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Wil fiddled with his sleeve, typing out a message to Bran. His dad had a work trip, and after all his parents fighting, his mom didn't trust him not to cheat if she wasn't there, so she had gone with him. Wilson felt a little hurt when they muttered maybe a few sentences to him about it, like he was just an afterthought, but he tried to look on the bright side: his parents wouldn't be home for the next two weeks. It was summer now, school having let out just a week before, so Wil could enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty house at night, and no bustling hallways to slink through during the day. He and Bran were both on the very edge of high school's social ladder, so neither of them really had anything to do. Bran talked to his parents and convinced them to let him spend the entire week with him, though apparently, according to Bran, they didn't care much because they thought Wilson was amazing.
Only a few seconds passed from when Wil hit send to when Bran messaged back, saying he was on his way. Wilson smiled to himself, looking over his room to see if there was anything he should pick up quickly. His notebook lay open on the bed, song half-written on the sun-worn pages. Wil stretched across his bed to grab it, running his fingers over the words once more.
Your eyes change with the quirk of your smile
Brighter than I know I’ll ever deserve, ooh
He hummed the melody under his breath, shutting the notebook before new lyrics had the chance to grow in his brain. Now was not the time to continue it. Wil moved it to the side, next to his guitar. Maybe, somehow, he would magically gain enough confidence to play something for Bran this week. The boy was the inspiration behind a lot of his works anyways, but it wasn't like he needed to know that.
Wilson wandered over to his dresser, pushing things around and humming, zoned out. Suddenly, a warm body pressed against him from behind, arms hugging around his waist. Wil looked up into the mirror, startled, meeting Bran's eyes there. A warm blush spread over his cheeks, and he huffed a nervous laugh.
“I didn't even hear you come in!”
Bran spun him around, pushing him onto his bed. “I'm getting better at sneaking in the window,” he said, a huge grin on his face.
Wilson ran a hand over his hair, trying to tame the curls that stuck up after Bran pushed him. “You didn't have to come in the window. My parents are literally gone!”
Bran laughed. “Well, I have to practice, and it would feel weird, I don't know. When's the last time I came in the door?”
Wilson cocked his head. Well, fuck. “Oh. Yeah maybe when you were like 12. Damn okay, point taken.”
Bran smiled, extending a hand to haul Wilson up. His hand was slightly callused, and Wil felt it like a fire against his skin. When Bran let go, he felt the loss, looking down and wiping his hands on his shorts to do something.
“Um, we're going to the river, right? You have everything?”
His friend nodded, patting a bag Wilson hadn't seen by his side. “I have some shitty pouch lemonade too. Walk or bike?”
Wilson pretended to think about it for a second, snatching his own bag off the floor. “Bike,” he replied, grinning. “Race you outside!”
“You're on,” said Bran, pushing past Wil to get out the door.
“Hey!” Wil ran after him, using his hands to rebound off the wall and pass his friend.
They took the stairs two at a time, turning the corner and bursting out the front door.
Bran pumped his hands up. “I won!”
Wil shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, right. Whatever helps you sleep at night. I got out the door first.”
His best friend rolled his eyes, starting to walk towards the bikes. “Whatever. Let's go!”
Wil jogged to catch up, bumping Bran's shoulder as they reached the bikes leaning against the side of the house. Bran shifted his bag further onto his back, wheeling his bike out of the way so Wilson could get to his. They wheeled their respective bikes out of the yard, Wilson picking at the rubber handles of his.
“Should we come back for a late lunch? I mean, we don't have any snacks.” He swung his leg over the bike, glancing over at Bran for an answer.
The other boy mirrored his movements, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Pushing off, Wil swerved in front of Bran quickly, making him falter. “Hey!”
Wil just stuck out his tongue, grinning back at him as stood up on the pedals, picking up the pace down the road. Wind roared in his ears, making his hair flatten backward, the longer strands in the back whipping around.
Bran moved up next to him, pedaling hard to catch up. Wil laughed, steering closer to him again, then away just to fuck with him. Bran retaliated almost immediately, and they began speeding up down the street.
“Why the fuck are you so fast?” Bran yelled across to him.
“Why are you so slow?” Wil shouted back, doing a double take at the street sign beside them. “Shit!”
Bran looked over too, sharply turning his bike so he didn't miss the turn towards the river. Wil was still in the lead as they slowed down, hopping off their bikes.
“Are you actually going to go in the river today?” Bran questioned, tugging his bag off his shoulder and swinging it around.
Wil rolled his eyes, setting his bike against a tree beside Bran's. He didn't answer.
They walked down the beaten path, Bran throwing his bag at Wilson so he could pull his shirt off. Wil's eyes followed the motion, tracing the planes of Bran's chest. Pulling his eyes away, he turned to find a place to set their things.
He walked over to a grassy area, kicking a stick out of the way. The grass was slightly dried out, a dull yellow-green color even though it rained often enough. Wil pulled out an outdoor blanket, dropping the bag so he could set it down evenly. Bran was already splashing into the water as Wil sat down, wading across the river so he could scale the tree hanging over it.
Wil leaned back, pulling his shirt off and propping himself up with his arms, content to just watch his friend splash around. Letting his eyes flutter shut as they pleased, Wilson let time blur as the sun beat down on his skin.
After what could've been minutes or hours, cold water droplets rained onto his face and chest, shocking his eyes open. Bran stood above him, a smug grin on his face.
“Come into the river with me, Wiiiil,” he dragged out Wilson's name, a teasing lilt to the words.
Bran reached out, arms grabbing to pull Wil toward the river. Scooting back, he couldn't help but feel a laugh bubble up out of his throat. It felt good to finally relax and just let go after stressing so much over graduating high school.
Finally, Brando was able to get a hold on his forearms, tugging him up and causing Wilson to stumble, both of them staggering towards the water as they pushed and pulled on each other. Wilson could feel Bran's touch—ever careful as not to hurt Wil—gripping his arms, and brushing against his chest. The contact was like fire, but not the dangerous type. The type that you'd warm your hands by in the winter, the type that would make a house feel like a home. The kind that you'd roast marshmallows over in the summer, laughing with your friends as someone strummed a guitar. It made Wilson feel like for the first time in his life, he could trust someone he loved to love him back.
And by the soft tilt of Bran's smile, ticking up when Wilson laughed, it seemed like maybe he could feel it too. Hope was a deadly thing, but Wilson couldn't help but wish that each glance meant something more, that each glance revealed that he wasn't alone in his feelings.
Maybe just once he could have something that just existed without the constant pressure on himself to be exactly what's expected and needed of him.
He let himself be twirled around, basking in the affection sewn into each movement of the lighthearted tussle before he was pushed back. His arms stayed latched onto Bran as he fell, dragging the other into the water as well. The river did nothing to dull the fire, but that made Wilson feel a bit glad. He broke the surface, gasping a laugh as he looked around, seeing Bran pop up as well. Brando tried to shake the water off himself, nearly stumbling into Wil in the process.
Wil caught Bran's arm, steadying him as the other looked up grinning.
Their eyes met and Brando seemed to almost straighten, holding his gaze. The water weaved through their legs, and they shifted with it slightly, though they didn't look away. It felt different from the searching looks of Wil's father whenever he was home, always looking to see if Wilson did any irreparable thing like existing too hard in either way. With Bran it felt like he was being searched like he meant something, like Bran wanted to know everything about him. For a second, Brando's eyes flicked down to Wilson's lips, and his heart stuttered, feeling the weight of the gaze.
“I wasn't going to get in the river,” Wil said slowly, eyes never wavering from Bran's face.
“Hmm.” Came the reply, Bran tearing his gaze away like it physically hurt. “Well you're in now.”
“Yeah,” said Wil, trying to get his brain to move on from the… moment? Was that considered a moment? What the fuck just happened?
Thoughts still spinning, he ducked down, letting the water close above his head again. The heat of the sun was stronger now that it approached midday, and after the moment with Bran broke, the reality of the heat scorched his head and body. The cooling water felt amazing over his head, and for a moment he just let himself get lost in the peace of the river.
Resurfacing, Wilson tried to stop his gaze from lingering on the other boy too much as he made his way to the tree on the side of the river opposite their set up. Sneaking a glance at Bran, he saw the other beginning to wade out of the water presumably to dry off. The rough bark used to hurt his hands as he climbed, but after years of sneaking out and scaling things, hard calluses formed on the formerly soft parts of his hands. Gripping a branch, he pulled himself up onto the part of the trunk leaning over the water, swinging his legs over the side to dangle them over the river.
He snuck a glance back over at Bran as he did so, quickly looking away when he found him staring right back. He was laid out on the blanket the same way Wil must have been earlier, and Wil had the thought that it was almost like they'd swapped positions exactly. His gaze swept the water as he tried to stop wondering if he was having the same thoughts Wil had had too.
Pushing himself off the tree, he allowed himself to let out a little whoop as he fell, water crashing as it shot up around him. The liquid was a contrast to the eyes he could still feel burning on him, and he let himself relax. Wil resurfaced, running a hand through his hair to stop the water from running into his eyes. Inevitably, he looked back to Bran with a smile, starting to trudge out of the river.
Brando tossed him a towel, finishing off his lemonade and crushing the packet around the straw in his hand. Wilson caught the towel, pulling it around his shoulders as he sat next to Bran on the blanket. He stabbed his own straw into a pouch, practically drinking half the lemonade in a few seconds.
“How long have we been here?” Wil questioned, poking himself with the end of the straw. The sun was much higher in the sky now, and gray clouds were starting to surround the blue.
“Uhm, I don't know, maybe three hours?”
“Shit, three hours? Did I fall asleep?”
Bran shrugged, picking up their trash and shoving it into the bag. “Maybe. I think we spent like forty-five minutes in there when you were awake.” He smiled again, looking like he'd just thought of something. “Oh, wait, you play guitar right? Do you sing too?”
Wilson blinked. Shit, did he see the lyrics? “Um, yeah. What's up?”
“Just wondering. I guess I thought it'd maybe be fun to sing with you. I've never really heard you play anything… sorry, I know that's stupid.”
Wil shifted, perking up. “Wait, no, that's not stupid. I think that'd be fun. I didn't know you sang.”
“Oh,” Bran fidgeted with the bag strings, picking it up and moving so he could roll up the blanket. “Yeah, I don't really sing in front of anyone, but I do like it.”
Wilson stood up to free the blanket so Bran could pack it up, lips curling into a smile. “Wanna head back now?” He said, already beginning to walk up the path, taking the towel he had off of his shoulders and throwing it at Bran.
Brando had already started to get up, catching the towel just before it hit his face and quickly stuffing it into the bag.
As they headed up the trail, thunder boomed above them. A gust blew past, ruffling Wil's hair, and he looked up. “Good timing, I guess. Looks like a storm might come in.”
Brando hummed in agreement, walking a little faster.
Their bikes were where they left them, leaning against a tree. Bran's had fallen over, and he picked it up quickly, brushing a bit of dirt off. Wilson wheeled his back onto the path too, a drop of rain landing on the seat as he got onto it. “Why did we even bother drying off?” He scoffed, kicking off and beginning to bike with Bran behind him.
“Uh, because we were too busy to see the clouds? You're quite distracting, you know.” He cocked his head, grinning.
Wilson nearly tipped over his bike, and Brando sped past him as it wobbled. Did Bran just fucking flirt with him? He peddled after him, another rain drop landing on his face. Surely not. But then again, friends flirted all the time. That was very very normal platonic behavior. Yup, Wil could deal with this.
Raindrops hit his hand as they made the turn onto Wilson's street, Bran laughing as Wil made a move to pass him. The sound made Wil grin involuntarily, and he briefly thought how he wished it could just stay like this forever. He'd take anything as long as Bran was always there with him.
The bike skidded as he gripped the brakes, coming to a stop by his mailbox. He looked back, finding that Bran had already stopped too. They wheeled their bikes toward the garage to get them out of the rain, Wilson dipping his head as a drop nearly hit him in the eye.
As he set his bike down he looked over at Bran with a smile. “Well I guess you'll be going through the door for the first time in a while, huh?”
Brando rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. What do we have to work with for lunch?”
Wilson opened the door, backing into the house. “Um, I think we have sandwich stuff? Bread, peanut butter, jam, turkey, ham, cheese, lettuce, you know.” He counted out each thing on his fingers, tilting his head at Bran.
The other boy followed him into the house, closing the door carefully behind him. “Ham, cheese, and lettuce sounds good. I can make you one too, if you want. I'm guessing you want peanut butter and jelly?”
“Yeah,” Wil nodded. “Thanks. I'll set up a mattress for you so we don't have to do it later.”
They parted ways, and suddenly it was like all the thoughts Wilson had put on the backburner in favor of paying attention to Bran came flooding back. All the little moments Wil had dismissed because he didn't think it was possible for Bran to like him, all the little quips that could have been light attempts at flirting, all the playful teasing, and how Bran always seemed to gravitate towards him in a room. Little things that added up to form one big, dangerous thing: even more fucking hope.
As Wilson took out the extra mattress they used for sleepovers, he tried to push back the feeling, but the more it invaded his head, the more it took root, more and more things adding to the possibility that Brando liked him back. He dragged the mattress across the hallway to his room, only knocking over a few things in the process. Once he had it situated in a good spot, he wiped his brow, little droplets of sweat beading there from the combined heat of the summer and the effort to move the heavy mattress. If Wilson knew one thing about hope, it was that it was dangerous. Hope led not only to heartbreak, but made Wil reckless. Once he had a taste of the possibility of something, he would push his luck. Hope made him drunk, muddled his judgement and made him desperate.
He ran a hand through his hair, inevitably deciding—against better judgement—that he should sing something for Bran later. It would be good to get an outside opinion on his music before he sent out the demos he’d created. Wil looked around his room, everywhere seeing traces of himself and Bran. Polaroids of the two, clothes that neither knew the original owner of anymore, and the little doodles that Bran liked to leave on his paper. He couldn’t imagine himself without Brando, his pillar, his friend, his life.
The stairs creaked lightly as he made his way back down, padding into the kitchen to find Bran putting the bread back into the fridge.
“Mattress is all set. How are the sandwiches coming along?”
Bran gestured toward the table, face breaking into a grin when he saw Wil. “Done. Wanna eat down here, or upstairs?”
Wil picked up his plate, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Upstairs,” he tried to say, smiling at Bran, who was already picking his up to follow Wilson.
☆★🍀✪⚓★☆
After they'd eaten, Wil had managed to get Bran's Mario Kart game on the TV, and proceeded to actually beat his ass at it. He leaned slightly to the side, eyes focused on the screen as he gripped the controller. His Bowser icon swerved in front of Bran's Luigi, dropping a banana peel in its wake. Luigi slipped, and Brando groaned.
“How are you so good at this game?”
Wil smirked, setting the controller down as he came in first place. Again. “Maybe you're just bad at it.”
“Okay, then teach me.” Bran looked over at Wilson expectantly.
A thought popped into Wilson's head, and with a smile, he scooted closer.
He placed Bran's hand back on the controller, intentionally leaning his leg up against Bran's. Wilson maneuvered so that they were both holding the controller comfortably, Wil's hands covering Bran's. Looking down quickly, he was mildly surprised to see that his own hands were a bit bigger that Brando's, and more callused from playing his guitar.
Pushing down the whirlwind in his chest, he moved Bran's fingers to start a new race. As the countdown began, he pressed them down on the acceleration button, trying his best to ignore how he was practically on top of Bran in their current position. “This is the accelerate button. You kinda want to press that at the start. I didn't see you use it, but you know, I had important business to attend to. Like winning.”
Bran scoffed, seeming to regain control of himself as he pushed down on the button too. Wilson tilted the controller, leaning into Brando probably more than he needed to as he helped him steer.
“I know how to steer it, Wilson.” He said, playfully glaring at him.
“I know. Maybe I just like being in control,” Wilson grinned. “Eyes on the road, babe.”
As he turned back to the screen, he saw Bran turn red out of the corner of his eye, fingers fumbling a bit on the controller. Wilson pretended he didn't notice, subtly taking over the buttons again.
Luigi crossed the finish line, 2nd place glaring on the screen. Suppose that's the price to pay for a little fun.
“Much better now, hm?” Wil turned back to Bran, looking smug.
“I guess,” Bran mumbled, cheeks still burning.
Wilson stored that image away in his memory, pulling away slightly, but leaving his leg leaning against Bran's. Maybe I do have a shot. “Should we have dinner, or no?”
Brando blinked for a second, seemingly not hearing him, until something in his expression seemed to click. “Probably a little bit, but I'm not that hungry. How about you?”
Wilson scrunched up his face, thinking over the options. “Yeah, I agree. I could get us some chips?”
Bran nodded, picking up both controllers and setting them on the table in front of the TV.
Wilson wandered into the kitchen, unable to stop himself from smiling as he got the Popcorners—specifically the spicy queso flavor; that was Bran's favorite—out of the cupboard. He headed back into the living room to go up the stairs, finding Bran still standing there waiting for him.
He stopped for a second, processing the shy look on his best friend’s face. Wilson looked down, offering him the chips as they started upstairs.
Wilson could feel an unspoken tension between him and Bran, but not exactly the bad kind. The kind that was made of assurance, and glances barely contained. Wil settled on his bed, pulling his guitar onto his lap and placing down his notebook.
He started strumming chords, humming along with the lyrics he'd written. “Bran?”
Brando settled onto the other half of Wil's bed, as close as he could be without bumping Wil's guitar. “Yeah?”
“I'm going to try and find a record label. For my music, that is.”
Bran looked up, meeting his eyes with an excited expression that made Wilson feel so fond of the other boy. “Wait really? That's so cool! Have you sent out demos yet? Is that how it works?”
“Um, I made the demo, but I've been waiting to send it out.” Wilson chuckled, relief coursing through him that Bran didn't find his plan weird.
“Is there any reason?”
Wilson strummed one last chord before taking a break. “Um, I'm not sure. I guess I want to make sure it's perfect first. Do you want to listen?”
Bran's face broke into a smile. “Uh, yeah!”
“I'll just play it on the guitar right here. Um, the first one is called Idle Town.”
Wilson looked down, slightly nervous about how Bran would react to the song. Moving his fingers to form the first chord, he began playing the intro. The lyrics flowed cleanly, months of practicing and perfecting the song taking over. Every once in a while, he would glance up to catch Brando's awestruck-but-fond face.
As Wilson finished up the song, the fading sun shone through his window to illuminate them in an orange glow. After he strummed the final note, he looked up, searching Bran's face for a reaction. The sun caught on his dirty blonde hair, making it almost glow, and painting his skin a soft gold as his eyes sparkled in the light. The sight nearly took Wilson's breath away, almost making him miss how Bran's eyes lingered on him too.
“Wow, Wil,” Bran tackled him in a hug, pushing his guitar off to the side so as not to crush it. “That was amazing, you'll do so well with your music, I can tell. You're super talented.”
Wilson flushed, face buried in Brando's neck. “Thanks, Bran.”
When Bran finally released him, Wilson moved his guitar somewhere safer, popping one of the chips into his mouth. They weren't his all time favorite, but he kept them in the cupboard because Bran loved them.
“Do you want to go on the roof?” Wil questioned, passing the chips to Bran.
“Sure. I'll grab a blanket.”
Wilson pushed the window up, fitting himself through the space and turning back to take the blanket from Bran. When they both got situated, Wilson set the blanket on their legs, tossing part of it onto Bran so he could flatten it out the way he liked to.
Leaning back, Wilson watched the sun dip completely below the horizon, building up the nerve to finally do something about the tension between him and Bran.
The clouds from the storm earlier were parted around where the sun had just disappeared, colors streaking through them, changing them from dark gray to a dusty orange. He and Brando fell into comfortable silence, the air charged between them as the sky dimmed into night.
Stars began to appear slowly, time seemingly speeding up until Wilson's voice finally pierced the quiet.
“Hey, Bran?”
“Yeah, Wil?” Bran turned to him, leaning back on the one hand he was using to prop himself up.
“Why do you have so many wishbones?” Bran seemed to collect the little bones, putting them into a jar to keep
Bran huffed, mouth ticking up into a smile. “I guess I have a lot of wishes.”
“Yeah, but doesn't it make you a little bit sad?”
“Why?”
Wilson looked down at his hand, moving his arm to lean back on it like Bran was doing. “Because someone always gets the short end of the stick.”
Brando moved the hand supporting himself next to Wil's, resting his fingers on top of his. “But there's still two ends.”
“So?” Wil looked up, freezing when he saw Bran was already staring at him.
Bran smiled, eyes flicking down to Wilson's lips as he spoke slowly. “Each person is still left with less than what they had, but they both get to keep some of it. I think there's a beauty in getting the shorter end and seeing the joy on someone else's face when they get the long end. I guess humans are conditioned to want the most for themselves, but I think it doesn't matter much when you're both aware you could lose. It's just one small thing, you know? There's always more to break, and one day you'll get your long end.”
Wil breathed out, eyes fluttering as Bran leaned in slightly, hand coming up to rest on Wilson's cheek. He could feel Bran's breath tickling his face as he whispered one last thing. “If neither breaks the wishbone, they're both the winner.”
And then finally, they were kissing. The soft press of Brando's lips against his was simultaneously everything he had imagined, and more than he could comprehend if it had never happened. It could birth a thousand lyrics, none of which could encompass the feeling of a piece of him finally sliding into place, making him whole. It was then he understood that Bran was his home, always and forever. Wil slid his free hand to the back of Bran's neck, scraping through his hair and gripping it to pull him closer. He moved his lips slightly, the kiss turning into more. He could have sworn Bran made a choked off sound at the tugging of his hair, and he filed that away for later.
When they finally parted for air, Wil scooted closer to him, leaning his forehead against Bran's as they caught their breath.
“Been waiting to do that,” Brando breathed.
Wilson chuckled, tilting his chin to steal another kiss. “I could definitely get used to it.”
“You'd better.”
That night, the mattress Wilson had gone through peril and suffering to drag into the room lay unused on the floor. The boys both slept in Wil's bed, peaceful faces illuminated by a shooting star briefly, blazing and beautiful, before it was gone.