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The cashier is wearing a UCLA sweatshirt. She casts an eye over them, maybe assessing if they're USC fans, but they pass the test and she smiles as she rings them up.
"You keeping up with the game?" Nick isn't, hasn't followed college football in years. Heard about the Bowl Game though, it's impossible to avoid with 111 colleges playing in it, all designed by someone with a deeply twisted sense of humor. Even for football it's out there.
"Nope. How's it going for the Bruins?" It's not like it's wasting his time to ask as she starts bagging. She pulls that face, the one that says she's being let down by her team, it looks the same on every fan's face, before she replies.
"Could be better, could be worse. Could have ended up like SDSU. Those guys can't even play! Mexico said no, so they haven't got a single overlap. It's impossible, they're never going to play any football like that." Manny looks up from the cart to give the cashier a searching look. How many times have they brought groceries, lifted the bags up into the cart as someone scans them and packs them? Centuries, millennia. If Nick thinks about it too much, it's a fucking weird form of eternity. No angels, no god, no aliens, just getting groceries with your husband while some talkative satellites watch over you.
Despite the familiarity of it, he's not seen him look like that while they're shopping. There's a shine in Manny's eyes he recognizes, just not in this context. The gleam that says Manny has heard the word 'impossible' and he wants in. Nick knows the look Manny's going to give him even before he sees it. It makes him groan.
"You couldn't even decide what beer you wanted and you want in on this?"
"Nick, I can make it happen. I know there's something. There's some rule you can break to make it happen."
"You want to play football." They've both done so much over their time, even played football briefly because of Coach's sheer desperation at their high schools, back when those still existed, but there's no player cards out there for them. Nick turns to meet his gaze, finds that determination in his eyes that's infuriating and lovable at the same time. That unwillingness to let go once he's sunk his teeth in. People think he's the stupidly stubborn one but Manny's just quieter about it, that's all. Manny pushes his hair back from his face, like he always does when he's thinking, running his fingers through it and making a complete mess out of it. Nick thinks of smoothing it out later, patting it down so it's not standing on end and making him look like he's married to some kind of freakish rooster.
Nick knows the answer before he gets it, even though he didn't actually ask a question.
"Yeah. I think I do."
"Do you have a Rewards card?" The cashier interrupts, the bags stacking up. Manny fumbles as he gets his wallet out and nearly drops it. Nick gives his cell number so she can look it up before he recovers.
"Better not fumble like that with the ball." Manny makes a noise that's all irritation, glares as Nick covers it.
They argue for the whole drive home. Not about San Diego. No, it's about a call-in on talk radio, where Nick's sure the host is goddamn wrong but Manny agrees with him. It almost feels like spite, until they pop the trunk and Manny leans in against him as he lifts bags out.
He's warm against his side. Strange how long they've made it work, how long they've been here in this little ranch house in Oceanside. The thought makes something stick in his throat, the sudden rush of love that's still as strong as ever, as he's just there next to him. He reaches over, lays his hand over Manny's on the handle of the bag. The bag crinkles under the pressure, as he squeezes it.
"He was right and your memory sucks."
Despite that final jab, Manny takes his hand into his, interlacing their fingers together. He squeezes back before getting go, scooping up more bags.
Manny's cooking tonight. He lies on the couch, listening to the fridge open and shut, open and shut. He knows Manny's mind is made up, that he's going to want to go to San Diego even though the team is now a joke, somewhere nobody wants to seriously play for. So that's set. What about him?
He thinks about it. Years of being alone as Manny goes back and forth across the country. Not knowing exactly where Manny is, what he's doing. Or maybe he'll be moving around too, chasing after Manny chasing the trail. No, San Diego doesn't have that, being five miles from the nearest field. It'll be living in a different house, some rental within the field, the game passing them by. Watching Manny get ground down by the fact that it's unwinnable.
It sits heavy on his chest, the thought of Manny being alone in this game, surrounded by fucking hipsters who play for SDSU ironically. The thought of being apart for thousands of years. If Manny wants to do this, then it's not a joke to him. The thought starts to burn in his chest. Making a play that nobody in thousands of years would have ever thought of, even with all the time in the world. Making that play with Manny, the only person who could look at that mess and go 'I want to play here' instead of choosing some other school, some goddamn school in the Midwest that'd be thrilled to have him, where it'd be easy.
Manny walks into the room, opens his mouth to say something like "where did you put the plates this time?" before Nick cuts him off at the pass.
"I'm in." Manny stops. Looks at him closely, waiting for him to continue. "You want in, so I want in." That's all there is to it. If there is some crazy, impossible way to win this game, then he wants to find it. Wants to find it with Manny and nobody else. "We'll sign up tomorrow."
The couch cushions dip as Manny pushes him back enough so he can sit on the edge of it, reaches over to cup his cheek. As if he can't quite believe that Nick is here, agreeing to something as stupid as playing this game, despite all the evidence he has from the past couple of centuries that yes, he would. Nick tilts his head into the touch as he meets Manny's eyes dead-on.
"This is crazy."
"Of course it is, that's why we're doing it." They don't have a plan, don't even know if there is a way to play, but Nick said he'll do it, and he's going to do right by Manny. It really is that simple. "You think I'd let you drive someone else crazy?" Manny huffs out a laugh, lets Nick pull him down by his hand to kiss him, lets Nick muse up his hair with roaming fingers as they kiss after spending that time fixing it together in the car.
It's not the first time he's made a wild promise to Manny. That was on the first day they met, by the lake, where Manny said, "promise me you won't think I'm crazy for asking this." A statement, dead serious, that made him sit up and take notice, far into a life meeting more people than he'd ever expected to, that made him realize that Manny wasn't just going to be another face that would blend in with all the others. He'd kept that promise. He thought Manny was crazy for other reasons, but not for turning to him, someone he'd never met before, because Nick was certain they'd never met before because he'd remember, and asking that.
Couldn't even remember what it was he'd asked now, though. Sometimes they talked their way around it as they tried to remember, neither of them certain. It didn't matter. He could still remember the intensity of his face, how serious his eyes were. How he'd started falling at that moment, with Manny's hand on his arm.
It isn't going to be the last time he makes that promise, either. It wasn't on the day they married, for better or for worse. Or as his dad always said, in for a penny, in for a pound. He pulls back and meets Manny's eyes and feels his breath over his face.
"I love you." Simple and direct. Not a promise, just a statement of fact. No matter where this might take them, what they might have to do to get there. He loves him.
"I love you, too."