[ @birchbcy continued from HERE ]
In his defense, Jasper had tried to be quiet about it.
The it, in this context, boasts two meanings. The popped can of Surge in his hands, and the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to throw up every time David is within a 15 foot radius.
Everyone knows you need at least half an hour to prepare to see your CRUSH, especially looking so adorably disheveled. You can’t just spring that on a guy and expect him not to blush back and -
No, wait, shit. He’s not supposed to think that. He promised himself he wasn’t going to think that anymore. He swore to himself that it was done, it was over, it wasn’t worth risking what they had. Love doesn’t work like movies. Love doesn’t prevail. Love isn’t what they say it is, it’s dangerous and blinding and oh shit AGAIN he’s been talking and this is exactly why he has to let it go.
“Cats?” It’s really the only part of the sentence he catches, but that’s fine, because it seems like David is just as confused as to how it came out as Jasper is as to what came out. “Oh! Training camp! Yeah. I’ve got a couple leashes out. I don’t think cats are particularly jazzed about the idea, or raccoons for that matter, but it’s a start, and also good for liability purposes.”
If only they were using possums. Then they could both learn to fake drop dead.
“What is it, Dav-” No! No pet names! That only makes you smile and want to romance him even more! “-id?” Good work. Nothing says platonic like a voice crack. “You can tell me anything.”
Even now his smile is warm, eyes shining with glee at the prospect of spending time with a friend despite the panicked tremor to his heart from time to time. He’ll get over it. Or die. Both work.
But then, David leans up. And his prospects lean very heavily towards the latter. Every single cell he has stops for a moment, his body shutting down and freezing like someone got bored and hit the pause button on his existence. Those are lips. David’s lips. On his cheek. His suddenly so very, very, very red cheek. He doesn’t even breathe.
Even after David returns to his true height, down from tip toes, Jasper can’t move. His heart is racing so hard it’s probably audible, hell, maybe even visible under his thin shirt. He lets out nothing but a small sigh of air, accompanied by a tiny noise in the back of his throat - the sound of the butterflies he’s been fighting so hard to hold down flapping their wings hard enough to hurt.
But the good news is, gravity is still up and running! The bad news is, it’s claiming Jasper’s soda as its next victim. The only thing to break his stunned, dreamy trance is the loud CLATTER of aluminum coated green sludge meeting hardwood, and though he’s the one who dropped it, he jumps so high he could’ve hit the ceiling.
“Oh fuck, shoot, Davey, I’m so sorry, I’ll ... I’ll c-clean that, uh - I “ I love you, I liked that, I don’t understand - “I forgot it was in my hand!”
