#moi's asks

there's something different about the way he is tonight.

folio and noah are goofing off at the pool table, annoying the regulars waiting their turn, while matt, nick, and davis have found their home at the jukebox, intent on setting the vibe exactly how they like it.

it's a night out just like normal, almost everything exactly the same as always. except for how jolly has planted himself firmly at your side.

he only stands up to fetch more drinks. another beer for him, a seltzer with lime for you when you've reached your threshold. he comes back holding a plate of nachos and your eyes light up like he read your mind.

he retells stories of your past like you're hearing them for the first time, like you hadn't lived them together, and reminiscing all of your favorite times with him makes your cheeks heat.

you begin to wonder if the something different you feel is coming from him or from you. a piece of you prays that it's both.

your skin burns everywhere you touch, arms pressed together, thighs resting lightly against one another. folio and noah make their way back to the table but seem to at once think better of it, and you're suspicious that everyone else knows a little bit more than you do.

"do you want to have dinner with me sometime?" he asks you eventually, after several long minutes of companionable silence.

you search his gaze for jest, but find nothing there. just jolly, genuine as ever, meaning it.

"like a date?" you respond nervously, hoping against hope that you aren't misreading anything.

"like a date," he confirms. "if you want."

suddenly nothing sounds better to you. you wonder how long he's felt this way, how long you've felt it back, how long ago this could have happened if you'd been paying closer attention.

"a date would be really nice."

you fall back into silence, your face hot with a mixture of nerves and excitement. your pinkies graze and there's a moment where you almost flinch away. instead your pinky just twitches, and jolly catches it with a low chuckle, links them together for just a moment.

You're not quite sure how, but somehow, Noah always knows.

The moment your movements get restless, you pull your lip between your teeth, pick at your cuticles, feel your temper run a little short—

He's right there. It's quiet, non-invasive, almost indistinguishable from normal when he plops himself down next to you on the sofa. He separates your hands from each other — just to hold it, he'd argue, not to stop your nervous fidgets. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, another and another until your mouth relaxes. His leg drapes itself over yours and without even realizing, the shaking of your leg ceases, too.

"Do you want to come for a ride with me?" he asks. Sometimes it helps, feeling the sun on your skin and the breeze through your hair, turning the music up so high there's the tiniest worry in the back of your mind that you'll blow the speakers. Sometimes, though, all you really want to do is shut in. Noah doesn't need to be told, like always, catches the slightest shift in your expression and he knows. "Why don't we just watch a show, then? And I'll order us in some lunch."

There's always the unspoken offer to talk about it. Sometimes you take him up on it, spend an afternoon with your head on his shoulder, venting about anything and everything you have going on, what's setting you off and making you feel this... off.

Other days, you're pleased just to rest your head in his lap, let him play with your hair and trace his warm hands along your face and arm. Eventually, you feel your heartrate return to normal. The irritability starts to fade, just knowing he's there, knowing he'll listen. Knowing you're safe.

Even when it comes creeping back, after a period of calm, he catches it. The shift clear to him even before it's clear to you.

"Why don't you take the day tomorrow? Come to the studio with us." he suggests, and you know as well as he is that you need it. A day, at least. Just some time. "You can use me as an excuse if you want. Tell them I died."

It's a silly little suggestion, that second part — one he always makes when he's not quite sure if you'll take him up on it, but hopes you will, because you both know you should.

He's so used to you not taking him up on his offers, not allowing yourself to be taken care of, but the sweet little plea in his eyes makes this time different. And just maybe you should take him up on his suggestions more often than you do.