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The Haus is empty, it’s the middle of the afternoon, and Nursey and Dex are both rapidly on the way to getting shitfaced. The green couch’s comfortable, is all Dex has to say in his defence. Which is not really an excuse for how the two are tangled up together, their feet almost on each other’s laps, Nursey’s hand resting lightly on Dex’s arm. But somewhere between shoving at each other, jostling for the TV remote, and passing cans of beer, they ended up sprawled out on the couch. And draped over each other.
“So, you know, obviously Hemingway was the one with more chest hair, and then he knocked out that other guy with his own book,” Nursey says, laughing. He’s been obsessed with Hemingway ever since he turned in that assignment for his poetry class. Which, Dex is pretty sure classifies as ironic, since Dex had to bullshit his way through an entire essay to bail a completely drunk Nursey out of that one.
The soft light falls all around them. Nursey picks up another can from the floor and takes a sip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
A wave of affection swells up in Dex’s chest, and he wonders if he has to be drunk for this. If any of it is okay, all these thoughts that flock his head every time Nursey moves, the way they don’t even fight anymore, only fall into old patterns, mindless bickering. If he needs to put a label on this, and push it into a corner of his brain so he never thinks again.
His thoughts are all over the place today.
Nursey takes another sip, raising his eyebrows at Dex. Dex realizes he’s supposed to say something.
“What’s even the big deal about chest hair, anyway?” Dex mumbles distractedly. Nursey’s neck is…nice. Dex is pretty sure he’s staring.
“Man. Chest hair is, like, fucking macho or something,” Nursey says, handing the can to Dex. Dex doesn’t say anything when Nursey’s fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary.
“It’s disgusting,” Dex says. Even though, this really isn’t. He doesn’t even care about chest hair.
“Ouch, Dex. That’s rude,” Nursey says, smiling. “Or are you just insecure about your own lack of chest hair?”
Mindless bickering. Dex should be less happy about this than he is.
“Fuck off, man,” Dex says, swatting at Nursey’s knee. Nursey just smirks harder.
“Aw, Dex, I'm sure some people are into baby flesh,” Nursey says, his voice shifting an octave higher. But there’s something in his voice, an undertone Dex can't identify, and suddenly, Dex doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t…” Dex sputters, then coughs to cover up.
“I have chest hair,” Dex says. He doesn’t, but at this point, he might as well.
“Oh, yeah? You know, I’ve seen you in the locker room,” Nursey laughs. So maybe it’s that laugh, or maybe it’s the way Nursey bites his Lip, or it’s the visual of the locker room, but just like that, Dex wants to push it.
“I probably have more chest hair than you,” Dex spits out, and immediately flushes, because he doesn’t, he’s practically hairless, he can’t grow a beard to save his life.
“Really?” Nursey says, lips breaking into a smirk as he arches his eyebrow comically. And of course he’s going to rise to the challenge, because this is Nursey- he could place bets on the time of day, probably has at some point- and honestly, why does Dex even open his mouth?
Dex nods. Not like he has a choice, now.
“Prove it.”
Five minutes later, they’re both shirtless on the couch, inspecting each other’s chests. And five minutes after that, they’re fighting again, laughing into each other’s skin as none of their punches land, but they’re taking their shots, so who even cares?
-x-
Dex wakes up to Nursey’s face just inches from his. He jerks back quickly, sleep falling off his skin. Everything feels slower, but then Nursey smiles and Dex can't bring himself to give a shit.
“So you’re awake,” Nursey says, settling back on the couch. It’s night already, and Dex is still drunk. But it’s a muted kind of drunk, now- cottony, but nice. The kind where he can feel his body but doesn’t have to think about his hands every second because his brain’s working slower than usual.
It’s his favourite kind of drunk.
“Aren’t you a poet, man,” Dex says, smiling. That’s when he notices he’s still shirtless. And…oh. Oh. Nursey’s chest hair is actually pretty nice. Dex could bet it would be soft to touch.
He might just care a little about chest hair.
“Shut up,” Nursey laughs. “I could recite poetry right this fucking second.”
Dex raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t actually expect Nursey to do anything, but Nursey pulls him up anyway, and drags him to the window.
“Do you need to look out of a window to recite poetry?” Dex mumbles, but Nursey’s shoulders are pressed against his, and he can feel the warmth of his naked skin, and Dex doesn’t really mind.
“Nah. I just wanted to show you the world,” Nursey deadpans. Dex laughs nervously. The air feels heavy. The noise of the street spills over them, soapy water flowing over the brim, warm and dirty.
But it is worth looking at. The broken pavements, the tar glinting in the moonlight, people spilling over each other. Everything looks better drunk. Even the sky is larger, wide enough for Dex to stretch his body tight against the blue, behind the city blocks and the chain link fences.
And then Nursey starts speaking, voice deep. Dex turns to him in surprise- he didn’t actually expect a poetry recital- but Nursey just smirks at him and turns to the window and then he’s saying something about the moon being a balloon and flowers picking themselves and Dex is losing the plot.
Dex doesn’t know if Nursey made up these verses himself, or if he’s just quoting Hemingway from memory, but either way, it’s… something. It’s not exactly beautiful – Nursey’s not serious enough about it for that- but here, this, it’s- possibility. Like Dex could reach out and press his hands to Nursey’s lips, and all he’d feel was Nursey’s smile.
So, there it is. He’s pointing at the moon, but you are staring at his hand.
The silent lurching, the shifting of focus. Suddenly, your friend isn’t just your friend anymore. There’s more, somewhere under the surface, a world hidden away, the rest of the iceberg. Scratch here, for a chance to get lucky. Look closer, and here are all the things you didn’t see.
It probably doesn’t even matter. It’s not a declaration of love, it’s not, hey, let’s spend the rest of our lives together. Or even: I like you, like, a lot. Whatever.
But Nursey’s touch always lingers and Nursey’s eyes follow Dex when he moves, and Dex doesn’t want to hope, but it’s just.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only the same primordial thought patterns, the thumbed out paths unique only to the entire human race. You don’t know what the glowing orb in the night sky is? Say it’s cheese. You don’t know what a wink and a smile means? Say it’s love.
We make things up every day. For Dex, it’s an easy mistake. And it’s always the not knowing that kills him. The guesses, and the darts in the dark.
You don’t get points if nobody knows you hit the bulls-eye.