. Bryce/Delirious .
At fifteen Bryce was already knocking his head on the top of door frames. At eighteen he had to duck under ceiling fans.
So when the boy who usually sat by himself at lunch and laughed when no one was around cornered him, he was a little uneasy.
Sure that Delirious boy was a head and a half shorter, but he was no pushover. He had the scars and the tattoos to prove it. And Bryce had personally seen Delirious take on the head of the football team, some muscle massed man who had more flesh than brains.
Bryce kept his back pressed against the lockers, his voice low and light as he tried to joke about the weather.
But Delirious had one open palm slammed into the locker beside Byrce as he leaned in close, chest to chest, his breaths steady and even. So close when he breathed the air ghosted over Bryce’s neck.
“I don’t want to fight,” Bryce pleaded.
Delirious froze. His slow pressure against Bryce completely stopped as he blinked pierced eyebrows.
“I..” His hand sliding down the locker, cheeks flaring up with what must be fury, Bryce thought as he held his breath.
Bryce shut his eyes and waited for the punch. “I’m not a good fighter so just get it over with if you have to do it.”
Delirious made a strange little noise after a too tense moment, and Bryce had to open his eyes just to see what it was.
Delirious still standing there, eyes wide and, just a little hurt? His cheeks red as blood on snow as he frowned and muttered, “I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out sometime..?”
Stepping back as his blush consumes him, from his ears to his neck and even all the way across his eyebrows. Ducking his head down and shuffling his feet.
“I was going to get flowers,” he mumbles so slow Bryce has to lean in close to hear. “But I forgot and then I saw you so I just..”
“I-.. Wait,” Bryce frowns, running the words back through his head again because they so make little sense the first time through that he’s having a hard time processing them. “You wanted to go out? Like on a date?”
Delirious looks up at him, hopeful, but quiet.
Byrce opens, and shuts his mouth.
“..me?” Bryce asks, the word trailing upwards as he drags it out, aghast.
Delirious frowns, but nods. “If you hate me that much you could have just said something, but yeah. I wanted to take you out for pizza.”
Bryce shuts his mouth so fast it clicks. But his nose turns red. Then his cheeks. His eyes wide, the flush spreads all across his body until, with the highest pitch of squeaks he manages,
“I accept.”
