Chapter Text
March 17th, 1997
Brando
The room was still, the kind of quiet that made if feel abandoned. Pale morning light leaked through the half-closed curtains, cutting stripes across the tangled blankets. Soft breaths rose and feel beneath the covers
“Brando I swear to god, you need to go to school.” A loud voice came from behind the door, muffled but sharp enough to pierce through the quiet.
He groaned, dragging a blanket tight over his head.
“Brando, you need to leave in 10 minutes. Get your ass up, and if you’re late I am not excusing you.”
“Fine, fine. I’m getting up.”
Brando's hair was a wreck, sticking in random directions like he had been electrocuted in his sleep. His eyes were barely open as he rolled out of bed, his feet his the floor with a quiet thud. He shuffled to his closet, pulling out a faded The Smashing Pumpkins band tee and a pair of dark blue jeans that had been worn too many times.
The bathroom light flickered on with a buzz. He leaned over the sink, turning the tap and running the bristles of his old toothbrush under the water. He grabbed his toothpaste and slathered it on the brush before shoving it into his mouth. Once he was done, he had to focus on his hair. The cold water splashed against his hand before running them through his messed up hair, trying to press down the wild strand. It worked, well enough at least.
He jogged down the stairs two at a time, the wood creaking under his weight, with little time to spare before he had to leave.
“Madison? Are you ready to go?” Brando yelled as he shoved on his shoes.
“Calm down, i’m not the one who woke up 10 minutes before we had to leave.” She replied, brushing past him to open the door.
Madison was Brando's younger sister, only by a year though. The two had always been close, the kind of close that came from running through the same storms. They also had a younger brother, James. The three stuck together through everything.
And that everything, was there dad.
There dad was still technically part of their lives, but barely. He was at work most of the time, and when he wasn’t, the smell of alcohol usually got there before he did. Their mom never said much about it, never really fought it. But sometimes Brando would catch her staring blankly at the kitchen sink, like she was slowly drowning and hoping nobody noticed.
Brando grabbed his keys and stepped outside.
“God I’d rather be doing anything than this right about now.”
“You’re fine, 2 more months, then you’re a senior. At least you don’t have a whole other year to go through.” Madison said, opening the passenger side door and sliding in.
“Yeah, but I have no idea what I'm doing after this. Like no college seems to interest me at all.” Brando sighed, as the engine rumbled to life. “Can you put on some music?”
Madison nodded and turned on the radio. After a burst of static, Blue Eyes by Elton John drifted into the speakers.
Brando let out a small laugh, “Doesn’t mom cry every time she hears this song?”
“Yeah, she does. She says it's sentimental or something. I’m not sure.” Madison shrugged, staring out the car window.
---
As Brando stepped out of his car, the heat of early spring in Texas grazed his skin like a warning for the summer ahead. The sun was already high, bright and relentless, and droplets of sweat had started forming along his forehead.
“Brando!”
A voice behind him cut through the noise of the parking lot. He turned around to see Rose, his girlfriend, walking toward him, her blonde, curled, hair bouncing with each step.
“Hey, Rose.” He smiled, lifting a hand to her chin and pulling her gently into a kiss.
She pulled away first, grinning. “You seem to be in a good mood this morning.”
“How could I not be when you’re the first person I get to see?” Brando said, flashing a lazy smile.
“Oh, be quiet,” Rose laughed, nudging his shoulder.
“She’s right, please be quiet,” Madison interrupted from beside them. “Okay, Rose, let’s go. No need to do this at eight in the morning.”
The two of them were already walking toward the school before Brando even had the chance to respond.
The sun blared down onto his head as he stood there for a second. The sweat had multiplied now, dampening the edges of his hair and making his shirt cling slightly to his back.
Sighing, he started walking toward the school.
Inside, the hallways were already buzzing, lockers slamming shut, conversations overlapping, the squeak of sneakers against polished floors.
Brando wandered over to his locker, not for anything in particular, just to pass the time until the bell rang. Most mornings were like this. He usually hung out alone.
He didn’t really mind.
It was more peaceful than lonely.
His friends almost always showed up late, and his girlfriend was usually busy talking with his sister anyway.
After a moment, he headed toward the library. It was his favorite place to wait out the morning. Quiet. Cool. Empty.
The difference between the hallway and the library always felt strange, like stepping out of a storm into still air.
Outside the doors it was noisy, loud, cluttered.
But inside, silent.
He dropped into one of the chairs near the back and leaned against the table, letting the quiet settle around him.
Well, it was usually quiet.
He had only been there for about five minutes when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
Brando whipped his head around, expecting to see one of his friends messing with him.
Instead, a stranger stood there.
Brando knew almost everyone in this school. Seeing a new face was rare enough that it caught him completely off guard.
“Hey, sorry for interrupting,” the boy said. His voice was quiet, a little hesitant. “You just looked… lonely.”
Brando laughed.
“Hi. You didn’t interrupt anything,” he said. “But I can’t believe you’d call me lonely. I’m sure everyone in this school would be honored to hang out with me in the mornings.”
He leaned back in the chair.
“I just like being by myself, I guess.”
“Oh.” The boy nodded. “Well… I don’t really have anyone to hang out with yet. So I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to sit with you.”
Brando shrugged.
“Go ahead.”
But as the boy sat down across from him, Brando couldn’t help staring for a moment.
The stranger had dark curls that fell loosely to his shoulders, catching the soft light from the tall library windows. His eyes were almost the same shade, a deep brown, warm and steady. There was something about his face that seemed effortlessly put together, like he belonged in a photograph.
Brando blinked and quickly looked away.
“I’m Brando, by the way. Are you new here?”
The boy laughed softly.
“Yeah. Just moved here from Kansas. I’m Wilson, Wilson Wilder.”
“Kansas, huh?” Brando hummed.
“Yeah,” Wilson said, leaning back slightly in his chair. “My mom had some work stuff here. And… honestly my life there was kind of hell toward the end. So we moved pretty fast.”
Brando nodded slowly.
“Well, it’s always nice to have a fresh start,” he said. “You’ll like it here. I promise.”
Wilson smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah. I hope so.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall and pushed his chair back.
“Well, I should probably start looking for my class. I’m definitely going to get lost in this place if I don’t.” He grabbed his backpack. “It was nice meeting you, Brando.”
“Wait,” Brando called.
Wilson turned back toward him.
“I can show you where your class is… if you want.”
Wilson lowered his head slightly, smiling.
“I’d like that.”
Brando stood up, grabbing his own bag.
“So what’s your first class?”
Wilson reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He squinted at it for a second.
“Painting. Room 23.”
Brando smirked.
“Not bad. Good way to start the day. Nice and relaxing.”
“Yeah… I guess,” Wilson said.
They walked through the halls together, weaving through the growing crowd of students. Lockers slammed shut as people started heading to class.
Neither of them said much.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Just unfamiliar.
“Well,” Brando said after a moment, stopping in front of a door and pointing at the number beside it. “Here we are.”
Wilson looked up at it.
“It was really nice meeting you, Wil,” Brando said. “Same time tomorrow?”
Wilson shrugged, but he was smiling again.
“Sure. Why not? And… Thank you. Really.”
“And Wilson,” Brando added before turning away.
Wilson looked back.
“If you don’t have anyone to sit with at lunch… come find me.”
Wilson nodded.
Brando walked down the hallway again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Like he’d just done something worth being proud of.