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It’s been a couple days since they all almost died. A couple days since that desperate and gentle kiss that has haunted his dreams since. He hasn’t stopped thinking about it, the image ringing through his mind, scene after scene, trailing after one another until it loops like a carousel.
The warmth of Buddy’s hand, that had burned through Chase’s shirt, and the frantic beat of his own heart, so loud it felt like it was close to bursting out of his chest.
“Uh, Chase?”
The voice registers somewhere, far, far away, spoken through static.
He wonders if Buddy has thought about Chase even nearly as much as Chase has thought about him, while brushing his teeth or showering or, well, anything. If his thoughts had been a board full of red strings all pointing at Chase, stuck in his mind like tac.
“...Hello..? Earth to Chase?”
Chase blinks out of his stupor, whipping his head to his cousin with an air of irritation.
Deacon glances down at Chase’s hands, at the mug that he’s been washing for the past five minutes, which is currently squeaky clean.
“You’ve…been washing that mug for like, five minutes, dude.”
A beat passes, in which Deacon wonders if he should even bother. Chase’s expression twists into a scowl, and Deacon realizes he simply does not care enough to bother.
“Nevermind,” he mutters, walking off, because his peace of mind is much more precious than his curiosity.
Chase’s expression turns even more vexed, somehow, yelling as Deacon walks off,
“Ugh! You need to stop daydreaming so much, Dorkin! It’s so annoying.”
Deacon doesn’t even bother turning around, much too used to these antics.
They’re in some book that Deacon chose, and the man himself is currently off, probably at the stables, while Chase wanders around. He wasn’t really paying attention when Deacon explained the plot, but it did pique his interest when his cousin mentioned about there being a fireworks show at the very end, in which Chase is supposed to experience with the main guy. Main guy being Prunella, of course. Which frankly, doesn’t sound that fun. Also, she’s currently…not here. So that’s definitely not happening. Which would have Chase usually in tears, since he definitely cares about following the plot, but he’s not really up to it today.
Buddy’s going to chastise him for that, but, like, he’d have to be here for that. Which Chase so desperately wants, so he’ll take it.
Chase is also, kind of, slightly, lost. Only slightly. He picked a direction, ignoring Deacon's whines about following the plot, and just started walking, and now he finds himself in front of this large clearing, atop a hill, with blades of grass that tickle his ankle and a dusk breeze that whips golden locks in his eyes.
Looking up, it's a perfect view of a sky scattered with stars.
He wonders if Buddy would like fireworks.
Or maybe he’d think of them as too loud and a waste of gunpowder. Chase snorts at the thought, imagining an eloquent rant from Buddy about unnecessary extravagance and the practicality of it all. The furrow of his brow and the twist of his lips, red and soft. Chase knows exactly how they feel, and the realization of that makes his thoughts stutter a little.
It makes Chase almost smile. Almost. Because he hasn’t seen him yet, and the story has been going on for what feels like hours, the cheery sun already usurped with a curled crescent moon. Some part of him wonders if Buddy is… avoiding him. Which can’t be true, because, well Buddy’s the one that asked to kiss him in the first place?
Well, he kind of had to, to like, save his life, but what does that matter? It still happened . A peck would have sufficed, if Buddy only wanted to save his life.
Chase presses the heel of his palm against his mouth, as the memory of that unfurls like blooming petals in his head, once again. He can feel his cheeks getting hot, and shakes his head to try and get it out, to rip the roots of it out of his mind.He cannot be thinking of this right now, because it's the type of memory he’ll get lost in.
The dangerous type of memory that makes him okay with being lost.
The more seconds tick by without Buddy, Chase wonders more and more if he’s…misread something.
Maybe the kiss really was just to save his life and Buddy just felt pity looking at Chase’s heart that he keeps on his sleeve, beating wildly whenever Buddy comes too close or jittering like the wings of a butterfly when he says something flirty and—
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice from in front of him says, and Chase immediately looks up to see Buddy standing, leaning against a tree, enshrouded in a sheer veil of darkness. His voice cuts through Chase’s thoughts like a butcher’s knife, leaving nearly nothing, and for a couple seconds, he stares at Buddy’s eyes, glinting like blue lapis, captivating. The shadows have slotted around him, the night arranging itself around Buddy and Chase wants to groan because of course Buddy looks so cool when Chase is having an inner crisis about the man himself .
Buddy steps out from the trees, and Chase doesn’t respond because the words in his throat die off upon seeing Violet's impeccable work, once again. Or rather, the words in his head explode and nothing he could pick out and string together into something legible would ever be appropriate.
Off handedly, he wonders if Buddy wants to kill him, because it has to be a sin to kiss him and then show up looking like that the next time they meet? Right?
He’s wearing the world’s lowest cut black blouse, a color that shines like velvet in the moonlight, sleeves rolled to the elbows revealing pale, long fingers that tap rhythmically against his crossed arms black trousers that hug him in all the right places, and a couple of statement belts that would look so incredibly stupid on anyone else.
It’s infuriating that Buddy is hot enough to pull it off.
“...Hello?”
Chase coughs, looking away and filing away all his scandalous thoughts for later, dragging his eyes back up at Buddy, fumbling through his words.
“I- uh, don’t really know…where I’m supposed to be.”
Buddy scoffs, “Of course, I shouldn’t be so surprised.”
A silence permeates the air between them, and Chase takes another look at Buddy, wondering if he should bring it up. Because, Buddy’s looking at him as if this is just a normal occurrence. Like the last time they saw each other, he didn’t ask to be his hero and kiss him so fervently, like the only way to keep Chase alive was by kissing him as deeply as he could, hands gently on his waist, expression so unbearably fond that the memory of it makes Chase’s brain swim in static.
Buddy just stands there, annoyingly beautiful and annoyingly normal.
Chase opens his mouth but no words bother coming out, because what is he supposed to say?
Does their kiss that day drum through Buddy’s veins like a second pulse, quiet and constant beneath his skin?
Has Buddy lied awake in his bed, the warmth of the memory stealing away the embers of sleep, that nightfall slips into the daytime without even realizing it?
Is Chase the only one of them to let a single kiss absolutely ruin him?
Chase is suddenly reminded of something, a thought that gives him a way to stall a little bit more, and he circles around it immediately, grasping at it like a lifeline .
He swallows, “Ah, did…you give Violet the letter?” The words tumble out awkwardly, oddly shaped. Buddy doesn’t give any indication he’s noticed Chase’s awkwardness. He probably has.
“Mhm,” He responds, eyes staring somewhere off to the side of Chase’s head.
Chase waits.
A second passes, and then another, and then another.
“...Did she want me to bring back a response? I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s quite alright.”
Silence again. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, Chase thinks, desperately searching his mind for a way for this conversation to not just die off here, to not cut off the roots so quickly. They need to talk . Chase doesn’t understand how Buddy can be so nonchalant about it. How he can act so usual. Chase scratches the back of his head, looking away, trying to figure out the shape to the words he wants to say.
But every single version that he can conjure up doesn’t sound right. Chase has never been quite good at describing his feelings, and that includes the combination of panic and apprehension that’s gripping at his throat.
“...You’re supposed to be near the clocktower,” Buddy comments, after it’s clear Chase isn’t going to continue asking about Violet. It takes Chase a moment to realize Buddy’s trying to help him complete the story.
Buddy isn't going to talk about what happened. If Chase goes…then that moment that’s swirled and waltzed through his mind ever since that day…will drown with that book. Become another chapter, forgotten and dusted over.
The concept of it brings so much dread rushing through Chase’s bones that he needs to take a second to breathe, inhaling and then exhaling.
He’s not going to do that. He can’t.
Buddy stares at him, waiting expectantly, one brow drawn up in an impatient arc.
“I-i don’t care about the story, Buddy.” He doesn’t usually ever care about the story, but this time’s different.
Buddy shakes his head, sighing, “I don’t know what I expected,” he suddenly turns on his heel, and Chase can see this thread that he wants unravel so badly, tightening between them.
“Well, someone has to do their role around here, and I suppose it has to be m—”
“—Ack!”
Buddy stumbles, eyes widening as he stares down at Chase, “What are you doing?”
Buddy stares at Chase, who just reached out and grabbed his arm like it was an anchor, pulling him back, fingers tightly wrapped around his sleeve. It's obvious from the look on Chase’s face that doesn’t really know what to do next, all the words in his head narrowing to a simple mission, of just keeping Buddy here. Because the idea of Buddy walking away, leaving a trail of all the words that spin in Chase’s head, unsaid, feels unbearable.
And the words that have been lodged in Chase’s throat finally tear through him, as if to escape from the cacophony of thoughts suffocating in his head.
“We have to talk, Buddy, about—about what happened—”
Buddy suddenly pulls his arm back from Chase like he’s been burned, eyes narrowing, stepping a harsh step back, “Stop.”
Buddy says it quite quietly, like he’s afraid to wake the night, but it doesn’t need to be loud. It hits Chase all the same as a yell.
Chase stills, stuck in the position of his hand reaching out to Buddy, where his arm was mere moments ago, and the thread tightens even more. The air fizzles out into something thick, that settles at the back of Chase’s throat. Slowly, almost carefully, he drops his hands to his side, his other hand reaching to grip at his elbow. For a second, they just stare at each other. Chase searches Buddy’s gaze for…he doesn’t know. An explanation, really. Something that says that this isn’t what it feels like, that this isn’t Buddy pushing him away.
Buddy swallows, a sound that breaks the spell, and Chase’s eyes track the movement down his throat until he opens his mouth.
“I’m glad you’re alright Chase,” Buddy starts, expression unreadable besides the knot in his brows, “But, we—”
He pauses, as if he needs to think over the words carefully.
“—We don’t need to talk about what happened, because nothing happened .”
Chase stares breathlessly, each word a slap on his skin, an ache that nestles itself deep. Nothing happened. Buddy says it so matter-of-fact, like he’s decided on a truth that Chase has no say in. The hurt turns sharp, the thorns pricking his blood until it quells into a pointed rage, clawing its way up Chase’s throat.
“You kissed me, Buddy,” Chase whispers, but it lands like a slap, from how Buddy’s eyes, so blue and dark, widen.
Buddy looks away, refusing to make eye contact, “We were in dire circumstances.”
“You— why are you—,” Chase sputters, desperate to try and make sense of it. Sense of how Buddy could kiss him so gently, hands holding him like he was a delicate thing, ask to be his hero and then suddenly act like it meant nothing. He clenches his fists hard, leaving marks in his palms.
“You kissed me like–Like you wanted to .”
Because that's the part that Chase can’t make sense of. The care and gentleness and fondness and the smile Buddy had given him. If it was just for saving his life, why did it feel so honest?
“...Just forget it, Chase, we don’t—” and it's then that Chase notices the tired expression on Buddy’s face, as if he’s reading off a script, as if the conclusion of this conversation has already been decided, “— have to discuss it. We can just continue as we have.”
Chase just stares, because this wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. He imagined Buddy teasing him, laughing at how embarrassed Chase is. Not denial. Not shutting it down, having given Chase a taste of how it felt to be with him, and then taking it away.
“I can’t,” Chase breathes, “I can’t do that.” The words barely make it past his lips, and the sound of the night breeze threatens to carry them away,
They stare at each other for a moment, and that's when Chase sees it. A crack, just enough. Just enough for the thread to slip through, to loosen. He’s spent enough time around Buddy to notice all these tiny little microexpressions that weave a picture of his true thoughts, because talking to Buddy is like…having a conversation where Chase isn’t privy to some of the facts, and the only way to get somewhat of an equal ground is to study the minor flexes of his features, that betray his true thoughts. He notices everything about Buddy, with how much he’s always looking at him.
The way his expression shifts and the tension tangled in his shoulders, arms tightening around himself. The way his gaze flickers away, as if keeping eye contact for too long would be too revealing.
“You’re lying, Buddy,” Chase voices, and the words cause Buddy to snap his eyes to him immediately.
“What?”
“It wasn’t nothing to you. You’re lying. I know you are,” and the words fall from his lips like a plea.
Buddy exhales, crossing his arms, all so logical it’s infuriating,“You don’t know me, Chase.”
And it’s true. He doesn’t know much about anything regarding Buddy. Where he’s from. Why he hides, if he’s in danger or not. Why he refuses to share his burdens and just, let Chase help him. He doesn’t even know Buddy’s real name, kept tightly behind his lips. Like everything else, so elusive and mysterious.
But what Chase doesn’t know about him, he knows just as much about the way Buddy looks at him, the way he held him and the way he brushed his fingers against Chase’s cheeks and asked to be his hero. The way he kissed him, longing and sweet and wanting.
“Then let me get to know you ,” he tries, because the solution is so simple. So easy. He doesn’t understand why Buddy doesn’t see it too. Why he’s acting like they can’t even try.
“Chase…” Buddy sighs, eyebrows knotted together in frustration. As if Chase is a child who just, isn’t getting it.
Chase takes a step forward, tentatively, as if one wrong move could scare Buddy off, leaving Chase alone with this tattered heart.
“You— You can tell me what's wrong and we can fix it , Buddy!”
Buddy’s expression shifts, jaw tightening.
“You don’t understand, Chase!”” The words seemingly burst out of Buddy’s mouth, fists clenched at his sides, composure cracking. Chase knows he’s pushing some imaginary line Buddy has drawn in the sand, but he doesn’t care.
“Then, let me understand!”
And then it's back, that aggravating coldness, pushing Chase out every time he gets too close.
“Theres no point,” Buddy looks away, “We want opposing wishes. Its— there’s no point, because neither of us are giving up on what we want.”
Chase’s voice rises, the frustration bleeding through like a wound,“You’re not even giving me a chance! Thats— That’s all I’m asking for. ”
He just wants a choice. To decide for himself, to see if perhaps these ‘sides’ Buddy refers to, aren’t so different after all.
“What you’re asking for is too much .”
There’s a tiredness that settles inside his bones, bleeding into his chest and creeping up into him the longer this conversation goes on, and Chase wonders if, maybe, he is asking for too much. Maybe Buddy’s right, and this is much more complicated than he could imagine. The world is bigger than their kiss and the sun will rise everyday and Buddy and Chase will never be able to be on the same side…but, is it so cruel? To try. To want.
And when he looks at Buddy, all he can think about is want.
“I can’t…ignore how I feel. About this. About You ,” he says, softly into the dark night. The words linger in the air between them, like tendrils of smoke, and all of a sudden Buddy’s expression morphs from frustration to pain, as if the words were struck with poison ivy.
“Please, stop.” Buddy chokes out, helpless and looking scared, and the expression looks ill-fitted on him. Buddy always looks so self-assured, so certain. Even when everything is falling apart, he has this ability to magically know how to fix it. This uncertain expression…looks so wrong. He hates it. Chase wants to reach out, close this chasm of distance between them and kiss away the knot in Buddy’s brow, smooth it out with his lips until Buddy looks at him with that infuriating smugness, like he always has.
And suddenly, Chase is terrified. Terrified that Buddy will keep looking at him with that expression of helplessness. That he’s pushed too hard and broken something that can’t be fixed. A hurricane of fear hits him and he…relents.
“...If—”
His voice catches, a discordant chord, and he tries again,
“—If you tell me you don’t feel the same way—,” Chase swallows, looking away because he can’t look at buddy and say this, can’t throw him a lifeline made out of the pieces of his heart and watch Buddy catch it, decide whether it’s worth holding, “— then you can just leave…and I won’t..bring it up again. If you walk away, I’ll accept it.”
It’s an out, an escape. It feels like defeat.
Silence. For a moment Chase wonders if Buddy will refuse to even answer. Perhaps, the silence would be kinder.
“I…I don’t—”
Chase closes his eyes, already getting ready to go home and sob in his pillow. His hands clasp around Silver, the words to go home prickling his tongue like a needle.
“—I don’t think I could say that. It would be a lie.”
And the whole world feels like it's been flipped on its head, the inertia slamming into Chase. His fingers let go of the key, and he opens his eyes to see Buddy staring directly at him, crimson dotting his pale cheeks. Buddy opens his mouth. Closes it. Chase stares because it's a rare sight to see him so lost for words. Without this wall so carefully constructed between them.
“But Chase,” Buddy continues weakly, and the cracks only strengthen, “It’s not enough.”
And Chase wonders if what he means is he’s not enough, and he swallows the hurt down his throat but it resurfaces like vomit, like poison.
The words linger in the air, unforgiving. A confession tinged with remorse, with this is all I can give you, and nothing more .
Unfortunately, Chase has always been quite greedy.
“It can be, Buddy,” he pleads, “It’s enough for me.”
He’s aware of how pathetic he sounds. He doesn’t care. He’s tired of Buddy protecting him from choices he doesn’t get to make.
Buddy stares at him like he’s grown three heads, laughing in a way that's tinged with a bitterness that comes from somewhere deep inside, that's long accepted that this is the way things are, “You—you cannot be serious. You’re being foolish, Chase.”
And Chase knows this, knows that his desperation is simply delaying the inevitable, but it’s hard to accept it when you’re drowning, when all that's thrumming through your veins is the frenzied thrashing that only reckless want can give you.
“Just…stay. Till the fireworks end.”
“Till the fireworks end,” Buddy repeats, breathless, almost stupified, “And then? What do you suppose we’ll do after?”
“I don’t know,” Chase admits, and Buddy scoffs, “But we can deal with it when we get to it. One…one step at a time.”
“...Is this how you make do with all your problems?”
He can’t help it, Chase laughs, the sound echoing throughout the clearing, and when he looks back at Buddy, he notices the smile tugging at his lips, the way his blue eyes crinkle in amusement. It’s as if the conversation before has been forgotten, leaving in its wisps just Chase and the boy he’s been in love with for a long, long time.
He knows, that he’s going to have to face reality, that him and Buddy are on opposing sides and no amount of love is going to make Chase change his wish or Buddy his, but right now, he just wants to sit on this hill and watch the fireworks with the prettiest boy he’s ever seen.
He won’t ask for promises Buddy cannot make, or pretend that they can coast along this line forever. Want doesn’t need to be forever, it just needs to be.
Without warning, Chase settles down on the grass. Quickly, because if he waits his mind will spin him around in circles till he doubts himself to oblivion, till the courage dissipates into wisps.
The ground is cool beneath him, leeching the warmth from him, as he slides his fingers through blades of grass that tickle and sway with the breeze.
Buddy doesn’t move, just standing, watching, a little bit confused. Chase looks up at him, patting the ground next to him. For a moment, he thinks Buddy will refuse, change his mind and leave. That he’ll stay standing and remind Chase of how foolish he’s being. How nothings going to change in the end, but Chase holds his gaze nevertheless, expecting, urging.
The blades of grass bend with the wind, as if inviting Buddy as well.
Buddy’s lips tighten, as if words threaten to slip through his mouth. Countless arguments and reasons for refusal, a crease between his brows. Finally, he exhales, sitting down, their arms brushing and their knees almost knocking, the action so small Chase wonders if he imagined it.
“I…can’t believe you,” Buddy mutters, but it sounds more fond than angry, all of it’s earlier sharpness dulled.
He much prefers this, much more than the constant pushing and pulling they were doing prior. That conversation still sits somewhere behind his ribs, like a door, ajar. But it’s much easier to just let it be.
Chase laughs, light and teasing, “I seem to have that effect on people.”
Buddy glances at him through his peripheral, sighing, “You’re absolutely incorrigible, you idiot.”
“Yeah, yeah,” and Chase waves a hand because he doesn’t really know what that means but it sounds insulting, “I’m going to assume that's Buddy-code for really-super-duper-awesome.”
Buddy snorts, rolling his eyes, and Chase can’t help but stare. He wants to reach out, to let his fingers trail the sharp edge of Buddy’s cheekbones, the dip in his rosy lips, thread them through his raven locks. The moonlight catches against the edge of his strands, painting it a silvery blue.
He’s been wanting a lot today, and he wonders how far Buddy will let this want go, this greed that has embedded itself inside his soul and threatens to spill.
This hunger inside him, that has rooted itself in his chest and unfurls like a dahlia every single time Buddy gives in, he knows it's ridiculous. That one day he’ll have to cut the petals and watch them fall, before they become too much. Before Buddy tells him he’s taken too much and disappears.
“...You’re staring an awful lot today,” Buddy whispers, pulling Chase out of his stupor, causing a red flush to make itself known on his cheeks. They’re closer now, and Chase can count individual eye lashes and see Buddy’s dilated pupils that shimmer in the moonlight, azure eyes like swimming in the ocean. They’re so close, and Chase just wants to be closer , wants to let these gluttonous desires come forth. Buddy is beautiful in the way that makes Chase want with a fervor that’s impossible.
And then, suddenly, before Chase can stutter out a response, they hear the sound of something jetting into the sky, a distant whir and he turns his head up to a neon white light coiling and swirling, bursting to touch the stars, a hand reaching out, before melting to stand beside them. Woven into the night.
A moment passes. It slows as it reaches its peak.
A twinkle, and then…it pops , an arc of silvery sparks, scattering outwardly in every direction, fallen stars that look like they’re going to rain down on them. Like if Chase were to reach out, he’d touch those bursts, cosmic dust sparkling on his fingertips.
The sparks settle into the sky, and a few moments pass with silence and he frowns.
Is that it? he wonders, slightly disappointed. He’s about to turn to Buddy and ask if he can maybe push that firework deadline a little bit more, when he hears a whirr zipping through the sky, and looks back up.
It's then that the entire night sky blooms.
A cluster of lights reach high up above their hands, colors jousting in a magnetic pool of hues. Colliding and swirling together, tones melting into each other. Green twists into purple, gold scatters against white, and red melts against blue. Chase stares in awe as they whirl, exploding into a scatter that makes the night sky look alive, shimmering lines tumbling down like a waterfall.
He glances at Buddy, and suddenly he can’t tear his gaze away. The lights from the fireworks splash Buddy’s face in gorgeous hues, painting him in fragments of chromatic light — red that turns his cheeks crimson and blue that sinks, deep and cold, like a glacier that drifts under the ocean surface, in his eyes— and he can’t help but stare as they wash over him. The light moves across him and every version, every color, looks more beautiful than the last. It’s cruel, how Buddy can just exist and that’s all it takes for Chase to yearn like this.
Buddy’s attention is stuck on the fireworks, and Chase is so grateful for that, because it just means he can stare shamelessly. The way his lashes catch the light and those lips that part in wonder. How free he looks, the burdens he carries everyday set aside. He wants to stare forever.
Until he can’t, because suddenly Buddy turns his gaze to him, and Chase’s breath must have stopped because if he thought Buddy looked gorgeous staring at the fireworks, then he doesn’t think there would be a word to describe how beautiful he looks when their eyes meet.
Eyes wide and fond, with no wall to be seen. Chase hopes Buddy won’t notice the way his breath seems to quicken, his heart that threatens to burst, beating so loudly Chase can hear it drumming through his blood.
There's a certain kind of confidence that comes without thinking, and Chase thinks that's the type he specializes in.
Which is why he leans in, slowly. Not because he’s unsure or insecure, but to give Buddy the chance to pull away. His hand moves first, gingerly slipping across the blades of grass until his fingertips brush against Buddy’s, and the touch burns hot against his skin.
For a moment, Chase thinks Buddy will let them meet, will let Chase close this canyon of distance between their lips, because he’s so close, he can feel the warmth of Buddy’s breath on his.
And then, Buddy leans back. Slightly. His eyes closed for a moment, as if grounding himself before leaning back. A small, tiny movement.
But it's enough for Chase to feel as if a cold bucket of water has been dropped on his head, drenching his entire being, scuttling up through his veins and freezing over his blood. He stills. Buddy stares at him, and a wave of red light glints in his beautiful, sorrowful eyes. A pained expression in his eyes, like it hurts to hold himself back. Like petals blooming in reverse.
“Chase—We shouldn’t —”
“I know,” Chase interrupts, turning away, because he understands. That this is the extent of his greed Buddy’s allowed him, that he’s already asked for too much. The lines were etched in the ground from the start. He doesn’t look back at Buddy, because he can’t keep looking at his expression, how wounded he looks. How they’re so close, yet so far.
From his peripheral, he can watch colors shift and gleam on Buddy’s face, can see him bite his lip before opening his mouth, words that thread through the constant pop of the fireworks, tinged with resignation and ache. When he finally speaks, it’s almost lost over the constant explosions over their heads.
“It’s not…it’s not that I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
Chase’s fingers tighten against the grass, ripping some of the blades out of the earth. The words should sound nice. Buddy wants to kiss him. But it's…a limit. Helpless and all-consuming.
“It’s just, its—it’s not a good ide—”
It feels like Buddy’s trying to convince himself more than Chase. Hands shaky, and voice catching.
“I know .”
When he doesn’t get any more justifications, he tears his eyes to the sky, tracing the lines of color, pink stardust raining like a meteor. He thinks he understands it now, that this want can be mutual but not enough. That there is a line.
“I understand, Buddy. You don’t need to explain anything to me, anymore,” resignation settles in him like a gentle hum, wisps of a foggy trail curling around his words like vapour.
Buddy says something else then, but it's so quiet and the fireworks are so loud. Chase turns to face him, question on his lips, but he never gets to ask.
Because suddenly, fingers grip his arm and pull. The movement is so sudden that Chase has hardly any time to process it before the distance between him and Buddy disappears like the spark of a lit firework, like the snapping of thread pulled too tight.
And then they’re kissing, and Buddy murmurs something that sounds like I’m sorry against his lips, and Chase thinks the best response to that is deepening the kiss, pushing hard and slotting their mouths together. Buddy slides a hand, slipping up Chase’s arms and to the back of his neck and then gliding through his hair and cradling, fingers threading through golden locks in tender impatience.
It’s desperate, different in the way their first kiss was. The first kiss was gentle, and soft. Hesitant. This one is desperate and greedy, in the way Chase’s hands cling to Buddy’s shirt, wanting to be even closer, pushing and pushing even more, till Buddy’s hands have to settle on his waist to hold him in place, fingertips slipping up the hem of Chase’s shirt in a way that makes him dizzy.
The fireworks explode one last time in a glorious crescendo of light, but Chase never gets to see it because by the time they come apart, cheeks flushed, pupils blown and his hair messy and tussled, a string of salvia connecting their lips, the sky has long gone dark.
Buddy stares down at him, hands warming Chase’s cheek, eyes searching Chase’s for something. Maybe regret. Maybe a reason to stop. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it.
Chase laughs, voice hoarse.
“What—,” he licks his swollen lips, immediately noticing the way Buddy’s eyes follow the movement, “—happened to “We shouldn’t do this”?”
Buddy laughs, low, sending shivers down his spine, “Shut up.”
The words come out all tender and soft, that makes Chase ache in a way that's different from the ache their conversation, that feels so long ago, gave him.
Chase is about to tease him again, opening his mouth to complain about Buddy being a hypocrite or being too weak to resist Chase’s irresistible charm, when Buddy leans in once again and Chase, somewhere distant, thinks they’ve just delayed that impossible conversation, that this doesn’t fix any of the issues Buddy mentioned, But that part is very, very far.
And right now, he thinks he wouldn’t ever mind being told to shut up if this was the way Buddy did it.
The next time Deacon sees his cousin cleaning the same mug for a consistent five minutes, he takes one look at the lovesick expression on Chase’s face and turns around, muttering something about how there's no way they’re related.