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It’s late, almost ten Nursey thinks, though not so late that if the game had gone better the team wouldn’t have been a bit livelier. As it is, the team bus is dark, half the guys now asleep, the other half decidedly not in a talking mood, earbuds firmly in place. Nursey’s spent the first half of the drive trying to talk Chowder down. Chowder’s finally agreed he won’t climb out the bus window and fling himself onto the interstate, but that’s probably less Nursey’s pep talk and more that he’s finally noticed the way Ford keeps glancing anxiously toward the back of the bus where an icy cold Maine frost is hunched.
“If he wants to throw me out the window, that’s fine,” Chowder says.
Nursey rolls his eyes. “You know he fully and completely blames himself, and only himself.”
The bus hits a bump just as Nursey reaches the back, so he more falls onto Dex than gracefully sits next to him.
Dex doesn’t even seem to notice, which isn’t a great sign.
“I finally got Chowder to agree not to defenestrate himself,” is Nursey’s opening gambit.
Dex grunts.
“He says you can chuck him out the window though, if you want. He’s willing.”
“It’s not his fault,” Dex snaps.
“Mmm, that’s just what I said. You know...it’s not your fault either.”
Dex snorts, a bit waspishly in Nursey’s opinion.
“It isn’t,” Nursey insists.
“We won the NCAA tournament last spring and were crushingly defeated in our first game of this season. I think, as the new captain, it’s absolutely my fault.”
“Alright Jack, calm down.”
“What?”
“You sound just like all of Holster and Ransom’s stories about Jack their freshman year.”
“I—that’s—well—” Dex splutter.
“It’s almost like we’re a completely new team with new dynamics and a bunch of new tadpoles and no one person is responsible for what the entire team chooses to do on the ice. Also all of taddies think you hold them personally responsible for us losing.”
Dex groans and leans forward until his head is pressed into the seat ahead of him.
“Thanks Nursey,” he says after a minute, with what seems to be actual sincerity.
“Anytime.”
“Do I...need to make a speech or something?”
“Nah, half of them are asleep already. Save it for when we get back to Samwell.”
“Yeah, I give all my best speeches off the cuff at 2am.”
“I’ll write it for you. I’ll be the official speech writer of the SMH Captain.”
Dex turns his head a little where it’s still pressed into the seatback so he can see Nursey with one eye. There’s what looks like might actually be the ghost of a smile on his face.
“Seriously,” Dex says, “what would I do without you?”
Nursey feels his heart skip a beat, the way it has been doing increasingly often the few short weeks they’ve been back this semester. Because for some insane reason, Dex has started looking at him fondly. And Nursey can deal with Dex being attractive; has thought he was hot since they were frogs. What he can’t deal with is this—this—niceness and—and—sincerity. Dex had casually referred to Nursey as his best friend last week, and Nursey had fallen down a hill.
“Hopefully you never have to find out,” Nursey says with a weak laugh.
“Yeah?” The ghost of a smile drops off his face, and he sits back up, a small frown wrinkling between his brows. Nursey’s fingers itch to reach over and smooth it out. “What about next year?”
“Next year?”
“Yeah. I mean, I guess unless we both fail senior year.”
“Oh.” The good-feeling bubble that had been building up around Nursey pops. He hasn’t really thought about what happens when they graduate. Chowder’s already getting scouted, and if he doesn’t take an offer, he and Cait are probably going to move back to California. Nursey has no intention of going pro, knows Dex doesn’t want to either. Does Dex want to move back to Maine? He’s never mentioned it, but who knows. Nursey tries to picture life living in New York with Chowder in Cali and Dex in Maine. It doesn’t feel great.
Dex meanwhile is looking at Nursey like Nursey’s a coding bug he’s trying to puzzle out.
“Well we’ve got a year until then,” Dex finally says, settling back properly in his seat. He closes his eyes like he might try to go to sleep.
It’s not a year though. The thought fizzes up through Nursey’s bloodstream. Just seven months actually. It feels suddenly like it’s speeding toward them—an unstoppable train. They’ve already started having “Lasts” and Nursey hasn’t even been paying attention. Last time moving back into the Haus. Last first day of school. Last first skate at Faber. Last first practice of the season. Last season opener.
Nursey feels suddenly terrified of only having “Lasts” with Dex and no more “Firsts.” He turns to look at Dex, counting his freckles in the flashes of passing streetlights. There’s a bruise already forming on the underside of his chin where he was caught by a stray elbow. He’s used to thinking of Dex as hot, but he realizes suddenly Dex is also beautiful. Nursey’s reaching out before he can overthink it, carefully cupping Dex’s face with one hand, mindful of the bruise. Dex blinks his eyes open to gaze at Nursey in surprise.
“Where do you want to go?” Nursey asks, barely above a whisper.
“What?”
“After graduation. Where do you want to go? I was thinking of New York, but there are a bunch of academic presses all over. I could try for a publishing internship anywhere, really.”
He can feel the muscles of Dex’s cheek pull up into a smile under his hand better than he can see it.
“New York sounds great,” Dex murmurs, hand coming up to hold onto Nursey’s wrist. His thumb strokes over Nursey’s pulse point.
“Great,” Nursey says and leans forward to find Dex’s mouth.
They’d had such a tempestuous start to their relationship, Nursey thought if they ever kissed it would be all fire and passion. This is the softest first kiss of Nursey’s life. As they settle back into their seats, still holding hands, Nursey has the thought that might have been his last first kiss ever. That thought doesn’t sting, though. Because later he and Dex get to have their first second kiss and first third kiss and if he plays his cards right, first time sleeping in the same bed together. He rests his head on Dex’s shoulder and lets his eyes drift close. There’s a veritable unending road of “Firsts” stretching out in front of them.