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“I remember when I actually felt like you actually loved me.”
Were the eleven words that echoed throughout Clown’s mind. It had been four years since Branzy and Clown had started dating—and so, so much can happen within that time frame. The first two years were like the honeymoon kind of stage. Everything was well, nothing went wrong.
That, until the third year came. Clown was not exactly sure how they ended up lasting for another year—but the biggest argument happened that year, and Clown still thinks about it daily. Whether it was during work at the amusement park, when he first wakes up in the morning, or the last thought before falling asleep—it haunted him.
And breaking up, would be the most terrifying thing to even imagine. It’s like he was more scared of that than murder—dying.
I mean—wouldn’t that feel the same?
———
“Dearest, where have you been? It’s three in the morning.” The man asked, his voice in a rather stern manner as he crossed his arms. “Out.” Clown replied coldly. “It’s three in the morning.” Branzy repeated. “Just leave me alone—you’re always interrogating me.” He pushed Branzy out of the way to go to his room.
Branzy sighed, before grabbing Clown’s arm and pulling him closer. “Just where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking.” He rolled his eyes. “Let me go.”
“For the past few months, you’ve been doing all kinds of things lately. Partying, drinking, smoking, and killing more people than usual. What happened? Please, ClownPierce, talk to me.” Branzy said, almost in a pleading tone.
Clown flinched—it’s been too long since Branzy called him that. “So what? I can do what I want. I’m an adult.” He shook his boyfriend’s hand off him, still with that indifferent tone. “I know you are. I’m just worried for you, these kinds of things are, well, bad!”
“So what?” He says again. “ClownPierce.” Branzy’s voice was rigid—trying to keep his stance firm. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t care.” He put emphasis on the word ‘actually’, the two men’s hearts were beating rapidly—Clown’s hands grew sweaty from the tension. “I love you, so I care!” Branzy snaps back, tears clearly forming in his purple eyes.
Silence.
It felt as if—motion stopped all together, like the Earth on their feet stopped spinning, as if nothing mattered between the duo. ClownPierce’s breath hitched, for once in the conversation he was caught off guard. He blinks again—unable to respond, before leaving.
Even though BranzyCraft couldn’t hear it—Clown jumped on his bed and whispered—
“I love you too.”
———
PRESENT
Clown had been busy all day simply managing the Amusement park—Branzy, on the other hand, was sick and had to stay home. Clown had been thinking about his dear boyfriend—again.
“Hey Clown! Where’s Branzy?” Rekrap asks. “Oh. Rek.” He mutters in practically the most uninterested tone ever. “Home. He’s sick—basically taking the day off.”
“You're…” He hesitates, confused. “—not gonna look after him?” He smiles awkwardly. “So slack off and close the Amusement park the whole day? No.”
“But isn’t he more important than the—” Rekrap gets cut off by Clown who flew off with his elytra. “park..” He continued, even more confused than before.
———
“Branzycraft!” He yells, almost above a scream. In the living room, struggling to wipe himself with the wet cloth. (context: he has fever you stupid shit)
He flinched upon hearing his boyfriend’s voice and stared at him. “You have work.” He states in a monotone—surprised he’s even here during amusement park hours.
“I’m here for you.” He growls, before grabbing the cloth with much force Branzy was even more stunned—astonished, even.
“That’s a first.” He says sarcastically, dumbstruck that for the first time in a year—Clown seemed to care. “So you want me to leave,” He replies, matching his energy.
“Uh—no, um…You can, err…stay.” He stumbles over his words, unable to process the fact that Clown is even here—wiping his body.
He soaks the cloth in the bowl, squeezing it so it’s not dripping wet, and wipes his forehead, chest, and back. Little to no words were exchanged within this interaction—and Branzy was still unsure why Clown was putting this much effort—For Branzy, of course.
“Where’s the medicine?” He asks, tone and pitch unfriendly. “In the kitchen cupboard to the right.” He utters. Clown nods and goes to the cupboard with Branzy’s instructions.
“Take this.” He gives the medicine and a glass of water to him. “Uh…Thanks.” He smiles awkwardly, only now having his cogs in his mind spinning again.
After Branzy took his medicine, Clown escorts him to the room and tucked him in the bed. He basically stared at the man’s gorgeous french violet eyes, before sighing. “What’s wrong?” Branzy asks, a mix of curiosity and nervousness apparent in his voice.
With a slow, husky response, Clown says, “I’m sorry.” Branzy was taken aback—ever since the fight, he had never heard an actual, sincere apology even escape his boyfriend’s mouth. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore—I feel as if my mental state isn’t good enough anymore to physically have any romantic partner, Branzy.”
Branzy sits up—an obvious worry evident in his body language. “I didn’t know you felt that way—dear…Um,” He stuttered. “You know what? From this day onward, I promise never to leave your side, okay? Through thick and thin. Please talk to me about your troubles, okay? I’ll do everything in my power just to help you, so don't you even hesitate.”
“Of course.” His voice was shaky—his nerves were getting the best of him, probably. Well not probably —his whole body was tingling. “And, I’m sorry, for not being physically, or emotionally there for you when you needed me most.” Branzy added. “It’s not your fault,” He responds, in a defensive sort of tone. “I know, but I feel like I could have done more.”
“Past is past—we both forgive each other now, so let’s leave it there.” Branzy chuckles at this statement—putting both arms wrapped around Clown. He gives a quick peck before gigging. “You devil.” Branzy remarks.
“Yeah, yeah.” Clown playfully rolls his eyes, before Branzy pushes the duo down to the bed, both laying on the bed which isn’t supposed to fit two people. “C’mere.” Branzy says before kissing Clown’s cheek, which quite literally felt like forever for the couple.
“Heavens above, if we sleep on this bed together I’m gonna get sick too.” Clown comments. “Well, this moment is too good to back down, we’ll worry about it tomorrow.”
“Never heard you say that.”
“You basically never heard me say almost anything in that one year span.”
“You’re the worst.” The two boys laugh as they adjust their positions so they’re both more comfortable. “Let’s make up for the time we lost, huh?” He smirks.
“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes once more—flustered, yet doing everything in his power to seem otherwise. “You’re the worst actor ever.” He pinches Clown’s cheek. “You’re genuinely the worst.”
And so, the couple, after a few bickering and chatting, fell asleep in each other’s arms, the cuddle felt warm—as if they hadn't embraced each other in a millennia.
The couple’s story isn’t over yet, though. There’s still plenty of more stories to uncover, and this one was just one of them.
———
“Daddy, daddy! Tell more stories!” A small, bubbly kid energetically speaks. “I’m afraid it’s past your bedtime, my lovelies. C’mon, it’s time for bed.”
The two kids whine, but followed instructions, with Branzy tucking them in bed, kissing their foreheads and turning off the lights.
Quietly walking out of the bedroom—Clown was secretly waiting for Branzy to finish talking to their kids, which scared the living daylights out of the poor guy. “Holy—guacamole, don’t do that.” Branzy put emphasis on the word ‘don’t’.
Clown chuckles, “You seemed to have a wonderful time telling the worst part of our lives to our children as a bedtime story.”
“Quit it—It wasn’t all that bad.” He paused, “I mean, besides the no speaking time frame.” He adds. The couple both giggled.
“Let’s just go to bed, now, huh?” Clown suggests. “Yeah, yeah, coming.”