Holsom, #7? I never really got the ship before but it's growin on me.
I’m not the Holsom Authority but do i love Big Soft Men? Yes.
Ransom always knew they would end up here, one way or another. Some days, he’d let himself wonder when it would be, what would be the catalyst that sparked the shit from just friends to not-just-friends. Most of the time he buried himself in his homework until the thought passed.
Playoffs came and went, then graduation, and the urgency Ransom anticipated - counted on fell away with the knowledge that they’d be living together in Boston that fall. Even in Niagara Falls, as they sit side by side on the bed, sharing memories and sips of whiskey, Ransom knows this isn’t the time.
It comes a few months after they a unpack their last box in the new apartment. Ransom is in the kitchen, trying to light the gas stove, and Holster has fifteen minutes to get back from school and pass off the car before Ransom’s shift. Just as he gives up on the idea of making a box of mac n cheese, Holster storms into the house, making the shitty wood flooring creak and groan under him.
“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out, “and I’ve got pizza.”
“Oh, shit,” Ransom marvels as Holster sets three extra-large pizza boxes onto the kitchen counter.
“Stole it off the table for frosh registration,” Holster explains. “Take this box with you to eat on the drive to work; it has pineapple on it.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one providing food for this family?” Ransom asks, grabbing the greasy box. “I’m the one working.”
“You’re totally my househusband,” Holster grins. “Now gimme some sugar and get out of here.”
Ransom starts with a quick punch to Holster’s shoulder (“deserved that,” he admits with gritted teeth), but he leans up to press a kiss to his cheek just as Holster turns his head.
It’s not their first kiss, it’s not even their best kiss. They’ve made out, guided largely by several shots and girls who laughed and said “we will if you do.” This is - should be - nothing. Ransom’s lips are on the corner of Holster’s mouth, nearer to his chin. He could pull back, laugh it off, and leave.
But Ransom’s played this moment over and over in his head.
He corrects his angle and pushes in again, his lips flush with Holster’s, so there’s no mistaking what this is. Not a joke anymore.
Holster responds so quickly Ransom wonders if he’s been waiting for this, too. His hands wrap around Ransom’s waist, pulling him in, and Ransom’s - god, he’s still holding this pizza box. He sets it blindly on the counter, knocking over some glasses along the way.
There are questions that need to be asked: what are we doing? Are we going to keep doing it? Does this change anything? Am I going to get fired for skipping my shift today? None of them are going to be answered soon, not judging by the way Holster’s clutching him. They can talk it out later, now they’re making up for lost time.