Chapter Text
It feels like the stars are extra beautiful today.
No, no. They’re probably the same. It’s just that… Bran’s beside me, his arm pressing lightly against mine, the touch burning through the layers of my sweatshirt– even through my t-shirt. It’s like fire touching my skin, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s more just there, taking all my attention when it should be on the twinkling small white spots in the sky.
“Wow,” Bran says softly, “it does look nice. You were right.”
I resist the urge to lean my head on his shoulder. It seems like the perfect moment, but I manage to push down the desire to do it. I just hope that feeling doesn’t rise up so much that it explodes and floods my entire body, controlling what I do and say.
“I’m always right,” I tease, slipping into that calm, cool mask that I usually use about Bran. If he sees my true self, I fear I may lose the only friend I have.
Bran only lets out a low, thoughtful hum, not denying it or agreeing. “Maybe,” he says, nudging me. A flash of heat hits me at that casual touch. “You were definitely right about this.”
“What’s the point of having a window that can open fully in your own bedroom if you don’t climb onto the roof sometimes?” I ask, nudging him back. It’s definitely not an excuse to touch him.
Bran throws his head back, laughing. I watch his mouth stretch into a grin. I try not to stare at his white teeth and soft pink lips. Gods, he’s perfect.
“I love it when you’re bold like this,” he says, hazel eyes still sparkling with amusement. I duck my head, a flush rising to my cheeks. If he likes me being bold, I’ll be the boldest person ever.
I’ll do anything for him.
“Do… you think there’s other life out there, somewhere?” I murmur, staring up at the black vastness of the sky. It’s so big, the universe. Anything could exist, but we’re stuck on this tiny planet, one that we’re currently destroying. We’re destroying the place we’re living in.
“Yeah.” Bran leans back, seeming as if he was getting comfortable, here on the roof, with me. “But they probably wouldn’t want contact with us. I mean, look at us. No one would want to talk to us, not when they’re having a great time on their not-dying planet.”
“That’s true,” I say. “I wouldn’t want contact with humans, either.”
Bran looks at me, gaze serious. “They’re not all that bad,” he says softly. “Just a few certain people. A few certain people that I would love to boot off into space.”
I let out a tiny giggle, despite myself. Lean your head on his shoulder. Come on.
I don’t do it, instead continuing to talk.
“I wish there was a place where life was perfect. Wouldn’t that be cool? A planet where everything is flawless?”
Bran makes a hmm noise again, staying silent for a while, really thinking about it.
The way he focuses and actually sees me, actually considers my thoughts and ideas is amazing. I’m used to being a ghost but Bran– Bran makes me feel like I belong somewhere. That despite my plans to move to a new planet, I have a place here on Earth.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “It sounds nice, but what would you do, with no problems– no challenges to solve? There’d be no point in life anymore.”
“Oh.” I move a little closer to him, if only to absorb his warmth. It’s cold up here. “That makes sense.”
Bran quotes my words back at me. “I’m always right.”
I roll my eyes in fake exasperation and shove him away playfully, regretting it immediately. He’s no longer touching me. Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that.
Bran grins, which is brighter than any star in the sky, brighter even than the sun. If I saw that everyday, I wouldn’t even need the sun anymore. I only need him.
Kiss him. The thought comes out of nowhere. My delusional mind thinks it’s a good idea– after all, we’re on a private roof, looking at the stars. It’s a perfect moment, nice and romantic. The type of kiss you’ll find in a book.
But this isn’t a book, and if I kiss him, Bran might be disgusted, and shove me away– and out of his life forever. I don’t want to endanger our friendship.
What if this does change our friendship– into something more? Something better?
I shake my head to disperse that thought. No. I can’t risk it. Bran knows that I like both genders, and he’s fine with it, but I’m not sure how he would react if I kissed him out of the blue.
I’ll do it eventually, I tell myself, Just not now, when everything is fine. A better time.
And if there’s not a better time? Well, I’ve waited this long. I can wait a bit longer. I’m pretty patient.
Bran sighs and presses his cheek to my hair, just for a split second. I freeze, unsure what to do. He removes it so quickly I’m not sure if it was my brain playing cruel tricks on me or not.
Bran continues like nothing’s happened, standing up and brushing himself off. “As much as I’d like to stay here forever,” he says, “we have school tomorrow morning. I just managed to convince my parents to let you stay over– they wouldn’t be happy to see me awake. We should go and get ready for bed.”
I poke him in the side, smiling as he yelps and squirms away. He’s so cute when he does that. “Goody-two-shoes,” I say, but I follow his lead, rising as well, slower than him, raising my arms above my head in a stretch.
“You’ll thank me when you don’t fall asleep in math class tomorrow,” Bran tells me, face in a mock serious expression.
“That’s tomorrow. I’ll deal with it later.” I wait for Bran to climb back inside, before doing that myself. The warmth of the room hits me like a wave, the smell of Bran’s bedroom almost as familiar as my own. This is almost my second home, since I spend so much of my time here. It smells like chamomile, from the essential oil dispenser plugged in by the corner– soothing, gentle, and slightly floral. Apparently it helps you sleep, and I think that’s true. I always sleep better when I’m in this room. Or maybe that’s because of Bran.
Bran’s room is large but cozy, mostly artificial candles providing the light. It makes the room have a nice, golden glow. Bran says he likes the vibes that they give off. That it seems to make the room seem safer, being a warm tone. That explains the light beige wallpaper, and the pale brown wood dressers on either side of his ginormous bed. Bran’s bed might be bigger than my room.
Bran sits down on the couch that’s in front of his bed. His room is so nice. If I had a choice, I would live here forever, and not only because of the great roommate I’d have if I did.
I look around for my small oversize bag, finding it leaning against the desk that Bran has by the side. Walking over, I pick it up and shuffle around the stuff inside, frowning when I can’t find the things I need.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I hold out the bag, even though I’m too far away for Bran to see what’s inside, or more specifically, what’s missing inside.
“Um,” I mumble, wondering how Bran’s going to react to this, “I kind of forgot my clothes? So I don’t have anything to wear for tomorrow…”
Bran lifts his head, face calm, eyes aglow in the candlelight. He runs a hand through his messy caramel brown hair. “Okay,” he replies, “that’s fine. You can borrow some of my clothes. I have a lot of them.”
“Oh, no, I can call my parents or something…” Except I don’t want to call my parents.
Bran’s face softens, standing up to meet me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I try not to lean into him, but it’s so hard. He’s like a planet, and I’m getting sucked into his orbit. He looks as gorgeous as an angel close up. I can count the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, and the green and almost unnoticeable reddish brown flecks in his hazel eyes.
“Really, Will.” I nearly melt into a puddle when I hear the nickname he has for me. I never let anyone call me that, but I guess he’s special. “It’s alright. I can lend you a few things. It’s no big deal.”
“Okay,” I whisper, not wanting to ruin the moment, “thank you.”
Bran smiles at me– and I can’t stop looking at his mouth, his full, pouty lips a beautiful pink. I just want to see how it feels against my own, if they really are as soft and plump as they look.
I look away, breaking the silent moment between us. Bran clears his throat, backing away so there’s more space between us. I try not to feel hurt. I guess we were a little too close for comfort– for him at least. I wanted to get even closer.
“You can choose whatever you want,” Bran informs me, opening the doors of his huge wardrobe, which contains rows and rows of neatly hung up sweaters, shirts, and jackets. Large piles of pants ranging from dress pants to jeans are folded underneath.
It’s just as big as my own closet. I have a soft spot for fashion, and looking at all of these clothes I can choose from makes me almost giddy. My mind is already working, scanning through all the different outfit choices, all the different shirts and pants that can go together perfectly.
I pick out a black shirt with a huge white star in the center, lined with silver. I glance back at Bran, then swoop off my own shirt.
Bran chokes. Like full-on choking, doubling over, coughing. I rush over to him and pat his back, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. In fact, my closeness seems to make it worse.
“I’m fine,” Bran manages to say, waving me away. “Just choked on a mouthful of air.”
“Huh.” I lean back against the bed, crossing my arms. My exposed chest feels a little cold. “I didn’t even know that could happen.”
A small smirk tugs at Bran’s lips. He seems mostly recovered now, cheeks a little flushed from coughing. “I didn’t know that could happen either, but I guess it did,” Bran says in a playful tone.
“Okay then.” I put on the shirt I chose, and spin around, giving Bran a full view. “How does this look?”
Bran looks like he’s about to start choking again, all of a sudden. His eyes dart up and down my body, then quickly away, hesitating before admitting, “I suppose I should have told you… that the shirt was a little too small before you put it on.”
“Oh.” I glance down at myself. Yeah. The shirt doesn’t cover my stomach at all. It stops just above it. I try to tug it down, but it quickly rises back up.
Bran inspects me closely, gazing at me as he brings together his thoughts. I almost blush under his intense stare, resisting the urge to turn away– or stare deeply into his eyes.
“You look good in it though,” Bran remarks, “if you’re okay with showing a little skin at school. Not that that’s a bad thing. You’re extremely… muscular.”
Bran calling me muscular was not what I was expecting. I’m probably as red as a tomato by now, but I force my face to form a normal expression. I don’t have any other friends as close as Bran, so I don’t know if it’s normal for friends to compliment each other on their muscles.
No matter if it’s normal or not, I feel a warmth spreading through me at Bran’s words. Gods. Curse my stupid hopeless crush on someone I can never have.
“Th-thank you,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady and not breathy and high like it wants to come out as.
Bran nods, looking perfectly fine. Maybe he does this regularly to his other friends, and I’m just over-reacting over nothing.
Honestly, I hope that’s not the case. It sounds dumb, but I want to be special. I want to be the only one Bran’s calling muscular. My stomach tightens at the thought of Bran telling it to someone else.
I turn to Bran with a smile that I hope seems ordinary. “Want to help me choose what pants I’m going to wear tomorrow?”
***
Eventually, we decide on a normal pair of blue jeans that hits me slightly above the ankle, and a black and gold belt that goes around my waist. It isn’t really necessary– the belt– but it does look nice and matches my shirt nicely.
Bran somehow finds a random black star earring in a compartment in his desk. “My mom keeps leaving things behind, and I always plan to give it back, but I keep forgetting,” Bran tells me. Instead of just handing it to me, he delicately pulls me towards him, and puts it on for me.
My heart is thumping against the walls of my chest as he leans over, bringing a whoosh of apple and cinnamon scented air. He gently takes my left ear, his hand warm and soft, and carefully inserts it through the earlobe piercing. He has to get even closer to put the back on, his hair brushing against my cheek as he does.
I want to lean closer and rest my cheek against his hair, to see if it really is that fluffy as it looks. I want to do so much that I can’t allow myself to do.
“There,” Bran murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “You look amazing. Even more than you usually do.”
Is Bran flirting with me? My own breathing quickens at the thought. Is it possible that Bran… might like me back?
Or it could be Bran’s nearness that’s messing with my brain. It has the same effect as alcohol, making my thoughts muddled, making me want to do impulsive things I normally wouldn’t even dare think of.
Before I can get any of this straight in my head, Bran steps away. I almost want him to come back and be that close to me again.
“Everyone’s going to be looking at you tomorrow,” Bran says. His face is neutral, so I can’t tell how he feels about that.
If I was smooth, if I was more confident, I would have replied, Oh, but don’t worry– there’s only one person I’m looking at.
But I’m not smooth. I’m not confident. I just stand there awkwardly, letting silence take over our conversation.
“I’m going to sleep,” Bran finally adds. He slowly heads towards the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving me standing alone.
I sit there, musing over Bran’s words tonight. You look amazing. More than you usually do. Everyone’s going to be looking at you tomorrow. What does it mean? How do I figure it out? I don’t have any social skills. I never had a situation like this before.
Apparently, I sit there for longer than I realize, because Bran returns, looking happier than before. He smiles at me, “You going to get ready for bed?”
“Oh.” I rise. “Yeah. Going to.” I walk out the doorway, brushing against Bran as I do. That side that touched him tingles all the way to the bathroom, as I take my toothbrush and brush my teeth, washing my face, applying lotion– all simple methodical steps that don’t require much thought. It’s almost comforting, going through a procedure I’ve been doing all my life.
It only takes a few minutes before I’m back, wearing an old pair of t-shirts and shorts that Bran has lent me. It somehow smells like him, even though I know it’s been washed. The smell of apple mixes with the slightly sweet-smelling laundry detergent. It’s a nice scent, but it would be better if it was only Bran’s scent.
Maybe I’m just weird.
Bran’s already in the bed, but he’s still sitting up, his head against one of the numerous pillows. When he sees me, he lies down, ready to sleep.
I climb onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under my weight, crawling into the covers. The sheets feel silky against my bare skin as I throw the blanket so it covers us both. Bran’s bed is big enough so we can both comfortably fit without having to bump into each other, but sometimes, I’m bold enough to rest a leg or arm against him, to feel his warmth spread to me. It always makes me feel safer, having some part of me touch him.
We never really talked about getting a sleeping bag for me after the day I forgot mine at home during our very first sleepover, around when we were fourteen, almost three years ago now. Bran didn’t have one either, so I just slept with him, just one night. Except it wasn’t just one night. It just sort of just became sleepover tradition.
Bran reaches over and turns off the light, leaving us in darkness.
It’s soothing to hear Bran’s soft breathing in the silence of the room, to feel him shift slightly as he changes positions. It may be one of my favourite things about staying over at Bran’s– knowing that despite how dark it is, I’m not alone. That I have someone with me.
The pillow is as soft as down feathers underneath my cheek, as I carefully move so I’m closer to Bran. I can now make out the shape of his strands of hair, as I stare at the back of his head. I slide maybe just a quarter of an inch nearer, so I can inhale the sweet fragrance of cinnamon apples.
Suddenly, I feel a limb throw itself over my legs, trapping me there, so I can’t move away. Not that I want to. I want to stay here forever, Bran’s leg on mine, his physical contact making me feel like I’m going to burn up with joy.
I close my eyes and drift off into a peaceful sleep.
***
I wake up warm and cheerful, something wrapped around me tightly, like one of these huge stuffed animals that are almost as big as you. I look down and–
Oh. That explains the warmth.
Bran’s head is tucked under my chest, his eyes closed, long brown lashes fanned out like a work of art. My arms are around him, sub-consciously holding him.
I don’t know what to do. Do I stay like this, or untangle myself, and risk Bran stirring and seeing our embarrassing situation? How did we even end up like this? This never happened before. At least, not that I know of. Bran’s always the one who usually wakes first. Maybe he always has to deal with this, and he just never told me.
My face burns at the thought of Bran carefully, patiently separating the two of us, in that gentle way of his. I’m glad Bran isn’t awake yet, so he doesn’t see my embarrassment. I hope my theory is wrong, and that this actually doesn’t happen all the time– that this is actually the first time.
Maybe this makes me a maniac, but I don’t want to move, and not only to prevent Bran from waking up. This is kind of nice, Bran in my arms. It’s a good way to start the day, especially if I need to go back home and grab my backpack, which I realized that I also have forgotten.
Wait. Oh no. I need to go back? And face my parents? I want to crawl under the covers and never come out at that thought. I can already picture it– the strong smell of alcohol that always hits as you walk in, so different from Bran’s house’s nice floral chamomile scent, the mess that you more swim than walk through, and the fact that there's barely any edible food that doesn’t have any mold or that isn’t expired.
I can see my mom's disappointed drunk look, like somehow everything’s my fault, and my dad’s yelling, as he tells me I can never go back to Bran.
I always go back anyway.
I feel Bran move, and I freeze. It’s too late, though. Bran’s already waking up. He stirs, before opening his eyes, blinking slowly, in an almost hypnotizing way.
He spots me, and glances around, taking note of our positions.
“Hi,” he says, voice rough with sleep. It gives it a nice husky effect, and I like the sound of it. Really, really like it.
“Hi,” I reply, wondering when Bran’s going to shove me away and never allow me onto his bed again. He’s being nice now. When is the bomb going to drop?
Bran smiles at me, almost shyly. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to banish me from the bed. No, he almost seems bashful, like he’s about to ask someone to the dance or something.
“First time you woke up before me,” he teases, but the joke falls short. I just nod, still waiting for the impact. Honestly, why can’t he just do it already? Waiting, unexpectedly, is actually worse than it happening.
“Does this happen often?” I finally bring up the courage to ask.
Bran frowns. “What?”
I gesture at us, wondering if Bran is just toying with me at this point. “Us. Together. Like this.”
“Oh.” Bran bites his lip anxiously. “I guess so. I usually move away before you wake up. But I guess you woke up first this time.”
I focus my eyes away from his face. His head is still lying on my chest, just tilted so he can look at me. It’s awfully distracting. I wish he could stop looking at me like that. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, not wanting to sound rude, but it comes out sounding that way anyways, for some reason. Maybe it’s the way the question itself was demanding.
Bran looks away too, so I can’t tell what he’s feeling when he replies, after a short moment of hesitation, his voice muted.
“I didn’t want to scare you away.”
I blink, because Bran would never scare me away. In fact, if he ever left me, I would be the reason why. I would probably be the one scaring him away.
Bran’s suddenly gazing at me again, his hazel eyes almost appearing a dark green in the dim light of the room– the curtains are drawn to cover the window. “Are you scared away?” he questions, his gaze almost too much to look at, yet I find I can’t look away. That expression in his eyes, so fierce and somehow hopeful at the same time– it’s almost mesmerizing.
“No,” I manage to say, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” Bran reaches up to brush my cheek, delicately, with his fingers, and my breath hitches. It’s gone before I can say anything, or even catch his hand in mine.
I’m just hallucinating. I tell myself. There is no way Brando Connell just touched my face. That could never happen.
But I could have never believed Brando Connell could be in my arms, yet here we are.
Bran pulls away and gets off the bed. “Let’s get breakfast,” he says, and I nod, still in a daze.
I quickly put on the clothes Bran and I chose the other day and hurry after him to the bathroom.
***
Bran’s mom’s homemade pancakes are the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. The sweet and fluffyness practically melts in my mouth. Complete with syrup, I think I’d be happy eating this for the rest of my life.
“Thanks, Mrs. Connell. I don’t even think my own mother could cook this well,” I say politely in-between bites. She smiles, looking quite similar to Bran. She has his brown hair and eyes.
As soon as I say it, I regret it. It’s actually true. Not that my mom’s cooked anything over the last few years.
“Oh, stop,” Mrs. Connell practically gushes, waving away the compliment. “It’s nothing. And you can call me Everly, as I’ve said so many times. You’re polite– and I love that, good for you, but you don’t need to be polite here. Whatever you say, I’m sure Bran has said ten times worse.”
I can’t help but grin. There’s something just so bright and cheerful about this family. “Bran does have a mouth,” I agree, “thanks, Everly.”
Bran nudges me, a mock betrayed expression on his face. “Rude,” he says, eyes sparkling and full of laughter. I look at him, and I find him looking at me too.
It’s like something’s changed between us, and it’s scary and difficult and challenging, but Bran makes it worthwhile.
***
We finish breakfast quickly, heading to my house first, so I can grab my backpack. I don’t let Bran see my nervous expression as I walk slowly across the driveway, almost as a snail’s pace.
The smell of the wine is so pungent that it almost makes me want to vomit. Which wouldn’t be good, because my parents would obviously force me to clean it up, and the entire house when I’m at it.
I carefully step around the piles of dirty clothes thrown carelessly on the ground. There’s a broken glass on the ground– I reach down and pick up most of the pieces, trying not to cut myself. I’ll sweep up the tiny shards later.
I tip-toe up the stairs, also having to jump over my mother’s unconscious body, asleep on the ground, a half-filled goblet of red wine in her hand. Where’s my father?
I realize that I can answer that question by myself. He’s probably off gambling our money away. He’s addicted to it, and he’s not even that good at it. My part time job at the coffee shop will barely pay for our groceries, especially since my mom got laid off. Again. Maybe that’s why our most expensive wine, saved for special occasions, has been drained overnight.
I enter my room, the only neat area of the house. I locate my backpack in no time, grabbing it and placing a few of my notes and study books in, swinging it onto my shoulder, heading back down the stairs. There. Easy. I’ll be back after school to clean everything and make dinner– have they even eaten since yesterday’s meal?
Then I remember I need to make lunch.
The kitchen is in a similar disarray as I walk towards it, slightly out-of-breath from my moving around. I open the fridge and try not to gag as the smell of moldy vegetables drifts out. I almost just close the door again and forget about it.
There’s a rotten banana, which I can’t eat, bread that's two weeks past its expiry date, and some moldy cheese that’s probably been there for a while. Practically nothing edible, except for the large case of beer that’s my dad’s. He’s always yelling at my mother to stop drinking it, that it’s his, and she shouldn’t steal his stuff. It’s his money that he took from my latest paycheck, and that if she wanted her own beer, then she should buy it herself.
Okay then. I guess there’s no lunch today. I don’t know if I can survive eight hours on an empty stomach, but I have no choice. There’s no point in looking around to see if I have anything else in this house, because I know there’ll be nothing. We haven’t gone shopping in over three weeks. I suppose I’ll have to do that too.
“Son?” I hear my mother’s voice, and I freeze, wishing I could run now, to Bran, and to safety.
“Mom.” I turn around and close the fridge door.
She rubs her temple, then her eyes, as if not quite believing that I’m actually here. “You’re back.” Her eyes look glassy and unfocused. “I spent the entire night wandering around, calling your name– but it seemed like you disappeared. Along with the wine bottles we were saving together. I don’t know where they went. Are you going to stay?” She looks so hopeful, almost like a dog begging an owner to throw the ball again.
I hesitate. I don’t want to stay, but for Mother, even when she’s not sober…
“I’ll come back after school,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft and gentle. “And I’ll see. I might be staying with my friend tonight.”
I don’t know if she’s stable enough to understand, but I leap forward and take her arm before she can reply. “Why don’t we get you to bed?” I manage to look cheerful, even though I’m already breaking down internally. “You must be tired.”
She doesn’t argue as I almost drag her up the stairs. She climbs into the bed slowly. Hurriedly, I tuck her in, as she used to when I was a kid, and kiss her forehead– it’s hot, like how it always is when she’s drunk like this.
“Goodbye, Mom,” I whisper, as I slowly back away.
She’s already fast asleep.
***
“You’re upset,” Bran says as he drives down the road. “What’s wrong?” He frowns at me, concern clear in his face.
I shake my head, staring out the window, so Bran can’t see the tears that are threatening to spill out of my eyes. “I’m fine,” I assure him, managing to keep my voice from shaking.
“You’re not.” A hand goes to rest briefly on my shoulder, somehow spreading warmth to my entire body, before returning to the wheel. “But you don’t have to tell me. Do that when you’re ready.”
I’m so glad when we pull up at the school and park. I hurry out of the car and to my first period, Bran trailing behind. He’s in the same class as me, but he seems to understand and let me walk alone, giving me a chance to compose myself. Quickly, I wipe my eyes and stop by the bathroom on the way there. Good. My eyes aren’t that swollen– I could probably pass it off as just exhaustion.
Bran somehow made it before me, saving me a seat on the floor. My heart skips a beat, like it always does, when Bran chooses to sit by me, the quiet kid who has no other friends. He has so many of them, especially since he's the captain of the football team and one of the lead actors in the play that the school is hosting this year. Bran’s definitely one of the most popular kids at school– way more popular than me, at least. It’s still surprising, after a year, how he chose me as his best friend, and not the star tackler or the other main character in the show. I’m mostly just in the shadows of the popular kids, so different from how Bran always seems to have the spotlight, no matter what he does or where he goes.
“We’re going to continue our dancing unit,” the gym teacher– yes, I know how horrible that we have gym first thing in the morning– announces. “Please line up. Since we have a shortage of girls, a boy might have to dance with a boy.” There’s a lot of laughing and snickering at this. I try not to feel self-conscious, staring down at my hands.
Bran shifts irritably beside me, leaning over to whisper, “I don’t get why we have to dance. We’ve done this crap ever since middle school.” I know he’d rather play football or really, anything involving a ball, but at least I’m saved from getting hit in the face with a dodgeball. That seems to be a trend with me.
We line up in two equal lines. Everyone seems miserable, complaining about why we can’t just choose our own partners– and I have to agree. I don't want to dance with someone I’ve never said a word to. That would be super awkward.
I look around for Bran, then realize he’s in the opposite line. Great. Now I can’t even talk to Bran beside me while I’m dancing with someone I don’t know.
My line becomes the follower line, which I suppose is a little easier than being the leader. I like to be guided, instead of having to be the one spinning the other around.
At the blow of the whistle everyone, in a neat orderly line, starts walking towards the other. The follower puts their arm in the leaders, and they walk in a circle until everyone is evenly spaced out.
It sounds simple, but being that close to someone I don’t even talk to makes me sweat. I don’t know if I can handle just touching someone like that, so casually, so intimately. I barely survived the last time I had gym. Bran beside me was the only thing keeping me from bolting away.
I’m at the back of the line, so I just numbly follow the person in front of me, still having some time. I agree with Bran– why do we have to dance? It seems pointless, and it’s not like dancing is a life skill that we need to survive.
Soon, I’m stepping up, my eyes on the ground. The person who’s going to be paired with me laughs– a bright cheery sound.
I’d know that laugh anywhere. I look up, and there’s Bran, his hazel eyes shining with amusement, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He offers me a little bow.
“Howdy, partner,” he teases me. “Never seen you before in my life.”
I just roll my eyes, placing my arm in his, so we’re linked together. Suddenly, gym doesn’t seem that bad after all. Not if I can be this close to Bran, who I can hold hands with and have his hands at my waist without seeming weird.
We reach our spot, and even though everyone else has already separated, I keep my arm in his. He doesn’t seem to be moving either.
The gym teacher announces our first slow dance– a waltz, which is basically just a review from last time. Bran makes a face at me, and I barely manage to hide my smile. It is sort of ridiculous, my arms thrown around his neck, his hand on the small of my back, the other on my side. He’s taller than me, I realize. Not by much, but still a noticeable difference.
Is it just me, but as we sway gently to the beat of the music, does he lean closer? And do his eyes soften as I lift my head just slightly to meet them? Is he enjoying this?
Does he think of me as more than a friend?
Bran grins as he twirls me around, suddenly. I barely catch myself as he pulls me back, his arm returning around my waist.
“Very funny,” I mutter, quietly so the teacher doesn’t hear. “You’re hilarious.”
Bran just raises his eyebrows, his mouth twitching as he visibly tries to fight back a laugh. He winks at me, just once, and while my breath hitches, he dips me so fast that I actually yelp. I would have fallen if it wasn’t for Bran catching me just in time.
His face is suddenly right on top of mine, close enough that I can count the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. I glare at him, but only half-heartedly. I don’t really mind. I don’t mind at all.
We’re back to just aimlessly swaying, and I’m wondering if we’re just going to be doing this the entire time when the whistle blows, and we switch over to the foxtrot, which is like the waltz, but in a different time signature.
From Bran’s evil grin, I know this period isn’t going to be boring.
***
The next two classes are actually boring though. Bran’s not in any of them, so I’ll have to see him at lunch. I finish the assignments quickly and as usual, stay quiet, not raising my hand or really talking to anyone.
I find myself day-dreaming. I’m chasing after Bran in the forest, the sun dappling the green leaves of the trees surrounding us. I’m laughing, and he looks back, smiling, his entire face lighting up. I move towards him, and he meets me in the middle, catching my face in his wonderful, soft hands. I lean forward, just slightly, and he kisses me. It’s everything I ever wanted and more.
The bell rings, dissolving my perfect life, where Bran loves me just as much as I love him. I grab my books and head to my locker, which has no decorations. It’s just plain, although it is neat and orderly. I place my math and social study binders on the left side of the top row– my textbooks and regular books are on the right side. The bottom left section has extra supplies and my pencil case, a small space for small things. The bigger bottom right segment has my backpack and jacket.
For some reason, I turn heads as I head toward the school cafeteria. I look down at my outfit– the one me and Bran chose. Is it too much? Am I showing off too much?
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin, calming down when I see who it is.
“Hi,” Bran says, eyes twinkling like the bright stars they are. “Seems like you’re attracting a lot of attention, huh?”
I duck my head down, my cheeks flushing in response to his teasing. “Shut up,” I hiss. “Do you know why this is happening? Can you make it stop?” I notice him grinning like this is all a great joke. “Are you finding this funny?”
Bran sighs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why they’re looking at you,” he says. “Maybe because you’re the best-dressed and best-looking person here?”
“Oh.” I’m definitely blushing now. I press closer to him and try to shrink down. If Bran used to this? He probably is. For all his talk, we all know that Bran’s the best-looking person here. I can already feel their gazes shifting to him.
We head to our usual seat outside, under the shadows of a large oak tree. There are no chairs provided, so we just sit on the ground. Bran always brings a blanket to spread under in case the grass is wet or muddy. It’s almost tradition. The same ivory shade, with a gold lining along the edges, washed at the end of every week. We never change the blanket, and it’s part of our little group, as we sit together and eat lunch, chatting about the random thoughts on our mind or the things that happened today.
I watch as Bran spreads the blanket carefully, and I join him, his knee lightly touching mine. Bran takes out his lunch– today a meal of fish and chips. His family was originally from London, and I still tease him sometimes when his accent slips out.
I’m a little bit of a hypocrite though. When I’m not paying attention, I do start to talk in a Southern accent.
Bran pops a fry into his mouth, before looking at the empty space in front of me. “Where’s your lunch?” he asks me, frowning slightly. “Do you even have lunch?”
I shrug and look down, wondering how to get out of this. I don’t know what to say. I can’t say anything without talking about the situation at home.
“There isn’t a lot to eat at my house,” I reply truthfully, trying not to stare longingly at the crispiness of the fried fish in Bran’s lunch box. I’m so hungry, the pancakes long digested to be used as brain-power during math.
Bran’s face softens, his arm coming around me to pull me against him. His warmth spreads through me, chasing away the chill from the wind. I could stay like this forever.
“Eat some of mine,” Bran says, immediately shoving his lunch so it’s in the middle. “I can’t eat all of it anyways.”
I shake my head, looking away so I don’t get tempted by his perfect lunch, although that’s hard. My face accidentally presses into his chest, and I inhale the scent of apple pie– sweet and cinnamon-y. I decide to look at lunch instead.
“Wilson.” Bran’s voice is coaxing. “Come on. You’ll be doing me a favour. How would you feel if all of this went to the trash?”
“I’ve seen you eat more than this.” I’m not letting Bran go hungry for the sake of me. He deserves to eat. The only reason I don’t have a lunch is because I’m selfish, deciding to spend time with my friend instead of going shopping like I was supposed to yesterday.
“I’m not that hungry today,” Bran tells me. He holds a fry in front of my mouth, waving it back and forth as if hypnotizing me. One of his arms is still around me, not that I care, of course.
I shake my head again, forcing myself not to take it, even if the salty smell of the fry makes my mouth water.
Bran sighs, clearly deep in thought. “Why won’t you eat it? It’s no big deal, Will, I promise.” He squeezes me reassuringly, and I almost give in, right there.
“I– I just–” I suddenly feel tears rushing to my eyes. I turn away, except Bran holds me to him, so I end up burying my face in his chest again. This time I don’t move. “I don’t want to be a liability,” I whisper, my voice slightly muffled.
Bran’s hand starts running through my hair. Consciously or not, it almost soothes me, having it stroked, like I’m something worth comforting.
“You’re not a liability,” Bran finally says after a while. “Really, you’re actually helping me. Imagine how sad I'll be if you starve to death.”
I giggle despite myself. “I’m not going to starve to death.”
“You might,” Bran says, “or it’ll affect you in a worse way. You won’t be able to concentrate on the lesson, and then you’ll fail the test, and then you’ll get bad grades, and then you can’t get into a good university, and then you can't get a job, and then you’ll die a miserable death in the streets, all because you didn’t accept your best friend’s amazing act of kindness to share his lunch.”
I sigh, although I’m feeling better… and extremely hungry. I finally give in. “Fine. I’ll eat. But only if you eat the larger half.”
I can somehow feel Bran smiling before I see it. “Great. Deal.”
Bran still holds me as I take a bite of one of the fish pieces, and I consider that the biggest victory today.
***
We’re almost done eating lunch– well, Bran’s lunch– when I spot a familiar car that’s parked at the side of the road in front of the school. I freeze, my heartbeat suddenly pounding in my ears, drowning out everything else. My fingers mercilessly squish the fry in my hands, potato mush oozing out of it.
Bran’s arm tightens around my shoulders, almost protectively. “What’s wrong?” He looks around for any danger, anything that can make me react like this, but he won’t know– because I haven’t told him yet.
I just shake my head, seemingly unable to talk. It feels like crumbs are stuck in my throat, though it was clear just moments before. I scramble out of Bran’s grip, not daring to look back– I don’t know if I can stand to see the hurt expression on his face.
I see the car door opening, my father coming out of it, scanning the field with deadly precision. He spots me immediately, eyes narrowing until they’re tiny slits. He stands at six foot three, and being a professional arm wrestler, has huge muscles that seem too big to be real. Not the good kind though. It’s almost scary.
And he’s my dad, coming to retaliate for me hiding from him the day before, staying at Bran’s house. There’s no way I can escape– he’s already seen me, and knows he’s storming towards us like an angry bull.
“Will,” Bran whispers, a terrible softness to his voice, “is that your dad?”
I turn to look at him, and he stares into my eyes, as if reading my mind, as if living through all the horrible memories I have of my father. He blinks, then he gazes at me, understanding on his face. He moves towards me, as if to hug me, but I step back.
My father won’t like it, I try to mouth to him. Bran stands there, confused for a moment, then nodding as the realization washes over him. He knows the truth now. There’s no way I can wipe Bran’s memories, but Father is still approaching steadily, so I’ll have to deal with it later.
The only thing I can do to fight back when he finally arrives, his face twisted into an ugly fury, is to lift my chin up and attempt to look defiant. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bran backing away a safe distance. Good. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. This is all my fault.
“You weren’t at home yesterday,” Father says sharply. No chance to exchange pleasantries, then. “And I checked in the coffee shop you work at.” He doesn’t know the name of it. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he care in the first place? “You weren’t at work either. Shouldn’t a good child care for their family?”
It’s hard not to break eye contact, my neck starting to cramp from staring up at him for so long. “My boss saw how exhausted I was.” I’m shocked by how cold my voice sounds. “She told me to go home and rest.” I did go home, to Bran.
“You’re not exhausted now,” he replies, stepping forward, just slightly, to make me shrink back. A classic move for him.
I barely hide the quiver when I speak again. I don’t want Bran to witness this. What was he thinking, coming here at school? Couldn’t he wait until I got home? “That’s because I got my first good night’s sleep in like what? A year? I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the only one in this family with a job, can’t be the only one who’s willing to make meals. Especially not with you gambling all our funds away!”
I sense the blow coming before it hits, and I duck out of the way. I’m breathing so hard that I don’t know if I can talk anymore.
It’s a good thing I don’t need to, because my father glares at me with such force before stomping away. I catch a glimpse of surprise in his face, because I’ve never stood up to him before. He’s so used to me hiding away like prey, and when prey fights back, the predator is usually stunned, enough to let the prey live another day.
Bran nearly crashes into me as he buries me in a hug. I finally exhale shakily, and lean into him, letting him support most of my weight. I press my face into his shoulder, wondering what to do now. It’s going to be hell when I step into the house again. My father’s not going to forget this.
This will probably end with a large bruise on my cheek, but I don’t think about it as I breathe in Bran’s comforting smell. There are no more secrets with him now– it’s like watching the argument is the same as stripping me until every part of me is exposed.
“Oh, Wilson.” Bran’s voice is shaking as he holds me tighter. “You should have told me. My mom and I– we could’ve helped.”
“Like I said before,” I whisper back, tears coming to my eyes as the truth sinks in– that Bran isn’t going to abandon me– that he’s going to stay by my side, “I didn’t want to be a burden. You shouldn’t have to deal with my problems.”
“No one should deal with this alone,” Bran counters. “How’s your mom? Does your… father–” he says it like it’s a bad word, “treat her the same way?”
“My mother drinks.” This is the first time I’m saying it out loud. It makes it seem real. I don’t want it to be real. “She drinks everyday, day to night. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to survive– let alone be the only one providing money, and cooking, and cleaning and–” I choke on a sob and close my eyes, pressing just a little closer to him.
“Oh, love.” Bran rests his chin on the top of my head, letting me cry into the crook of his neck. I don’t even acknowledge the way love slips out, sounding like the most beautiful music on his lips. Bran calling me love is the least crazy thing that’s happened today. It somehow makes me cry more. It’s been so long since someone comforted me like this. It almost makes me feel like a little kid again.
“Come on,” Bran says softly, “let’s go home. Screw the last few periods. We need to get you– and your mom– some help.” But I’m already numb to the world. It seems like all my energy has been used up by my tears and the tiny bit of fight I’ve been able to muster against my father. I don’t want to go anywhere.
So Bran scoops me up, like I weigh nothing more than a small dog, one arm supporting my back and the other under my knees. My breath comes a little quicker– only slightly because of how fast he does it. I wrap my arms around his neck so I don’t fall, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, just that Bran’s face is so close to mine, and with all my emotions in a mess, I’m scared I won’t be able to stop myself from leaning over just slightly, and–
I’m now getting placed into the car seat, so gently, like I’m made of glass. I feel a hand on my forehead, smoothing my hair back. Someone kisses me on the temple.
I stay as still as I can. Does Bran think I’m asleep? That’s the only reason why he’s doing this. It warms my heart that he would comfort me like this– he’s the best friend ever.
The radio plays in the background– I have to strain my ears to hear it. I guess Bran turned it down for me. I wonder where we’re going. He said that we were going home. But where’s home? My house? Bran wouldn’t do that to me, right?
Anyways, I’m already home. Here, beside Bran, his hand occasionally going to stroke my hair, as if reassuring himself that I was still here, and I was fine. I’m slightly guilty, guilty that I’m deceiving him like this, but it’s worth it. His fingers running through my curls and the soft music playing almost makes me fall asleep for real.
***
I wake up after Bran hits a bump. He glances over, and sees that I’m awake. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there.”
I blink. “Where are we going? Aren’t we missing school?”
“I called my mom while you were asleep.” When I was actually asleep, because I don’t remember a phone call happening. “I explained the… situation.” I must look panicked, because he smiles at me. “I didn’t say too much. She called the school, so they don’t think we’re skipping or anything.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.” I don’t think I could survive another few hours at school.
Bran laughs a bitter laugh under his breath. “I’m only doing the barest minimum.” He reaches over when we stop at a red light, wraps an arm around me. I rest my head on his shoulder, somehow muscular yet still the perfect pillow. I breathe in deeply, then exhale, his scent wreathing around me like a butterfly cocoon. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m used to it. I’m sorry you had to see it.”
Bran frowns. “No one should ever get used to it.” Yet that’s what happened anyways. I still don’t know why I cry after it happens. Maybe because of the deep lake of hopelessness inside of me, that I know that this will keep happening.
But now that the sun– Bran– is here, that lake is drying up.
“We’re here.” Bran parks the car, waiting for me to get out first. He rests a hand on my back, guiding me through the house, to his bedroom. I sit on the couch and wait as muffled voices start talking from downstairs. It gets quieter, then Bran’s footsteps are heading up again, joining me on the couch.
“My mom still doesn’t know everything. Can I tell her?” he stops and looks at me, gaze serious. “Do you want to tell her? Sometimes the people going through it can describe it best.”
I hesitate. “I don’t want to talk about it. Is it okay if I just… listen?”
Bran nods. “Of course.”
***
It’s hard not to flinch at some parts, but Bran’s soft voice almost makes everything okay. I blink back tears as he finally talks about what happened today at school, and he notices– of course he does. He places his hand on mine, a grounding presence as I struggle not to cry. Everly stays silent most of the time, occasionally letting out a soft murmur.
“It’s okay,” Bran whispers as Everly sits there, frozen, digesting all the information she’s been given. “It’s alright.” I lean into him, and he pulls me into a hug. I let out a quiet whimper into his chest, unable to hold it back, and his arms tighten. Why do I always end up crying? Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I just stop feeling and be calm and cool?
Another pair of arms wraps around me, and I look up just for a second to see Everly. They both hold me as I weep, unsure and scared what to do next.
***
Eventually I calm down, and we move to the living room. Bran has tugged me into his lap, and I would be embarrassed and flustered if I wasn’t so numb to everything. Everything feels like a dream, and it seems like when I wake up, everything will be back to normal again.
His hands move up and down my arms, and the motion is comforting. I lean into him, but only slightly. I don’t know how I got so brave to be in this position with Bran’s mom right in front of us, but currently, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her hands are folded in her lap, her eyes, so similar to Bran’s, wide and solemn.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” she says. “And I know that’s worthless, because nothing can ever make up for your dad’s actions. No apology could ever make you fully healed, and that’s the truth.” She leans forward slightly. “But we can try to help your mom, and get both her and you away from your father.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, so quietly that I’m not sure if she heard me. Bran places his chin on the top of my head.
“Go get some rest,” Everly tells me. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”
I know I need to stop saying thank you, but there’s no way to describe the gratitude I’m feeling, the amazement that no one’s pushing me away because of this– in fact, they pulled me closer. There’s no way to describe the love spilling over for Bran, who tucks me into his own bed and holds my hand as I drift off into a peaceful sleep.
***
I wake up feeling refreshed. I don’t feel the tiredness that usually drags on my bones, or the urge to close my eyes and never wake up ever again.
I rub my eyes and stretch, sitting up. It’s dark now– I guess I slept for a long time.
There’s a figure on the roof, just a black silhouette, but I could tell it’s Bran from anywhere. The outline of his messy, fluffy hair, his muscular arms, and his lean, tall body is unmistakable. I wonder what he’s doing there.
I get off the bed and climb through the window, not hesitating when I see how high up we are. I’m so used to it, it’s barely a second thought.
“Hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
Bran startles, his shoulders relaxing when he registers that it’s only me. “Oh,” he replies, voice light like cotton candy, “I’m not doing much. Just… star-gazing, I guess.” He shifts over so there’s room for me to squeeze beside him. I’m pressed tightly against him, his warmth sinking into me. I swear he’s a human heater. How does he stay so warm and cozy, even sitting out in the cold?
“Did you see a shooting star?” I ask. “It seems like a good night for them.”
Bran rolls his neck. I don’t look at his muscles moving while he does that. Could he please share his gym routine? “Not yet, hoping for one though.” He smiles at me, eyes looking mysterious in the dark. The green flecks in them– and is that gold? They almost swim around, making me drown in his eyes. “What would you wish for though, if you saw one?”
I pretend to think about it for a moment, although I know my answer. I knew it ever since I met him for the first time, when he smiled that exact same smile and asked if he could sit next to me when there were plenty of other empty seats.
You, loving me as much as I love you. The sentence I can never say. Gods. His gaze is nearly burning. I’m worried I’m going to catch on fire, and embarrass myself in front of him. Yes, that’s still one of my biggest concerns. It’s funny how crushing works, isn’t it?
I take a deep breath. I’ll say one of my other desires then. “I want to be happy. I want my mom to quit drinking, and we’ll be happy together, away from my father. I want to have a normal life.”
Bran’s eyes soften. “I want that for you too. I want you to be as happy as you can possibly be.”
Why does his face suddenly seem so close, yet so far away? I lean forward, so I can make the distance between us even smaller. His breath mingles with mine, his hair falling into my face. It tickles, but I don’t mind. Not when Bran whispers, “And I want to help make you happy,” and presses his mouth to mine.
Oh gods. Suddenly, I’m on fire, and nothing will ever cool me down. It’s true. His lips are as soft as they look. They move against my lips, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He’s such a good kisser. Where did he learn this? I feel a flash of jealousy at the thought of him kissing someone else, but I shove it aside, because he’s kissing me now, here, in the present. And it’s real. Not one of my dreams.
We separate only when we need oxygen, and then Bran’s mouth is back again, brushing mine, over and over again, teasing me, before capturing it in a proper kiss, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other cupping my cheek. My lungs are burning again, but I don’t care. Bran is the only air I need.
He finally pulls away, after what feels like seconds but is probably minutes, resting his forehead against mine. “Gods,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Will.”
“Bran,” I whisper, my breathing unsteady. “Look.”
He turns away slowly like it pains him to separate from me. I feel the same way, but it’s worth it. A shower of shooting stars fall, all at once, so easy to miss.
But we’re seeing it, right now, and that has to be worth something. “Make a wish,” I say.
Bran turns back to me, letting out a shaky laugh. He tugs me into his chest, and I tuck my head under his chin, feeling warm and cozy and probably more relaxed than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Softly, he kisses my hair, voice slightly muffled as he says, “I wish that I can make you the happiest person in the world.”
My heartbeat quickens. He could’ve wished for anything, but he wishes for me to be happy? I lift my head up and touch my lips to his. I hope he can tell how much I love him from that one gesture, because I can’t speak– I’ll probably start crying if I do.
I swallow hard to get rid of the lump of emotion in my throat. It’s alright if I start crying, Bran has already seen me cry at least five times today. I think he knows more about me than anyone else in the entire universe.
“I’m already the happiest,” I reply, blinking back tears, then just deciding to let them fall. Bran catches my face in his hands, tenderly wiping them away with gentle strokes that melt me into a puddle of warm goo. I lean into him, his body sturdy and strong.
He always catches me from falling. I know one day, I’m going to be hanging off the side of a cliff, and he’s going to reach and pull me up easily like I’m as light as a feather. Saving me, like he usually does.
Bran holds me as we watch the stars twinkle in the night sky. As the sky slowly brightens, as the sun rises up, shining its rays on us, wrapping us in its warm hug.
Bran kisses me, just once. I’ll never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on mine.
“It’s a new day,” Bran whispers, “and we’re going to make it a whole new chapter of our lives.”