26. date

TWENTY SIX

date

Saturday, April 12th

"Dude, stop stealing my shit!"

Isaiah closed his eyes at the sound of his siblings. He paused the show he was watching on the TV when he heard them since they were so loud he wouldn't have even be able to hear. And subtitles wouldn't register in his head when all he could make out was his brother and sister's arguing.

"It wasn't me this time!" Dylan shouted back at Jordan, voice sounding closer. "Why do you always assume it was me? Maybe it was Isaiah, huh? Isaiah!"

Isaiah scowled. "Don't drag me into your bullshit," he grumbled, frustratedly crunching on his chips. "I don't know what's been stolen, but all I know is that I am not a thief."

Jordan stormed into the living room after Dylan, shoving her brother roughly to the side. He yelped and stumbled, gaping. He looked between her and Isaiah, absolutely dumbfounded. "Did you see that?" he shrieked, voice cracking. Jordan immediately burst into laughter, and Isaiah couldn't help but laugh, too.

"Stop laughing!" he complained, a deep frown settling on his lips. "It's not funny! It's not!"

"It's pretty fucking funny," Jordan responded, dropping down into an armchair, lanky legs dangling over the edge. She was still laughing. "You sounded like a squeaky toy."

Dylan looked peeved. "Y'all are so annoying."

"Hey!" Isaiah exclaimed defensively, holding back the grin that was prodding at his lips. "I didn't do anything."

"And?" Dylan snapped. "Your existence bothers me."

Isaiah sent a look to his sister, mouth agape. He pointed at Dylan without looking and whispered, "Was this him telling me that he wishes I was never born?"

Jordan nodded solemnly. "I think so."

Dylan huffed, and he went to leave, but Isaiah stopped him. "Hey, I was kidding." Dylan turned back around and glared, arms crossed against his chest. Isaiah held out his arms, wiggling his fingers. "Hug me, brother."

"You really just referenced Drake and Josh," Dylan muttered, but plopped down beside him on the couch anyway. "It wasn't even that good."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," Isaiah stated.

Dylan shrugged and reached over to snatch the remote from the coffee table. He kicked back and switched the channel Isaiah had been watching, settling on some cooking competition with a really dramatic host. A few minutes in Dylan glanced over at Isaiah and frowned.

"Why are you dressed up?" he asked, gesturing at his clothes. Isaiah looked down at himself; he was just wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. His denim jacket—one that Jordan had insisted on buying for his birthday the year before—was thrown over the back of the sofa. He refused to admit he liked it, but he supposed he couldn't hide it anymore.

Isaiah pursed his lips. "Because I can," he replied, which was true, but it definitely wasn't the reason. When he had dropped August off at home the night before, the latter had asked him out on a date. A new movie had come out that they both wanted to see, and Isaiah found it incredibly ironic how they were going on a date to the same place Isaiah had realized he had a serious crush on the blond. It was almost funny.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "You look like you're gonna go out. Are you?"

Isaiah sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. If he didn't tell him, Dylan would just continue to pester. "Going to the movies with some friends."

His younger brother perked up. "What movie?" At that, Jordan muttered a quiet oh no that made Isaiah a tiny bit anxious. Oh no, indeed.

"The new Marvel one."

Dylan abandoned the show he was watching completely to give Isaiah a pleading look. "The Spider-Man one? I wanna go! Can I go? I wanna see it so bad." He shook Isaiah by the shoulders, and Isaiah couldn't find the words. If he said no, Dylan would be sad and would probably complain to Mom. If he said yes, Dylan would realize he was lying about going out with friends. And his date would be ruined. He glanced up at Jordan for help.

Jordan huffed. "Dylan, don't you have some friends that can drive?" she asked, head leaning against the palm of her hand.

"Yeah, but they always talk during the movies. It's annoying."

"Then I'll take you. But not today. Tomorrow, okay?"

Dylan bit his lip, hesitant, but ended up nodding. "Okay," he grumbled, obviously wishing he was going with Isaiah. He went back to his show, and Isaiah sent Jordan a grateful look.

She beamed at him and quickly typed something into her phone, looking up once Isaiah's phone buzzed from a notification. She texted him.

curly fry: date with August? *wink wink wink wink*

Isaiah: maybe.

curly fry: ok so remember: just bc ur a man with a dick and u can't get 🤰🏽 does not mean u don't have to use protection. wrap ur willy, boy

Isaiah: I wish we were twins so I could've absorbed you in the womb.

___

It was almost six when Isaiah arrived at August's house, feeling frazzled. Should he go up to his door and wait for him? Or should he just text him and wait in the car? Why is dating so weird? What are the rules?

In the middle of his dilemma, he got a text. And from August, of all people.

August :): is that you outside my house or my sleep paralysis demon

Isaiah: ???? Me lol sorry. Idk what to do

August :): pfffff, cute. just wait one sec, I'm trying to find my fav hair tie it's hot outside

God, he was blushing. All because he called him cute. Over a text. August could call him a fucking loser and he'd still blush—because it was August. He made everything sound like something it shouldn't.

He stared outside the window, perking up when he saw August's front door swing open. He locked his door, then turned around, and Isaiah felt his heart start to beat a little faster. He was dressed in jeans for once, black ones like Isaiah's, and an olive button-up with off white flowers decorating it. His hair was up in a loose ponytail, and Isaiah was sure he was looking at the most beautiful person on the planet. He wondered how one person could be so pretty without even trying.

August hurried over and got into the passenger seat, giving Isaiah a bright smile once he'd strapped himself in. "You look nice," he commented, leaning over the median as best he could to place a light kiss on Isaiah's lips. He pulled back slightly, biting his lip, before he kissed him once more, finally sitting back into his seat a moment later.

"Thanks," Isaiah mumbled, neck feeling hot. "You, uh, you do too."

August snorted. "Thanks, Casanova," he said sarcastically, but he had a teasing gleam in his eyes. God, his eyes. The shirt brought out the color in them, and with the golden hue of the setting sun behind him, they looked ethereal. He looked ethereal.

While Isaiah drove, August told him about his day so far, mentioning how his mom almost hadn't let him leave the house because the dishes weren't clean. "I told her I would do it when I got back," he muttered, playing with the radio stations, trying to find a good song. "But she didn't believe me. I said I was with Morgan, and then she didn't put up a fight."

Isaiah chuckled. "She likes Morgan that much?"

"Of course," August replied, raising an eyebrow at him. "How can you not like her? She's a literal angel."

"You say that, but you called her the devil in disguise a couple weeks ago."

August narrowed his eyes. "People change," he said defensively. Then he made a soft noise, as though remembering something, and held his hand out for Isaiah to see at the next stoplight. "Speaking of which, look, Morgan got me these rings."

Isaiah smiled, glancing at the boy and his relaxed face before taking a look at his rings. "They're nice," he murmured, brushing his thumb against one. They were rose gold, and they complimented his skin tone almost perfectly. Then again, Isaiah was convinced anything would look good on him.

"I know, right?" He seemed lively, a big change from yesterday. He actually wanted to go out, and when August kissed him earlier, he could taste the faint, minty flavor of his toothpaste. He looked happier, and Isaiah loved it, even if it was temporary. He'd like him no matter what.

When they got to the cinema, August insisted they didn't need any snacks (he just didn't want to wait in line), while Isaiah said he wanted a drink. August groaned and ended up waiting in line with him, shifting, knocking their arms together occasionally. It was when August sent a particularly hard one that Isaiah looked at him.

"It's just a water," he said, frowning. "It won't take long."

"That's not it," August replied, and then stared at him dead in the eyes, as if trying to tell him what it was telepathically. But of course, it wasn't working, so Isaiah just faced forward again.

It took five minutes for Isaiah to reach the front of the line and pay for a water before following August to the showing room. They chose a spot all the way at the top, and as soon as they sat down, August slipped his hand into Isaiah's, the cold metal of his rings pressing into Isaiah's palm. He held back a smile.

"Is that what you were so impatient about?" Isaiah asked quietly, raising their locked hands to emphasize his point.

"Yeah, and?" August shot back, then pulled his hand out of his. "I can do worse, if you want." And to emphasize his point, August brought his hand down against Isaiah's thigh, causing him to flinch in surprise. He swatted at his wrist, then pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief.

"I hate you."

August let out this quiet, smug laugh and didn't bother moving his hand. And Isaiah didn't bother pushing it away. His face was warm a few minutes into the movie until he got invested in what was happening on screen; the flush in his cheeks went away, but the heavy feeling of his hand wasn't something he could really ignore completely.

Halfway through August leaned in and whispered, "MJ kinda looks like your sister."

And Isaiah replied, "I know, right? It's almost like they're the same person."

It was nearing nine when the movie ended, and the two stayed seated to watch the credits. Tons of people left, and Isaiah wasn't a big Marvel fan, but even he knew not to just leave after a movie was over. Isaiah leaned back, placed his hand over August's and squeezed. August lifted their laced fingers and kissed Isaiah's knuckles, brushing his lips against them, then pressing his to his cheek. "Your hands are so warm," he mumbled absently.

"And yours can be either cold or clammy," Isaiah told him, pulling his hand away to playfully wipe it against his jeans. August glared. "And today they're clammy."

Isaiah grinned, and the two teased each other for a bit, until August swatted and hushed at him when the end credits started. Isaiah rolled his eyes, amused, and watched them as well. August was absolutely entranced by it all. And Isaiah was entranced by him, but he'd never admit that out loud. Feeding August's ego was a death wish.

When they left the cinema, August threw his arms up, stretching, and Isaiah's gaze dropped down to the sliver of skin that was revealed when his shirt slipped up. He immediately looked away when August turned to face him, hands going to his hair to fix the stray strands that escaped. "You wanna do anything else?" he asked, and Isaiah cleared his throat.

"Uh, sure. Yeah." He bit his lip, not exactly knowing what else to do. But then a thought came to him, and he said, "Let's go to the batting cages."

August furrowed his brows. "Why would we do that?"

"I wanna try something."

August narrowed his eyes. "Is this your plan to kidnap me?"

Isaiah gave him a look, one that screamed are you serious. "If I wanted to kidnap you, I would've done that a while ago, considering how many times we've been alone together."

"Alone together?" August nudged him, a teasing smirk on his face. "Oddly suggestive of you."

"No, you just have a dirty mind. Go away."

August laughed, then took Isaiah by the arm and pulled him back to the car. "The cages, then." On their way there, August held his free hand the whole time, and Isaiah wished he could do that forever. Clammy hands be damned.

Once they were there, Isaiah popped open the trunk, and the first thing August said was: "You are trying to kidnap me. I knew it."

Isaiah didn't reply. He simply sent him a deadpan look before he pulled out his baseball bag he kept in there. August watched him curiously, took Isaiah's outstretched hand, and followed him to the cages. When they got there, Isaiah dropped his bag on the ground and pulled out two gloves, tossing one to August.

At August's confused look, Isaiah explained. "You haven't played in a while," he stated awkwardly, rubbing the side of his neck. "And I remember when I first saw you on the field. Your form was still good... and I just wanted you to play catch with me. That's it. Maybe batting, too."

Isaiah noticed the way he hesitated, and he quickly added, "We don't have to do it for long. I know you can't be on your, uh, good leg for too long. And you won't be. If you ever feel pain or get tired, tell me."

August nodded slowly. "Okay." Isaiah grinned and reached into his bag for a baseball, and he twisted it in his hand before underhanding it to August, who gave him a scowl.

"Don't treat me like a baby," August grumbled, and Isaiah laughed. They threw back and forth for a little bit, August quickly getting the hang of it again, and he seemed content. Isaiah loved seeing him relaxed like he was right then and there.

A couple minutes in August paused, rolled his wrist this way and that, huffing. "I haven't done this in so long," he said with a soft sigh. Isaiah walked over, took his wrist and ran his thumb across it, admittedly just wanting an excuse to touch him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, glancing down at him. August had a soft pink tinge to his cheeks, and the logical part of him knew it was because of the heat. But the hopeful part said he was blushing because Isaiah was there. Again, no need to feed August's ego.

"Nah, now come on," August said, that smile playing at his lips. "Keep up." He pressed his glove to Isaiah's face, and the latter scrunched his nose up, taking a step back.

"Asshole," Isaiah replied, voice muffled by the leather against his face. "Let me be a caring boyfr... person."

August pulled his hand back, arched one eyebrow, took a step closer. "You were gonna say something else," he teased. "Weren't you? Boyfriend."

When Isaiah didn't say anything, August continued, placing his hands on Isaiah's waist. "Do you want to?" he questioned, softer this time. "Be my boyfriend?"

Isaiah paused. "Yeah." He looked away, the feeling of August's hands burning into his skin from over his shirt. "I do."

"Okay," August murmured. "Then, will you go out with me?"

Isaiah felt the air leave his lungs. And with what he had left, he whispered, "Yeah. I will."

___

A/N: 🥺

Q: what are some of your favorite music artists?