"You're supposed to talk me out of this."
“That’s fantastic!” Ray repeats for what feels like the hundredth time, the corners of his mouth hurting from how much he’s smiling.
Mostly, he’s forcing it, and feeling like a horrible person because he can’t be honestly happy for his best friend’s success. The logical part of Ray’s brain, the small part that’s not currently rolling around on the floor kicking around and screaming ‘no’, recognizes that Nate deserves this. He’s been working on that project non-stop for nearly a year, poured his sweat and blood into it (literally, when he forgot to shower for a few days that one time, and then when his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding for seven hours straight that other time). Ray knows that Nate deserves the opportunity to travel and oversee the digs that were going to prove his theories, and that getting grant money like this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
But a larger part of Ray’s brain is too busy feeling betrayed and abandoned to really acknowledge this as the exciting moment it should be, and he’s starting to worry that all the beer they’ve drunk in ‘celebration’ will blur the lines between the rational and the irrational, and he’ll say something he’ll regret.
Nate himself looks anything but happy - his expression turns stormier by the minute and he’s outright scowling now, though he’s stubbornly staring at the wall instead of Ray. He’s a sentimental, slightly weepy drunk most of the time, so the building rage in his eyes does not make much sense (especially since Ray himself is just loopy and slow after a couple of beers).
“Yeah,” Nate mumbles, sighing. “Can’t wait… I mean, two years, that’s a pretty long time.”
Ray can’t argue with that, but he refuses to back down from his forcibly enthusiastic reaction - he fears that if he lets the optimistic mask slip, the ugly something insistently shouting ‘no’ in the back of his mind will rear its head and do something horrible.
“Yeah,” he soldiers on, a smile still wide on his face, “but you earned it. Send me a postcard sometimes, will you? I mean, I know postcards are pretty outdated and you could just send a text or an e-mail, but I never got any-”
“Dammit, Ray!” Nate yells suddenly and Ray freezes, going silent. Nate pushes off the couch and stalks around, like a caged lion ready to pounce. It makes something shift in Ray’s stomach, something that’s not quite worry or fear because it’s Nate and he’s never been afraid of Nate, but it’s… nervous, tingling, and strange, and Ray doesn’t really know how to breathe through it. He’s still trying to get rid of all that fluttery weirdness when Nate whips around and glares at him, eyes blazing and cheeks red.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of this! Do you really think I can pull off two years around the world? I live in my mom’s basement, for crying out loud!”
Ray blinks, and the tingling gives way to confusion, for a moment.
“Do you… not want to go?” he asks slowly, and Nate throws his arms up with a frustrated groan.
“Why are you- ugh nevermind, of course I want to go. More than anything, really. Almost anything,” he adds those last two words with a strange tint of wistfulness, and Ray wonders what that’s about. He wipes his suddenly-sweaty palms against his jeans and shrugs:
“So what’s the problem?”
Nate turns away, but Ray catches a glimpse of the blush spreading across his face, the shade and intensity of a stoplight.
“I want to go,” Nate mutters, and his words slur a little, “but more than that I want you to not want me to go, alright?”
Ray’s quiet for a moment: not so much because he’s pondering the reaction but because he’s trying to process what Nate just said. It seems almost like- but that couldn’t be right, could it?
Ray’s stomach flips, in a really not-bad way, and he licks his lips just as Nate turns to him again, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s just signed his own death warrant.
“Tell me not to go,” he almost whispers, and Ray wishes he could - but Nate said he did want to go, and Ray’s not going to kill his dreams. Especially if he’s the only one who can talk Nate out of this.
“Send me that postcard, alright?” he smiles and turns towards the door. He almost wishes that Nate would stop him… but Ray’s not sure why, or what he truly wants to happen, and he won’t find out tonight, when his brain’s powered down for the day, courtesy of the four beers he really shouldn’t have had.
It’s only after he’s slept and showered and had his breakfast that he realizes what it all means. What it probably means, in any case - and what he can do to find out. Ray pulls his laptop towards him and a small smile forms on his lips despite the throbbing headache.
…………
“What are you doing here?!”
Ray can’t help but smile, this time for real, when he hears Nate’s voice skip up an octave or two.
“Catching a flight,” he says easily and adjusts the straps of his backpack - it’s funny how little one needs when making a split-second decision based on a silly hunch that might not even come true.
But hey… whatever Nate might turn out to be in the future, he’s still Ray’s best friend, and he deserves the support.
When Ray turns from checking the number of their flight, he finds Nate gaping at him, lips parted and eyes wide, as if he can’t quite believe that Ray’s there.
“What…?” Nate breathes out, and Ray’s mouth is starting to hurt again from all the smiling, but this time, it feels like the good kind of ache. He steps closer and reaches out and Nate’s hand is right there, pliant under Ray’s touch as he tangles their fingers together, in a light, almost teasing gesture that could be played off as a joke if he’s reading this all wrong.
But he’s not, judging by the way Nate goes red and tightens his fingers around Ray’s almost painfully.
“Come on,” he chuckles, tugging Nate towards their boarding gate, “we have a nine-hour flight to catch. Plenty of time to talk.”
Nate lets himself be pulled, and he doesn’t let go of Ray’s hand until they’re seated on the plane.
When he does, it’s only to smack Ray over the head for leaving his cozy job to traipse around archaeological digs for two years. But he follows that up with a kiss, so Ray’s really not complaining.
By the time they land, Ray’s become used to the tingling in his stomach. He knows now, for sure, that they’re the good kind - and they’re there to stay.