Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“i guess i have a lot of wishes”

*********************************************

Sometimes I just want to be a bird in the sky. 

Free. 

Singing everyday. Birds don’t have a care in the world. 

But most of all, flying.

I can’t imagine what it feels like. The exhilaration as you soar through the air, dipping and diving, the air rushing past your wings, ruffling your feathers. 

I’m sticking my head out the car window, the wind whipping my hair everywhere, relishing the cool air hitting against my face. This is the only thing close to actual flying that I enjoy. In planes or helicopters, I’m trapped in a small space, nowhere to go, as imprisoned as a bird in a cage.

I usually feel like a bird in a cage. 

Brando’s sitting beside me, driving, smiling at me like I’m something precious. I’m used to people looking at me weirdly– expecting it, in fact. But Brando doesn’t do that. He doesn’t say anything mean when I’m talking about things I enjoy, like birds or flying. He doesn’t laugh when I say I can get drunk on only one vodka cranberry. 

Sometimes I feel like he’s my only real friend in this cruel universe. It’s just us two against the entire world. 

***

I think there’s something wrong with me these days. I can’t concentrate on the wind rushing past me anymore as I ride my bike, focusing instead on Bran’s laughter. It sounds so melodic, like the birds chirping in the morning. 

I notice a lot about Bran now. 

Something’s not right. 

I always feel hot when he looks at me intensely, like I’m sharing the most important secret in the world. There’s a spark of electricity when he touches me, and birds don’t like lightning. 

I think I may be sick, but I don’t want to tell Bran. He might think I’m contagious, and will stay away from me, for fear of catching it too. It’s another symptom of the sickness; suddenly wanting your best friend at your side at all times. 

When we arrive at the house hours later, sweaty and happy, we run upstairs to the bedroom that we’re sharing for the summer. I stare out the window, concentrating on the birds fighting over a small piece of food, absentmindedly strumming a few chords on my guitar.  It’s the only cure for the sickness I have. 

I wonder if Bran can feel my heart thumping from here. 

He doesn’t, too absorbed in talking, his voice calming, like the steady drip–drip of rain. Bran turns around, laughing, eyes shining like heaven. Everybody probably wishes for him at 11:11. I know I would. 

Bran’s changing his clothes, taking his shirt off. I try to look away, fearing I may blush at the sight of his perfectly muscular back. Gods. What’s wrong with me. 

Bran says something, perfect eyes glinting with mischief, and I force out a laugh, pretending that everything’s normal.

Nothing’s normal anymore. Not when my cheeks heat up at the sight of my shirtless best friend and the fact that I can picture myself feeling his skin, kissing his soft, pink lips. 

A shirt gets flung on my head, startling so much that I strum a random chord. Now the song sounds wrong. I reach up to push it down, filling my nostrils with his scent. I look up to see Bran absorbed in finding the right shirt to wear, so I allow myself to smile. My fingers close around his shirt, squeezing tightly, bringing me a small amount of comfort. 

It’s weird how only a few things bring me comfort, and how Brando is one of the things.

***

Bran decides not to put a shirt on, to my dismay. I don’t know how long I can keep up with the illusion that I’m not blushing, my mind doesn’t short-circuit whenever I even peek at his chest. 

It’s not my fault I can’t stop staring. 

Bran sits on a tree branch, preparing to dive off into the pristine creek water below. We’re going swimming. After all, it’s summer. It’d be a crime not to swim in the summer. 

A splash distracts me from my thoughts. I watch as Bran’s muscles flex as he swims in a circle, and suddenly I’m burning hot. I can’t tell if it’s because of the heat or Brando. 

It better not be Bran. 

He swims up to me, standing up, and I’m too focused on trying to keep the heat from rising up my cheeks to dodge as he splashes water all over me. It’s the same as declaring war. 

I stand up and spray him right back, laughing at the surprised expression on his face, the way his nose scrunches up. He almost looks… kinda cute.

But no. I’m not thinking that about my best friend. We’re friends, and we’re gonna stay friends. Nothing more than that. I think about flying above the clouds, my wings beating strongly against the wind to calm myself down. 

Bran grabs me then, and we wrestle, my heart thumping at the close proximity between us. I push him away, resisting the urge to grab his face and just kiss that smug expression off his face. He falls back, and I do too, feeling wobbly without his strong body to lean against. 

I scramble up to the surface, the cool water feeling great across my heated skin. Water drips down my face, my hand reaching up to try and hopelessly wipe it away. 

I notice Bran looking at me. I swipe both of my hands across my face and hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Do I have something on my face? In my hair? Maybe there’s a broken branch stuck in my curls. I look up and meet his eyes– an emotion in there that I can’t quite place. 

He holds my gaze for a few moments before tackling me back into the water, both of us sinking below the surface. 

I could die now right now and I’d be happy, his arms wrapping around me to prevent me from escaping. 

His arms feel like home. 

***

My head leans against the cool rock as I hide behind the wall, listening to Brando and a blonde-haired girl flirt.  Bran’s finally got a job, and it has more benefits than just a salary. Bran’s leaning over, voice low and full of laughter like he’s sharing an inside joke, only meant for the two of them. 

She takes a bite of ice cream, grinning and nodding along, locks bouncing as she does. 

I want to cry. 

How could I ever compete with her? I have a perfect view of her. Brilliant smile, cheerful voice, and she can make Brando laugh. I stare down at my feet, hearing them talk, two melodic voices blending perfectly with each other– and wonder why I ever thought we had a chance. 

Who knows if Brando even likes boys? Maybe he’s straight and I’m wasting my breath for nothing. 

I push myself off from the wall and pad off into the darkness, stones crunching beneath my feet, sounding loud in the silent of the night. The birds aren’t even chirping, no owls hooting tonight. 

There are no dark shapes swooping in the black sky. Everything’s gone to sleep, and maybe I should too.

In the warmth of the small summer home, I hold up Bran’s brown racer jacket, press my nose to it, and inhale deeply. I don’t know what perfume or cologne Bran puts on, but it smells oddly nostalgic, my brain remembering an old familiar feeling, somewhere that’s home in another universe. 

It’s late at night when Brando finally comes back. The window makes a small screeching noise when he opens it, startling me out of the half-sleep I’ve worked so hard to achieve. I turn my head slightly and even out my breathing, pretending to be asleep. 

He settles down quietly, lying beside me, barely breathing, as if scared to wake me. I feel his gaze on me, and I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A mere companion for the summer, a good friend, or even something more?

I fear that I’m turning delusional, too lovesick to be realistic. 

***

The sky is turning all sorts of colours. Pink, purple, even orange. Birds fly through the air, swooping up and down. It’s all I ever wanted to be. 

But today, my focus is Brando. He races across the field, jacket opened, flying behind him, revealing his chest. I sprint after him, determined to catch him. 

Then later at night, we swing on a special kind of swing, the one that spins around, making you feel dizzy. The good kind– that strange kind of exhilaration you feel on a rollercoaster

The next day, we spend the entire day together, swimming, wrestling in the water. No one knows who’s winning anymore. We’re just enjoying the moment, basking in each other’s company. 

When we dry off, Bran carefully carves a message on a tree– Wilson + Brando were here. It’s so simple, yet so grounding. I wonder if Bran’s eyes linger on our two names together. It seems so natural. 

We’re hanging out so much these days, and our friendship seems to be changing. There’re more moments where we just lie on the grass, so close but not touching, moments where our gazes meet, both of us not wanting to look away. We’re no longer chasing each other on bikes. We ride along side by side, both of us stealing glances and laughing like it’s nothing. 

When we’re in the water, I can sometimes feel Bran staring at me, though I can never prove it. He always looks away when I return his gaze. 

There’s a little thrill when I’m with him. Are we going to keep dancing around the truth, staying friends forever? It’s almost a game now. Is today going to be the same as yesterday? How many times will we stare into each other’s eyes, and look away, neither of us mentioning it again?

Then one day, it happens. 

It starts off normal. The normal glances, the normal laughter. 

It all changes when we both sit on the roof, his knee pressing against my thigh. The sun hasn’t set yet, around the point of the time just before the sunset– turning the sky a pale yellow tone. A bird lands on a tree and chirps at us. The view is amazing, green trees in a meadow, forests in the distance. 

But the view of Bran is better. He’s wearing such a simple outfit, though I don’t know what it does to my brain. I don’t even hide I’m looking at him anymore. I’m sure Bran knows, but he’s staring intensely at a point in the distance. 

I don’t know what’s so interesting, but I guess I get to enjoy looking at Brando longer. 

I don’t get to enjoy looking at Brando more. 

He turns toward me, and I look away quickly, trying to become that bird in the tree– calm, my only concern on what bugs I should eat for dinner. 

Bran nudges me, and I turn back into a human. It turns into conversation, both of us laughing and joking like we always do. 

Suddenly Bran goes quiet, so quickly that it’s almost like a lightbulb going out– leaving you in the dark. I wet my lips nervously, looking at the sun, which has started to set. 

Tension settles between us like a blanket. It’s so weird how it’s suddenly so silent. Even the birds have stopped chirping. 

I glance at Brando carefully– and that seems to set him off. He leans forward so fast that he’s almost a blur, and presses his mouth to mine. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not the first kiss they talk about in books. It’s slightly messy, slightly desperate– but it must be, from the way we were holding back so much. Bran’s hand touches my shoulder slightly, melting me into a goop. I don’t know what to do. How do you even kiss? I just move my mouth against his, and hope I’m doing it right. 

Bran pulls back slightly and I remember that I need to breathe, both of us panting like we’ve ran a marathon. Even so, Bran moves towards me, our faces barely inches apart like we’re magnets attracted to each other. 

We don’t wrestle in the water that much anymore. We mostly just stare into each other’s eyes. What’s the point of swimming if I can drown perfectly fine in Brando’s eyes?

Nighttime changes too. We’re still sharing a bed, but now I can finally get closer to him, my head tucked into his shoulder, his warmth seeping into me. His scent soothes me into sleep every night. 

We spin around in the fields, holding hands and grabbing arms and chasing after each other. And sometimes I’m even faster than him, that one moment when I know he’s enchanted by me. And I love that I can do that to him. 

I’m living in a dream. 

I still sometimes lean my head out the window, but very rarely fully out the window. I don’t want to lose sight of Brando anymore. How could I have ever stayed away from him? 

No longer does Bran stay late and flirt with other people at the ice cream store anymore. Now he spends it hanging out with me, us behind the wall. Bran teases me like one does a cat, handing over the plastic spoon to me, and yanking it out of reach before I finally just grab it and eat the ice cream. It doesn’t taste as good as Bran’s lips.

We’re sitting in the car, my head drooping down to my chest, nearly half-asleep. I can feel Bran gazing at me, and it makes me feel good, to be looked at like I’m something precious. 

He turns my head towards him and kisses me, kisses me for a long time as if not wanting to let go, and I kiss him back, closing my eyes and feeling Bran’s finger gently trace down my jaw as if memorizing it. 

It’s raining, and thunder booms in the distance, but I’ve learned to relish the spark of electricity, that little flash of lightning whenever my skin touches Brando’s. I don’t even mind that there aren’t many birds around here anymore, because I’m happy staying on flat ground with Bran at my side.  

Chapter Text

“doesn’t it make you a little bit sad?”

Wilson

Bran’s been different lately. He says he’s just sad summer's over, that nothing’s wrong. I still can’t believe how much time we wasted. 

I wish it could just be us a little bit longer. 

***

The car pulls up to the grocery store, stuttering to a stop, bouncing on the rough rockiness of the dirt street. The road’s so bumpy, it’s making my stomach rocky too. I stumble out and slam the door shut, feeling dizzy. Bran would usually laugh, would usually tease me gently and make up for it with a kiss, but he stays quiet, deep in thought as he stares into space. 

I don’t make a big deal out of it. 

I chew on a green apple while I pick up a bunch of bananas, savouring the crispness of it that’s so unlike the hot, moist air in Texas. At least the grocery store is air-conditioned. I stroll along the store, wanting to stay in the coldness of the indoors. Maybe the heat is making me a bit delirious, because I feel way better now that I’ve cooled down. 

Everything’s fine between me and Bran. 

I’m just overreacting. 

***

Brando

I finally find a bit of shelter from the grueling sun, my back pressing against the moderately cool rocks. The wind whips my shirt around, nearly plastered on with sweat. 

I gaze up at the sky– a beautiful light blue with a few wisps of clouds, and I can almost imagine that everything’s okay. That I don’t hate myself and that I didn’t see another post making fun of queer people. 

I used to be able to ignore it, but there seem to be so many these days. These posts, these people who tease each other and use gay as an insult. Some part of me agrees, secretly, the part that was raised to oppose these things. I hate that part, but it’s there. It’s definitely there. 

I fear it’s growing stronger everyday, the more posts and things I see, telling me that what me and Wilson are doing is wrong, even holding hands is a sin.

I breathe in the damp, sticky air and tell myself that everything’s fine.

I’m good at lying these days. Poor Wilson doesn’t even know half of it.

***

Wilson

I’m grinning by the time I check-out and pay for the food and supplies. Maybe the heat was getting the best of me. Now I feel cool as the temperature here. The heat doesn’t even bother me when I step back out, clutching the paper bag with all the things I bought. 

I find Brando by the wall, sheltering in what little shade we can find these days. He smiles when he sees me, talking and teasing me gently, laughing that soft laugh that I have fallen in love with. 

I respond, trying not to act too overjoyed at how Bran is acting normal again. I don’t think I say anything too bad, just a comment on how he looks– stunning– and a shadow crosses his face. 

He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and nods silently, accepting it, but not looking too happy about that. 

I tell Bran that I’m going to put the supplies in the car, my mind whirling suddenly. Why? What did I say? 

Bran just nods again and leans against the wall, taking his cigarette back out of his mouth. I secretly hate the smell, the smoke making my nose burn in the worst way, but I don’t say anything and head off. 

Even the sticky air is better than the cigarette smoke. 

***

We don’t talk during the car ride to the lake, one of the last things we’re gonna do alone. I wish we had more time together, but I knew we were going to have to go back to civilization at some point. I don’t know how it’ll change our relationship, how other people will react to us, and if Bran would mind that some people wouldn’t approve of it. 

I think of the day Bran kissed me in the car and feel desolate. That now seems so long ago, back when everything was so new, so exciting. 

Bran runs out of the car immediately when we arrive, leaving me staring after him. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, leaving me behind and doing things alone, but it sure feels like it. 

He’s in the water by the time I head towards him, pulling my shirt off, about to join him in the waves before he turns back and looks at me. I don’t know what expression on his face, but it’s almost a smile if it’s not for the strained way his lips press together. I look down and close my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. This is a nice day and Bran’s just sad about summer and everything’s fine– everything’s okay– everything’s going to be okay.

Brando has a fabric tying back his hair and he looks so nice with it. If only he would know that and stop glaring at the water, picking up a rock and chucking it as if the water is something he could physically hurt. 

I hope that’s what Bran is angry about. I can’t bear it to be about me. 

My attention turns back to the tent I’m trying to pitch, the wind whipping my hair around and blowing the tent into my face whenever I get close to succeeding. Maybe Bran’s right about tying his hair, because I’m losing my patience and am about to join Bran in throwing rocks, although I’m not sure if I can hit the wind. 

Brando seems to have gotten over his brawl with water by the time I’m done. He squats at the edge, scooping it up with his hands and washing his face and hair with it. I want to tell him that the water may have germs– may have bacteria and algae and whatever gross things are in the lake, but Brando’s already on the edge and I don’t want to tip him off the cliff. 

He never seems to smile at me anymore. And I’m talking about a genuine smile, the one where his eyes smile too and his entire face lights up. Brando’s looking at me again, and he’s smiling that weird smile again– strained, corners of his mouth barely lifted. 

Finally things improve when we’re in the water. He’s looking at my eyes again, and I gaze back, fearing looking away, because he hasn’t looked at me like that in so long. He holds me hostage against his chest, throwing me into the water. I probably swallow gallons of bacteria water, but I find that I don’t mind anymore. Not when we’re finally behaving like we used to. 

We stay up late at night, playing cards and laughing. I nearly topple down, trying to cover my giggles with my hand. Bran’s smiling again, looking down and giving a tiny shake of his head, as if wondering how he’s gotten into this. 

I snuggle up to him when Bran finally lies down, and I swear he moves his head a little closer to mine. 

***

It’s raining again. I used to love rain, used to love the smell and steady drip-drip by the window, but now… I don’t know. 

It almost seems to be foreshadowing. It’s almost like the rain is describing the cloud that seems to hang over Bran’s mood nowadays. I stare out the window in misery. I thought Bran and I could do at least one more thing outside– something fun, even romantic to bring us closer, before the outside world separates us. 

Not that that’ll happen, of course. 

I sit onto the bed, still looking outside. The wind beats the trees at a relentless rhythm. I give the trees silent encouragement as their branches wave wildly, beckoning for help. Thunder booms, and I flinch slightly, the sound echoing in my ears. Birds fly everywhere, looking for shelter. 

I feel a twinge of pity for them. Sometimes being free comes with a price, and I’m not sure being battered in a storm is worth it. It’s so strange that this is how I think now; the old me would have longed to join them, taking a refreshing bath in the fat droplets of rain and chirping with their friends. 

I don’t need to be free. After all, I have Bran, I think to myself. 

I sit and watch the sky pour down, the ceiling fan extremely loud in the quiet of the house.

Brando’s still in the bathroom, looking at his reflection. He seems to be doing that a lot this week, glaring at himself. I don’t understand. If we just swapped minds for a second, Bran would know how amazing he looks. He doesn’t need to be upset about that.

I turn my attention back to the book I’m reading. All I’m thinking is that a rainy day could be romantic– but Brando definitely isn’t in the mood. 

At least the book I’m reading’s good. The person is just about to get back with their ex. I wonder why they aren’t doing it yet– it seems so simple, the answer right there in their face.

 My thoughts drift away as Bran heads out of the bathroom, a frown still on his face. He takes a swig from a liquor bottle that seems to have appeared randomly. Where did he get that from? Bran holds it out and offers it to me. I can smell the distinct sourness of it and try not to grimace. 

I shake my head, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. Bran nods and sips again, longer this time, swallowing with a wince as it burns down his throat. I hope he doesn’t get drunk, but again, maybe I’m the only one who’s so sensitive to alcohol. 

I keep reading my book, trying to ignore the fact that Brando is so close to me– our knees brushing– yet the gaze in his eyes is so distant. In the story, they are finally confessing to each other, and I resist the urge to share the entire story with Brando, who’s leaning back and glaring again– this time at the rain still pouring down, splattering on the windows and rolling down pathetically. I want to ask him what’s wrong, hold him and assure him that everything’s fine. 

But I can’t. Bran’s in a faraway place as his eyes follow the trail of a droplet sliding down slowly. He seems deep in thought, so deep in the ocean that I can’t pull him out. 

In the morning, Brando steals back his t-shirt. And his polo cap.

I pretend not to notice. 

I notice everything he does. Bran fixes up his hair, smoothing it back with a gel and putting on a suit. He’s never been so careful with his appearance before, when it’s just the two of us, but we’re heading out into the city today, and Bran seems to be taking it so serious. 

The mint toothpaste burns my mouth as I brush my teeth, gazing at Brando as he brushes a lock of hair back in place. He looks so… different. 

I reach over to smooth back a strand that’s poking out. Bran flinches so hard that he ends up a foot away from me, frowning as he reaches up and smoothes it back himself. I try not to feel hurt. What was happening? Why was our relationship hanging on by the thread?

I look away, hiding the expression on my face, moving my toothbrush more vigorously, and when I spit, I don’t know what stings more– the aftertaste of too strong mint or Bran. 

I tie my shoelaces as I watch Bran smoke another cigarette, shoving it in his mouth and gazing at nothing. 

***

The bar is dark, lit by yellow lights, giving it a sort of vintage look. The chairs are wooden, old-fashioned. It seems to me like I stepped into a book version of a bar. It’s exactly what you expect. I even see a few people wearing cowboy hats, downing cup after cup like it’s a race.

Bran orders a Black Russian, cup almost empty by the time I get my vodka cranberry. I want him to see the joke, how I used to tell him that I would get drunk on only one, but he doesn’t seem to remember. 

I take a tiny sip, wincing as it burns down my throat, leaving an acidic taste in my mouth. 

Bran hands the bartender a tip, smiling wider than he has in a long time. He tells a joke, hands gesturing excitedly, laughing. I reply, a smile tugging at my lips. It’s really nice to see Brando finally back to his old self. 

A shadow crosses his face, just a flicker of discomfort before his expression turns normal again. My heart sinks as I finally realize what I did. Gods. He was talking with the bartender.

Great. Now Bran thinks I’m an idiot. 

Bran looks over me, talking to another girl who sits beside me. He’s completely ignoring me, probably not wanting to associate him with his dumb ‘friend’ who sits next to me. 

My mind whirls, thoughts blurring into each other with confusion. What was happening? Why is Bran acting like this? 

I don’t know if I want to find out. 

My hand creeps toward Bran’s, seeking comfort even when Brando’s causing the pain. My fingers just start to close around his hand when he pulls away so suddenly, standing up so fast that I fear he might harm his back. 

I watch as Bran walks over to the pool table, steps light like nothing has happened. He joins a random game, immediately fitting in, smiling at the blonde-haired girl who’s competing against him. 

Wait. That’s the girl Brando was flirting with months before, at the ice cream shop where they immediately hit it off. How…? What…? My head starts to hurt, something that for once has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

Bran wouldn’t arrange for them to meet. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. I know him, he would never. 

But he’s been acting so different these days. Who knows if I even know him anymore? Maybe he’s changed forever, the Brando that I know lost underneath the layers of fake smiles and cigarettes. Maybe this is Brando now. Or maybe he was always like this, and the Brando I know is just summer Brando. 

Who knows. My brain is too muddled to understand anything. 

I’m starting to get anxious just sitting here alone. I wonder if anybody pities me, like a dog, alone, looking depressed, like I’m getting wet from the rain. 

I get up and walk towards them, and I’m not even sure if I care if Brando looks at me weirdly again. He’s the one being weird. 

I just don’t want to be alone again. 

***

Brando

Wilson knows what’s up. He’s never been dumb, I know. It’s one of the things I love most about him. 

But I feel bad, a pang touching my heart every time I see him gazing at me, expression confused, eyes as dark as the night sky. 

I’m sorry Wilson, I want to say, hand covering his. I’m sorry I’m like this now. I feel like my self-hatred is taking over me, forcing me to change. This isn’t me… you see. I hope it isn’t. I’m still in there somewhere. 

But I can’t. I won’t. That part of me– no longer small, doesn’t allow me too. And I hate myself even more for that, which makes that part grow larger. It’s a never-ending cycle of torture. 

I steel myself against the throbbing pain in my heart and continue playing with Heather, who I met this summer. Wilson’s watching me, eyes full of hurt and perfect lips pursed in a thin line. Tears are stinging my eyes but I don’t let them fall. I can’t. Not in front of Heather, who is laughing, head thrown back, blond curls falling down in a waterfall. 

I can’t help comparing her to Wilson, who throws his head back when he laughs too. I can’t picture myself loving Heather like I love Wilson, kissing her, cuddling with her when we sleep. I just can’t, not when Wilson still has his grasps around my heart and I don’t know if I want him to let go. 

Heather has to leave a few minutes later. Is apparently going to a dance. I can see her dancing with so many other men, and strangely enough, as much as my brain wants to fall for her, there’s no sting of jealousy in my heart. 

Someone else still has it, someone who I kissed so many times that I know his lips like the back of my own hand. Someone who I’ve met in the summer and loved ever since. 

The person who I love so much it hurts. 

Wilson. 

I know later when he asks me to talk that it’s not going to be a good one. He’s frowning, eyebrows knit together, eyes hard like obsidian. I can’t break through the walls that he put up around himself. 

And I know I deserve it. 

I ask him to go somewhere more private. The part of my brain that’s ruining everything whispers that it doesn’t want everyone to know about us. Everybody would judge us— us in a relationship is wrong. 

Wilson only looks more upset, and I can feel him disappearing in the castle he built, and I might lose him forever if I don’t explain. Surely Wilson has a part of him too that tells him that we’re wrong?

We head into the hallway, Wilson’s steps slow like he’s scared what will happen when we’re alone. 

I start talking first, trying to explain that weird part of me that seems to control everything I do. I explain how it makes me think that loving him is bad, keeping my tone low so no one can hear me. 

At first he just stares at me, disappointment on his face. I hate how it makes me feel so sad. I want to do anything to please him, to make him happy.

When Wilson finally starts talking, his voice is loud and unexpected like thunder. He yells at me, and I should be sad, I should apologize and ask to try again, but the part in my brain is setting off alarms. 

What if someone hears you? What if they find out you two are dating? They’re gonna mock you, they’re gonna make you regret it. 

I impulsively grab his arms and shush him, and he grabs back, and I’m suddenly reminded of us wrestling in the water, back when everything was still new, still exciting. 

Look how things changed. 

Wilson is set off like a bomb, and I can see the tears going to his eyes, the way they turn wet and glassy, catching the light. 

Somehow that makes him even more beautiful. 

The way I was affecting him in the past days– I’ve never meant to cause him any harm. I can feel my eyes start to burn, but I force them back. I’d never purposefully hurt Wilson. He just doesn’t know it. 

I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. I love him. 

I love him.

I could never hurt him. 

He grabs my face then, and he’s staring into my eyes, as if trying to burn the secrets out of me. There’s nothing intimate about it. I can only see sadness swirling around in those perfect eyes. He’s begging me then, that this isn’t who I am, that there’s still part of me left in there. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. 

I have to say yes, that I’m still there, but am I? I don’t want to lie to him. I don’t want lies to be here. 

I’ve already lied enough. 

All I can see now is a few days ago in the water, where he was kissing me, so passionately that my knees were shaking and I was almost falling over. 

Wilson takes my silence as an answer, backing away and dropping his gaze, looking so hurt I want to take everything back, pull him close and tell him that I’m still here, I’m still trying, that we’ll make it work.

But I’m not lying anymore. 

I run out of the hallway, heading back into the bar, where suddenly the dim lights are too bright for me. They burn my eyes, or maybe that’s the tears threatening to fall. My breathing goes ragged– I can’t seem to get enough air. 

Gods. I can’t breathe. Not when Wilson hates me and my heart hates me and everyone hates me and everything hates me. 

I barely make it to a bathroom stall before my stomach turns over, emptying the contents of the drink into the toilet. It burns just as much going up as it did going down. 

I sit there, slumped against the stall wall, panting for air that isn’t there, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. My hands run through my sweat-soaked hair, tugging slightly, wincing at the pain, then realizing I deserve it. 

Wilson doesn’t deserve me. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry Wilson. 

Finally, my breathing slows down, my dizziness passes, and I can stand. I wobble slightly, then grab the side of the sink counter, looking at myself. 

Bloodshot eyes. Covered in sweat. 

I don’t look like me anymore. I look like a twisted monster who has consumed me from the inside and is now finally showing. 

I whisper an apology to Wilson, over and over again, my mind whirling, thoughts spinning until the only coherent thought is sorry. 

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. 

I turn on the faucet and watch the water flow into my hands, gathering it like a tiny lake before washing my face with it. The cold water feels heavenly against my burning skin. I wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth, and I exit, scanning the crowds for the one person I want to see. 

Wilson’s already gone. 

***

It’s midnight, my hands clutching the cup of coffee like it might save my life. I’m done with alcohol, and I’ve already gotten sick once today. I look outside, at the starry sky, the sliver of a moon like it hasn’t finished growing yet. 

A smile tugs at my lips, and I allow it. 

I’m going to miss this view. I’m going to miss it so much, I realize. 

I’ve made my decision. 

The remaining coffee sloshes in my cup as I head inside, wooden boards creaking under my feet. I see Wilson sleeping, turned on his side, face neutral. I gaze down at him– at his perfect, angelic face and can barely find the strength to turn away. 

All I want to do is to curl up in bed with him and cuddle him until he forgets about our argument. 

I whisper an apology as I take the spare keys, my eyes never leaving his. If they do, I fear I may cry. 

This is better for both of us. I don’t deserve him. At least, not anymore.

When I leave the house and breathe the sticky air, I finally let a solitary tear slip down my cheek, as I take the car and drive off, away from Wilson. 

Away from happiness. 

***

Wilson

It takes a while for me to realize that Brando’s gone.

A cold bed. A half empty mug of coffee. I reach over and touch it. Cold. 

Outside, it’s a cloudy day, wind whirling around like it’s dancing. 

I call out Brando’s name so many times that my throat goes hoarse, yet I keep calling. I don’t want to believe it. He would never leave me. 

He left me. 

I’m all alone now.

Chapter Text

"someone always gets the shorter side of the stick"

******************************

Wilson

I don’t care about flying anymore. 

Swimming’s much better. I can drown out everything that’s happening around me, sinking down to the bottom, just like how my stomach had sunk on the night it happened and never rose up again. 

I pad around the pool, wincing slightly at how cold the marble tiles are. They feel like walking on ice. 

The water’s just as cold as I slip in, splashing noisily as I swim a lap. I can swim better, I used to swim better, but I don’t try my best at things anymore. There’s no point anymore in succeeding. That wish had been taken away the moment Brando turned on the engine of the car and left me behind in our small summer house.

I reach the end and I pull myself up, panting heavily, water dripping into my eyes. I reach up to grab at my curls before splashing back down for another round. 

The changing room is empty when I enter, almost ominously so. The white brick walls seem to be closing around me as I throw my towel up onto a hook, feeling slightly wobbly. But again, have I ever really been stable since Brando left?

I sit down on the bench, not caring about how cold I am, my chest rising as I let out a large puff of breath. 

It’s so hard these days, just going to a swimming pool. 

The shadows seem to follow me as I exit the building, following the red glow of the exit sign down the dark hallway. 

They stay when I sit in my small bedroom, barely decorated except for a small lamp, and a small photo that I had dared to keep. Brando’s laughing, arm thrown around me as I smile into the camera. 

Back when things were still happy. 

I’ve thought of getting rid of it, but every time I walk to the garbage can, some invisible force is always pulling me back. I guess it’s stuck there forever now. 

The view outside is trash. It’s nothing compared to the view in the summer house–

And now suddenly I’m crying, the heel of my hand pressing into my eyes, trying to force them back, telling myself that it’s better this way, that we were never going to work anyway. 

When I wake up the next morning, the sun’s rays shining orange in my face, I wonder why I’m so upset over a summer fling. Maybe because I actually loved Brando– loved him so much it hurt. There was just something about him. Something so unlike the other relationships I had in the past. 

Whatever. There’s no point in putting a finger on it now. Brando’s probably out kissing Heather or some other girl. I’m already forgotten, the broken toy that’s now replaced with the newest model. 

I need to move on, just like Brando has most likely have. 

I turn onto my side, arms hugging my pillow like how I used to hug Brando. I can’t sleep. I barely slept ever since Brando left. You’d never know how comforting it is to have someone beside you, their soft breathing, their warmth. It’s hard to get used to being alone again.

***

I look at the labels of the frozen pizzas, trying to find the healthiest option, or at least one that’s not 98% trans fat. There might not be a point in living anymore, but hey, I’m not going down from a slice of greasy pizza. 

I finally pick one and turn around, the freezer door slamming shut with a thump as I nearly have a heart attack, right there, in the middle of the store.

Of course I choose the store that my ex works at. Of course he has to notice me. 

He stares at me, expression neutral, his face mask betraying no emotions. He’s gotten a new job, I notice. I also notice how well he looks– no circles under his eyes, his hair combed and slicked back. 

He looks so nice. He looks like someone who stays and cares for and loves his romantic partner. He doesn’t look like the person this summer who drank and smoked. It’s like a new version, Brando 2.0.

My breathing goes faster, my chest rising more than it needs to. I wonder what Brando must be thinking. Regretting his life decisions? Regretting ever loving me? Possibly. 

I’m debating the urge to go and say something idiotic when he looks at me, really looks, meeting my eyes confidently like we’re friends. A smile tugs on his lips, like he can’t stop himself.

Horror shoots through me as I feel my mouth responding, smiling the first real smile since the day it happened. I glance down, feeling embarrassment wash over me. 

Yet I still can’t stop smiling. 

Somehow I agree to come to Brando’s– not exactly a house, he informs me, carrying two full plastic bags with no effort at all. It’s apparently more of a trailer. 

He tells me so much as we walk. It’s impossible how much he’s changed in the few months we were apart. He seems happier, more carefree, his steps light as he walks beside me. My hand brushes his, a spark of electricity shooting up my arm. Brando doesn’t seem to notice. Maybe it’s only me who feels the leftover lightning from our past. 

I accept Brando’s help in taking one of my bags once we’re in the trailer. My hair’s already a complete mess from the wind, so I’m glad when I step inside, busy smoothing down my poor hair. 

It’s… nice inside. Not what I’d expect, but it works. It works for one person. The colour scheme is pretty— light green, red, brown. The translucent curtains let in sunlight, white reflecting off the red and white surfaces. 

It almost looks like the summer home we stayed in. It’s the same style, mostly wood, same specks of colour that brings life to the entire trailer. 

I wonder if Brando decided to decorate it like this because of the summer home, then wave it away as a coincidence. It can’t be, and I’m not planning to casually mention it in a conversation. We’re a thing of the past, something to be brought up as a quick story during times of nostalgia. Bringing it up would only drive the knife in deeper. 

Brando moves aside a blueish green sweater on the red cushioned seat by the windows, letting me sit. He hands me a cup of water from the sink. 

I stay quiet, letting the awkwardness take over any hope of conversation. 

Brando sits beside me, careful to keep a distance away. I’m grateful for it– I don’t think I’m ready to touch him yet. His hand is annoyingly close to my hip, and I resist the urge to squirm or lean closer to him. 

The strangeness of this situation hits me. Why am I here? What am I doing? It feels like I’m taking a risk just by sitting here, in this trailer. 

I find myself watching Brando. His lips look so soft, so pink. I wonder if they taste any different than before. 

Wait. No. Stop thinking that.

At the beginning of summer, he tasted mostly like ice cream, but then the smoky smell of cigarettes stamped out any hint of sweetness. I hope his taste has changed. The cigarettes kind of ruined the experience for me. 

Shut up. Stop thinking about his lips. Stop thinking about him.

Maybe we still think similarly, maybe we’re still on the same page, because he rushes forward like a tsunami, cups the back of my neck and crushes his mouth to mine. 

Oh. Oh. 

Yes.

I grab onto his shoulder as he kisses me breathless, the pressure of his mouth never receding, spoiling me drunk with his kisses. Caramel and maple syrup and coffee grounds. That’s what he tastes like now, and I love it. 

His warm tongue licks over my lip, over and over again, making my vision blur. It’s so good. Everything’s so good. Brando’s addicting.

He lifts my shirt over my head, and I allow it, reaching over to do the same with him. Gods. He’s perfect, every muscle carefully sculpted like a statue of a god. 

My world tumbles into a wave of sensation as I lose myself in it. 

***

I stare at Brando’s beautiful body as he showers, still reeling from what happened. I lean against the wall, my eyes gazing upwards, turning my back to him. 

I can’t believe I’m still here, still at his trailer. I should have left long ago, but I feel happy for the first time in days. 

Maybe I’ll stay longer, only for the sake of being happy. It’s nothing to do with Brando. 

I hope. 

I feel warm and fuzzy all of a sudden when he puts something edible on a plate. Pancakes maybe. I love pancakes. I can suddenly imagine a life for us, right here, both of us living in this cozy trailer and eating frozen food from the grocery store.

His shoulders are warm as I place my hands on it, resting my chin on the area between the shoulder and the neck. He smells so good, no longer like cigarettes but a nice sweet smell of melted sugar. 

Brando slaps a piece of meat onto the steaming pancake and hands it to me on my place on top of the counter. He doesn’t say anything about how I sit there. Maybe in his mind, I belong there, the last thing that will make this place feel like home. 

I stay longer than a few days. I’m getting enough of his kisses to last an entire lifetime, yet still I’ll never get used to the way his lips move against mine. 

  For some reason, we’re more alone now than in the summer, where everyone is away on vacation. Maybe it’s because Brando finally has enough time for me. Maybe he’s finally realizing that I actually meant a lot to him, and now he’s holding me tight like he used to before he changed. 

I’m definitely still suspicious– most people would be after waking up to an empty house and finding the car and your boyfriend gone. But right here, now, with the wind rushing past me, riding a large tractor-like thing that we rented, I allow myself to relax, turning Brando’s head slightly and kissing him, not caring that his eyes are off the road, that we might crash any second. All I can feel is Brando’s lips, and that’s all I need.

Some time later, I’m sitting on the bed, meeting Brando’s eyes as he comes inside. He looks at me, almost fondly, almost like he used to. It’s kind of scary, us going back to what we were before without even talking about what has happened. It’s almost like the problems just solved themselves.

But I know that can’t happen. The problems will just build up like trash in a landfill, until it’s so full it explodes in our faces and demands attention. We’ll fight, one of us will leave, and who knows what will happen next. Maybe we’ll forget about each other. Or maybe one of us will come back, and everything cycles back again. It might be like caramel, easily burned, sweet for a while before the sticky situation is too much and you throw everything in the trash. 

I’m not going to think about it now, though. I try not to, yet the thought probes in my mind as we share lazy kisses, limbs tangled up under the blankets. 

Brando soon falls asleep, looking like the promise of relaxation and happiness and a lump of warmth as he lays there, face inches from mine. 

I can’t sleep. 

I can’t. Not with the fear that I’ll wake up the next day and find him gone like I did last time. I’m so scared that this is just a hoax, a prank before Brando leaves and never comes back, leaving in the dark like last time. 

I don’t want to be thrown aside like garbage. It took me forever to start getting out of bed after Brando left. 

When he left, I just wanted to sleep until my heart stopped aching and the shattered pieces would get removed or glued together until I’m whole again. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep living, but I secretly held the hope that Brando would realize his mistake and come back.

Now that we’re back, now that I'm sure he loves me again, it’s not what I thought it would be. I thought it would be rainbows and sunshine and endless love where we never fight and everything is perfect. 

I sit up, watching Brando sleep. Things are perfect, I suppose. It’s hard not to call it perfect when someone’s sleeping next to you, letting themselves be vulnerable around you.

But it's the kind of perfect like how a fruit is perfect, a few days before it turns rotten and makes you sick. The more we don’t talk about it, the faster it rots and turns into mush. Overmixing a souffle batter that deflates. Mining gold until the cave collapses over you. 

Caramel burning in a matter of seconds, the smell getting caught in your nostrils, stuck in your throat, suffocating you.

That’s what our love is like. 

I tell myself that over and over again as I get out of bed, dread already pooling in my stomach. Regretting a decision that hasn’t even been made yet. 

I watch Brando sleep, his chest rising and falling, looking so calm and serene that I want to run back and sink into his arms and forget about everything, tuning out the rest of the world until things magically get fixed and we talk out our troubles. Maybe the broken pieces of us can get held together by caramel. 

No. I want to slap myself. I want myself to hurry up so it’s over quickly and I won’t have enough time to hesitate. 

So that’s what happens. The next thing I know, I’m on my way to the bus stop, not allowing myself one glance at the trailer. If I catch a glimpse of it, the structure that’s so sturdy, along with the promise of Brando’s kisses, I’ll stop and go back. 

My thoughts are a whirl as I climb up the stairs. It’s only when the smell of sweaty people and old machinery hits when I know this is real, that this isn’t some horrible dream where I’ll wake up, alone in my bed, just as lonely as before. 

I climb into a seat, praying for people not to notice me. The last thing I need right now is a conversation. 

I stare out the window as the outside starts to move past, blurring into a scenery of green trees and buildings. I concentrate on the trees, focusing on the greenness of them, but then all I can think of is Brando’s eyes when he cries, a paler shade of green than this one. Just like the night when we fought and everything went downhill. 

The sky– the sky also doesn’t help. The sun has started to rise, and my thoughts drift to the sunset when we first kissed. 

Brando. Brando. Brando.  

Brando’s lips. His eyelashes, his hair, his gorgeous features. His everything. 

Everything reminds me of him. I can’t escape from the grasps of my thoughts. Every brain cell mocks me for what I’ve done, how I could ever leave someone like him. 

I wonder if this was how Brando felt, the guilt that crushed him as he drove away. 

I almost forgive him for it if this is how he feels. No one should ever experience this. The pain that tears your heart in half like it’s made out of paper. My self-hatred builds up inside of me and I press my lips together to avoid screaming. It feels like someone is burning all my insides into ash and how the heart is burned, little by little, so I can feel the agony, so the torture lasts forever.

Am I a bad person for leaving him? Every part of me screams yes, how I should magically control the bus and drive back in the direction I came from, to fix all my mistakes and be happy again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy again. 

***

Finally, finally, the bus stops and I look up from where my face was buried in my knees. I wipe away the few tears that have leaked without knowing it. It’s morning, the sun shining cheerfully like nothing bad has happened. 

It should be a crime for it to be such a nice day.

I get off the bus, dragging my heavy backpack. It feels like it weighs a million pounds, just like how the sadness feels on my back. 

I’m so scared, I admit to myself as I trudge along the field. I don’t know what will happen next. I don’t know how Brando survived this. He must be so much stronger than me. 

Someone lets out a low whistle, and my gaze shoots up, the first time in hours that I don’t look at the ground and finally look at the fluffy white clouds, at the bright, bright shade of blue that seems to promise hope. 

Brando. Standing there, leaning against a red truck. He sees me and smiles, giving me a little wave. 

I blink. I blink again. Rub my eyes. 

I must be hallucinating. This is fake, a cruel vision that my mind has created to torture me. 

But damn does he look good, wind blowing his hair slightly, a strand falling perfectly into his eyes, which are brighter than ever. He doesn’t look sad, he looks like a parent coming to pick up their child from their first day of kindergarten. 

I feel like I’m floating as I approach him, so scared that he might disappear like a cloud of fog. 

He hesitates when I finally reach him after what seems like hours. Fear flashes in his beautiful, beautiful eyes, like he’s scared that I might leave, leave after all the trouble he went through to find me. 

I need to be near him. Need to feel Brando’s comforting touch. I put my chin on his shoulder, and I feel him stiffen as he processes what’s happening. 

I’m so scared he might step away. 

I’ll deserve it if he steps away. 

His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, and I bury my face into his shoulder, breathing his scent, filling my nostrils with it in case I’ll never smell it again. Brando keeps holding me, staying still, his breathing coming a little quick like he’s nervous. He’s holding me like I’m made of glass. 

When he kisses me, I’m so startled I almost push away. I never thought that I would ever feel those lips on me again. 

I’m so addicted to him I don’t know if I can live without him. I kiss him, harder and harder, pressing into him, memorizing how his sweetness fills my mouth, sugar and nectar and syrup if I really think about it. 

I’m here in the moment, and now all I can taste is caramel.