Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
It’s crazy how sometimes you’re so nervous that you’ll forget how to speak and can only stutter out random phrases that stop randomly and overlap one another.
That’s how I am with the person I’m sharing a hotel room with.
He wanted us to pitch in and only buy one– to save more money, and also since we both happened to go on vacation, at this exact same spot, and for the same amount of time. Two weeks.
I was going to say no, I promise. He was a stranger, and you ought to be suspicious, but he was friendly, sweet, and funny. I even remembered that I’ve seen him a few times, he’s a friend of a friend, and he was always kind to me. So he’s not actually even a stranger.
He seems like a good friend to have, and I did want some more money to work with if I was going to go to the top destination spots.
That’s the reason why I agreed. Definitely not because of how large and bright his brown eyes looked, and how maybe I wanted to be near him a little longer. He radiates some kind of warmth that draws you to him and makes you want to stay forever. That’s just the person he is, and I know him. He’s the one at parties who’s always laughing and smiling at even the slightest thing.
This vacation is going to be great. That’s what I first thought when I entered the hotel. I could save some money, I was making a new friend, and I would walk away from this vacation happy.
I never knew how it would affect my life forever.
***
Brando sits on the couch as we wait for our turn. The people in front of us seem to be taking forever. It would probably seem shorter if we just talked and had a conversation, but we’re at that stage where we still haven’t clicked, we don’t know how to talk to each other yet.
I lean awkwardly against the couch Brando’s sitting at, trying not to act like this hotel is the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen. A glass chandelier swings gently on the ceiling that seems miles away, lighting the lobby a nice golden colour, giving it a soft filter. Everything glitters like they’re cleaned every hour. Maybe they are. I wouldn't know.
Glass displays are lined up against the dark birch walls, all displaying some kind of gold watch or trinket. There seem to be millions of restaurants and beautiful carpeted stairs that this place could pass for a shopping mall that all the millionaires go to. I feel so out of place here, like everybody is looking at me. Like they know when someone doesn’t belong.
The small dirty motel a few blocks down would be more comfortable than this.
I’m too busy comparing my worn running shoes with the light shaded polished floor that spreads out in an elegant design to notice the line moving forward and someone calling for us to check in.
I feel Brando’s hand on my shoulder and I try not to lean into him. There’s just something about him that makes me gravitate to him like he’s a planet that has everything I’d need to survive.
“It’s our turn,” he says softly, in that slight British accent that lifts the edges of his words. It’s so subtle that I shouldn’t even notice it. I don’t know why I am.
“Right,” I say, too quickly, then wonder why my face suddenly goes hot. “Right. Um– just give me a sec–” I grab my luggage handle and pull it towards the marble counter, stumbling slightly, cursing my clumsiness as I nearly trip on my untied shoelaces and fall flat on my face. Gods. I should have tied my shoes in those twenty minutes I was waiting.
“I can take your luggage. I don’t have a lot anyways,” Brando offers, a strange expression on his face. Probably regretting his life choices. Probably trying to stifle a laugh.
I wave my hand in a gesture to try to decline that offer. I don’t even use hand gestures, I have no clue why I’m starting now. And of course my mouth opens and I have to reply, “I got this, it’s fine– carried heavier stuff than this.” I laugh a nervous laugh that sounds slightly psychotic.
Brando blinks. “‘Kay.” He shrugs slightly, then decides not to say anything more.
A tight-lipped woman who looks like she doesn’t want to be here asks us for our name, phone number, and when we’re going to check out. She looks at me accusingly like she knows that I had to pull together a year’s worth of a meager salary to be here. I’m so startled and intimidated that I actually forget my name for a few seconds.
A few seconds pass. The woman looks so done, like I’m some uneducated person who swears that the sky is green or something and she’s supposedly supposed to help that person. Maybe I am that person to her, just because I’m not dressed like the people in front of us who were wearing tuxedos and polished leather dress shoes.
Brando’s hand is on my shoulder again, nearly making me jump out of my skin. It burns through the layers of clothing that I’m wearing, and I’m too busy trying not to move so that it can stay there, possibly forever if I get my way.
“Brando Connell and Wilson King,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue so smoothly that it seems like it was meant to be there. I try not to shiver at how well my name sounds when he says it. It’s almost like understanding a new language for the first time.
The woman nods wordlessly, typing something on the large computer that looked like the latest model and putting it aside, staring at us intensely for a few moments, making a face that almost resembled a smile. “How long have you two been a couple?” she questions, something knowing in her eyes. I nearly choke on a mouthful of air as I resist the urge to turn away and maybe run and hide under a chair and never come out again.
Brando removes his hand from my shoulder, mouth slightly open like he wants to say something but he can’t find the right words for it.
I’m too busy trying not to die of embarrassment to deny it. I can’t talk, for fear of something stupid coming out.
Why is this happening. Gods, just kill me now.
Brando finally recovers, letting out a laugh that sounds strained. “Oh, no,” he says, tone light like nothing happened. “We’re not together.”
She looks so confused that I wonder if she’s okay. Maybe a tumor is affecting her brain. “I could have thought–” she starts, then stops herself, plastering on some fake smile that stretches her face out weirdly. “Have a good stay!” Her eyes tell us that we’re dismissed, that we should take the keys she’s handing out and leave quickly.
Brando takes the keys gingerly, passing one to me, our fingers brushing slightly as I take it. It’s a flat plastic card that’s a white colour and extremely thin.
I still don’t trust myself to speak, so we stay silent as we enter the elevator that’s almost as fancy as the lobby– cushioned seats, large mirrors, a soft classical music playing as the doors close and we glide up.
The doors open again to a large hallway, carpeted and with a dim light. Small trees grow beside every door.
Our room is 1111. The plants seem to be thriving. Brando looks good in his plain t-shirt. All simple facts that help me focus until my tongue doesn’t seem stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Thanks,” I finally say as we walk down the hall, both of our arms swinging slightly so they bump into each other.
I can feel Brando’s gaze on me, his brown eyes soft and wide. “What for?” he asks, mouth moving slowly. His lips look so pink.
“Back there. You helped me when I was panicking. I couldn’t even think of my name, and you said it for me.” I look down at my feet, slightly embarrassed, not meeting Brando’s eyes. I usually don’t care about how I didn’t grow up with a lot of money, and how I still struggle sometimes to buy what I need, but when I see how some people are so privileged, it comes around to punch me in the face.
“Oh,” Brando says softly. He puts his hand on my arm, and I wonder when I’m going to stop being so surprised that he’s touching me. “That? That was nothing. I’d do it again.” His hand squeezes gently, sending a spark of warmth throughout my body.
I nearly fumble with my next few words. “Thanks anyway. Brando.”
He smiles at me then, revealing perfectly white teeth. It’s so warm, so genuine that I suddenly want to cry. Usually no one’s that nice to me. Usually no one smiles at me like that. It almost makes me feel like I belong in this place where they have eight different forks to eat things like lobster or caviar.
“You can just call me Bran,” Brando tells me as we reach the end of the hall and turn right. “No one really calls me Brando. That’s too… formal.” He makes a face, scrunching his beautiful features in a grimace.
“It’s also what my friends call me,” he adds, swiping the card in a smooth motion. Bran puts his hand on the metal doorknob, grinning at me. Gods. His smile was almost too much. “Grand reveal?”
I blink, still spiralling from what he just called me. “A friend?” I say, incredulous. Bran looks at me in surprise, hand reaching up to absently run it through his light brown hair.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah. You’re my friend.” His eyes sparkle brightly in the light of the hallway.
I’m too dumb to say anything other than an inaudible oh. I peek into the room as Bran opens it, so slowly the tiny creak is almost painful as it draws out.
Bran lets out a low whistle as he steps inside, gazing around. “This is cool,” he remarks. Then stops. “Oh.”
I bring up the courage to walk up to him and see what he’s looking at. It really isn’t so bad. It’s a king sized bed, pillows fluffed up, sheets tucked in neatly. It's just a normal hotel bed.
Except…
I look around desperately, panic running through my veins. Oh gods. King sized bed. Fit for two or more people so…
There’s only one bed.
The realization hits me like a rock, knocking all the air out of me. “Yeah,” I agree, staring in horror at it. “Do you think we can get a refund? Or switch rooms? Or something?”
Bran lets out a humourless laugh, running his fingers through his hair, which seems to be a nervous habit. His hair is getting messed up, but he doesn’t look too bad with messy hair. It makes him look softer. “No,” Bran says. “The lady said no refunds.” He lets out a long sigh like he deals with this all the time and now it’s only a minor inconvenience. “We’ll just have to deal with it. It’s only a few days.” Two weeks. I don’t have the heart to correct him.
“Okay.” My voice comes out squeaky.
Bran leaves my side, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower,” he offers, turning the subject away. I’m glad for it, but we need to figure out nighttime plans sometime. Maybe I’ll just sleep in the spinny chair at the desk nearby. That’ll solve the problem. Bran’s still talking as he shuts the door quietly. “We should go out for dinner tonight.”
Something about the way he says it warms my heart. Going out.
But this isn’t going to be a date. Just a vacation with a new friend.
I busy myself with exploring the room. The hotel bed, horrible. The wallpaper is a nice cream colour. Floor carpeted. A still-life painting of a purple lilac hangs on the wall. There’s a tiny fridge and a stove and counters by the side, almost forgotten. There’s a small cushioned couch that only allows one person to sit, an equally small wooden table in front of it.
The spinny gray chair that I might have to sleep in tonight. I’m not picky. The couch works too.
I’m checking out what’s in the fridge when the bathroom door opens and steam floats, the heat quickly filling the room. Out comes Bran, with no clothes except for a towel around his waist.
My mind goes blank. I try to look away, but I find that I can’t. He’s so muscular, every curve and sharp perfectly carved. How often does he have to work out for that?
“You– you couldn’t have put on a shirt?” I stammer, feeling myself blush. I must be as red as a tomato by now.
Bran blinks, processing what I’d just said. Then he laughs, a full bright sound that seems to light up the room immediately. “Scared you can’t handle yourself?” he says with a smirk, winking at me slightly.
Gods. He winked. He winked.
He winked.
“You couldn’t have put on a shirt?” I repeat, trying my hardest not to stare at his flawless chest. Just kill me now.
Bran snorts. “Going to,” he replies. His eyes start glittering with something almost like mischief. “Unless you’d like me to stay like this…” he teases gently, smirking at me again.
“No!” I nearly yelp. “No! Put on a shirt.” My mind starts working furiously to think of an excuse. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Bran says, tapping his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. His eyes are laughing at me. “Seems like you want me to stay this way.”
Is he… flirting with me? I’m reeling from the realization. Why? Does he… like me?
Do I like him? I find that I can’t answer that question. Not without lying to myself.
I decide not to think about this now. It’s way too complicated and I want to focus on this. Think it through. Deeply. Bran standing in front of me is messing with my brain.
I feel Bran coming closer to me, smelling like apples and cinnamon. He smiles at me then, teasing gone from his eyes. He approaches me until I can lean forward just slightly and touch him.
His face is so close to mine. I can pick out the individual scattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks, can see the way there are tiny green specks in the brown of his eyes. His nose is inherited from a god. And his lips. Soft and rosy. So kissable.
I want to reach out and touch his skin, see if it really is that smooth, so blemish-free. He steps one step closer, and then we’re nose-to-nose, his breath puffing over my lips. I’m so sure he’s going to kiss me that I prepare myself for it. I close my eyes, and lean over just slightly–
“Boop.” Bran’s voice brings me back to reality, his finger on my nose deliciously cool on my heated skin.
I open my eyes, somewhat disappointed. That was so close. So close to a kiss. And I wanted that. I wanted him to kiss me.
I like him. I have a crush on him.
“Oh,” I say, my tone struggling to stay light.
Bran grins, and my disappointment is almost forgotten. “What did you think I’d do?” he asks, eyes widening innocently.
I shrug slightly. “Oh… nothing.” I force a smile. “You got me.”
“I know,” Bran says. He’s smiling so hard. Gods. He has a dimple. “I’m just that great.” He walks over and grabs a random shirt from the plastic bag lying on the ground. I swallow hard as I watch his arm muscles flex.
I almost regret looking away when I turn back and see him heading to the bathroom, dragging his clothes behind him. “I’m going to change,” he calls cheerfully over his shoulder. “And we’ll see what we can do today! Dinner at a restaurant here, I also saw a bar earlier!”
Warmth spreads through me. It’s nice to know that he wants to spend the day with me. I was scared that he was only doing this to save money, but it seems like he really wants to be my friend.
Me, I want to be more than a friend.
***
The restaurant Bran chooses is loud. Noisy. I don’t complain. I go with whatever Bran likes.
I take a bite of grease from the hamburger I ordered and try not to shudder. It sticks in my throat. I sip my coke, trying to act like I’m enjoying this place.
Bran smiles at me, barely visible over the tower of pancakes he has. Maybe he was smart to order a breakfast item, because I’m choking on oil.
“Do you like this place?” Bran asks, smile fading at the sight of me. Without a smile, he looks so serious, eyes bright and thoughtful. My thoughts blur as I see how turquoise his green specks in his eyes are, how they swim around, making my head spin.
I swallow my bite with difficulty. “It’s… nice,” I manage to say.
Bran frowns. “You aren’t enjoying this,” he guesses. “I can see it in your eyes, your body posture.”
I blink in surprise. “My eyes? What- what do you see?”
Bran gets up. Pushes back his chair, walking towards me with a determined expression on your face. He goes to stand behind me.
His fingers running over my face feel as light as feathers.
“Here,” he murmurs, tilting my head back so he can reach more. I obey immediately, feeling myself relax under his touch, feeling the tension disappear from my body. He traces the shape of my lips, so gently I almost cry. He’s handling me like I’m something precious. “Your smile isn’t as bright.” His hands move down to my shoulders, pressing down tenderly. “You shoulders. They’re so wound up.” His hands snake around my neck, touching my throat carefully. “You’re having a hard time swallowing.”
I close my eyes, feeling myself melt into him. His fingers lightly touch my eyelashes, gently brush over my eyelids. “And your eyes aren’t as sparkly,” Bran whispers. I feel his touch disappear and almost beg for more.
When I open my eyes again I’m greeted by the sight of Bran. His pancake tower is no longer tall anymore. I watch, amazed, as he splits it cleanly in half and grabs an extra plate, putting it there and sliding it to me. “Have some of mine,” Bran urges. “I can’t finish it all anyways.”
I start to say something, start to refuse but something stops me. Bran looks at me like he might die if I don’t eat it, so I reluctantly agree.
His smile is worth it as I start eating, and when he takes my hand, I know I’ll do anything for him.
***
“Is this still your first drink?” Bran wonders as he gets his cup refilled for the fourth time. He blinks at me in confusion, eyes slightly less clear than before.
I nod. “Um yeah. I’m not a big drinker,” I say quietly. I try not to stare at Bran. “Are you drunk?”
Bran shakes his head, looking slightly wobbly. “Just really buzzed up.” He smiles at me in assurance. “I think this will be my last cup.”
A few minutes later, I’m sure it’s not going to be his last cup. He asks for another one, then another. I’m almost done with my first one, and I can already feel the alcohol affecting my brain. Everything seems slower like I’m seeing this from someone else’s eyes. I have the overwhelming urge to kiss Bran– he’s probably not going to remember it anyways.
But I’m still sober enough to ignore the desire.
“Come on,” I hiss urgently, tugging on Bran’s sleeve. “We should go. You’ve drunk enough.” We drank enough.
Bran looks at me blearily and nods, just slightly so I know that he still has some control in his mind. My mind is begging me to kiss him, when he’s still vulnerable, and I’m disgusted. I shove the heat away and start to pull Bran out of the bar.
Halfway, Bran stops. He pulls me down behind a cushioned chair out of sight from the few remaining people in the lobby.
“Wilson,” he breathes, trembling. “Wilson, you look so good, so handsome, so hot…”
He kisses me then, mouth crashing into mine. I’m so surprised that I don’t pull away immediately like I should. A good person would.
Bran tastes like beer, whiskey, and whatever he’s been drinking for the last six cups he’s had. Underneath that, there’re the slight tones of sugar apple that I know is purely Bran.
This is what I wanted, yet I don’t feel satisfaction, or even just a bit of happiness.
Bran’s drunk. He isn’t thinking clearly. This is just the alcohol making him do this.
If he were sober, he’d never do this.
Bran’s still kissing me, nice and slow like he’s savouring the moment, letting out tiny sounds as he moves his mouth against mine.
I finally push him away, gasping for air as I resist the urge to move farther away. This is still my friend Bran. Drunk, but still my friend.
And I should have pulled away sooner.
I don’t know how to act around Bran now that he’s looking at me with confusion, confusion so great you wouldn’t think he was drunk.
“Come,” I say, fighting to keep my voice from shaking. “Let’s go back to our room.”
He doesn’t argue, to my surprise. He nods silently and stumbles after me. He doesn’t say anything as we enter the elevator. He also doesn’t say anything as I unlock the door and let him in.
He finally speaks when he crawls into bed, head just hitting his pillow when he mumbles, “Don’t sleep on the floor. Or the chair. Stay.” He looks at me through half-lidded eyes, his green flecks just barely visible. Something about him seems so vulnerable that my heart aches.
I turn to answer him, but he’s already asleep.
***
The hot water runs down me as I shower, and I close my eyes. I wish it could wash away my feelings as easily as the dirt and sweat I’ve successfully acquired.
***
I do go into the bed, careful not to bump against Bran as I roll onto the edge of the bed, sighing. I’m so tired that I can ignore the way Bran’s soft breathing fills the room, the way it somehow makes this large hotel room feel like home.
I fall asleep easily, easier than how I usually sleep in my own bed.
***
When I wake up in the morning, Brando’s already up, sitting at the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands as he curses quietly.
He must have a terrible headache.
He turns around when he feels the bed shifting, eyes slightly red though not less beautiful than before. I try to smile. “Hi.”
Bran nods quietly and turns away again. Guess that’s the end of the conversation. Bran must be feeling horrible right now. Massive hangover, probably. If he remembers last night, he would feel even worse.
I watch him carefully, looking for any signs that he might remember anything. I don’t want him to remember. He’d hate me forever.
“Wilson?” Bran asks, voice quiet. Great. Here it comes, the moment where he asks me to leave and to never come back. To put me in the past.
I pause, preparing myself for the blow. “Yeah?” I reply, squeezing my eyes shut and looking away from him.
I can hear him getting up, feeling his unsteady moments rocking the bed as he heads towards me. He gently turns my head, making me stare into his eyes. They glitter so brightly, brown shifting into green. Gods. He looks like an angel.
“I remember it,” he whispers, gazing deep into me. I feel like he can see into my soul. “And I know you do too.”
With a start, I realize he’s talking about the kiss. He remembers it. Why does he remember it? I can’t speak, so afraid of what he’ll say next.
I feel like I’m dreaming when he continues, voice so steady it may be the only thing keeping me together. “In fact I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“You don’t regret it?” It sounds like I’ve been inhaling helium. My mind is whirling, my heart beating fast– so fast I feel like my entire body is shaking in time with it. I feel the presence of hope enter my mind.
Bran smiles, slowly, until it turns into a grin that I so want to feel against my lips.
“I don’t regret anything,” he says.
“Not at all.”