think about how I want to keep listening to your voice forever if I could.
I think about your lips a lot." he responded.
They both held their breaths. They watched a firework fizzle across the sky. They watched some kids on the street below chase each other with firecrackers. They watched a couple kiss on the corner of a sidewalk underneath a streetlamp. They watched friends walk and laugh together. They watched the city move in celebration.
Flansburgh leaned off Linnell's shoulder. Fuck thinking his thoughts were wrong, this is the most right he'd felt in a while.
"John, can I kiss you?" Linnell asked.
"Yes." Flansburgh said.
They leaned forward and their faces met. Linnell felt John's mouth against him. He assumed correctly before—Flansburgh's lips were soft and plush and the most amazing. He never wanted to stop feeling them. Flansburgh lifted a hand to Linnell's cheek. Linnell's mouth moved, and Flansburgh quickly fell into rhythm with him. He knew how he worked.
John pulled away for breath. His face was flushed and his lips were puffy. He was the most beautiful thing that Linnell had ever seen.
"You're beautiful, John." Linnell made it known.
"So are you." Flansburgh responded.
They stayed like that, together for a long while. They held each other until it got too windy and cold to bear. Until the people started to return to their homes. Until the fireworks went off rarely.
They eventually went back inside. You would expect them to be cold, but this was the warmest they had ever been in their lives.
In the stairwell Linnell turns to Flansburgh.
"Could you even hear me with all those fireworks, John?"
"I can hear you. I can always hear you."