You’re not exactly following the conversation, your eyes slipping closed and your mind wandering, when your best friend lifts your legs off his lap and stands up.
You’re aware of what he’s about to do, and as inadvisable as it is, you don’t try to stop him, not today.
Jonah, however, does, “Zach, no. You are going to hate yourself tomorrow. All you’ve eaten today is junk.”
“Nah,” He responds, rustling through the bag of marshmallows and grabbing more graham crackers, “I’m good.”
“You’re gonna be sick, dude,” Jack says, uncharacteristically, attempting reason.
“Leave him alone,” You roll your eyes, “He can do whatever he wants, it’s his birthday.”
“Yeah,” Zach drawls, “Leave me alone, I’m a grown man.”
At that, everyone on the roof bursts into laughter.
“No, you’re not,” Jack snorts, “You’re just tall.”
“I’m eighteen!” Zach’s indignant.
“And you smell like smoke and burned sugar,” Daniel points out, “So I think you’ve had enough s’mores.”
“The fire is fake,” Zach protests, which isn’t entirely true, because the flame is real, but it’s one of those fancy glass ones that doesn’t burn wood, so there isn’t any smoke, “And this is the last one,” You can hear his pout, and that is absolutely not the reason you’re smirking.
“It’s probably from his safety hazard of a cake,” Corbyn decides, “We’re lucky we didn’t burn down the venue.”
The exhaustion of being in a time zone almost a day ahead of home has completely destroyed your brain to mouth filter, which is the only explanation for why you say, “No, he just always smells like that.”
“Smokey?” Daniel asks, and you hear more than see the way he leans over in the chair next to you, “Like it’s his cologne?”
“No,” You half-cover your eyes with your arm, “Like blown-out birthday candles. He always smells like that. Like it’s in his pheromones. It’s the best.”
There’s a pause, long enough for you to realize exactly what you’ve just admitted, and for Zach to drop his makeshift marshmallow roasting instrument and cross the space between the fire and you.
“Right,” Jack leaps up, “I’m just gonna,”
“Yup,” Corbyn scrambles towards the stairs, “There’s that,”
“We should,” Jonah agrees, hauling a silent Daniel with him, fleeing the two of you.
“Um,” You blink, lifting your arm up but focusing on Zach’s shoes.
“So,” He’s still holding cookies and a piece of chocolate in his hand, “You spend a lot of time thinking about my pheromones?”
“I,” You groan, “I didn’t mean,”
“No,” He immediately loses his bravado, setting down his fifth dessert, “No, of course not…”
You can hear him deflating, and your stomach sinks, “Z,” You look up at him, at his red cheeks and wild hair, the pieces of the boy you once knew better than anyone in the world, and at the cut of his shoulders and strength in his hands, the signs of the man he’s becoming, the person you love, no matter what, and that makes you brave, “I don’t spend a lot of thinking about what you smell like because I don’t have to. You smell like thunder and rain on tin roofs and soccer fields and trophies, like birthday candles all year around,” You bite your lip, knowing this is irreversible, that he’s given you one out, and might offer a second, if you laugh or pretend to fall asleep, but instead you choose to keep going, “You smell like safety, like triumph, like every wish I’ve ever made.”
“Yeah,” You close your eyes again, “Oh.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” There’s something in his voice you can’t comprehend, but you still refuse to open your eyes.
“Because,” Your laugh falls somewhere between bitter and hysterical, “I didn’t have space to write, ‘Happy Birthday, Zach, also, by the way, I’m stupid in love with you, and know you’ve never given me any indication that it’s mutual but I’m the one always stealing your shirts, not Jack, even though I let you blame him, and I’d really like to kiss you because I’m pretty sure that would be the best even if I’m too scared to say any of this to your face,’ on your cake.”
“You’re crazy,” Zach declares, but his voice is choked up, and not even a little bit teasing, “Crazy beautiful, crazy fun, and actually crazy-crazy, if you think I’m not in love with you too.”
“Oh,” You can barely hear his echoing answer over the sound of your pulse racing in your ears, but you can’t mistake the smile in his voice as he says, “I really want to kiss you now.”
You reach for him, pulling him down on top of you on the ridiculously tiny loveseat you’ve been sprawled on together for hours, just not quite like this, whispering, while he’s still holding himself back, millimeters from touching you, “It’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want.”
“And tomorrow?” He asks, maturity, slightly unexpected but not entirely unfamiliar, so fucking hot, shining in his eyes.
“Birthday or not, I want to you to kiss me everyday for the rest of my life, Z.”
“Okay,” He starts to nod, “Good, I’ll just,”
You grab his hair and kiss him instead, and you were right,
Kissing him is incredible,
Happy Birthday to this adorable goofball. I hope at least eighteen of your wishes come true, and you have your best year yet. <3
romaincrisis
2087
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
