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The cacophony of harsh plastic hangers colliding with one another is heard while piles of clothes are thrown out of the closet and onto the floor. Bruce is restless, throwing the entire conglomerate of his wardrobe over his carpet.
Finney watches in amusement, sitting on the edge of Bruce’s bed. He’s rarely ever seen the boy this distressed. Finney chuckles at his friend’s evident disarray.
“Yeah, laugh it up goofball. See where that gets you next time you ask me for help,” Bruce snaps pettily. Finney seems even more entertained.
“I’m not sure what you’re making such a fuss about anyway. You’re going to the arcade, not a family dinner,” Finney remarks as he slides off the bed and shuffles through the heaps of fabric on the ground.
Bruce throws bundled-up shorts at his face which Finney catches and throws back at him. “Might as well be a formal event since it’s just as important.” Bruce holds up a blue collared shirt to his chest. “Is this good?”
Finney scours through the clothes on the floor, picks up a pair of khaki shorts, and chucks it at him. “Gonna put on cologne too? Complete the look for your lover boy?” Finney playfully quips, earning him a glare from the other boy whose cheeks are now slightly tinted pink.
“Stop talking and shoo, I’ve got to get dressed,” Bruce demands, practically shoving his best friend out of his room. Finney raises his hands in surrender and leaves, giving Bruce his privacy. Bruce slams the door and dresses rushedly, struggling to pull the shirt over his head in such haste. After a while, he’s finally suited in his new outfit, which he checks in the mirror mounted on the wall.
“Y’know it’s not that big of a deal, right?” Finney questions, his voice vaguely muffled by the door in between them, “Like you don’t need to be all dressy and stuff. Besides, it’s Vance Hopper for chrissakes. I doubt he’ll care if your shirt is tucked in your pants or if the buttons are even done correctly.”
Bruce opens his bedroom door, letting Finney inside, whilst he fiddles with his hair, trying desperately to keep a strand of it fixed in place. Finney takes a good look at him—the subtle pacing in his steps, his frantic movements, and the slight tremor in his hands—and recognizes his behavior as akin to his own once upon a time.
“Hey, Bruce,” Finney starts, “Hey–” he repeats, trying to get his friend’s attention before quickly realizing that the other is too caught up in anxiousness to notice his attempts. Finney resorts to placing his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, effectively stopping the latter from resuming any motion.
Finney continues again, “Remember a few months ago I was exactly like how you were, and I was freaking out about my first date with Robin? And you told me there was nothing to worry about because he looks at me the same way I look at him? You’ll have to follow your own advice now.”
Bruce looks at him apprehensively, then sighs and falls backward onto his bed, folding his hands over his chest as he stares at the blank ceiling above him. “Gosh, I just–” Bruce fumbles a bit, searching for words, any words at all, “I’ve just never had anything like him, and I guess I’m too afraid of losing what we had already.” Bruce covers his face with his hands and groans, “He’s just so…wonderful—and perfect, really—and I’ve never thought that about anyone before, not to that extent. Not until him,” he chuckles quietly to himself, “And he may be a hothead sometimes, but I like him. I really like him.” Bruce sits up, propping onto his elbows for support, and looks at his best friend with a dumb smile on his face. “Finn, I really, really like him,” he confesses, breathily.
Finney gives him a warm smile. “Well then, what are you waiting for, Romeo?” he asks whilst gesturing to the door. “Go catch your Juliet.”
Bruce returns the smile and hops off the bed, brushes the nonexistent dirt off his pants, and heads for the front door with Finney in tow. Bruce hurriedly slips on his light-up Skechers at the same pace at which he got dressed prior. Finney watches on in mirth as the luminous and vivid colors flash around in the soles of the ridiculous shoes.
Bruce suddenly whirls around to face the other boy, placing his hands on his shoulders and giving him a light shake. “How do I tell someone I adore him without actually telling him?” He asks it all in one breath like it was building up on the tip of his tongue for the longest time and he finally let it roll.
Finney grins. “Arcade date. Quality time,” Finney pats his right shoulder, then squeezes it once, “You’ll figure it out.”
He gives Bruce, who’s wearing a broad grin on his face, a gentle shove out the door. Bruce gives him a nod of appreciation and a wave as he walks backward out of the house and onto the pavement. “Thanks, for everything.”
Finn waves back. “Show him he means the world.”
* * *
Bruce practically races to the arcade. If he’d pedaled any faster, the rubber wheels of his bike would catch on fire, setting the vehicle ablaze. He’s erratic, filled to the tippy top with an incessant frisson of excitement. Anticipation and giddiness bubble up in his chest.
When he inevitably arrives at the arcade, he swiftly gets off his bike, chains it with a bike lock, and throws open the glass door. That’s when he spots him: Clad in his usual endearingly obnoxious combo of a denim vest and ripped jeans is Vance Hopper, standing with his arms crossed in all his glory. His usual white t-shirt is replaced with a dark band tee.
Bruce notices. He gestures towards it, “Nice shirt. Van Halen?”
Vance’s eyes immediately light up at the mention. He beams “Hell yeah, Van Halen. You listen to ‘em?”
Bruce shakes his head. He does but just doesn’t want to admit the real reason for indulging in their music. It’s too embarrassing, even for him. “Not even, I’m a Tears for Fears kind of guy,” he says, smiling abashedly.
“Oh, no, yeah, they’re good. Not really up my alley, but I can do Tears for Fears.” He tugs at the collar of his vest and smirks. “I dig it.”
Bruce stares at him blankly before opening his mouth, as he speaks exasperatedly, “You are such an idiot.” He means it with endearment, sans any malice, giggling as he says it.
Vance outright cackles. “You love it.”
Bruce can’t help feeling giddy again; He can’t stop smiling. “Yeah, I do.”
They both stare at each other, their cheeks rosy and flushed to the same hue. They’re unaware of the world in motion around them. It’s just them: Bruce and Vance, and Vance and Bruce.
Vance clears his throat, breaking from his stupor. “So, you wanna…?” He asks this with a quick tilt of his head to the right, motioning towards all the arcade machines behind him.
Bruce nods his head vigorously as if trying to bring himself back to reality, still stuck in the tension prior. “Yeah…yeah! Of course–”
Vance reaches over and delicately tweaks at the collar of his blue button-up, cutting him off. “Loosen up, nerd. You’re gonna need all your focus for when I absolutely demolish your ass at Space Invaders,” he declares, all traces of befuddlement gone and replaced with his regular bravado.
The raven-haired clicks his tongue and snickers, “You talk big game for someone who’s never seen me play.”
To his surprise, Vance suddenly grabs his hand and drags him in the direction of the machine. Bruce tries not to stare too hard at their intertwined hands, or think about how his palm feels against the other’s, but it’s futile when Vance occupies most of his headspace to begin with.
They abruptly come to a halt, Vance having seen something that made him stop. Vance spins around to look at Bruce, dropping his hand in the process. Bruce hopes that his face doesn’t reveal how dejected he feels with his hand empty. Fortunately, he isn’t given much time to worry about it, as Vance gesticulates to the object of interest: a Tetris machine.
“Hope your self-proclaimed gameplaying skills apply to everything. You are so not beating me at this one,” Vance boasts shamelessly. The machine awaits, blinking “Insert Coin to Play” at him. He digs through his pockets for quarters, and once he finds them, he slots them into the unit.
Bruce watches him start the game. “No pinball?” he teases.
Vance chuckles, “Always best for last. Best for fucking last.”
The multicolored polygons start to drop gradually from the top of the screen. Bruce observes over his shoulder as he jams buttons to rotate the pieces. “Alright, then. Good luck.”
Vance hums in acknowledgment. “Yeah well, we’ll see which one of us really needs that.”
* * *
“High Score” in bright, bold, red letters stares back at Bruce who gapes at the screen, Vance equally in disbelief behind him.
Bruce snaps out of his shock, and cheers loudly, “HAH! I beat not only you–“ he points at Vance, “–but all of Denver! How’s that for winning?”
Vance shakes his head in denial. “That’s impossible. Over 700,000 goddamn points?! You’re insane, Bruce. Actually insane,” he breathes out, in awe. “I’ve gotta give it to you. Haven’t seen anyone score numbers that high ever. Color me impressed.”
Bruce is ebullient, beaming with pride. He looks at Vance expectantly.
Vance meets his gaze. “What?”
Bruce doesn’t falter. Vance folds. “Okay, fine, fine. I’ll get you the vinyl, geez,” Vance acquiesced. “I would’ve gotten it for you anyway. Didn’t have to score 700,000 points for that.”
Bruce raises his eyebrows at this. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm, anything for you…” Vance trails off, a distant, faraway gaze in his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles.
The accused furrows his brows in confusion. “Like what?” he questions.
Vance tenses, suddenly standoffish. He glances nervously to the side and back. “Like you wanna fucking kiss me or something,” he grumbles, defensive.
Bruce’s heart nearly stops, although he’ll swear it did if you asked him. He can’t think clearly, his thoughts rampant with zero control like a runaway train. Naturally, his mouth presents the same lack of restraint with what comes out of it.
“Would you really be so opposed to that?”
Vance’s eyes widen slightly and he visibly swallows. If he was tense before, he’s frozen now.
Bruce continues, his display of courage not quite over yet, “You look good.” He offers a smile, warm and gooey and soft.
Vance jolts. It’s subtle and covert and barely there, but Bruce notices.
He anxiously looks around again, uncharacteristically skittish. Side and back.
“You too,” he replies, in a tone so soft with adoration—so atypical and preposterous to anyone that knew Vance—that Bruce fell for him a second time. He was foolish Icarus, flown too close to the Sun, and now he was plummeting too far and too deep into the ocean.
Vance was an indestructible, obstinate furnace of heat, and Bruce melted.
They stay staring at each other, unwavering, for what seems like minutes, hours, eternities. Neither person possesses the same confidence they withheld before, rather both of them are inundated with trepidation, anticipating. It all suddenly seems too real.
Vance spoke first, “Listen, Bruce–”
He doesn’t get far, however, as he’s sharply cut off when a lanky teen bumps into him. Vance turns around to face the kid, and his face immediately darkens, the repressed hostility and callousness resurfacing. He’s about to explode, and wreak havoc, a volcano remained dormant for too long. He’s overwhelmed with an unforeseen rush of intemperance which he doesn’t know how to maintain in himself so he redirects it towards others.
Just as he’s about to burst, he feels a tug on his arm. He turns around pointedly, prepared to snap, but freezes when he sees it’s Bruce. It’s only Bruce.
And just as quickly as his fury simmered, it ebbed.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–” the boy he collided with earlier profusely apologized.
Both Bruce and Vance give him an abrasive look. The teen, evidently frightened, scampers away, gangly limbs and all.
It’s just the two of them again. Bruce tries to reassure him, “Hey, you alright?”
Vance slowly nods, seeming a little embarrassed. “Sorry, you had to see that. Was not on my bucket list for today.” He scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit.
Unexpectedly, Bruce wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a hug and resting his chin on his shoulder. Vance smells of smoke and cedarwood and something so distinctively Vance that it makes him feel incredibly comforted.
Vance eventually returns the gesture, and they’re brought back to that place where time ceases to flow. Where just the two of them seek consolation in the warmth of their proximity. Just the two of them basking in the knowledge that they’re here and existing.
Bruce moves away, just enough to dig through the right pocket of his shorts and pull out a quarter. He holds it up. “So, pinball?” He offers.
Vance chuckles, putting a hand over Bruce’s face and affectionately flicking his forehead. “Thought we agreed on best for last?”
Bruce rubs his forehead. “First of all, ow. And secondly,” he flips the coin in his hand, “who says we can only play once?” he suggested with a shrug.
Vance grins, a hint of mischief present. “Alright. Pinball it is.”
* * *
“I am so confused right now.”
Vance—the little shit—is off to the side cackling at him. He watches Bruce hectically jam at the flippers, trying his best to earn points with no actual knowledge of what he’s doing. Vance is having the time of his life watching a bewildered and flustered Bruce juggle such a chaotic game.
It’s not surprising how quickly Bruce loses the game. Vance checks the number of points he scored. He winces at the sight of it.
Bruce spreads his arms open in a mock gesture. “So how’d I do?” he asks, clearly being sarcastic.
Vance takes a deep inhale, before breathing out, “Well, it’s certainly something!”
Bruce rolls his eyes and gives him a smack on the arm. The other boy sticks his tongue out at him in a teasing manner.
Vance pulls out another quarter from his vest. “Wanna give it another go?”
Bruce scoffs, “So I get to embarrass myself again while you use me for free entertainment? Not happening.” Vance grins like a maniac at that.
“Then I’ll teach you,” Vance says it like it’s nothing, not a big deal at all. “Scoot.”
Bruce looks at him apprehensively before moving to the left, allowing Vance to occupy the space next to him.
Vance points out several components part of the interior of the machine. He puts names to them, too: Flippers, ramps, bumpers…
Frankly, Bruce is trying his best to pay attention—not like he’d remember half of it even if he did—but he’s way too engrossed with the way Vance looks as he explains all of it. He’s gesticulating wildly, a passion in his eyes so fierce you’d see a spark if you looked close enough (and Bruce was looking very closely, mind you). He’s hopelessly and irrevocably enamored with the enigma that is Vance Hopper.
“And you want to aim for the jackpot since that’s where you’ll gain the most points,” Vance pauses and turns to look at the other. “You’re not following, are you?” It’s not a question, but rather more of a statement.
Bruce has a sheepish smile on his face when he tentatively shakes his head no.
Vance groans, “You better watch and learn then.” As if Bruce wasn’t observing intensively enough already.
The blonde slots the coin in and puts his hand on the plunger. “Might even beat my high score,” he adds, joking. He pulls the handle and consequently the ball drops, marking the beginning of the game.
Bruce surveys the board, stunned by how controlled the game seems compared to the mayhem he’d just experienced moments before. He feels his eyes drifting unwillingly from the game to the player. In his honest opinion, Vance was much more interesting to study than an arcade game.
He’s got a firm concentrated look on his face, his tongue peeking out a tiny bit. Whenever he aims a shot and makes it, he subtlely nods to himself. Bruce finds it overbearingly endearing.
It goes on like that for a while: Vance plays, Bruce watches. It isn’t until Vance reaches a whopping 99,000 points that he loses, the ball going down the drain.
“Holy shit.” Vance has his hands tangled in his hair. He’s slack-jawed.
“Oh, wow, that’s–”
“I beat my fucking high score. I BEAT MY HIGH SCORE!” Vance all but screeches. He practically vibrates with exhilaration, and Bruce thinks it must be contagious ‘cause he’s feeling just as celebratory.
“You said you would, didn’t you?” Both of them have shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.
“And that I did,” Vance laughs breathily.
Bruce contemplates something for a moment, then asks, “Hypothetically, would it be possible for someone to score higher than you?”
Vance processed the question and its implication. “Oh, you are so
not
.”
“I so am.” And it’s pointless trying to stop him; He’s already putting another coin into the machine.
Vance follows his movements with his eyes as Bruce pulls the plunger. “Whatever happened to good ‘ol Space Invaders?”
Bruce shakes his head vehemently, his face filled with determination. “Fuck Space Invaders, I know I’d win against you any day.”
Vance gasps in mock offense, and nudges Bruce, causing his hand to slip and almost cost him the game. Bruce yelps, “Sabotage! That’s cheating, Vance. You can’t be a sore loser AND a cheater.”
Vance hums thoughtfully. “Keep dreaming, moron. You’re never winning against ‘Pinball’ Vance Hopper.”
Bruce goes quiet with concentration, too absorbed with scoring points to respond. Too focused is he, who misses the blatant adoration fixed on the face of the bystander.
* * *
They hang out for hours; So long that the sun sets, its auburn hue diffused across the sky like an open canvas. Neither of them realizes it until the noise in the arcade starts to dissipate, becoming quieter as more and more people leave gradually over time.
The candid truth is that neither Bruce nor Vance ever want to leave. If it was their decision, they’d stay there for eternity, forever in each other’s orbit. However, the real candid truth is that they couldn’t. They’d sure as hell try, though.
The two of them walk to the double glass doors. None of them mention anything about it but there’s an obvious blanket of tension over them, so dense it should come with a choking hazard. They don’t say anything about the inescapable magnetic pull drawing them towards the other, or the constant buzzing that runs from the tops of their heads to the tips of their fingers, but they don’t need to. It’s mutually felt and mutually known.
Vance stops and Bruce does, too, in tandem. The rays of sunlight filter through the doors and shine on the two perfectly, creating the kind of ambience you’d only see in movies. It’s not a movie, though. It’s just Bruce and Vance, and Vance and Bruce.
“Just to be clear, this wasn’t a one-time thing, right?” Vance inquires, a hint of anxiousness present in his voice.
Bruce can’t find it in himself to respond or even process the words. His brain’s too busy short-circuiting, starstruck at how utterly ethereal Vance looks as a byproduct of the ongoing sunset.
He does find his voice eventually and rushes to get an answer out, afraid of leaving Vance hanging, “No, no. Of course not. I loved today, it’s the most fun I’ve had, like, ever.”
Vance’s cheeks redden, a feat difficult to recognize amid the fiery haze bestowed by sundown. Bruce seemed to revel and enrapture in the secret satisfaction that he’d done that.
“Yeah, me too,” Vance agrees. From his periphery, he can see a silver beemer pull up to the parking lot. He’s suddenly overcome with a feeling of anxiousness, the world seeming to tick and tock every second that passes.
The atmosphere between them grows heavier, slowly and terrifyingly on the brink of becoming awkward. Vance racks his brain for anything to say, and of course, it chooses the one thing he can’t let the other boy know.
Just as his mouth opens, Bruce beats him to it.
“Listen, Vance. There’s something that you have to know.”
Show him he means the world.
“I’ve been trying to tell you this for ages but it was never the right time or place, which was silly thinking because neither of those things is important to me.”
Bruce pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues,
“It’s you. It’s been you from the beginning and it’s always going to be.”
Vance desperately tries to stamp out the stupid smile he feels surfacing. “Are you saying…?”
“I’m saying that I like you. I like you, ‘Pinball’ Vance Hopper. And I’ve been trying to decipher if you meant this as a date or not, but you’re a little confusing sometimes. You confuse me a lot, Vance, and I don’t care because I like you so much it doesn’t matter.”
Vance stops his rambling by bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. It’s warm. His face and his hand. There’s an unspoken question in his eyes, and Bruce, completely gone since day one, answers.
There are sparks, butterflies, electricity, all of it. Just Vance’s lips on his, and his on Vance’s and it’s wonderful and perfect, and bliss. A moment so profoundly theirs, and theirs it shall be.
They break apart, both lightheaded and woozy on emotion. Vance smiles cheekily, and apologizes, “I’m sorry for the confusion.”
The sudden blare of a car horn sounds and they both jump out of their skin.
Vance curses. “And that’ll be my ride.” He jerks his head towards the outdoors. “You need one?”
Bruce points to his bike still outside. “Pedaled here, but thanks.”
Vance grins. “Anytime.” He opens the door for the both of them and together they walk down the street towards the parking lot. Bruce watches him open the door to the automobile. He looks up briefly and they make eye contact.
Bruce waves and calls out, “See you soon, Vance Hopper.”
Vance reciprocates. “See you soon, lover boy.”