Mind Blind Short Story: The Ring

                Despite outward appearances and his own secretly low opinion of himself, Nick was not childish. He could act immature, impulsive, and obnoxiously laddish, but (from what Grayson had gleaned about his history over the years) Nick might be the only responsible adult amongst the three elder Wisemans. Calling Nick a “child” was unfair when, given his dual abilities, he never had much of a childhood to begin with. What small piece of carefree adolescence had lingered after constant speeches on “the burden of power,” Nick had willingly relinquished in order to become his younger sibling’s guardian.

                This was Grayson Black’s opinion, and Gray respected Nicholas Wiseman more than almost anyone he knew (Gray’s mother took first place, obviously).

                On some occasions, however, he also wanted to murder Nick.

                Now was one such occasion.

                “I was riiiiiiight,” Nick continued gloating (as he’d be doing so for the past twenty minutes, since their lunchbreak first began). “You looooooooooove them. You want to smooooooooch them. You’re gonna get maaaaaaaaaaried.”

                Gray flushed as Nick’s words inadvertently found their mark, the box he’d picked up from the jeweler burning a hole through his jacket pocket.

                “You’re gonna have baaaaabies.” Nick’s eyes widened as he registered Grayson’s sudden flush. “Hold up, are you two planning to adopt already? Is Button pregnant? Are you pregnant? I know that you’ve always talked about wanting kids, but I figured you’d at least wait until—"

                “No one is pregnant!” The burn of Gray’s cheeks had spread to the back of his neck and ears. He must look like a boiled lobster.

                Nick leaned across the cafeteria table, squinting at Gray suspiciously. “You’re hiding something from me,” he accused. “You never hide things from me.”

                “I have secrets,” Gray replied, a little offended, at which Nick threw back his head and laughed heartily.

                “Please,” he scoffed. “I know your secrets before you do. Or have you forgotten all the protesting of—” Nick pinched his nose and assumed a nasally British accent—“‘Why no, Nickleby, old chum, I’m not madly in love with your sibling. Not at all! Tally ho! Cricket! Fish’n’chips!’”

                “That sounds nothing like me,” Gray said, “nor do I care for cricket.”

                “Rugby, then,” Nick corrected with a careless wave of his hand. “Isn’t that what you played at that pretentious boarding school with all the other little lordlings? My point is that I knew you were in love before you did, which means that I’m smarter, wiser, and more handsome.”

                Gray envisioned hitting his best friend over the head with Nick’s own bo staff, shoving Nick’s body into the boot of a car, and then driving said car into the Lake. Still, as obnoxious as Nick was being, Gray needed to ask his friend for a favor.

                Even if doing so was bound to make Nick insufferably smug. More so than he usually was, which was an already significant amount.

                “I need you to bake a batch of cookies.” Gray said the words in a rush before he could reevaluate his decision to further inflate Nick’s ego. “Your sibling’s favorite.”

                Nick, to his credit, almost managed not to bounce in his seat. “And why do you need me to bake cookies?” he asked coyly. “I gave you the recipe four years ago.”

                “Yes, but mine always come out . . .” Gray winced, envisioning the charcoal chunks that had been yesterday’s attempt and trying to think of an adjective that didn't feel too humiliating.

                “Revolting,” Nick suggested. “Repellant, repulsive, repugnant. Toxic, noxious, burnt, and downright bad.”

                “Inadequate,” Gray supplied. “Besides, the cookies will be more poignant if they’re made by you.”

                “Poignant?” Nick repeated. “I’ve heard my baking called delicious before. Scrumptious, even. But since when are cookies poignant?”

                Gray ducked his head. “They’re how we met,” he muttered.

                “You and I met at a UCRT briefing with stale finger sandwiches and bland mini quiches.” Nick’s smile was so wide and toothy that he looked almost sharkish. “I take it that you’re referring to Button?”

                Gray nodded. He’d already resigned himself to a lifetime of teasing, but that didn’t make handling Nick any easier. Still, he could feel his own lips curve in a smile that matched Nick’s own. How could he not smile, when he was so ludicrously happy?

                “Button graduates Aeon next month,” Nick said. “I’m guessing that the cookies aren’t just to celebrate their promotion to MIV.”

                Gray took the box out of his pocket. With a furtive glance around the empty cafeteria to ensure no one else had entered, he cracked it open to reveal a glimpse of the ring within.

                Nick let out a low, impressed whistle. “I’m flattered, Gray, but you’re dating my sibling.”

                Gray laughed and put the box back in his pocket. “Arsehole.”

                Nick stood and walked over to Gray’s side of the table. He pulled the other man upright and drew him into a tight hug.

                “Of course I’ll bake the cookies!” Nick exclaimed, his hold tightening to the point where Gray struggled to breathe. He tapped Nick’s shoulder for release, taking an audible inhale of relief once Nick let go. “How many do you want? Will twenty-four be enough? Maybe a single giant cookie? No, you know what? Let’s make it an even sixty. I can arrange them like a cake.”

                “Half a dozen or so should be plenty,” Gray said. “There’s limited room in the picnic basket.”

                “My dear, dumb future brother-in-law.” Nick’s gaze was tolerantly pitying. “We’re talking about Button’s favorite cookies. Do you remember what happened last time there wasn’t enough for both of you? Are you trying to sabotage your own engagement before it’s even official?”

                “Sixty it is,” Gray agreed.