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“I like you, Von.”
Devon hated games like this. Mental ones, the type to make him think in circles. He wasn’t dumb, he’d seen how others looked at him - women in a league of their own and even a few model-worthy men. Those three words felt too powerful, too real to be directed at someone like him.
“You don’t,” he whispered, and the 6’4 student leaned close to his left ear.
“I do,” he muttered, and Devon’s breath hitched. “Do you?”
His ears burned as he shrunk. The irony wasn’t lost on him, that the teasing dynamic of six years prior had completely flipped on its head. Gone were the days when they were eye-to-eye, when the two years he had on the man before him felt like eons of knowledge between them.
“You’re not funny,” Devon muttered back, shocking the taller man back to his full height. “Just show me the text Veronica sent so I can pretend this never happened.”
An incredulous look crossed Palmer’s features. “You wish this wasn’t?”
“Real,” Devon finished, both to Palmer’s thought and himself. “Yes. I know you aren’t here to tease me, but this…is too real.”
“You don’t believe me.” He said, shoulders slumping.
Devon scoffed. “Can you blame me?”
Palmer’s face scrunched. “What’s that ’posed to mean?”
“What-” Devon started, flustered. “What do you mean, ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ Nigga you’re built like a boulder, well over six-foot, and speak in a damn baritone! What do you think it means?!”
Palmer winced. “I’m…not your type?”
Devon let out a frustrated groan. “God, do I have to spell it out for you?! You’re fine, Palmer!”
The 5’8 man continued through, missing the flustered expression on Palmer’s face. “You’re fine as fuck - there, I said it! Why the hell should I believe you?! It’s- it’s like…”
A huff escaped Devon’s lips. “You’re…you’re like a middle school bully! You ask someone out that’s beneath you, then laugh in their face when they believe you!”
“Von.”
The bass in his voice drew Devon out of his reverie as he continued. “Look at me. Is the ‘middle school’ in the room with us right now?”
Devon cracked a smile, shooing the notion away with a wave of his hand. “You don’t get to make me laugh, I’m still mad at you.” He chided as the wave of reprieve passed him by. “And…we might not be in middle school, but…”
His eyes met Palmer’s, which studied him with intensity. Palmer sighed, closing the distance between them as he closed his eyes, flinging his arms around the shorter university student.
“I’m not a bully,” he reassured. “Promise. You and my folks would’ve beat my ass before if I was.”
Devon chuckled sadly into the body embracing him, his own arms limp at his sides. “But…” Palmer’s voice came. “I’m not lying, Von.”
“I…need time, Palmer.”
Palmer unlatched himself immediately and jumped back, feeling the words being spoken into his sweatshirt. His eyes flung open as Devon paused, dazed as he forgot what he was going to say next.
“That’s-” Palmer started, then breathed himself less anxious. “That’s alright. Honest. Take…all the time you need.”
Devon took a step closer. “Not space, Palmer.” Another step.
“Not…space?”
Four steps in, one step between. Devon’s eyes seemed to shine under the apartment’s fluorescence. “Time,” He breathed, and like the last piece of the puzzle, everything clicked into place. “With you.”
With that, Devon launched himself into Palmer, arms outstretched for a second embrace. His face hit the navy-tinted polyester, and the 22-year-old embraced the warmth in front of him to the best of his ability. A chuckle made the student have second thoughts, that is until the arms from earlier returned his gesture, squeezing the duo closer.
They soaked up each other’s presence in near silence, the only things interrupting the otherwise reverent moments being the breaths they shared with the air around them. Finally, Devon sighed, bringing them back to the present moment.
“If that’s okay,” Devon finished, and Palmer chuckled.
“Nigga we just hugged for how long?” He chided, “And you still gotta ask if it’s okay?”
“I’ve read the signals wrong,” Devon responded, although his voice was lighter than the rejected history should’ve felt, “once, or maybe twice. Reading isn’t my strong suit.”
“Bullshit.”
“What?” came Devon's incredulous reply.
Palmer grinned wolfishly. “Can't expect me to believe that with all the books you read for school.”
“Skim, and that's not even close to the same.”
“And for fun?” The taller man added.
“...fuck you.”