Chapter Text
Miles didn’t plan it.
That was the version he would’ve said if anyone had asked, the easy one, the one that didn’t require him to explain why his chest had gone tight the second he recognized the slope of Brando’s shoulders from halfway across the courtyard.
It would’ve sounded believable, too, two campuses that bled into each other, shared paths, shared buildings, people ran into each other all the time. It could’ve been nothing.
It wasn’t nothing, however.
He saw Brando before Brando saw him, standing just outside the studio building with him, talking in that half-turned way he always did, like he was already halfway to leaving even when he’d just gotten there. There was something about it, familiar in a way that was painful to watch.
Miles felt it, like muscle memory that hadn’t had anywhere to go.
He slowed, not enough to draw attention, just enough to give himself a second longer than necessary to look.
He could leave.
He had already talked to Wilson once, he seemed nice, or something, but Miles didn’t care for that.
He could turn, cut across the grass, let this pass him by like it was supposed to. Brando hadn’t noticed him yet. There was still a version of this day where they didn’t speak.
Miles didn’t take it.
It didn’t feel impulsive. It felt like something that had been waiting for the right shape to fit into. By the time Brando’s conversation ended and the Wilson peeled off, Miles was already close enough that turning away would’ve looked deliberate. Or atleast, that’s what he told himself.
So he didn’t turn.
“Hey.”
Brando looked up, and for a second there was nothing, just the reflex of being addressed. Then recognition hit, quick and contained, followed by something else that settled over it just as fast.
“Oh,” Brando said. “Hey.”
Miles nodded once, like that was expected, like he hadn’t clocked the difference. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”
Brando adjusted the strap of his bag. “Yeah. I mean. This is kind of my campus.”
“Right.” Miles took a sip of his coffee, even though it had gone lukewarm ten minutes ago. It gave him something to do with his hands, something to anchor the moment so it didn’t tip too obviously into what it actually was. “Still. Small world.”
It could end here.
Miles didn’t let it.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, addressing it casually.
Brando’s brow furrowed. “With what?”
Miles let his gaze drift for a fraction of a second before bringing it back, like he was deciding whether to say it at all. “People.”
Brando’s posture shifted, a tightening through his shoulders, a slight set to his jaw that hadn’t been there a second ago. “That’s a weird way to put it.”
Miles shrugged, easy. “Is it?”
Miles could feel something settling into place now, that low, steady pull in his chest that wasn’t sharp enough to be called anger but no other word described it quite as well. He’d felt it before, in the weeks after everything ended, in the way certain thoughts circled back whether he wanted them to or not. He’d gotten good at not following them.
He didn’t avoid it now.
“That’s him, right?” he added, like it had just occurred to him. “The guy from the other night.”
He acted blasè.
Brando didn’t ask how he knew. His jaw set just slightly. “Yeah.”
“Wilson,” Miles said, not as a question.
“Yeah.”
Miles nodded. “Seems nice.”
Brando didn’t answer.
Miles tilted his head, just enough to make it look like curiosity. “What?”
“Nothing,” Brando said. “It just- doesn’t sound like you mean that.”
Miles let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. “I mean it. He does seem nice.”
“Different from me.”
Something in Brando’s expression hardened. “That’s not-?”
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” Miles cut in smoothly. “Just an observation.”
Brando exhaled, slower this time, like he was choosing not to react. “Okay,” he said, but it didn’t sound like agreement. “What is this?”
Miles blinked at him, mild. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” There was an edge in Brando’s voice now, not loud but unmistakable. “You don’t just run into me and start-! whatever this is.”
For a second, just a second, Miles considered backing off. Letting it dissolve, letting Brando be the one who was reading too much into it. It would’ve been easy.
“I just wanted to see,” he said.
“See what?”
Miles shifted his grip on the cup, thumb pressing into the cardboard sleeve a little harder than necessary. “If it’s the same.”
Brando went still in a way that felt sharper than any visible reaction so far. “What is?”
Miles met his eyes directly now. “This.”
He gestured, not dramatically, just enough to indicate the space between them and then outward, like it extended beyond just this conversation. “You and Wilson."
Brando’s expression shifted from confusion to irritation. “It’s not-!”
“You move fast,” Miles said, the words placed carefully. “That’s all I meant.”
“That’s not your business anymore,” Brando said, with no attempt to soften it.
Miles felt something in his chest twist. Satisfaction. Good god. “I know,” he said. “I’m not saying it is.”
“I just recognise it.”
Brando shook his head, sharper now. “You don’t know anything about this.”
Miles almost laughed, and the sound that came out was quieter than he expected, edged in a way he didn’t quite hide. “Right. Yeah. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Brando frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Miles held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. He didn’t stop.
“You said the same things to me.”
Brando’s reaction was immediate this time, no delay, no filtering. “That’s not-!”
“Word for word, sometimes,” Miles added, not raising his voice, just not letting him interrupt. “I remember because I thought it was-” He stopped himself, just briefly, then continued anyway. “I thought it meant something.”
“It did mean something,” Brando said, and there was heat in it now. “You don’t get to rewrite that.”
“I’m not rewriting it,” Miles said. “I’m comparing.”
“That’s not fair,” Brando snapped, stepping forward slightly, the distance between them closing slightly more. “You don’t get to show up and act like you know what this is based on- on one conversation you overheard or whatever you think you saw.”
“I didn’t overhear anything,” Miles said, and now there was something under his calm, something tighter. “I talked to him.”
Brando’s expression changed instantly, the anger sharpening into something more focused. “And who were you to do that?”
Miles held his gaze. “Relax. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“That’s not your place,” Brando said, and the words came out harder, faster. “You don’t get to go up to him and what, warn him? What is wrong with you?”
It wasn’t ot just irritation now, it was anger. clean and visible.
Milessaw the change, and against his better judgment, leaned into it. “I didn’t warn him,” he said. “I just told him what it was like.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Brando shot back. “You know what it was like with you. That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” Miles asked quietly.
Brando let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “No. It’s not. And the fact that you think it is says more about you than it does about me.”
That should’ve been the point where Miles pulled back. Instead, something in his chest tightened, and the next words came out before he could sand them down.
“I just didn’t realise it was that easy for you.”
Brando stared at him. “What?”
“To do it again,” Miles said. “To say the same things, act the same way, and just, what? Start over like nothing happened.”
“That’s not what this is!” Brando said, louder now, his control slipping. “You don’t get to reduce it to that because you’re still mad? Still stuck on it?”
Miles’s grip on the cup tightened, the cardboard bending slightly under his fingers. “I’m not stuck,” he said.
“Then what is this?” Brando demanded. “Because it looks a lot like you showing up and trying to mess with something you have nothing to do with anymore.”
Miles went quiet for a second.
He could feel the edge of it now, the part where this stopped being controlled and started being something else. He hadn’t meant to go this far. Or maybe he had, and this was just what it looked like when he actually followed through.
I wanted to see if it’s the same.”
Brando’s jaw tightened. “It’s not.”
Miles shrugged, like that answer didn’t really matter. “Doesn’t look that different.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything about it,” Brando said, sharper now.
“But I know what you’re like.” Miles said.
Brando went still for half a second, then let out a short, frustrated breath, dragging a hand back through his hair.
“Right,” he said. “That’s what this is.”
Miles didn’t respond.
Brando looked at him for another second, like he was deciding whether it was worth it, whether any of this was worth it.
(It wasn’t).
“You don’t get to do this,” he said finally, not loud, just done. “You don’t get to show up and pick it apart because you’re still- whatever this is.”
Miles’s mouth twitched, like he almost said something back.
He didn’t. Brando shook his head once, already stepping away.
“I’m not doing this with you” he said.
Miles watched him go, the space he left behind settling too quickly, like the conversation had been cut off mid-thought.
He stood there for a second longer than he needed to.
Then he exhaled, looking down at the coffee still in his hand, like he’d forgotten it was there.
***
By the time Brando found Wilson again, the adrenaline hadn’t worn off. It sat under his skin, sharp and restless, like something unfinished.
Wilson was exactly where he’d left him, leaning against the side of the building, phone in hand, like nothing had shifted in the last ten minutes.
He looked up when Brando approached.
“Hey,” he said, easy. “Everything okay?”
Brando didn’t answer right away. He stopped a few feet short instead, adjusting the strap of his bag even though it didn’t need adjusting, buying himself a second that didn’t help.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Just- ran into someone.”
“Oh?”
“Miles.”
Wilson’s grip tightened slightly around his phone. “Right.”
There was a pause.
Not long. Just long enough to feel it.
“What did he want? Why does he keep talking to us?” Wilson asked.
“Same as usual.”
Wilson frowned. “Which is?”
Brando glanced at him, then away again, jaw tightening like he was already tired of the conversation.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s not important.”
Wilson watched him for a second longer than necessary, like he was deciding whether to push.
“You don’t look like it’s nothing,” he said.
“I said it’s fine.”
Wilson’s expression shifted, something quieter now, more careful. “Okay. Sorry.”
Brando nodded.
Neither of them moved.
Brando broke it first, pushing himself off the moment before it could stretch any further. “I’ve gotta head in,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the building.
Wilson nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
Brando hesitated, just for a second, like he might say something else. He didn’t.
“See you,” he said instead.
“Yeah,” Wilson replied. “See you.”
This was going to be a problem.