Mustard Stained Lips

“And I mean it, Osmond! I will grab all of his clothes and throw them out the window. It is the only logical course of action!” Maverick said as he bit into his burger.

      Osmond and Maverick had this tradition of going to Five Guys every Friday after class since their freshmen year. Their routine included getting out of class 5 minutes before it was done, running across Washington Square Park, grabbing the nearest subway to go to midtown, and sitting down in the cramped restaurant that only had 3 tables. They started doing this during their second semester. After meeting each other in their Intro to Humanities class, Maverick learned that Osmond wasn’t very familiar with the city. Osmond had moved from countryside England to New York City on a whim.

      Osmond remembered his senior year, back home in Cambridge, when it was time to decide on a school to go to. He had planned on staying in England and just going to the local college while working part-time at his favorite bakery. Nothing too exciting, really. But Regina believed that, with his A-level scores, Osmond could go anywhere he wanted. He remembers how his mom told him he was the least adventurous person she knows and proceeded to give him an ultimatum to make him “live a little”, and “be spontaneous”.

      So, 17-year-old-Osmond ‘s interpretation of that was: let me leave the country; get myself into the overly complicated mess that is the American school system; major in something that I am crazy passionate about, but my father won’t approve of, and maybe—just maybe—not cry about my awful life choices. And so, he did.

      Now, Maverick, being a local, took this opportunity as a challenge. He took Osmond to all his favorite spots—the Conservatory Garden in 85th street, White Bear dumpling bar in Flushing Queens, and that weird bookstore down in 14th street that had no business being that creepy. But out of all the cool things Maverick could think of to surprise his new friend, he never thought Osmond would be as excited as he was for American-greasy-over-the-top cheeseburgers. As a result, Five Guys just became a tradition for them. A break for the overly disciplined and boring Osmond.

      Seeing that they had found a tradition for themselves, they fell into a comfortable routine too. The routine in question involved something Osmond liked to call “Maverick’s Counseling Sessions”, in which the blond one would complain about his awful roommate Tanner. Everyone hated Maverick’s rants. They were long, overly dramatic, and he never seem to get to the point. Either way, Osmond loved them. Osmond loved the way Maverick would talk with his hands, the way he would imitate Tanner’s voice and mock him, the way he would take a big bite from his food and cover his full mouth real quick because, “Holy shit Os I have to talk because, if I don’t, I’ll forget everything!”.

      Maverick had this weird way of filling Osmond’s mind every second of the day, and Osmond was sure that the idiot sitting in front of him stuffing his face with greasy burgers was the love of his life. Osmond may not seem like the cheesy type, because he really isn’t or at least he tries not to be. But with Maverick, that control is thrown out the window. Osmond is careful to always sit facing Maverick so he can have an excuse to look at his long nose and thick lashes. He helps Maverick plan his semesters with a, “Let me do it Mav! You will just make a mess out of your schedule,” when in reality he is just making sure they have the same class times on Fridays and some free periods to have lunch together.

      Osmond would go out of his way just to allow himself to live these small moments with Maverick. Why is that? Because he is a fucking coward. Yes, he likes Maverick—scratch that— he has been obsessed with Maverick since their freshmen year. Now, they are starting their senior year of college and Osmond is still debating if throwing himself off the Empire State Building would be an easier option than just telling his best friend that he likes him!

      “Earth to Osmond! Hey, man, you are zoning out, and I haven’t even reached the important part of the story,” Maverick said with his mouth full.

      “I am sorry Mav. I was just distracted, please go on.”

Osmond looked at Maverick’s movements. The way he would let the burger fall from his hands and make the checkered tray paper crumble. How he would suck on his fingers to clean them up and then rub them against his baggy jeans. How he slurped on his drink and never seem to clean the corner of his mouth.

      “Mav, you got something on your face,” Osmond cut him off. “Where?” Maverick doesn’t make a move.

      “A mustard stain hanging from your bottom lip,” Osmond replied.

Maverick stared at him without reaching to clean his mouth. He was going to break under Maverick’s icy blue eyes, why was he so silent? Osmond was nervous. He felt a tight knot on his throat and his hands getting clammy over his jeans. Hell, he was going to do something stupid, something he might regret. Bloody hell why was Maverick looking at him like that! Why wasn’t he cleaning his lip? So fucking annoying.

      “Wanna help me with that Osmond?”

      This asshole could easily lick his own lip, why was he making Osmond’s knees shake? Was this the sign Osmond has been waiting for all along? Was Maverick asking Osmond to kiss him? To lick his lips? He could be reading the situation wrong. Osmond could be interpreting this just for his own selfish reasons. Should he just go for it? Like a band-aid, rip it off and everything will be okay. Maverick is very understanding, and it’s not like they have never held hands before, or hugged for a little longer than usual, or shared ice cream cones in the park. Wait...was Osmond just too busy hiding his feelings and enjoying his limited advances to get close to Maverick, to actually consider the viable possibility of his best friend liking him back? Bananas.

      There was a pause. A heavy one filled with insecurities, doubts, fear, and anxiety, but also full of hope, possibilities, and what-ifs. This was followed by the disgusting screeching sound of the metal chair sliding against the floor. Osmond’s sweaty hands made a loud noise when hitting the table for balance. His converse shoes were folding in an uncomfortable way as he got on his tippy toes to lean over the table. He noticed how his favorite purple sweater brushed the top of his burger, and how close he was to knocking their drinks over. Still, he went for it, he ripped the band-aid off. Disciplined and boring Osmond gave himself an ultimatum and decided to live a little. It was proven that being spontaneous has worked so far, so the only logical thing to do next was to kiss Maverick’s mustard-stained lips.

      “Finally, Osmond. I can’t believe it took you an entire year of me complaining about Tanner in the most annoying way for you to break,” Maverick chuckled while holding Osmond’s warm freckled cheek. This idiot was really going to be the end of Osmond.