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Jerry’s is a madhouse.
Normally, at this hour, the place is relatively quiet. But as soon as Ransom gave his orders to beat the LAX bros there and claim every single table before those douchenozzles could even get their names on the waitlist, the entire SMH team, along with every single one of their varied fans currently on hand, descended on the place en masse.
Unfortunately, the chaos of the situation didn’t leave much room for negotiation on seating arrangement. And of course Dex ends up squeezed into a tiny table for two with Nursey.
Dex scowls down at the bowl of creamers that a part of him wants to start stacking into pyramids like he used to do whenever he was dragged to diner breakfasts with the grandparents as a kid. Nursey just casually peruses the menu like he doesn’t have it memorized, and like he isn’t very obviously ignoring the D-man across from him.
Are they fighting? Okay, they’re always fighting, stupid question. But Dex is having a hard time remembering what this newest one is even about.
Their knees knock together under the table, seeing as it wasn’t designed to be shared by two long-limbed men over six foot. It’s not either of their faults, but Nursey huffs like it is and sets his menu back down onto the table roughly.
“I think your fanclub has a seat free at their table if you’d prefer it,” Dex mutters.
“You trying to get rid of me, Poindexter?”
“What gave me away?”
“Or,” Nursey smirks and raises an eyebrow the way he does whenever he thinks he’s found just the right William Poindexter button to push that will get a good reaction. “Are you just jealous?”
Dex gives him a flat look and blinks slowly, dry and unimpressed. An expression that isn’t uncommon for him when it comes to everyone else in his life. Not that most of his teammates would believe it at this point. But, truth be told, no one is ever able to rile Dex up any more than he allows them to.
Nursey just happens to be the exception to this rule.
“Obviously,” Dex tells him, and then starts absently stacking creamer cups despite himself. “You got me. You figured it out. Is that what you’ve been upset about, Nurse? Because, yes, obviously I’m jealous. I mean, you’ve never signed my Fall Semester Course Catalogue with a winky face and a lopsided heart.”
He’s pretty sure he pulls the joke off without a hitch, his tone the perfect balance of nonchalant and sarcastic. But he can sense Nursey go immediately tense at the words, and his head snaps back up to eye his teammate in confusion.
“Uh.” Nursey clears his throat abruptly, nearly chokes, and then glances away at the sugar packets that his fingers have started to idly play with. “I meant, jealous of me. You know. For all the attention. Or whatever. Not jealous of the groupies.”
Dex can feel his cheeks burn, and then his ears, and then his chest and arms too, because he’s always been a full body blusher. “Oh.”
An awkward silence prevails for the next few moments, until they both open their mouths at the same time to break it only to be interrupted by the harried waitress to take their orders.
Once she’s gone, silence falls again.
Nursey tears through a few more sugar packets and pours their contents onto the pile he’s making by his fork.
Dex adds the last creamer cup to his tower, drags in a deep breath, and then knocks the whole thing over. “I’m not implying that I want you to draw hearts all over my shit or anything.”
Nursey shrugs a shoulder, but it seems forced. “And I’m not implying that I think you’re, like, thirsty for puck bunnies.”
“Good. Because I’m not.”
“Good.” Nursey shifts in his seat, biting his lip like he’s debating with himself about something, and then leans forward across the tiny table between them. “But, like, bro. You are kinda implying that I treat these guys in the stands better than I treat my own teammates? Because otherwise why would you even care how I...”
He trails off, and Dex can just about see him starting to put two and two together. So he hurriedly stands up from the table and forces another scowl. “I’m gonna go check on Chowder. I think he got seated with some Pens fans, so.”
Dex wanders the packed diner back to the restroom. Debates making a break for it out the front door, but finally comes to the conclusion after several splashes of lukewarm sink water on his face that it would do more harm than good, and so heads back to their table.
His and Nursey’s knees knock together again when Dex sits down, but there’s nowhere for their legs to retreat to when Dex abruptly tries to pull back, and so ends up entangling their limbs in his effort rather than gaining any distance. Nursey’s thigh is now pressed snuggly against his own. Nursey’s calves now tightly bracket his ankles.
“Hey,” Nursey says, once Dex is settled.
Dex stares at a random point over Nursey’s shoulder. “Hey.”
“Okay, look,” Nursey seems slightly less full of bravado than usual, but also a hundred times more certain of himself. “I know this isn’t what you meant, but for the record? I would totally draw hearts all over your shit. Like, if I had the go-ahead, you would pretty much have to pay me to stop.”
Dex squeezes his eyes shut and runs a weary hand over his features. “What are you even talking about, Nurse?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I wouldn’t give those ‘fans’ even half the amount of attention that I do if I thought that I was allowed to give it all to you instead.”
Dex’s heart stops.
The waitress comes with their food and then leaves.
For all the noise in the restaurant, it feels like Dex would be able to hear a pin drop right now anyway.
“That is a very mean joke,” he manages lowly.
Nursey shakes his head once, hard and fast. “Dex, I would never. Poindexter-- Will. I would never.”
Dex lets out a shuddering breath and lets his arms fall down onto the table, on either side of their food. He focuses on the smells of hash browns and pancakes and freshly topped off cups of coffee. He tries to think of a decent chirp to lighten the mood, but comes up empty.
It isn’t until he’s opening his mouth to argue—at the very least he can always argue—that he notices what Nursey is now doing.
He has one of Dex’s hands cradled in his own, facing up. And across’ Dex’s palm, Nursey is carefully drawing a misshapen heart with the tiny line of sugar pouring from his most recently opened sugar packet.
“You’re an asshole,” Dex tells him, breathlessly, the moment the heart is finished.
Nursey bites back a small smile. “Am I?”
And then he raises Dex’s hand up to slowly lick the sugar off his palm.