Interlude (Milo): noelia_g

[gkremixmods]

Title: Just Rolling Home
Author: noelia_g
Rating: R
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Word Count: 11,209
Summary: Nate likes to look at his life as composed of moments just like these.
Warnings: May contain kidfic.
Notes: Remix of Set Out on a Narrow Way and Like Northern Stars

Download Link: Interlude (Milo)



Nate's first best friend was Steph Carlyle, always Steph and never Stephanie, unless you wanted to get punched. Her family lived across the street from the Ficks and Steph was one year older than Nate. (Eleven months and seven days older, because Nate liked to be exact.) She had two long braids and freckles and loved Transformers so much Nate had no choice but to start liking them too.

The Carlyles moved out when Nate was in second grade, so he was too big to cry about it. Steph promised to write and left him her Mirage transformer, who didn't quite change because something broke off and they couldn't find it.

Nate hadn't thought of Steph in years. He used to wonder if she'd get on with Brad, would they take apart computers together, and where would the alliances lie in choosing the location for the tree house. But that was a long time ago.

When Katie asks Brad about his first best friend, Brad looks up from his laptop and smiles. "That would be your Dad. Because clearly we've been secretly living in an 80s tv show."

It's sad that he's right. "Except that you've been upstaged by a girl," he offers. "Steph. You moved in after she already left."

"My whole life has been based on a lie," Brad says mournfully, his grave tone making Katie laugh. She laughs a lot more now, and she laughs like she's not afraid to be happy.

The sound startles Ironhide and she jumps off the couch, throwing Katie an offended look, then heads out of the room, stopping only under Brad's stretched legs to accidentally-on-purpose scratch her own back against them.

"So, who was your first crush, then?" Katie asks Brad, absently trying to lure Ironhide back with a piece of paper.

"What, are you writing a book? There are better ways to emulate your father. You could do the dishes, for example," Brad tells her.

"Dad has already loaded up the dishwasher, you know it physically pains him when there are mugs in the sink."

"It would be much easier if you just put it in the dishwasher when you're done," Nate points out. Brad gives him a long look. "Fine, suit yourself, but I reserve the right to complain."

"Deal."

"So," Katie prompts, giving up on her luring tactic and just picking Ironhide up and settling back down, with the cat on her stomach. "First crush."

"Don't think I don't know after whom you take in being a pain in the ass, Katherine Colbert-Fick," Brad tells her. "Fuck, I don't know. There was Julie, she was my first girlfriend," he says and shares a quick look with Nate. "I think maybe Emma? There was a week or so when I didn't find her entirely annoying. Could have been that."

"Alright," Katie allows. "Also, you said fuck."

Nate snorts. The money jar is long gone, they have given up a good while ago. Besides, she's in high school, she probably hears much worse on the daily basis. Doesn't stop Katie from pointing the words out every damn time.

"And yours?" she looks at Nate.

"Pass on that one," he tells her.

"Okay."

"Wait, why does Nate get to pass on the questions?" Brad asks, frowning. "Nobody told me the rules allowed to pass on the questions."

"They don't," Katie shrugs. "But I'm not going to argue with Dad on that one, he'd bring out the constitutional amendments, a bunch of precedents, and then bury me with Latin to boot. I know better."

Nate laughs. "That's something you could learn from your daughter, Colbert."

"I'll sign up for that class later, now I'm curious why you don't want to fess up to your first crush. Let me guess, Miss Lisa from the elementary school? That would explain so much."

Nate rolls his eyes and turns back to his files. Brad will get bored in a moment and leave the subject alone. Under other circumstances he might try another tactic, but not with Katie present.

It's not something Nate has ever admitted. He could probably say it was Emma, too, after all she was the first girl Nate kissed. Or Madison. Or maybe Tara, she had the prettiest blue eyes Nate has ever seen. Well, second best, probably. And that was the thing, because the very first time Nate had considered that yeah, this might be something like the whole love thing people keep talking and writing and singing about... that was the summer before high school, when they made their bucket list and sat up till very late, smoking their first cigarettes and trying not to puke.

It's kind of funny, that Nate associates the moment of falling in love with wanting to find a quiet place to vomit. But they've been making the list for the entire day, adding items as they occurred to them, and it felt like the summer was going to kick start their whole lives, like everything was possible.

Brad stole Grandpa Jim's cigarettes and they sat up in the attic, the sun setting outside, the smoke coming out in uneven puffs and in-between coughing. Nate hated the smell and the taste of the nicotine but he loved the moment, he felt like he wouldn't mind it stretching forever. He felt like anything was possible if it was him and Brad.

If he were to honestly admit to a first love, a first crush, it would have to be that. He's been pretty much in love with Madison after that, and probably with Andie, so it wasn't like he's been pining, and if he was, it was only a little (until it was a lot, but that came later), but yeah, that moment.

"I'll get it out of you," Brad promises and Nate smiles.

"You are most welcome to try." There's really no downside to that.

"Minor present," Katie volunteers, theatrically covering her ears.

"Minor started it," Brad points out, causing her to stick her tongue at him.

Nate likes to look at his life as composed of moments just like this one.

*

Nate had never envisioned himself as a father.

Not that he was against the concept, he simply hadn't really thought about it. Most of the time he had other things to concentrate on, school and college and work, and any thoughts of family were for the distant future. In the meantime, he has been coming to terms with the fact that he was gay and in love with his straight best friend. And still after that, between work and finally getting to have Brad, he didn't think to miss or want anything else.

If he thought about family at all, it was him and Brad, and the extended family of their sisters and their nieces and nephews, the family dinners and the summer visits.

He hadn't expected to meet Katie.

She was five years old, too thin, with an uneven haircut and big blue eyes in a tiny face. She jumped at loud noises and sat on her hands, trying to take the least space possible. She had scraped knees and no other mark on her, but Jamie, the social worker on Katie's case, gave Nate a pointed look that said a kid didn't have to be beaten to be abused.

Katie's mother died of internal bleeding at the hospital, two hours after they brought her in. Nate met with Becca Clifford, the defense attorney, and told her they're not even considering a deal.

Nate isn't sure when he made the decision, when it became clear that Katie was going to stay with them. It could have been that first meeting. It could have been the seventh day on the case, when Katie met Brad, who came by to convince Nate to actually eat lunch for a change.

Katie was sitting outside the courtroom with Jamie. Nate didn't really want her in the court at all, he tried to limit the appearances to the minimum, but seven of the jury had kids and if there was a chance that seeing Katie would sway their vote, Nate had to take it.

She was still there when the court was adjourned. "She didn't want to leave before she said goodbye," Jamie told him, shrugging when Nate raised his eyebrows at her. "I gave in, she never asks for anything."

"Brad was waiting too," Katie volunteered quietly, looking at something fascinating on the floor.

Jamie smiled. "The court session took longer than I thought. Mr. Colbert's been keeping us company, since it turned out we were waiting for the same person."

"I assure you it was the other way around," Nate told her with a quick glance at Brad. "Brad gets bored easily, I'm sure you've kept him from getting into some trouble."

"I resent that, Fick," Brad protested perfunctorily, but he was smiling. That was new; Brad liked kids, most of the time, but usually pretended otherwise, the occasional smiles were reserved for his and Nate's nieces and, maybe, Poke's daughters. This time, however, the smile seemed involuntary, growing softer when he crouched in front of Katie. "But I have to admit Katie here could probably keep me in check if I was thinking about stirring up some trouble. Right, Katie?"

She shrugged, uncertain, but her mouth twitched in a smile, and she bit her lip as she looked up at Nate. "Maybe."

Brad looked up as well, still smiling, and something turned inside Nate's stomach. Maybe that was when the vague want turned into something akin to a plan.

*

When Katie's sixteen and wants to visit her father in prison, Brad's first reaction is a 'hell no', right before he locks himself in the garage and bangs something metal against something else for a good few hours.

"Shouldn't the teenager be the one to throw temper tantrums?" Katie asks, arms crossed. She's trying for glib, trying for a light tone and a joking manner, but her voice is shaking too much to pull it off.

Nate sighs and leans in to hug her. She's tall enough now that he can't place his chin on top of her head like he used to, but he can comfortably kiss her forehead. "He'll come around, give him a few hours." There's a loud bang from the garage and Nate shakes his head. "Maybe a day."

"I don't get it, you aren't..."

"Oh, I hate the idea," Nate says honestly. "You have no idea how much I hate the idea. If I thought it might work, I'd ground you till you're thirty."

"Wouldn't work," she informs him.

"I am aware. We just thought... We thought maybe we'd have more time before you wanted to meet him. I hoped it would be never, but isn't the customary age eighteen or something?"

"I just want to know, you know?" she says, grimacing at the awkward phrasing. The banging has stopped, Brad might have actually broken something for once, and the silence in the absence of noise is almost deafening. "I'm sorry."

Brad opens the doors and stands there for a moment, shaking his head. "Nothing to be sorry for, kid. I'll drive you there next week if Nate arranges the visit."

That Brad would be the one to take her there went without question; Nate was the prosecutor who put the guy in prison, going with Katie would be asking for trouble. He thinks about tagging along and waiting in the car, but he'd go insane.

Not that he isn't now, as the spotlessly clean kitchen might attest. He sorted and folded the laundry, too, and there's no way Brad isn't going to mock him for that.

The key is turned in the lock, finally, and Katie's the first one in, stopping by the kitchen to nod at Nate. "We're here. I'm..." She looks like she's been crying, her eyes red-rimmed and her face a little swollen. "I'm fine. Can we talk later?"

"Of course," Nate nods, even though he means the exact opposite. She nods and heads upstairs, and Brad makes his way into the kitchen.

"It smells awful in here. As if Mr. Clean puked all over the place. Are we completely out of the cleaning products now?" he asks, moving to stand as close to Nate as possible, leaning in, his head bowed. His breathing slows down a little and his lips move against Nate's neck without forming words.

"How did it go?" Nate asks after a moment, running his hands up and down Brad's back.

"Better than it could. I didn’t punch the guy, for one."

"I'm impressed."

"As you should be. Katie... He doesn't want anything to do with her. Which is a fucking good thing, you know, from where I stand, but, well, fuck. He didn't even recognize her."

Nate's fingers clench on the fabric of Brad's shirt. He should be upstairs now, they both should be, except he has no idea what to say to Katie, or even if it would be wise to try. "Fuck," he mutters, and Brad snorts.

"An excellent assessment of the situation, Nathaniel," he offers dryly, then steps back, his lips brushing against Nate's chin. "Need some help with dinner?"

"Yes, I'll get the menus, you'll call and order," he says and fishes the Chinese takeout menu from the drawer, handing it to Brad. "Here. I'll go and ask Katie what she wants."

"Subtle."

"Thank you," he nods and goes upstairs, knocking on the door lightly. "We're ordering Chinese, you want your usual?"

She doesn't answer for a moment, but not for long enough for Nate to worry. "Yeah, sounds good. Thanks."

"Katie," he starts before he can stop himself. She opens the doors and shrugs one shoulder, before stepping forward and into a hug, and Nate can put his arms around her. "I'm sorry. I don't know..."

"Yeah, that would be the sentiment of the day," she says into his shirt. "That's okay. I wouldn't know what to do if he wanted to know me. I just wanted to meet him. And I'm a little... okay, I'm sort of a fucking mess right now, but that's expected, right?"

"Language," Nate tells her and she snorts.

"I love you, Dad," she tells him. "And I still want to sulk on my own for a while, okay?"

"Before you do," Brad yells from downstairs, "is there anything else you'd like to share with the group?"

"I love you too, Dad," Katie yells right back, and she's actually laughing for real now.

*

Nate realized he was in love, really in love, with Brad at the end of their sophomore year, right at the time when Brad broke up with Julie. The first time.

He'd like to point out that he clearly wisened up years before Brad. On the other hand, he had years of being in love with his best friend, who, for all Nate had known, was only interested in women. Good times.

He somehow managed not to figure it out while Brad was dating Julie, while Nate absolutely hated Julie for no reason at all, except that she didn't seem in love with Brad like Brad was with her. She didn't seem to care enough. Nate almost said it once, when Brad wanted to know why Nate was being such an asshole, and, to be honest, he was being a monumental asshole at the time.

Nate almost said it, almost told Brad that Julie wasn't good enough for him, but he bit the words back before they could spill out. It wasn't his place to say anything. It wasn't his place to tell Brad that there probably wasn't anyone in the world who deserved to have him.

Nate knew all that and he still didn't figure out how far gone he was, how smitten.

That came a few weeks later, when Brad and Julie broke up over... something, no one quite remembered, some argument or other. Nate expected to feel angry on Brad's behalf, but he didn’t expect the cold fury he felt, and he didn’t fucking expect the complete and utter relief.

"She wasn't good enough for you," he told Brad, because now he was allowed to. Now that they were sitting on the floor and drinking from a bottle of stolen whiskey. A very good whiskey, he'd learn later, when his father discovered it went missing from the liquor cabinet. To Nate it tasted bitter and not good at all.

"She wasn't good enough for you," he told Brad, and what he meant was: I don't think anyone is. What he meant was: I wish I could be, that you'd think I was. It wasn't something to say out loud, it sounded strange in Nate's own head, strange and really fucking scary. Nate could feel his hands get clammy, and his fingers tightened around the bottle. He was pretty damn sure that he wasn't supposed to think like that, supposed it was a betrayal of their friendship to contemplate it.

When he chased the thoughts with another gulp of the liquor, the scotch didn't taste half as bitter as before, in comparison.

When Brad got back with Julie, a few months later, Nate wasn't really all that surprised. Well, alright, he was surprised it'd be Julie again, but he knew that Brad would be with someone, sooner rather than later because fuck, you just had to look at Brad and you wondered why only half of the girls at school giggled and blushed when he walked down the hall.

So Brad got back together with Julie, and Nate learned one evening when they showed up at the cinema, holding hands, looking too damn cheerful for Nate's mood and, to add insult to an injury, looking freshly fucked.

Yeah, Nate did know it wasn't about him at all, but he felt as if he's been dealt a painful punch to the gut, his stomach turning and his fists clenching in the involuntary response, clutching at the tickets in his hands. He forced himself to relax and hand them to Brad, forced himself to smile and joke.

When Katie breaks up with her first boyfriend, she asks Nate whether broken hearts are supposed to hurt so fucking much and Nate isn't quite sure what to tell her. What he remembers best from that moment in front of the cinema is that his face was flushed with embarrassment he didn't have any reason to feel, and that his stomach hurt like he's eaten something bad, like he was going to hurl.

"Jesus," Katie says a few days later when she's stopped crying her eyes out and eating her entire weight in ice cream and when Nate tells her that story. "Dad was an idiot."

Nate laughs. It's easy to laugh at that because yeah, they both were, for a long while. "Yeah. That's the whole point, though, because I'm pretty sure he could give you a few good examples on me being an idiot as well."

She nods slowly. Her hand tightens on the cellphone and Nate suspects she might be calling Chris in a few moments and he's not sure he likes it, because well, she has been crying for three days and driving him into bankruptcy with all the ice cream he had to buy. On the other hand, Chris is nice and polite, doesn't have any piercings or tattoos, and he sat through the Brad Inquisition mildly petrified but determined.

"So, everyone's an idiot," Katie nods, her head tilted. "Like you and the San Diego thing?"

"I wasn't an idiot about it, I just didn't have all the facts," he says and Katie stares until he sighs and gives in. "Yeah, just like that."

*

Brad got the San Diego offer some time before his graduation. He's done some freelancing work for the company before and they pretty much thought he was the best thing since sliced bread, an opinion Nate very much concurred with, so he couldn't blame them.

They faxed over the details on a Thursday morning, and if they hadn't, Nate probably would have never heard a word about the whole thing. But Thursdays were the only mornings he had free of school or work, and those were also the days when Brad was up and out of their apartment before seven.

The fax machine, with excellent timing, perked up in-between Nate's second and third coffee, when he was slowly starting to understand the written word, though his notes for the afternoon class were still being incredibly uncooperative.

The fax, however, wasn't written in shorthand and was perfectly legible. Nate read it through twice and stacked the pages neatly on the kitchen counter, using the sugar tin as a paperweight.

They were still there when he came home that evening, though the tin has been moved and there was a coffee ring on the bottom of the top page.

"It sounds like a good opportunity," he said, opening the fridge. He wasn't quite hiding behind the doors, but the cover was something of a comfort.

It didn't sound like Brad even looked up from his book. "I suppose. Not interested, though."

Later, Nate would point out that it was a busy couple of weeks, and he always got a little crazy around the finals. He realizes it wasn't a very good excuse, but it was something nonetheless. At the time, though, he crossed the room and sat down on the coffee table, opposite Brad, who was sprawling on the couch, legs up on the armrest. "You should consider it."

"It's in San Diego," Brad pointed out, as if Nate didn't know that, or as if he was being particularly slow.

"Well, do you have a better offer somewhere locally? Or even a comparable offer? This is something you'd love to do."

"Sure. But you're forgetting the part where I love you and you're taking the job here."

Nate wasn't. It wasn't that. "You aren't supposed to make decisions about your life and your career based on what I'm doing."

Brad stared at him for a very long moment, his face impassive. He only shifted when Nate's cellphone rang from where he placed it on the kitchen counter. Nate didn't make a move to stand up and get it, so Brad did, glancing at the caller ID. "Just a moment," he said, picking it up. "Good thing you're calling, Nate could use some sense talked into him. Yes," he added after a few seconds and then handed Nate the phone. "Your mother."

Great. Now Nate had to explain what Brad had meant. His mother was never convinced by the 'it's nothing' and 'I'm fine' routine.

Brad put on his jacket and fished out the keys to his bike. "I'll be back soon," he mouthed at Nate.

It wasn't so surprising, Brad had a habit of taking off for a while when they were arguing, of taking his bike out for a spin or going for a long run, or just out to breathe in fresh air and clear his head. But they weren't really arguing now and Brad didn't seem angry at all. More like... disappointed.

"No, Mom, it's nothing," Nate tried, the sinking feeling in his stomach proving to him that he was indeed lying about that.

It took him a good ten minutes or so to disentangle himself from the conversation, and it cost him a promise of showing up for the Sunday dinner with Brad. Brad was still out, and Nate tried to busy himself with proofreading his essay, but it was pretty much a hopeless case, and fifteen minutes later he was still reading the same paragraph over and over, until the key turned in the lock.

It must have been raining a little, because Brad's hair was slightly wet and sticking up from where he must have run his hand through it. He was holding a white box in his hands and headed straight for the kitchen, unceremoniously dumping it on the kitchen counter, over the pile of papers still there.

"I'm going to make coffee," he told Nate, as if picking up on a previous conversation. "And you're going to sit down and eat a donut, I bought the jelly ones you like," he added. So he did, six of them, stacked in the box.

"Brad..."

"I am going to put your idiocy down to low blood sugar and possibly a caffeine withdrawal. It's finals, after all," he mused.

"Brad."

"Nate," Brad nodded at him matter-of-factly.

Nate sighed. "I didn't think that..."

"No, you clearly didn't," Brad agreed readily, taking the two steps that brought him to stand maybe an inch away from Nate. Maybe less. Up close he looked tired, his eyes heavy-lidded and the line in the corner of his mouth more pronounced, as always when he was displeased. "You said that to me once, you know?"

"What?"

"That your choices shouldn't influence my decisions and some other bullshit. It was when I was considering joining the Marines," he added unnecessarily, because Nate remembered that rather well, the fear cold in his stomach. "It was bullshit then too, and that was before I even had you. And you are here, and the job is in California, and even if it paid in diamonds and porn mags it wouldn't be worth it, alright?"

"Alright," Nate said, his lips twitching. "I'm sorry," he added and Brad nodded magnanimously.

"Yes, well. Sit the fuck down and eat your donut."

Nate shook his head. "I can't believe you went out in the rain to buy me donuts."

"You were being insane, I was trying for some damage control. Also, coffee," Brad said and tried to step back. Nate reached out, hooking his finger into Brad's belt loop.

"Later," he muttered, Brad's forehead smoothing out as he leaned in for a kiss.

*

When she is just about fifteen and a half, Katie rushes home and slams the door hard, dumping her bag in the hall and mumbling something about all guys being idiots.

Nate happens to be glancing at Brad when she says it, and he wishes he had a camera on hand to snap a picture; Brad's expression is absolutely hilarious. Katie glances at them but continues upstairs without saying anything more, and Nate's instinctive look around for his cellphone costs him Brad shaking off his shock and raising his hand to touch his nose, declaring not being it.

"You can't call not being it on dealing with your daughter," Nate tells him.

"I can when it's about dating and boys," Brad grimaces.

"Not like you don't have any experience in the area," Nate mutters and is rewarded by Brad's mouth twitching slightly.

"You're just annoyed that you didn't think of calling not it first."

"I didn't think of it first because I'm not in the fourth grade."

Brad nods slowly. "Yes, let's establish you're the mature adult in this house. All the more reason to talk to your teenage daughter about her woes."

Nate contemplates flipping him off, but that would probably make Brad's point for him. One of his points anyway.

Instead, Nate does the reasonable and mature thing and calls Brad's niece.

Megan, of course, laughs at him for a whole minute, but she agrees to talk to Katie all the same, and after a short while they're chattering a mile a minute, the babble occasionally interrupted by Katie's loud sighs and oh god, I knows.

"So, you've found a way of calling not it," Brad observes cheerfully. "Impressive though hypocritical."

Nate shrugs and spreads his arms theatrically. "I'm a lawyer, what do you expect?"

"Point," Brad salutes him with his coffee cup and scoots over on the couch, making room for Nate. "This is why you're in charge of all those conversations from now on, including all variations on the birds and bees talk and everything connected to female hygiene products."

If any flat surface was available in his imminent vicinity, Nate would contemplate headdesking. As it is, he pokes Brad in the side and then shifts closer. He's well aware that resting his cheek on Brad's shoulder will prevent any retaliation and indeed, Brad relaxes into him.

Strategic planning. Now Nate only needs to program Megan's number on speed dial and possibly discuss her rates.

*

Chris Stenson is a sophomore, has reasonably good grades, runs track, and rides a bike to school. Actual bike, not one of those things Brad calls 'bikes' and that are quite probably something that could turn into a giant deadly robot when you're not looking.

Under any other circumstances, Nate might like the kid. As it is, he crosses his arms and points out that he plays golf with the chief of detectives. (Very occasionally and very poorly, because most of the time golf is boring as fuck, but the kid doesn't need to know that.)

Katie gives him a long look she clearly picked up from Brad and tosses her hair over her shoulder. It's all curly and shiny after she spent over an hour in the bathroom. "We're just going to the movies. There's no need to break out the threatening act."

Nate shakes his head. "Oh, I'm not the threatening act," he says, smiling mildly. "Your Dad is."

The look Katie sends him now promises retribution. He'll have to watch his coffee for salt for the next few days, probably. "Sit down, Chris, make yourself comfortable," he says cordially. "Brad will be here any moment now. Would you like something to drink?"

"Don't," Katie says and purses her lips. "And remember you have the right to remain silent," she adds seriously, her expression grim. Nate proudly thinks she might have a future in law, really.

Chris looks appropriately petrified. At least Katie’s not dating an idiot.

“We’re going to be late,” she tries, but her tone is resigned.

“You have time,” Brad informs her from the doorway. “You must be Chris. No, don’t get up,” he waves his hand, smiling. The description doesn’t quite convey the whole picture, Brad’s smile is all teeth and a little manic. Nate thinks it’s well played and Chris goes a little green.

“No one respects the eight amendment in this house,” Katie mumbles and sinks further into the couch, glaring at Brad a little.

“I think--” Chris ventures and Brad tilts his head, like he’s impressed. “It’s more of a prevention than punishment. Still cruel and unusual,” he adds and Nate snorts, because yeah, okay, he does like the kid.

Brad nods magnanimously. “Home at ten, no arguments. Or I’ll send Uncle Ray to pick you up.”

“Now that would be cruel and unusual,” Katie agrees and tugs at Chris’ sleeve, determined to get out while the good mood lasts. “Come on, let’s get away from the crazy people.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Nate tells her. “Be home at ten.”

He waits until the front door closes before he turns to Brad. “You could have said eleven, it’s not a school night.”

“You agreed.”

“United front,” Nate points out. “I’ll bet you ten bucks that the kid will have her home at nine thirty, too.”

“I still fail to see the problem.”

“Well, I wanted to make use of the fact that we have the house to ourselves, but you’ve ensured that we have very little time to fuck on the kitchen counter.”

“Nathaniel, I’m impressed,” Brad mutters, his voice already a little rough. “And I still don’t see the problem, I can be fast,” he says and catches himself the same moment Nate cracks up.

“Your dirty talk needs so much work,” Nate informs him and hooks his finger in Brad’s belt loop, pulling him close. “Come on, show me how fast you can be, baby,” he says, drawing the words out as much as he can while he’s still laughing.

“You’re really killing the mood here,” Brad tells him mournfully. Judging from the way his fingers curl on the nape of Nate’s neck, he’s lying.

*

Nate isn’t quite sure what to do with himself when Katie starts thinking about colleges.

She makes pros and cons lists, and Brad mocks them both, saying that it’s pretty clear whom Katie takes after, and helpfully handing them sharpies and hanging the lists on the fridge with a serious expression. Nate flips him off more often than not.

“But really,” he tells Brad one evening when Katie’s out studying at Jessica’s house and they’re both too tired for anything but Chinese food and a Die Hard marathon. “What are we going to do when she moves out?”

“Have sex in every room of the house?” Brad offers half-heartedly, but he shrugs all the same. “I don’t know, I’m finding that I’m quite pathetic and wishing she’ll choose to emulate you and go to Harvard. Even if she moves out, it won’t be far.”

“She’s been talking about Stanford,” Nate says and for a long moment, they watch as John McClane and Zeus try to figure out one of Simon’s riddles.

“Could be worse,” Brad mutters, his mouth twitching a little. “She could be considering military,” he adds and Nate smiles, remembering. He wonders sometimes if Brad regrets not trying that, but he’s pretty confident that Brad is happy where he is now, where they both are.

He remembers the complete panic of those weeks when the letters were coming, the way he run to pick the mail every morning, dreading the thin envelopes and hoping for the thick ones. He remembers being less worried, somehow, about his own acceptance than Brad’s, who didn’t apply to a great number of colleges and who was considering the Marines option.

He remembers that one morning, when he stumbled out of the house to pick up the mail, still in his pajamas and barefoot, because in those days the mail couldn’t wait, he knows it was crazy and he knew it was crazy back then, but he still rushed out, his eyes still only half-open.

“Jesus, Fick, watch where you’re going,” Brad muttered when Nate practically stepped on him.

“Get out of the way or prepare to be trampled,” Nate told him and sat down, because okay, the mail could wait a few minutes, Brad was looking up anxiously, like he was actually nervous about something. “What’s going on?” he asked, squinting a little in the morning sun.

Brad’s mouth moved around the words he apparently couldn’t quite get out. Instead, he reached into his backpack and took out a slightly rumpled envelope. A thick one.

“I don’t want to open it,” he said quietly, an admittance, reluctant and slow, ducking his head as if Nate was going to mock him for it.

“MIT?” Nate asked, taking the envelope and turning it in his hands. “May I?” he prompted and Brad nodded, still not looking up. Nate tore the side of the envelope carefully and fished out the papers, skimming them for the important part. “Hey,” he said, bumping Brad’s shoulder. “Well done,” he offered, trying not to smile too widely, not to hope too much.

Brad looked up then, a hesitant smile forming, and took the envelope from Nate’s hands, wanting to see for himself. “Seriously?” he asked and Nate laughed.

“That’s what it says. I wouldn’t ask too many questions, maybe it’s a clerical error,” he added, shaking his head when Brad looked for a second like he might believe it. “For fuck’s sake, of course you’re in, you idiot,” he said and threw his arm around Brad’s shoulder, just for a moment, because he could, the situation warranted it.

He wanted to tell Brad he was absolutely fucking crazy, because there was no one in their right mind who wouldn’t want Brad, and he really hoped the admission people were in their right minds. He didn’t say that, because it could come out wrong, or just exactly right, and he couldn’t afford that.

“How about you?” Brad asked, grimacing a little, like he knew that Nate must be sick of that question.

“Dartmouth and Stanford. No word from Harvard yet,” he shrugged. It was all good, he was damn proud of what he got. Except he really, really wanted Harvard, he wanted Boston, especially now that Brad got into the MIT.

“They’d be crazy not to want you,” Brad said and Nate felt a smile tugging at his mouth, he couldn’t hold it back. “‘Sides, I need you in Boston, someone needs to keep me out of trouble.”

“So very true. So, it’s MIT for sure?” he asked. Even if he didn’t get into Harvard, he was fine with studying in a different city, as long as Brad was somewhere safe. It was selfish and he wasn’t proud of that, but there it was.

“Unless it turns out that the Harvard people are fucking idiots after all and you’ll be choosing Stanford. I’m pretty excited about CalTech, you know,” he nodded decisively and Nate shook his head.

“You can’t make the de--”

“Hey, Fick, I’m going to look in your mailbox,” Brad said, standing up. “You coming?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, not wildly enthusiastic. What if it was a thin envelope with the Harvard logo on it? What if they didn’t think he was good enough, despite Brad’s faith?

He still had Brad’s faith, then. He still could have Stanford and California and his best friend. That was more then enough.

“Here, you moron,” Brad muttered, pulling out a wonderfully thick envelope from the mailbox. “Stop spazzing out.”

Now, Brad leans back on the couch, slightly to his left, into Nate’s space. “I seriously thought worrying about college is something you go through only once.”

“Clearly that’s not the case,” Nate shrugs and lets his head fall to the side, onto Brad’s shoulder. “I’m still stuck on the fact that she’s old enough to go to college.”

“Don’t remind me,” Brad mutters, faking a shudder, but he’s smiling anyway.

*

Nate almost didn’t go to his prom. He’s been dating Andie, on and off, since the junior year, and they were still in the off phase two weeks before the prom, but he’d still feel uncomfortable taking anyone else and he knew she turned down two invitations.

To complicate the whole thing, it was the time when his inconvenient crush (he still called it that, even though the feeling had been stronger, deep in his gut and twisting in his chest, aching and warm) on Brad was in full swing and Brad was, of course, going to the prom with Julie.

“You know, at least four guys on the team are going stag,” Brad pointed out at some point, when Nate was sprawled on his room’s floor, reading a book while Brad tapped away on his computer. “There’s no stigma anymore,” he added mournfully and Nate contemplated throwing a pillow at him, but he only had one pillow on the floor, so it would be wasteful or would have to involve standing up.

A bunch of guys were going stag, sure, but Brad was going with Julie and Nate was not jealous, he’d passed that one a long time ago, but he still wasn’t quite tripping over his feet to set himself up for an evening of, well.

A week before prom, however, Andie leaned against the locker next to Nate’s, her hair a new shade of red and her smile a little mocking, both of Nate and herself, and shrugged. “So, I thought I’d skip the idiotic patriarchal ritual and ask you out myself. Prom?”

“Are you picking up the corsage for me, then?” he asked and she shrugged.

“If you promise to wear a dress,” she shot back easily. Most things were easy with Andie, her smile and her humor and the way she kissed Nate for the first time, hesitant but unapologetic, crawling into his lap in the folding chair by the side of her parents’ pool.

She was going to go to Sarah Lawrence and she would later send outrageous e-mails to Nate every few weeks, diatribes on all her classes and the parties she attended, her first girlfriend and her second boyfriend, and she’d go on to become a writer for a fake news show. Nate thinks he really loved Andie and she probably loved him, but it was easier than a high school romance should be, devoid of hurt and drama and there were reasons for it.

Still, she was the first girl he slept with, and the only girl he slept with more than once. It could mean something, but he’s not into the whole introspection shtick all that much.

“A suit and a tie for you, then?” Nate said then, leaning against his own locker and Andie pursed her lips and touched her hair, curling a strand over her finger.

“Now that could be hot. Some other time, maybe, I don’t think this school is quite ready for so much awesome,” she leaned in to kiss his cheek, her hair tickling his lips. “My dress is green, plan accordingly.”

“Changed your mind about the prom, I see,” Brad said, appearing silently beside Nate, as was his wont. Nate would suspect some ninja training, except he could probably account for every minute of Brad’s day most of the time, so the ninja training would have to take place deep into the night, or something.

Which, well, ninja training, could be.

“So it seems,” he offered, shrugging. Brad nodded, something new crossing his face, something Nare couldn’t quite identify even though he was an expert at Brad Colbert’s expressions.

Brad mentions the prom thing to him now, when Katie’s going through an absolute frenzy of choosing the perfect dress while simultaneously trying to act like she doesn’t care at all about the whole thing.

“I hated Andie for a few weeks and I didn’t know why,” he confesses, his hand resting comfortably on Nate’s thigh, tips of his fingers on the inside seam. He says it lightly, it’s been long enough that it seems actually funny. “I mean, I never really liked her, but around the prom, everything about her annoyed me, from the red hair to her sneakers.”

“It shouldn’t delight me, should it?” Nate asks. Brad just shrugs, but it was meant to be rhetorical anyway. It’s not... he’s not happy about it, that’s not it. It doesn’t feel like payback for all the time he really, really hated Julie, or anything like that.

Mostly, he can look back and think, this was starting then. He hadn’t known it yet, but Brad was becoming his in a way Nate has been Brad’s for a long while by then. He likes to think it was simply a matter of time, that it was inevitable, that they’ve always been meant to fit together like this. Brad’s hand comfortable on his leg, Nate’s face fitting perfectly in the crook of Brad’s neck.

Katie moving upstairs in her room, turning around in front of the mirror in her new dress, trying on the shoes that for once actually have heels.

That’s a little less comfortable than the rest of the whole thing, but Nate’s learned to pick his battles. And she’s going with Chris, who’s still a little afraid of Brad and who is absolutely in love with Katie, wide-eyed and awkward, so there’s that.

“Still, prom night,” Brad points out over breakfast. “She’ll need the repeat of the Talk and I’m calling not it.”

“She’s eighteen, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need the talk anymore,” Nate points out. “We’ve been paying for the internet access for years now.”

“Your lips are moving, I’m pretty sure you’re saying something, and yet I can’t hear a word,” Brad tells him, his face carefully blank. “She’s not thirty yet, it’s obvious she has no idea what sex is.”

“And yet you want me to have the talk with her,” Nate points out. “Explain the dissonance I’m experiencing here.”

“I’ve told you not to use your lawyer logic in the morning. I distinctly remember threatening to divorce you if you tried.”

Nate refills the mugs with fresh coffee and reaches for the toast. “You’d be lost without me,” he offers and Brad doesn’t answer, pretending he’s too busy checking his messages on his phone. Nate knows better.

*

Katie’s been hiding the Stanford acceptance letter for about a week before Brad finds it. He’s been looking for Ironhide, who’s been having digestive problems and needs to take the medicine she very much hates. Usually, the cat hides under Katie’s bed, and that’s exactly where Brad starts looking.

“I wasn’t intentionally violating your privacy,” he says defensively before Katie can voice her disapproval. “Also, your cat peed on it a little,” he adds, placing the envelope on the coffee table and shifting the cat in his arms. “Nate, can you hand me her pills?”

“You still--” Katie starts and stops abruptly, shaking her head. “I don’t think my lawyer would back me up here?” she asks, looking at Nate.

Nate’s currently trying not to reach for the envelope. He’s one step away from sitting on his hands, actually. “You can still claim the attorney-client privilege if you need to talk about it.”

She shrugs. “There’s no answer from Harvard yet. I didn’t-- I didn’t want to tell you before I’ve made up my mind.”

“Whatever you choose, Katie,” Nate starts, sitting up a little, edging to the side of the couch. “You got in to Stanford,” he says, grinning, and she grins right back before her expression clouds again.

“What if I don’t get anywhere near? What if Stanford is my best option?”

“Don’t all the kids want to move out as far away from their parents as soon as possible?” Brad volunteers. Ironhide has just jumped off his knees and is looking at him like he’s the worst traitor as she makes her way towards Nate’s legs, to hide behind them.

Katie shrugs. “Yes. But, you,” she waves her hand and shrugs and Nate gives in and tugs at her hand until she moves closer into a hug.

“Besides,” Brad offers. “It’s California. Excellent surfing opportunities. I’ll go after you and then it’ll be two against one and Nate won’t have a choice but to move with us, kid. I’m actually kind of hoping you won’t get into Yale of Harvard, but unfortunately, you will.”

“See, everything’s figured out,” Nate mutters into her hair and she laughs.

“Okay. I’m moving out of the house, though.”

“Good. We’ve been waiting for that, this way no one has to keep the sex noise down,” Brad offers cheerfully and Katie nods seriously.

“Yes, I’ve been thinking the very same thing,” she says thoughtfully and Nate has to laugh at Brad’s expression.

*

They spent the day before they were to move into their respective dorm rooms packing Brad’s stuff. Few days before that they did the same with Nate’s things, mostly because Nate felt better when he had everything done in advance and Brad didn’t give a shit, and also, couldn’t decide what he wanted to pack and what he still might need at the last moment.

“You have four computers, don’t tell me you needed all of them,” Nate muttered, wielding a roll of duct tape, and Brad shrugged.

“You never know,” he said, as if he expected a sudden and desperate need to check something on his first laptop, the one that made Tardis noises when booted up. “That’s the last one?” he asked and Nate nodded, tossing him the tape and kicking the box gently out of his way as he moved to sit down on Brad’s bed.

“Is your mother really turning this into a sewing room?” She had been threatening to do that for days now. Brad shrugged.

“She doesn’t even sew,” he said flatly and crawled onto the bed, making a point of groaning as if the whole day tired him out greatly. Mostly for show, Nate supposed. “The worst thing is the thought of unpacking it all tomorrow.”

“I could--” Nate started and stopped, leaning back across the feet of the bed to rest on his elbows. He’d be unpacking his own stuff, in a different dorm room. Sure, they were staying close by, but it wasn’t going to be the same, a running distance, a few streets.

Brad kicked his shoulder gently, almost companionably. Nate rolled his eyes and pushed himself up, changing his position on the bed rather clumsily, but maybe Brad was right about the whole packing thing, he was starting to feel tired and some of his muscles were beginning to ache.

“Let’s do something else,” he offered, lying back down, on his stomach this time. At least Brad hadn’t packed the pillows and he could burrow his face in one of them, closing his eyes. “Screw college.”

Brad laughed, his head turned to the side, the huffs of breath warm on Nate’s cheek. Too close, Nate thought, and that hadn’t mattered before. Despite everything he felt for Brad, it never seemed like a real possibility to do anything about it. But right then they were on an edge of sorts, and it was all too easy to consider jumping.

“Nathaniel Fick, as I live and breathe,” Brad muttered, his voice warm with his smile. “I never thought I’d hear you say something so shocking,” he said. “Also, I wanted to. But someone didn’t think joining the Marines was a good idea.”

“You didn’t think it was a good idea either, otherwise you’d have joined. I know better than to try and talk you out of something you want,” Nate muttered, half to Brad and half into the pillow. He expected a mocking response of some sort, and when nothing came in too long a while, he opened one eye, wondering if Brad was tired enough to fall asleep on him. “Hey.”

Brad’s eyes were open and fixed on the ceiling, as if it was the most interesting thing in the universe. It wasn’t anymore, since Brad painted over the Death Star drawing, years ago. After a moment, as if only noticing Nate’s look, he shook himself and glanced to the side. “Sorry, I’m really tired,” he offered. “What did you say?”

Nate was pretty sure Brad heard him perfectly the first time, but something in Brad’s face made him reluctant to call him on that.

He was tired and probably imagining things.

If there was an edge, he stepped back.

“Nevermind. Jesus, I didn’t think I was tired but now I really don’t want to move,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“Well, you’re not leaving tomorrow until ten, right? And you’ve been packed and ready to leave for something like four days, nothing to do tonight. Just go to sleep,” he added and Nate did, willing his breathing to subside and his thoughts to stop running a mile a minute, because suddenly being in Brad’s bed was different than ever before.

He fell asleep at some point, more despite his efforts to calm down than thanks to them, and woke up to the sun shining straight into his eyes and Brad’s face half an inch from his, his nose almost touching Nate’s lips.

He shifted away slowly, holding his breath, but not careful enough. Brad blinked twice before he oriented himself.

“Ah,” he muttered and stretched, joints cracking audibly. “Bacon,” he announced. “It can’t be a bad day if he starts with bacon,” he added, as if by stating it he could make it so.

Nate couldn’t not laugh at that, and it wasn’t even forced, not with Brad’s immediate easy smile.

*

Ironhide mopes.

There’s no other way for it, the entire evening of the day Katie moves out is spent on watching their cat go completely insane.

It’s not like Katie hadn’t spend evenings out. Weeks away. Entire months of holidays somewhere else. Ironhide was never behaving like that before.

“I swear, the cat knows,” Brad says, his tone a little awed and really quiet, like he doesn’t want the cat to hear him. Like he could somehow make it worse.

She was sitting on the windowsill in Katie’s room when they left and she’s sitting in the very same spot when they come back. Nate points out that the cat food was all eaten somehow, so she couldn’t have just sat there all day, but Brad just looks at him.

“This is why there’s so many lawyer jokes,” he says, which doesn’t even make sense. Nate points it out, which just makes the whole thing worse. Brad picks up the cat and glares at Nate over her head. “Come on, we’re out of here,” he tells Ironhide.

Out of here means downstairs, where Brad feeds the cat some tuna and then watches it walk around the house and meow pathetically. Brad gives up trying to calm her down and stretches out on the couch with his laptop, hitting the keys with more force than usual and definitely more than necessary.

Nate would make fun of him, except he feels about as cheerful as Ironhide sounds. Katie sent four excited texts and she’s obviously enjoying herself, checking out what the orientation week has to offer. Nate’s glad someone is and texts back with as encouraging response as he can muster.

It’s not her fault her fathers, and her cat, are a pathetic bunch.

Nate joins Brad on the couch and stretches out his legs, propping his feet up on the coffee table, next to Brad’s. Ironhide instantly stops meowing, like she’s been waiting for just this, and hops onto Nate’s knees.

“I am judging you so much,” Brad tells the cat, who ignores him completely, of course, and takes a moment to find the best spot on Nate’s leg, claws digging gently into Nate’s slacks.

“I can’t help it if she likes me best,” Nate offers, scratching the cat behind her ear. She leans into his palm and purrs.

“Show off,” Brad accuses and, after a moment in which Nate just stares at him, because that might be the best way to convey the ‘and?’, he rolls his eyes, at Nate or at himself, and lets his head fall to the side, onto Nate’s shoulder.

“I’m not scratching your ear,” Nate warns him.

Brad snorts quietly. “Scratch,” he points out and Nate laughs. He should have expected that.

“This is going to be the line about an itch, am I right?”

“You came up with it all on your own,” Brad says cheerfully. “I could scratch yours right now, but the access to your dick is clearly restricted now,” he adds, running his index finger over the top of Ironhide’s head.

“Hey girl, want some more tuna?” Nate asks the cat and gently picks her up and places her on the floor, nudging her with the back of his hand. “Go look through the window some more, I’ll bring you the tuna later,” he adds, mostly to make Brad laugh, but then Ironhide looks at him and turns and walks away.

“Fuck, Nate, have you been actually teaching her to listen to the commands?”

“Yes. It works well, I say sit and she scratches me. I say roll over and she scratches me.”

“Clearly, that’s not the case,” Brad shakes his head. “You know, gift cats, mouth.”

“Horses,” Nate corrects him.

“You want to argue semantics or you want to undo your pants now? I’m open to both, your choice.”

“This is my cue to make a remark about the ‘open’ part of your statement?” Nate asks, even while he’s already obligingly working his pants open.

Brad rolls his eyes and slowly, almost lazily, slides down the couch, his fingers splayed on Nate’s left knee, pushing lightly, encouraging Nate to spread his legs further. Brad inches to kneel between them and Nate pretty much forgets all the smart-ass remarks he could be making. “Hey,” he breathes out, tracing the shell of Brad’s ear, carding his fingers through the short hair on the nape of his neck.

“Still the best way to shut you up,” Brad says, pleased with himself. Nate doesn’t think there’s any point in arguing. “All of your court opponents must have wondered, how to make you lose your train of thoughts. So simple,” he says mournfully.

“And also, not really a popular option. I’m pretty sure it works only if it’s you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Brad muses, his hand around Nate’s cock, stroking slowly. “Why is that only when I’m about to suck you off?”

“And also when you do the dishes.”

“I never do the dishes, I’m pretty sure you wake up at four am and paddle downstairs to make sure it’s all done properly, I never get a chance to try.”

“Now we’re arguing about dishes?” Nate asks disbelievingly. It comes out a little more breathless than intended, because right when he’s at the end of that sentence, Brad turns his wrist just so.

“Best time for an argument ever. I’d like to bring out the part where you make shopping lists in indecipherable shorthand,” Brad offers and chooses that moment to put his mouth around Nate’s cock, which means that Nate’s laughing so hard he’s heaving and practically choking on the words of a counterargument.

His counterargument would be, “you fucker,” as he tugs on Brad’s hair. Brad makes a pleased noise around his dick, which is just like humming only worse, and Nate’s coming embarrassingly fast.

Well, fine, it’d be embarrassing if he gave a fuck. As it is, he reaches out and tugs at what’s first under his hand, which just happens to be Brad’s ear.

“Ouch, fuck,” Brad tells him flatly and Nate rolls his eyes.

“Just move,” he tells him and Brad smirks and crawls up, straddling Nate. The couch isn’t most comfortable for this, but Nate doesn’t care and he doesn’t think Brad does. “We could probably make it upstairs,” he offers half-heartedly. He doesn’t want to move from here, not until he gets Brad off at least.

Maybe after a second round on the floor, they hadn’t done that in a long while.

“Yes, let’s go upstairs and disturb the cat. You’re going to be dealing with her while I jerk myself off in the shower,” Brad says pleasantly, bowing his head, the words warm against Nate’s neck. “Really, do you prefer to go deal with pussy now?”

Nate throws his head back, caught between a groan and a startled laugh. “Fuck, that was awful. Do you spend hours while I’m asleep, coming up with those lines?”

Brad shrugs. “You’ll never know what I do when you’re asleep,” he offers smugly.

“Now that’s an idea,” Nate says, almost absently, busying himself with jerking Brad off, leaning up to mouth a wet line along Brad’s jaw, take a moment to bite at his lower lip. Brad groans into his mouth and his whole body arches, like he’s trying to give Nate a better access. That’s very kind of him. “Just like that, Brad, come for me,” he encourages and Brad makes a low sound in his throat before kissing Nate roughly as he spills all over Nate’s stomach.

“So,” Brad drawls, a long moment later, probably when he’s sure of his tone staying level as he speaks. “I’ve figured out why it’s a good idea when kids move out to college.”

There’s a sudden crash upstairs, and a desperate meowing of a cat, and Nate can’t help it, he laughs, burrowing his face in Brad’s shoulder. “I think she heard you.”

“Fuck,” Brad says, and he does sound a little chastised, and Nate just rests his forehead on Brad’s shoulder and bites his lip, trying to hold back another fit of giggles. “Are you laughing at me, Fick?”

“Yes,” Nate says unapologetically. “Also, you’re starting to feel heavy,” he adds and Brad swats him on the shoulder in retaliation. “No, really, get off me. I promised the cat some tuna.”

Brad rolls to the side, trying to look like he’s not grinning widely. “Go start a shower, Nate, I’ll give your cat the tuna.”

“Now, that sounds like it should be a line, but I can’t quite figure out the metaphor,” Nate tells him and gets swatted on his ass for his trouble as he stands up. He’s taking off his shirt already, it’s pretty much done for, covered in come stains.

“You could at least do up your pants,” Brad offers helpfully and Nate glances down.

“Waste of time. Hurry up, will you?”

Brad moves to his feet, pointedly tucking in his cock. Nate refuses to comment, he’s pretty sure Brad’s only doing this because he volunteered to go and feed the cat.

“Hey,” Nate says and Brad looks up, half-smiling and suspicious of what Nate’s going to take a dig at, mildly interested. “I love you.”

“You’re saying that because you want to fuck in the shower.”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine. I love you too,” Brad says with a curt nod. Nate takes a step back to kiss him briefly before he heads upstairs.

Ironhide passes him on his way, running down. She can smell tuna before it’s even opened.

*

The first time Nate told Brad he loved him was the same night they kissed for the first time, the same night they slept together for the first time. Actually, the same week they moved in together, as it was.

You’d think they were moving too fast, but it had been years in the making. Still when they stumbled into their apartment, Brad swearing when he hit his leg on a still unpacked box of kitchen appliances, Nate pulled back for a few seconds, for as much time as he actually could bear not to be kissing Brad.

“Are we sure about this? I wouldn’t want to seem too easy,” he said, trying for seriousness and failing miserably, his lips curling up in a smile on their own accord.

“Nate,” Brad said, looking down at him with all the seriousness Nate couldn’t call up. “You better be fucking sure about this.”

“I love you,” Nate said, the words all but torn out of him. But no, not really, that would imply some reluctance on his part and he’s actually wanted to say that for years. To have the right to say that.

It felt like a shiver ran through Brad’s whole body, a sudden shake before Brad was moving, pressing Nate against the wall of the living room. Nate didn’t expect that much of a reaction, didn’t quite anticipate the way Brad coaxed his lips open, like he’s been dying for a taste.

Then again, he hadn’t expected many things, not until they were sitting in the car and Brad looked heartbroken, and all Nate wanted to do was make him feel better, but he didn’t know how, until Brad spoke, words that didn’t make sense until Nate let himself hope.

“Okay,” he muttered, against Brad’s jaw. “Alright, I’m perfectly fine with being easy,” he said, short for breath as Brad brought their foreheads together, his hands bracketing Nate’s face. “We’ve been dating for years anyway.”

“Would have been nice to have known that,” Brad told him wryly. “But, talking can wait. Someone promised to be easy. And mentioned a bed, too.”

“So, you’re going to be the difficult one in this relationship,” Nate guessed and Brad shrugged, his eyes closing for a second when Nate mentioned a relationship. For a brief moment Nate thought that maybe he overstepped, but his doubts disappeared when Brad looked at him again, his eyes clear and so incredibly blue.

“I’m fine with that,” he nodded, as if they were striking a deal. “I most definitely can be difficult.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Nate said, figuring that as long as they were apparently having a conversation now, he could multitask and start on Brad’s clothes, pulling his shirt up and off. “I’ve always thought you had a real gift for being a pain in the ass.”

“You know, now I have a really good response to that.”

“Your responses are never as funny as you think they are,” Nate informed him.

Brad snorted. “You know,” he started and stopped, his hands freezing on their absent-minded path over Nate’s back, which was a damn shame. “I haven’t said it back,” he muttered, as if he just caught up on something.

“What--” Nate started asking, trailing off when he realised. “You don’t have to, I--”

“Fuck, don’t even try that. We’ve established who’s the difficult one, you go back to being easy,” he offered and Nate was just about to say that he could do that, when Brad leaned in, his lips brushing over Nate’s. “I love you, you need to know that.”

“Okay,” Nate breathed out, bowing his head, his forehead against Brad’s chin. He wanted to tug at Brad’s hand and finally make their way to that damn bed, but he wanted this too, this moment, absolutely perfect.

Not their first moment, not their last. That was the best thing about it.