“Fidgety”
You’re sitting next to Nate on the couch, legs tucked under you, a blanket thrown across both of your laps. The TV is playing some random movie neither of you are really paying attention to. His arm is stretched along the back of the couch, hand resting close to you. It’s casual, easy, the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone like the back of your hand.
You don’t even notice when your fingers start reaching for him. It’s not something you think about anymore. The cool metal of his rings catches your touch first, and you start tracing them slowly, running your thumb over the edges. One spins loosely on his middle finger, so you twist it, watching how the light hits the silver as it turns.
He notices before you do. His eyes flick down, then back to the screen. After a few seconds, he says quietly, “You’re doing it again.”
You hum, still focused on the ring. “Doing what?”
He glances at you, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Messing with my rings. You got a habit or something?”
You shrug, pretending to watch the movie. “You shouldn’t wear so many if you don’t want me to.”
That gets him to laugh under his breath, a quiet sound that warms the air between you. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
You spin one again, slower this time, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath the metal. His hand twitches a little but doesn’t pull away. The quiet stretches, soft and heavy, only the sound of the TV filling the room.
“Why do you always play with them?” he asks after a while, voice lower now.
You think about it, still turning the ring. “I don’t know. It’s just something to do.”
He looks at you longer this time, his gaze steady. “You only do it with me.”
You glance up, caught off guard by how serious he sounds. “Yeah, maybe.”
His thumb moves just slightly, brushing the side of your hand. It’s small, barely there, but it makes your stomach flip anyway.
Neither of you says anything else. You just sit there, your hand tangled with his, fingers still tracing the metal. The movie plays out, forgotten. Every few minutes, you shift your grip, and he lets you never once pulling away, never breaking that quiet rhythm you’ve fallen into.
By the time the credits roll, his head has fallen back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, a soft smile still playing on his face. Your fingers are still on his, still moving, like you never even meant to stop.
He finally says, voice barely above a whisper, “You know you don’t gotta fidget. You can just hold my hand, right?”
You look at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I like it this way.”
He nods once, slow and easy. “Yeah. Me too.”
And so you keep going quiet, steady, your fingers tracing his rings like it’s the only language you know.
An: I don’t feel like Nathan has ever worn a ring a day in his life 😭 but we’re in fantasy land so it’s all good
