Black Velvet (78) (Patreon)

(Sorry that this is so late in the day! I forgot Black Velvet was on the update schedule today! 😭 okay, I know black velvet doesn’t read like a normal book does, just consider it slice of life because I enjoy writing these two growing together and with the people around them!)

—

"Ducks?" I mumble, leaning back on the porch swing.  The metal chains clang with the motion, but the swing doesn't sway forward, instead wobbling in place because Tobias has his feet firmly planted, a squadron of baby ducks around his house shoes.

They scurry against the chipped paint of old wood and a concrete platform, begging for pieces of bread — bread that he doesn't have.

"Tobias."  I gag, much to Tobias' disdain,  "Are you really going to give them oats?"

"Why?"

"You're like the grandma whose house no one wants snacks at.  Oats are the equivalent of root-beer flavored candy, a chihuahua that bites, and two-year-old nougat."

"Glad I didn't have the grandparent experience."

"Glad to see you replicate it with helpless animals."

"Bread is bad for ducks,"  He frowns, dropping a handful of oats from a paper bag in his lap,  "The old guy who lived here before me said to give them oats or cracked corn."

"You should've picked cracked corn."

He scoffs,

"Like I'd know where the fuck to get cracked corn."

His nose wrinkles.  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

"... Old guy?  Did you not get his name?"

Tobias shrugs, the hint of a smile tugging at his tired expression.  I blink the sleep out of my eyes, my gaze drifting towards the sun that sits above Huxley's magnolia trees.  It's bright, warm, though I still have goosebumps in Tobias' pajamas.

He brushes his palm down my arm, like he's noticed.  I blink,

"Give me a second to wake up,"  he whispers, his thumb on the back of my wrist, "it'll come back to me."

"... You're the one who woke up and made a bee-line to feed your precious bird children."  I huff, laughing when Tobias' jaw sets, his glare drifting towards my palms that lift to him in surrender.  I miss his touch.  "My grandma always had us give them bread.  Now I feel guilty.  Don't ducks migrate?"

"Lot of grandparent issues from you.  Did your parents ever have a peaceful morning?"  Tobias rolls his eyes when I shake my head and shrug pitifully.

"You can't take two talkative people and have them create silent spawns.  It doesn't work like that.  It's probably science."

"Bread is shit for ducks.  The old man told me.  Nic told me.  No nutritional value."

"I mean, technically, you shouldn't feed them at all."

"Well, if I'm gonna feed them, I'm not going to feed them shit."

"What a good duck dad you are."  I snort when he elbows me, rubbing at my arm gingerly in a show of pity for my injury, "Why do they like your porch so much?  Besides the bribe of a not very tasty breakfast."

"There's a pond — lake or something back in the woods behind my house."  Tobias sounds uninterested but moves his feet back to make space for the clumsy bickering of the ducklings.  "Guess they hang out here when they aren't there."

"Have you ever seen it?" I grab some oats from his paper bag, scattering them on the gravel, "I guess not, since you don't know if it's a lake or a pond."

"Why?  Are you trying to lure me out to it like you did with Edmund's?" Tobias covers his mouth when I shove him and makes no effort to hide how amused he is at my embarrassment, "there some other lunar event tonight that involves the backseat of my car?"

"Oh my God.  I did not lure you out,"  I squeeze my eyes shut, "I cannot believe the narrative you've created.  I should call a lawyer."

"It's too late,"  He shrugs, his lip lifting in a crooked smile, "Actually, now I've convinced myself.  Should we find the lake?"

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to look for it, but now I'm not so sure." I frown, leaning over my knees. There are a few people scattered along the clearing up ahead and across the dirt road, strolling along the magnolias, walking with their dogs.  One elderly individual is on a lawnmower — an actual cowboy hat on their head.  "...Huxley is kind of nice, isn't it?  My dad made it sound... Uh."

"Uh?"

"True crime channels come to mind."

"Ah.  It does look a little seedier at night, I guess."  He smiles, discretely squeezes my hand.  "But the morning is — well, I guess it's nice."

I smile.  I squeeze back, confidence blooming.

"It looks like it could grow on someone."

"It's grown on me,"  Tobias closes his ziplock and leans back.   He hesitates, brows gathering, "I mean — it's just a place.  But it's grown on me."

"You know.... I came here and thought — when I saw your house.  I just thought it was weird that you aren't my neighbor anymore," I frown deeper, and Tobias relaxes into the bench, "but it feels right.  You being here, having a kitten.  Feeding ducks.  Doesn't it?"

The ducks circle my feet.  Tobias snorts, rolling his eyes.  But then he says,

"It feels right."  Then quieter,  "When you're with me."

—

Nic is moving.

He's as unnaturally quiet about his burgeoning life outside of Jameson as he always is. I frown to myself as he spins in his desk chair, typing away at his phone, boxes packed behind him.  I don't see much of his baseball buddies begging him to party lately.  He says most are busy studying.  That they'll come around.

Tobias has texted me a few times throughout the day; his texts are as limited in word count as they always seem to be, but I don't let it bother me — since he keeps sending them.

Incoming Message (Tobias):

When are you free next

Incoming Message (Tobias):

Hey.  Help me with my homework.  I'll pick you up

Incoming Message (Tobias):

I know you're checking your phone.  Are you playing hard to get

I snort.

"Fuck, I want nachos," Nic mumbles, and I realize the screen open on his phone is actually the pizza delivery app, "but everything sounds too good. Do you want pizza?"

"No pizza."

"Should I get Chinese takeout? Is there any vegan Chinese food at Zhou's?"  Nic sighs, "he's a progressive guy, isn't he?"

"How do you go from pizza to Chinese?" I shake my head, and he pouts, "do you have a salt deficiency?  Maybe you should take a vitamin."

Outgoing message (Tobias):
Are you using me for my brains?

"Vitamins are a scam. Pizza or Chinese food, come on.  If you don't help me, I'll eat it all, and then I'll be super sluggish for baseball practice tomorrow — do you want to do that to your darling brother?" He showcases his darling face with his hands, eyelashes aflutter, "large pizza? Medium pizza?  Breadsticks? I've bypassed Chinese food, if you haven't caught on yet."

"I'm going to help Tobias with his homework tonight.  Why don't you invite Joseph over to eat with you?" I huff, "Come on. He's a second stomach. It's not a bad idea."

"I basically have a second stomach. Anyways.  If I invite Joseph, Anna and Charlie-Anne are bound to tag along and eat all my food." His lips downturn more, "it's become a trifecta of food thievery."

Nic is suddenly disinterested in our conversation, distraught over his pizza ordering dilemma yet again,

"I'm getting you breadsticks," He hums, "also, we're getting whatever this cinnamon roll stuff is because it looks good as hell."

"I'm going to Tobias' tonight."

"Well.  Call Toby and see if he's eaten yet.  We can have one last game night after you 'help him with his homework.'"

He smirks.

"Ugh." I stretch out against the ground, "I'm really helping him with homework, you sicko."

"Two rounds of games, tops! Also, I lent you a condom.  I know you're as pure as New York snow."

"I didn't ask for your condom."  I make a disgusted face, "and I'm not discussing this with you.  It's super weird."

"Rude.  Soon you'll miss me.  You'll realize my twenty-four-hour company is better than Toby's sex appeal, you little hussy."

My heart sinks at the idea of a last game night in my parents' home, but I've continued saving, and Nic's boxes are all packed and ready to go — baseball players stripped from the wall, beanbag sold on Jameslist last week with half of his movie collection.

"... So, are you getting excited?" I kick at my brother's seat when he doesn't respond, resulting in a half-spin that he flails in time to,
"... Everything is situated?"

Nic straightens himself easily, distracted by whatever text he's gotten, and gives me a look of annoyance,

"Hey, I don't harass you about your life," He spreads out in his seat, delivers a dramatic stretch before he taps his phone against my wrinkled nose a little too hard.  His stomach growls, "mind your business — and ask Toby if he thinks cinnamon rolls sound sexy because literally, I think I'm going to marry them upon delivery."

"I'm just asking you if you're nervous about moving," I mutter, "and I am not going to ask him if he thinks cinnamon rolls are sexy. I'm going to ask him if passing his classes is sexy — because that's what we'll be working on."

"It's a month-to-month lease. It'll be what it'll be.  I'm not locked in.  We'll see if there are any other poor post-graduates that want a stellar roommate," Nic's lips quirk downwards, but he spins in his chair at the last second, and I can't see his grimace. "Text our tree man."

"Text Joseph and Anna."  I glare when Nic sighs.  "I'll text Charlie-Anne."

"They'll eat all my food."

"C'mon.  We'll order double.  I'll split the cost."

—

Nic steals my phone. He also texts Tobias and asks him if he thinks cinnamon rolls are sexy.

"I told you to quit trying to make me share my food," Nic gulps down a grape soda nearly as quickly as he opens it, "you just couldn't listen. Now Toby thinks you're a huge perv. Doomed your relationship, Oli."

"Give me your cell," Tobias holds his hand out from across the other side of our dining room table. He'd arrived a little over an hour after Nic had called and asked if he'd join in on the game night, although he sounded a little confused by my random, creepy text. I stare at him, and he quirks a dark brow, "I'm going to put a lock on it, which you should've done when you bought it."

"Oliver is too used to his old man track phone, lack of privacy, and spotty reception." Nic shrugs, "but I guess he had to upgrade to get your nudes."

I elbow Nic, and he chokes on his soda.

"... Okay, but you pick the numbers, so I don't forget them.  That's the whole reason I didn't create a passcode.   Also, Tobias doesn't send nudes, and I'm not a pervert." I slide Tobias my phone immediately, ignoring my brother's squawk from the dining room, where he's currently cleaning grape soda from his shirt,  "I had nothing to do with that text, if anything — Nic is the pervert.  Who uses sexy as an adjective to describe food?"

"Master chefs do it all the time, bite me," My brother waltzes towards us, game controllers now in tow and snags a breadstick from my plate, "Such sensitive and sexually frustrated boys, upset about glazed buns."

Tobias looks at me and sighs.  I sigh back.

The doorbell rings.

Nic smiles.

—

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