Chapter Text
Twenty-four hours ago, Basil was looking forward to heading home. Counting down the hours, in fact, especially after seeing Aubrey at that horrid campfire. Giggling with her friends, carefree and magnetic, she was everything that he himself wished to be. The possibility that Sunny might still have feelings for their former friend made Basil’s old promises feel like glass shards caught in his throat.
Never had he expected for Sunny to answer all of his painful questions without needing a single word.
Now, as the bus rumbles away from Overlake Camp, he wishes the journey would last forever. Long rides have always made Sunny drowsy, and even though he’s never been one for naps, Basil had fallen asleep briefly. Staying up with Sunny yesterday (or was it today?) had definitely taken its toll on him. While they had maintained a responsible distance for a few hours, Sunny had unconsciously migrated during their nap. Currently, he was folded over Basil’s lap, a soothing warmth to ward off the perpetual chill and stir his poor circulation.
Not wanting to disturb him, Basil reaches for his camera—the one Sunny so carefully chose for him—and flicks through the photos. He flags the ones that he thinks are best for the yearbook: perfectly crystallized ice on twigs, the second day’s sunrise piercing through the pines. The snowdrops. Basil hesitates, reliving the memories that he and Sunny made, just the two of them, in that concealed meadow. The image doesn’t look like the ‘official’ selections that the committee tends to favour. After a moment, he flags it anyway; in his opinion, the flowers are simply too beautiful to stay hidden. There is one shot, however, that Basil wants all to himself. It’s from the first day, right after they’d finished the ski trail. Sunny, rosy and snow-dusted, has his head thrown back in an unguarded burst of laughter. Looking good in pictures has never come effortlessly for him. Instead, he somehow finds a way to squint, turn, or blink at the exact moment the shutter clicks. Basil faults cameras for this: no device can capture Sunny’s quiet sharpness in motion, or the way light glints off his sleek, dark hair. More than a few classes have slipped by while Basil wondered how it would feel to run his fingers through that hair, whether it really would be as soft as it looks. Though he’s on the verge of finding out for himself, Basil doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to them. So, he drifts back to the photo, zooming in on each detail. Silly or not, it’s Sunny, his Sunny in the frame, and that alone makes it perfect. He decides then and there to take this picture to the print shop. Basil will have it made into a card he can carry with him wherever he goes.
Glancing down at Sunny’s sleeping form, Basil recognizes the same boy who’s always been gentle with small things, even when others might mistake that intense focus for something harsher; who reaches to offer comfort, even when he’s supposed to be keeping his distance.
We’ve grown, in more ways than one. Especially after last night.
But we’re still us, Basil reflects, and that’s the most precious part of it all.