Chapter Text
They’ve been best friends for years, so why is Adam nervous?
He rubs his sweaty palm against his jeans and adjusts the collar of his button-down shirt. He hasn’t seen Nigel in over six months, since his last visit from Bucharest. Nigel had moved back to his home city after getting accepted to a university program there.
“Better late than never, right?” Nigel had said with his characteristic lopsided grin.
And even worse, Nigel stayed for an internship for two years after his graduation. His visits to the United States had been sparse, and their hours-long phone calls hadn’t been the same. But after finishing his internship, Nigel got a high-paying job as a mechanical engineer at a car manufacturing plant. He was finally—finally —returning to the United States. And, even better, he was moving to Adam's neighborhood in California.
Adam jumps when he sees the car pull up. Nigel still drives the same little white car with square doors. Adam pulls at the top button of his shirt—he hopes he hasn’t overdressed—and trots over to the car. He’s opened the door when he hears Nigel say, in that familiar husky voice, “Slow down, gorgeous! I want to get a look at you.”
Adam blinks and lowers his hand from the door handle. The driver’s side door opens.
Nigel steps out, and, wow. He wears a dark blazer with a charcoal button-down shirt over form-fitting jeans. His hair is pushed back, one strand falling out of place and brushing the top of his sharp cheekbones. He’s filled out, his chest broad. He walks up to Adam with long and confident strands. They stand barely a foot apart, and Adam has to tilt his head up to look at him. Adam catches a scent of his cologne, spicy and citrusy. It wrinkles Adam’s nose, making him want to sneeze.
Adam smiles in a vague, lopsided way, suddenly rooted in place. Nigel raises an eyebrow.
“Like what you see?” Nigel asks. His voice is smooth, with a tilting lilt that Adam knows indicates good humor.
Adam’s seen some of the changes over his visits from Bucharest. Nigel has slowly been gaining muscle, and Adam saw his shirts stretch over his shoulders more and more over the course of his visits. Still, it’s hard to reconcile the lanky young adult Adam had once known so well with the man standing in front of him.
He even has stubble now. Not the unshaved, patchy stubble he had when he first started trying growing out his beard, but a confident, closely-shaved dottage of silvery-blonde hairs. They look soft. Adam wonders how they would feel if he ran his fingers over them. His hands twitch up towards Nigel’s face before he pulls them back.
“You look very handsome,” Adam says. “And different. I like your blazer and button-down shirt very much. You don't usually dress up like this.” Adam cocks his head to the side. “Am I underdressed?”
Nigel chuckles, rich and low. “Of course not, gorgeous. I’m just inviting you for dinner to my house.”
“Oh. Okay.” Adam pauses. “Then why are you so dressed up?”
“I said it would be a nice dinner, didn’t I?” Nigel smiles. “I wanted to set the mood. But you don’t have to worry. You look beautiful.”
Adam flushes. He’s wearing his favorite button-down, even if it’s not his most formal: a soft, comfortable, pale blue one, that brings out his eyes.
“Thank you,” Adam says. “Can I touch your facial hair?”
Nigel’s smile fades, and his expression turns unreadable. Adam licks his lips. Was that a strange thing to ask? Still, Adam’s not too nervous. Nigel’s always been honest with him. He’s never minded before when Adam asks him something strange.
“Of course, gorgeous.”
Nigel tilts his head back and Adam runs the tips of his fingers underneath Nigel’s jaw. The hair is bristly but still soft. Under the hairs, Nigel’s skin is a little rough and bumpy. Adam hums. The feeling is satisfying, especially combined with the warmth of Nigel’s skin and the gentle feeling of his pulse.
Adam sneaks a look at Nigel’s face. His eyes are closed, and his lips curl into a smile. Adam drops his hand down and says, “It feels nice.”
Nigel slowly opens his eyes. Adam stares at them a little too long. They’re the same eyes Adam is accustomed too: dark and soft, regarding him with fondness. They haven’t changed along with the rest of Nigel.
Adam shifts on his feet. Nigel doesn’t seem upset with him. But Adam doesn’t understand why they’re meeting now.
Adam had wanted to see Nigel right after he landed. Adam had even wanted to change his schedule and meet Nigel at the airport after his late flight. But Nigel took a whole week to see him. He said he wanted to get his life together.
Adam didn’t understand. He didn’t care that Nigel’s new apartment would be messy: he’d spent enough time in Nigel’s childhood bedroom that it barely bothered him anymore. And knowing Nigel was in the country, less than twenty minutes away, but Adam couldn’t see him, made his skin burn.
Did Nigel not feel the same way? Did he not want to see Adam? Had Adam done something to upset him?
Adam had found himself explaining the whole situation to Carol, his coworker, over his lunch break. They were friendly, not very close, but Carol hadn’t interrupted him once.
Adam breaks his gaze away from Nigel’s. He hears Carol’s words in his head: It’s probably not about you. Nigel might just need some time to get settled in. Besides, if you’re not sure, you can always ask him
And to make the whole situation more confusing, Nigel had called their dinner tonight a date. I want to cook dinner for you. As a date. Date, a word that could imply romantic interest. Yet Adam knew that couldn't be the case, for a multitude of reasons. Nigel's sexuality was the first. The second was that there was no reason for their relationship to suddenly become romantic, when they had spent so many years as best friends. Still, why had Nigel made a point to use it?
“Should we get going?” Adam asks.
Nigel nods, keeping his careful gaze on Adam’s face. Adam blushes and his hand shakes from side to side, the way it always does when he gets anxious. He gets into the passenger seat before Nigel can comment on it.
Adam’s decided not to bring it up right away. It may be selfish of him, but Nigel doesn’t feel as close to him anymore—or if Adam has done something to upset him—he wants to play pretend for a little while.
Adam leans his head back against the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. The cream leather is familiar to him. A cinnamon air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. Nigel’s always loved cinnamon, and tends towards the scent.
“You got rid of the rosary,” Adam says, noting its absence, how it’s not swinging along with the air freshener.
Nigel pulls smoothly out of the parking lot, one hand on the wheel. He says, “I thought it was time. I haven’t believed in that stuff for a while.”
Adam nods. He leans deeper into his seat and presses his fingers into his thighs. A stim, but not a nervous one. Nigel turns a knob and the car fills with music, low-key and jazzy and not too loud.
Adam watches Nigel as he drives. His veins stand out in sharp relief as he moves his hands over the wheel. He’s always been older—by seven years—but he hasn’t always looked it, or felt like it. His poise, his easy confidence, makes Adam feel, well, small.
Adam can’t decide if he likes the feeling. He sinks lower into the passenger seat. Every so often, Nigel catches Adam’s gaze and smiles.