Archive of Our Own

“Trev.”

No response.

“Trev, hey. Wake up.”

Still nothing. Brandon sighs and reaches out to shake him awake.

This is the third day in a row that he’s found Trevor asleep in the library during his study hall, head pillowed on his arms where they’re folded on the table. Brandon is supposed to be working out with the football team during this period, but he usually leaves a few minutes early to grab Trevor from the library before their next class. He has a tendency to get sucked into his work and miss the bell because he never takes his headphones off, so it’s Brandon’s self-appointed job to come collect him.

He had ditched halfway through today though, a bad feeling nagging at the back of his head telling him to go check on Trevor. Not only had he found him passed out the last two days, but this morning when they were waiting for the first bell to ring, Trevor had leaned into him a little too heavily to be casual, swaying on his feet before Brandon had caught him around the waist to steady him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but Trevor keeps brushing him off whenever he tries to ask, and he doesn’t really know what else to do.

Trevor startles under Brandon’s fingertips when he pushes them into his shoulder and lifts his head up blearily, blinking up at Brandon with a confused and sort of annoyed look on his face. The circles under his eyes are somehow darker than they were the day before.

“B? Is it already—” he cuts himself off, glancing at the clock on the wall, then glares at Brandon. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the gym?” His voice is rough from sleep.

“They let us out early.” The lie rolls off his tongue a little too easily, but he doesn’t want Trevor to get upset with him for ditching. These sorts of things are important to him in a way that Brandon never really understood, but he respects it nonetheless.

Trevor just sighs, and puts his head back down. “Gimme like, ten more minutes. Then we can go do whatever you want.”

Brandon shoots him a look, but his eyes are already closed. “Dude, what is up with you?”

“Nothing. Just tired.” The words are slurred, mumbled into his arms.

Brandon wants to keep pushing, but clearly they’re not getting anywhere with this conversation right now, not when Trevor’s breathing is already evening back out. Instead, he pulls his hoodie out of his backpack and balls it up, then picks Trevor’s head up so he can push it into his arms as a makeshift pillow.

“Wha— oh. Thanks.” Trevor settles back down, burying his face deep into the fabric. He’s asleep in a matter of seconds, Brandon’s hand still in his hair.

Brandon scratches his fingers gently on Trevor’s scalp, then forces himself to pull away, hands balled into fists in his lap, and resolves to deal with it tomorrow.

—

The next day isn’t any better, but at least it’s Friday. Not only is Trevor asleep when Brandon comes to get him, but he has to kick him under the desk three separate times in their next class to keep Trevor from falling asleep sitting up and falling out of his chair. It would be worrying on its own, but this is also their English class, which is Trevor’s favorite, even when he pretends it's not. Brandon has spent enough time listening to Trevor rant about the books they read to know how much he loves it—you can’t hate something that much if you don’t care about it.

Brandon doesn’t have practice today, so he darts to the other side of the school when the final bell rings, hoping to catch up with Trevor before he leaves with Rowan. He spots him at the end of the hallway and shoves through several random students to grab him by the backpack, tugging him back and then catching his shoulders so he doesn’t fall.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath from his mad dash through the building. He still has one of his hands on Trevor’s arm, and he can’t seem to make himself let go.

“Woah.” Trevor blinks at him, startled from getting dragged back without warning. Maybe Brandon should have thought that one through a little bit better. “What’s up? Isn’t your last class on the other side of campus?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to catch you before you left. Can I come over? I can drive you home.” He feels sort of stupid, all of a sudden, having run all the way here just for this, but he’s too committed to back out now, so he just puts on his best puppy eyes and hopes Trevor’s too exhausted to notice he’s being played.

Thankfully, he just laughs, looking at Brandon fondly. “Yeah, of course. You could have just texted me, you know. But yeah, lemme tell Rowan.”

He pulls out his phone, leaning some of his weight into Brandon’s arm while he taps away at the screen. Then he pockets it and heads out the door, and Brandon does his best not to miss his warmth when he leads Trevor to his car.

Trevor, by some miracle, stays conscious through the whole ride home. Brandon lets him have aux, as always, not that Trevor even asks anymore, just plugs his phone in before he’s even put on his seatbelt. He’s been listening to a lot of Radiohead lately. It only occurs to Brandon now that he should maybe be concerned about that.

They drop their backpacks in the kitchen and Trevor pulls a container of leftover pizza out of the fridge that they eat cold, Brandon leaning on the edge of the sink next to Trevor on his usual perch. Brandon has a brief thought about stepping between Trevor’s legs where he sits on the countertop, getting his hands up under his shirt, but he cuts it off before it can go anywhere. He feels too far away from Trevor though, suddenly itching to get closer in some way, so he takes a step forward so that Trevor’s knee presses into his side, and it calms his brain down enough that he can finish eating without doing something he’s going to regret.

Trevor tosses the container in the sink and slides off the counter, turning like he’s heading for the living room, but Brandon quickly pulls them the other way to Trevor’s room instead, pointedly not looking back at him.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He tries to make it sound casual, but he’s pretty sure he misses the mark.

Trevor stops in his tracks, just outside his bedroom door. “Do I want to watch a movie? Like, yeah, always. Do you want to watch a movie?”

It’s true that this is, admittedly, out of character for Brandon. Though they watch movies together all the time, it’s almost always because Trevor says they’re watching a movie and Brandon is too stupid about him to say no. He’s usually more of a video games kind of guy. However, video games require active participation, and right now the goal is to get Trevor to go to sleep, so movie it is. He can’t tell Trevor this though, so he lies again instead.

“Yeah, I honestly just want to lie down, I’m wiped.”

Trevor narrows his eyes for a second but seems to accept this, because he turns around and heads back to the kitchen and returns with his laptop in hand, herding Brandon onto the bed.

He lets Trevor pick the movie, and tries not to get too upset when Trevor puts the laptop down between their bodies so he doesn’t have an excuse to get closer.

They curl up on either side of the bed, facing each other like twin parentheses, and Brandon does his best to pay attention to the screen, but he’s hyper aware of Trevor’s breathing next to him, waiting desperately for it to slow down and even out the way it always does when he falls asleep. Brandon knows it by heart. When they went to camp together, Trevor used to get scared sometimes at night, and he confessed to Brandon once that he hated being the last one to fall asleep. Brandon hadn’t been sure why he cared so much, but he spent the rest of their time there waiting for Trevor to fall asleep before he did, tossing and turning so Trevor knew he wasn’t alone. It didn’t take long for him to memorize the exact pattern of his breathing, listening intently for it every night in the bunk next to his. It was pathetic. But every time he thought about just saying fuck it and going to sleep, he couldn’t make himself do it. He did the same thing every summer after that and never said a word about it.

Trevor puts up a valiant fight, but he only lasts about twenty minutes before his eyes start slipping shut, and a few minutes later his breathing evens out the way Brandon knew it would. He quietly closes the laptop and puts it on the nightstand, then drops his head down on the pillow across from Trevor’s. His features are soft in sleep, the usual tension gone from his brow. His lips are parted slightly, and his eyelashes are dark against his cheeks.

Brandon lays there for several minutes letting his eyes roam over Trevor’s sleeping face, memorizing the details in a way he never really gets to. It feels like an indulgence. He reaches his hand out as carefully as he can, trying desperately not to shift the bed, and swipes his thumb gently over Trevor’s warm cheek. He wants to pull him closer, do something stupid and reckless like kiss his forehead. He’s not really sure where these urges come from, but he’s usually good enough at ignoring them—he’s had a lifetime of practice. He holds back, but he doesn’t want to leave just yet. He just got here anyway, and if Trevor wakes up ten minutes from now he has to be here to make sure he goes back to sleep.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling into the pillow under his face. It smells like the boy in front of him. He pushes in a little further, and lets the steady rhythm of Trevor’s breathing lull him to sleep.

—

When he wakes up a little while later, Trevor is still asleep and the sun is significantly lower in the sky. There’s a blanket draped over his body, matching the one on top of Trevor, and there’s a sticky note stuck to his forehead. He peels it off and reads the neat, loopy writing.

brownies on the counter. not the weed kind. enjoy :)

Rowan. He really doesn’t deserve her. She had effectively ended whatever they had going on after everything was finally over, telling him very simply that she wasn’t interested in dating anyone for a while, but that she really valued his friendship and didn’t want to lose that. It was a little weird at first, but it was also probably for the best considering the whole situation with Trevor. He was uncomfortably aware of the effect that his relationship with Rowan was having on him, knew exactly how upset Trevor got when Brandon’s attention was on her instead of him. If it was bad before, it got infinitely worse when he got out of juvie and they were suddenly living under the same roof. He’s not proud of it, but he’s spent years chasing girls just to crawl back into the safety of Trevor’s bed when it’s over, never truly able to shake the part of him that wants to stay there forever, and hating himself for it every single time. Trevor usually pulled away from Brandon whenever he had a new girl he was after, and they would only start hanging out again when Brandon decided he was over her. Brandon didn’t realize how much of a difference that made until he wasn’t afforded that luxury anymore. Instead of being out of sight, out of mind, Trevor was there, every single day, haunting his every interaction with Rowan. It wasn’t until after they fought, watching Trevor downing vodka straight from a bottle he pulled from god knows where, tears streaming down his face, that it really started to sink in that it was never going to work.

They made up eventually. Things have been… better, since then. He’s working on it anyway. Starting with this, whatever it is. Taking care of Trevor in whatever way he can.

He slowly maneuvers himself out of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress and accidentally wake Trevor. He leaves the sticky note in the empty space where he had just vacated, and carefully pulls the blanket up higher around Trevor’s shoulders before grabbing his own discarded blanket and laying it on top of the one already covering him. He stands there for another minute watching Trevor’s back rise and fall, debating whether or not he should just crawl back in, but he’s probably already overstayed his welcome, so he takes a deep breath and heads back to the kitchen to grab his backpack, shoving a brownie in his mouth as he goes. He makes a mental note to thank Rowan later.

On second thought, he turns back around and heads for Trevor’s room again, tugging his hoodie out of his bag as he goes. He keeps it in there for Trevor anyway, who runs colder than Brandon does and never wants to bring his own. Trevor has always had clothes-stealing tendencies, is known to snatch Brandon’s sweaters if he leaves them laying around unsupervised. At camp, he used to take t-shirts right out of Brandon’s duffel bag, and he’d go all red when Brandon caught him wearing them, but he never stopped. He always returns the clothes eventually, leaves them in the back of Brandon’s car or stuffed in his backpack. Sometimes they smell like his laundry detergent, clean and folded, and sometimes he gives them back freshly worn, still carrying the scent of sweat and boy. Brandon prefers the latter, not that he would ever tell Trevor that. He won’t wash them until the last of the smell has faded. It’s kind of gross, but he can’t seem to stop.

He drops the sweatshirt on Trevor’s bed, just in case he wants it, just in case it brings him some kind of comfort when he wakes up and Brandon isn’t there anymore. Then he finally turns, and walks out the door.

—

Around midnight, he shoots a text to Rowan, hoping she’s still awake.

Brandon: hey, is trev still asleep?

Rowan: he hasn’t come out of his room I don’t think

Rowan: ill go check

Rowan: do u need me to wake him up for u?

Brandon: no, let him sleep. i just wanted to check

Brandon: hes been falling asleep in class all week

Rowan: [Attachment: 1 Image]

Brandon: thank you :)

He closes his phone, and then opens it right back up again and saves the picture to his camera roll. Trevor is fast asleep in the same position Brandon had left him in, but he has one arm reaching outside the blankets, fingers clutched in the hoodie Brandon had left behind. He turns back to his video game and tries not to think too much about the fluttering in his chest.

—

When the boys meet up at the Grotto the next night, Trevor looks a little bit better, and Brandon heaves a sigh of relief. He’s wearing the hoodie, and Brandon doesn’t tease him the way he wants to but he tugs on the sleeve when Sean isn’t looking, smiling stupidly at Trevor, just to watch the blush crawl up his cheeks. Brandon brings him home and then decides to follow him inside, just in case. He doesn’t ask, but Trevor just grabs his laptop and doesn’t say anything when Brandon kicks his shoes off and starts digging in Trevor’s drawer for pajama pants.

Trevor falls asleep under the covers this time, watching the same movie as the night before. Brandon watches his eyelids start to droop before he finally succumbs to sleep, curled up on his side with his hands tucked up under his chin. It’s stupidly endearing. Once he’s put the laptop away, Brandon scoots a few inches closer before he closes his eyes, letting one of his hands rest on the pillow between them. Just in case.

—

When he wakes up the next morning, the sun is just starting to come up and Trevor has two of his fingers hooked over Brandon’s pinky. He reluctantly drags himself out of bed, carefully sliding his hand out of Trevor’s hold, pointedly ignoring every part of his brain begging him to stay. It’s better if he gets home before his dad wakes up. Trevor knows the drill.

He changes back into his jeans as quietly as he can, and he’s about to pull on last night’s hoodie when he spots the one Trevor had been wearing and makes the quick decision to swap them out, leaving his own on the bed and tugging the other one over his head.

He had only worn it for one night, but it smells like Trevor when Brandon tucks his face in the hood, taking a deep breath in the front seat of his car before he finally forces himself to drive home.

—

On Monday, Trevor’s almost good as new. When Brandon comes wandering into the library five minutes earlier than usual, he has a homework assignment spread out in front of him and his whole face lights up when he sees Brandon walking over, tongue between his teeth in a stupid grin that makes Brandon’s stomach backflip.

When he’s still alright on Tuesday and Wednesday, Brandon is ready to chalk it up to a bad week and forget all about it.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get that lucky.

—

On Thursday, it all starts to fall apart. The day starts out alright—Trevor is wearing Brandon’s sweatshirt, and he leans into him a little more than usual when they’re waiting by their lockers in the morning, but Brandon doesn’t think much of it. Not until study hall, when he finds Trevor curled up in the fetal position in his chair, arms wrapped tight around his legs and face buried in his knees. There’s an assignment abandoned on the table, pages full of scribbled notes scattered haphazardly. Brandon stops short, not wanting to startle him.

“Trev?”

He doesn’t get a response. He tries a little louder, and still nothing. Trevor can’t possibly be comfortable—his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his sleeves.

Brandon takes a careful step forward and moves to shake Trevor’s shoulder, but he hesitates and pulls back right before his fingers touch the fabric. He doesn’t want to scare him, not when it looks like Trevor might jump out of his skin if anyone gets too close—he doesn’t want to make whatever this is any worse.

Instead, he sits down in the chair next to him and reaches out to gently rake his fingers through Trevor’s hair, whispering quietly to try and soften the blow.

“Hey, Trev, c’mon, it’s just me. You gotta wake up, we have class. T?”

It works, almost. He feels Trevor jolt, his head jerking up, but he drops it back down the second he sees who it is, his eyes slipping back shut. Brandon heaves a sigh of relief and starts to pull away, but Trevor suddenly shoots an arm out to grab his wrist, holding his hand in place with a surprisingly tight grip. A startled laugh escapes Brandon’s mouth, but he puts his fingers back in Trevor’s hair and resumes his petting without complaint. He’s never been very good at saying no to him.

The tension slowly dissipates from Trevor’s limbs, his hold loosening until he finally lets go of his sleeves and unfolds one of his legs. His head lolls to press his cheek to the other knee, face turned towards Brandon.

Brandon feels sort of silly sitting in the middle of the library like this, arm stretched awkwardly between the two of them, but then he watches as a slow smile creeps its way onto Trevor’s face when he finally blinks his eyes open again, and decides he doesn’t actually care—it’s not like any of his other friends would be hanging out here either way.

On their way out, he slings an arm over Trevor’s shoulders and tugs him close, barely suppressing the urge to press a kiss into the side of his head.

Trevor stays awake through English class, but maybe only because Brandon spends the entire period doodling on the edges of Trevor’s notes page just so he can watch him pretend to get mad. Neither of them get any work done, but Brandon’s just glad Trevor’s eyes stay open.

He tries to remind himself that they only need to get through one more day of this as, but it does nothing to ease the sinking feeling in his gut as he and Trevor part ways. He does his best to swallow it down, and waits until Trevor disappears around the corner before he turns around and heads to his last class.

—

On Friday, everything goes to shit. When he sees Trevor before class, he can barely stand on his own two feet, and Brandon spends all morning trying and failing to ignore the creeping feeling of dread.

He only lasts ten minutes into weightlifting before he slips out the door, all but running across campus to the library. He expects to find Trevor in a similar position to yesterday—he doesn’t expect him to not be there at all.

Brandon takes three laps of the entire library, the pit in his stomach growing deeper by the minute, but it becomes clear pretty quickly that Trevor’s not here.

He doesn’t know where else he could be. Trevor doesn’t drive his own car to school anymore, so he couldn’t have left—he hasn’t skipped class since last semester anyway. The empty classroom they used to hang out in is actually being used this year, and they haven’t found a suitable replacement yet. Brandon can’t think of anywhere else he could have gone. He paces back and forth in the hallway, his where are you? text to Trevor going unanswered.

He opens up a thread to Rowan instead. She’s in class right now, but she keeps her phone on her at all times, so it’s worth a shot.

Brandon: do u know where trev is??

Brandon: he’s not in the library i can’t find him

Rowan: aren’t u supposed to be lifting?

Brandon: yeah i just went to check on him he was acting weird this morning

Rowan: okay hang on i have his location

Rowan: [Attachment: 1 Image]

Rowan: the parking lot i guess?

Brandon: tysm

The door is already swinging shut behind him before the last text is even sent. He beelines for Rowan’s car, breaking into a jog when he spots it across the lot.

The car is empty. Brandon checks his phone again, but still no response from Trevor. There’s only one more place he can think to look, and if Trevor’s not there he might have a panic attack in the middle of the parking lot. He doesn’t even know why he’s this worked up—Trevor is his own person, he doesn’t need checking on, and Brandon knows that, he does, but something’s just been off lately and Brandon doesn’t like when things are out of his control.

He peers in the window of his own car, and sure enough, there’s a body curled up in the backseat, head pillowed on his backpack. Relief floods through Brandon’s system so fast he gets a head rush and has to close his eyes, pushing his forehead into the roof of the car.

He takes a deep breath and pulls the back door open, realizing half a second too late that he should’ve been a little more gentle with it, but the damage has already been done. Trevor’s head jerks up, eyes searching frantically until they land on Brandon. He sighs and drops his head back down on the backpack.

“You’re supposed to be lifting. Don’t try to tell me they let you out early again, I know you’re lying.”

Brandon feels his cheeks burn—he really thought he had gotten away with that one. He ignores the comment and climbs into the backseat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Trevor has no choice but to push himself up so that Brandon can fit, making a noise of displeasure as his backpack gets tossed to the floor. Brandon just shushes him gently, sliding into the seat and pulling Trevor’s head back down into his lap. His fingers find their way into Trevor’s curls and Trevor nuzzles his cheek into Brandon’s thigh in response, pushing his face into Brandon’s stomach.

“Sorry.” His voice is muffled by Brandon’s shirt and his eyes are squeezed shut like he’s afraid Brandon might actually be upset with him.

Brandon slides his hand over to rub his thumb over Trevor’s cheekbone, fingers splayed over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

Trevor is quiet for the next few minutes, but Brandon knows he’s still awake. He’s trying to decide whether he should say something or not when he notices Trevor slowly sliding a hand up between his body and the backrest towards Brandon’s free hand that’s resting on the seat there. He wordlessly flips his palm up in offering, and Trevor hooks his pointer and middle fingers with Brandon’s, holding tight like he’s scared Brandon might take it back.

He doesn’t.

Brandon doesn’t realize how tense Trevor had been until he finally relaxes, settling into Brandon’s hold with a quiet exhale. He’s asleep in minutes, breathing finally evening out deep and slow.

—

They don’t make it to English class.

Brandon loses track of time sitting there in the quiet backseat listening to Trevor’s steady exhales. He keeps combing his fingers through Trevor’s hair even once he’s passed out, the repetitive motions helping quiet his thoughts.

He’s stuck in a sort of trance there, eyes locked on Trevor’s sleeping form, when all of a sudden he’s startled out of it by a tap on the window next to him. He spins his head and sees Rowan peering through the glass at them, eyebrows furrowed. He blinks dazedly at her, reluctantly taking his hand out of Trevor’s hair so he can crack the door open.

“Have you been out here since you texted me? How are you not suffocating in there?” She seems more concerned than upset.

Brandon instinctively moves his hand to cover Trevor’s ear, afraid her voice might wake him up. He doesn’t respond though. She knows the answer, she just wants to hear him say it. But he does take a second to notice though that yeah, actually, it is getting pretty stuffy inside the car despite the cracked windows. There’s sweat pricking at his hairline, but he doesn’t want to move his hands to wipe it away.

Rowan just sighs when it becomes clear Brandon isn’t going to answer. “C’mon, just bring him home. We can skip last period.”

She reaches inside the car to scratch her nails through the short hairs at the base of Trevor’s neck and Brandon has to suppress the urge to pull her hand off, to not let anyone other than him touch Trevor ever again. It’s silly—they’re stepsiblings, they live in the same house, Rowan has every right to invade his space—but Brandon’s baser protective instincts are making themselves known. Rowan is right though—they probably should get Trevor home, and he needs to be awake for that, so he holds himself back while she rouses him.

Trevor groans lowly, pushing his face further into Brandon’s stomach, and his fingers tighten where they’re still tangled with Brandon’s. Brandon instinctively tightens his too. Rowan leans over to scratch his back and Brandon slides his other hand over Trevor’s curls again.

“C’mon babe, time to get up,” Rowan says softly.

Trevor perks up at the sound of Rowan’s voice, and he rolls his head over to peer up at her, eyes squinting in the sunlight.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Rowan drags her hand up his back and slides it up to his face to cup Trevor’s cheek. He pushes into it in a way that looks almost unconscious, looking up at her curiously.

“Came to check on you. Decided we’re all gonna go home and ditch last period.”

Trevor hums in response and it turns into a yawn, his jaw cracking in Rowan’s hand. “Okay.”

Brandon finally accepts defeat and takes his hand out of Trevor’s hair to help push him up into a sitting position. He’s remarkably pliant like this, going wherever Brandon puts him, and he tries not to think about it too hard so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

Once Trevor’s sitting up on his own, Brandon forces himself to get out of the backseat, but he doesn’t let go of Trevor’s fingers until he’s all the way out of the car and he absolutely has to. If Rowan notices, she doesn’t say anything. She just ruffles Brandon’s hair when he walks past and leans in the car to press a kiss to Trevor’s cheek before shutting the door.

“See you at home!” she calls as she walks away.

Brandon passes the aux cord to Trevor in the back and starts the car.

The three of them spend the rest of the evening sprawled out on the couch watching whatever weird movies Trevor picks, Brandon and Rowan on either side of him in an unconsciously protective sort of arrangement. Trevor’s legs are tangled with Rowan’s and his upper body is leaning back against Brandon, who spends the whole time paying more attention to the rise and fall of Trevor’s back against him than the actual movies, trailing his fingers idly up and down Trevor’s arm.

When he crawls into bed with Trevor that night, Brandon leaves his hand out between them, palm up in offering. He only has to wait a few seconds before he feels Trevor’s fingers wrap around his and pull them under the covers. Brandon keeps very still and counts Trevor’s breaths until he falls asleep, and only then does he let himself follow.

—

Brandon doesn’t see Trevor for the rest of the weekend, but he seems alright on Monday and Tuesday, just like the week before. If the pattern persists, he’ll have at least another day before he needs to start worrying. The thought isn’t as comforting as he wants it to be.

But it doesn’t matter anyway, because on Tuesday night, just as he’s getting into bed, his phone lights up with a text from Trevor.

Trevor: hey

Trevor: are u up?

The texts seem unsuspecting enough, but given Trevor’s recent behaviour, the fact that he’s texting Brandon this late is almost definitely not a good sign. He responds quickly, already climbing out from under the covers and grabbing the t-shirt he discarded a minute ago.

Brandon: yeah whats up?

Trevor: can u come over?

Trevor: i know its a school night

Trevor: u dont have to

Brandon: ill be there in ten

Brandon knows this is a bad idea. He can’t make a habit of coming running every time Trevor calls. But it's unlike Trevor to ask for something outright like this, which makes this whole situation particularly concerning. He considers texting Rowan and asking her to deal with it, but he doesn’t want to put that on her. So instead he grabs his shoes and his keys and an extra hoodie, and quietly climbs out his window.

Ten minutes later, he’s dragging Trevor’s bedroom window open and tossing his stuff through before he follows. Once he’s inside, the sight that greets him makes his stomach drop. Trevor is curled up on top of the covers, on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest. He has his arms wrapped tight around his torso like he’s trying to mimic a hug. He doesn’t react when Brandon drops to his knees beside the bed, and Brandon is growing more concerned by the second. Trevor’s breathing is shaky and way too fast, and when Brandon’s eyes adjust to the dark room he realizes that Trevor's face is soaked with tears, still streaming down his face onto the covers.

Brandon tries really hard not to panic. He reaches out with an unsteady hand and brushes Trevor’s hair back off his face.

“Hey, Trev, hey… what’s wrong?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, and he doesn’t get one. The only acknowledgment Trevor gives that he even hears him is a subtle shake of his head, his eyes squeezing shut. He tightens his fingers in his sides, his knuckles white from how hard he’s pressing into his own ribs.

Brandon keeps stroking his hair, at a complete loss for what to do. He’s never seen Trevor like this, at least not this bad. But Trevor had texted him, which means he’s relying on Brandon to do something, anything, so he pointedly ignores all the voices in the back of his head telling him he really shouldn't be doing this and gets to his feet.

Careful not to jostle him too much, Brandon climbs up and over Trevor and slots himself behind him on the bed. There’s no way he can pry Trevor’s arms up so he just slides his own right underneath them around his torso, pulling his body flush to the warm line of Trevor’s back.

He holds him tight to his chest, hyper aware of the way Trevor’s entire body is trembling against his and the fact that he’s barely getting any air into his lungs. He tucks his legs up and pushes his other arm under Trevor's head as carefully as he can to support his neck, his wet cheek smearing against the inside of Brandon’s bicep. Trevor is balled up too tight for it to be a proper spoon, but Brandon tries to curl around him as best as he can.

He spends the next several minutes taking deep, measured breaths, hoping it encourages Trevor to match it. He is, truthfully, scared out of his mind. He knows Trevor is still crying because he can feel the tears soaking his upper arm, and he has absolutely no idea how long he’s been like this. He can’t stop thinking about Trevor sending those texts, panicking in his bedroom all alone, pretending nothing was wrong like he was scared Brandon would say no. He squeezes him a little bit tighter.

Slowly but surely, Trevor’s breathing gets a bit steadier, and his grip starts to loosen. Brandon just breathes through it with him, keeping his hold secure as Trevor slowly melts back into his arms, fingers unhooking from his shirt and knees pulling away from his chest. Brandon sweeps his thumb over Trevor’s stomach and rubs his nose into the hair at the back of his head, hoping the physical sensations might give him something to focus on.

Then, all at once, Trevor twists himself around in his arms and buries his face in Brandon’s neck, gasping wetly against his throat. His hands clutch in Brandon’s t-shirt and he shoves one of his legs between Brandon’s, pressing his whole body as close as he can like he’d crawl inside Brandon’s ribcage if he could.

“Trev, hey, it’s okay, you’re alright, I’m right here, shhh, you’re okay,” Brandon starts rambling into Trevor’s curls, rubbing his hand up and down his back in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

Trevor’s crying hard, sobs wracking his whole body, but it’s not as scary as when he wasn’t moving at all—the sound of his gasping cries is so much better than the horrible silence from a few minutes ago. He keeps whispering softly to him, trying desperately to calm him back down again.

“C’mon T, take a deep breath, you’re gonna make yourself sick. Just breathe, you got it, you’re alright, c’mon.” He can’t tell if it’s helping at all, but it makes him feel better to try.

It takes a long time, but Trevor eventually starts to quiet. He lets go of Brandon’s shirt and slides his arms around his waist, shoving one of them underneath Brandon’s body to wrap him in a tight hug. Relief starts to flood Brandon’s system and he feels his own muscles start to relax in response. He moves his hand to pet Trevor’s hair, more for himself than for Trevor at this point. He keeps his breathing deep and steady, and finally Trevor starts to match him, still a little shaky, but breathing in time with Brandon nonetheless.

He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do now. The collar of his t-shirt is soaked with snot and tears, but Trevor hasn’t made any move to pull his face out so he leaves it be. Brandon still has no idea why Trevor freaked out this bad in the first place. He thinks maybe he should make Trevor talk to him, but it feels cruel to force anything out of him right now.

It doesn’t end up mattering anyway. By the time he decides he should try and get some answers out of him, he realizes that Trevor is out cold against his front, breathing steadily into his neck. His arms are still locked around Brandon, legs tangled up.

It’s at this point that the reality of their position starts to sink in. He doesn’t ever let himself get this close to anyone. And yet, as he so often does, Trevor has become the exception. It feels so natural holding Trevor close like this, their bodies pressed flush together from head to toe. Brandon hates the way his own body is shutting down from the proximity, eyelids heavy, like there’s some part of him that feels safe enough here to let him sleep even though it’s a school night, even though he has to be back by sunrise or he’s fucked. He hates that he likes this so much, hates the part of his brain that’s desperately memorizing the feeling of Trevor’s body against his, hates that he knows he’s going to crave this every single night for the rest of his life even if he never gets it again. Mostly, he hates that he’s only here because Trevor had a breakdown bad enough to text him in the middle of the night on a Tuesday, and Brandon never should have let it get to this point.

He sighs, accepting his fate for the night. He can get a few hours of sleep at least, and as long as he’s here hopefully Trevor can too, maybe enough to get him through school tomorrow. He’s asleep the minute he closes his eyes.

—

As always, Brandon’s anxious body clock wakes him up just as the first rays of sun start to light the bedroom. His bare arm is covered in goosebumps from the morning air coming through the window he had left open in his haste, but he’s warm all along his front where he’s pressed to Trevor, still curled around his body. His other arm is completely numb, Trevor’s head pillowed on his bicep.

Every single part of his brain is screaming at him to stay put, to just say fuck it and let Trevor sleep and deal with the consequences later. He can already feel himself drooping again, his body getting heavier as it tries to succumb to sleep once more. He feels safer than ever here in Trevor’s bed, in Trevor’s arms. He could stay here forever, make sure Trevor gets to sleep every night, give him something to hold onto, pretend he doesn’t need it just as badly.

He can’t do that though. He knows he can’t ever do that. He’s already pushing it too far, letting himself fall asleep here on a school night. One of these days he’s going to get too comfortable and he’s not going to wake up in time, and then he’s well and truly fucked. So he forces himself to open his eyes, and starts trying to figure out how to untangle himself.

It becomes clear very quickly that there’s absolutely no way Brandon’s getting out of this without waking Trevor up. He pulls back the slightest bit, trying to be as slow and careful as possible, but immediately he feels Trevor’s arms tighten around his waist, a low whine leaving his throat.

Brandon’s stomach clenches at the sound, and he stops in his tracks. Trevor settles back in his arms, nuzzling his face further into Brandon’s neck.

Goddammit.

It takes him several minutes to force himself to move again. This time he reaches behind his own back and grasps Trevor’s wrist so he can unlatch one of his arms before he pulls himself away.

Trevor starts whining again, louder when he realizes that Brandon isn’t coming back, tugging weakly with the wrist still in Brandon’s hold. He blinks his sleepy eyes open, looking desperately up at Brandon as he pulls his arm out from under Trevor’s head.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I have to go.” He climbs over Trevor to get off the bed, trying so hard to ignore the physical pain in his chest when he sees Trevor still trying to reach for him.

“C’mon, c’mere, get under the covers,” he coaxes quietly, tugging the sheets and blankets back until Trevor gets the message and rolls over so that Brandon can pull them out from under him. It’s hard to tell in the low light, but Trevor looks miserable, staring up at Brandon with big sad eyes. He feels awful, but there’s nothing he can do about it right now.

He glances around for his shoes and sees the sweatshirt he had grabbed on his way out abandoned on the floor. He quickly snatches it up and presses it into Trevor’s arms before dragging the covers over his body.

It feels a lot like tucking him in. Brandon’s not actually sure if any of this is real. The bedroom has a hazy sort of atmosphere, like he woke up in an alternate reality where he gets to hold Trevor every night, where he lets himself want this.

Brandon pauses at the side of the bed and gives into the urge to brush Trevor’s bangs off his face, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch. His hands don’t feel like his hands. He can see himself rubbing his thumb over Trevor’s forehead, but he’s not sure he’s actually the one in control.

“Go back to sleep Trev,” he whispers, smoothing his hair back one more time before pulling away. Brandon doesn’t want to leave Trevor like this. He doesn’t have a choice. He thinks he might be sick over it anyway.

He doesn’t notice that Trevor had snuck a hand out the side of the blankets and has his fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt until he feels the tug when he tries to take a step back. Brandon’s heart breaks all over again. He has to force himself to take another step, and then another, until the fabric slips from Trevor’s weak grasp.

“I’ll see you at school,” he whispers, shoving his feet into his sneakers and climbing back through the window without letting himself look back.

—

Brandon does not, in fact, see Trevor at school. He waits by his locker just like every morning, but Trevor never shows. He tries texting, but he doesn’t get a response. With only a few minutes left before the bell rings, he sets off to find Rowan, hoping maybe she has some answers for him.

Apparently, Rowan had been looking for him too, because he’s barely turned the first corner when she runs right into him. He grabs her arm to steady her, and she smiles in thanks when he lets go.

They both start talking a second later.

“Were you at my house last night?” Rowan asks, at the same time that Brandon blurts out, “Where’s Trevor?”

Shit. He didn’t think anyone had seen him last night. His stomach churns as he tries to figure out how to respond, but Rowan beats him to it.

“Oh, um, he said he wasn’t feeling well. He was still in bed when I left.”

She pauses, but Brandon still doesn’t know what to say.

“I got up to get water at like, 3am, and I saw your car in the driveway, but it was gone when I left for school. What were you doing?”

Brandon breathes a quick sigh of relief. She hadn’t actually seen him, just his car. He trusts her, he does, but for some reason the thought of her seeing them tangled together on Trevor’s bed makes him want to throw up. He swallows, averting his gaze. He can’t lie to Rowan, she would know, but it’s not really his place to be airing Trevor's business out to her either. It’s sort of unavoidable, but he tries to be as vague as possible.

“Trevor texted me last night, asked me to come over. He didn’t tell me why, but he was freaking out about something when I got there. He fell asleep before I could ask.”

She doesn’t ask why he stayed, and he doesn’t tell. She just looks worried, fiddling with the necklace she’s always wearing. Right after everything had gone down, there was a pretty obvious shift in Rowan and Trevor’s relationship—they went from begrudgingly putting up with each other to suddenly caring for each other in a way that was achingly genuine. Something must have happened, but neither of them had ever told Brandon, and he doesn’t want to be the one to ask. It doesn’t really seem like any of his business, but he can’t help but feel jealous of their easy closeness. The next words out of Rowan’s mouth aren’t the ones he’s expecting.

“I’m sorry. You could’ve texted me, or woken me up or something.”

Brandon blinks, confused. “Oh, I— I didn’t want to bother you. I mean, it’s not your problem. I got him.”

She tilts her head to the side, studying his face. “It’s not really your problem either. I trust you, though. Just, promise you’ll tell me if you need help.”

This conversation feels a little too heavy for 7am on a Wednesday, but he nods anyway. “Promise.”

The bell rings, startling them both.

“Okay well, see you later, I gotta get to class,” Rowan says, turning away, but Brandon grabs her arm before she can leave.

“Wait— sorry, sorry, it’s just, I have practice after school so I can’t come check on Trevor. Can you just tell me how he is? And make sure he gets out of bed and actually eats something.”

Rowan looks at him with a small smile on her face, like she knows something he doesn’t. “Mhm, I’ll text you. Get to class Brandon.”

And with that, she disappears back down the hall.

—

When Brandon gets back into the locker room after practice, he immediately grabs his phone out of his bag before he even thinks about taking off any of his gear. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees several messages from Rowan, a few from right after school and the most recent one from only half an hour ago.

Rowan: [Attachment: 1 Image]

Rowan: i dont wanna wake him up :(

Rowan: gonna leave him be for now. will update in a bit

Rowan: got him up, gonna drag him to the diner for a bit to eat and do some hw if u wanna join after practice

Brandon opens the picture and his stomach does an overly dramatic somersault when it actually registers what he’s looking at. Trevor is curled up under the covers the same way Brandon had left him this morning, but instead of a pillow, Brandon’s hoodie is tucked under his head, his face buried deep in the fabric and his fingers clutching it tight.

He saves the picture to his camera roll before he can think better of it and quickly texts Rowan back before tossing his phone back in his bag so he can get ready to go.

Brandon: practice just ended, need to shower and change and then I’ll head over

Brandon: thank u

—

Twenty minutes later, Brandon squeezes Rowan’s shoulder in greeting before sliding into the booth across from her. Trevor looks up at him, uncharacteristically shy, and Brandon wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him into a quick side hug. He had been uncomfortably aware of Trevor’s absence all day at school, and he can’t help the way his whole body settles having Trevor under his hands again. He pulls his arm away but stays where he is, thigh pressed to Trevor’s on the cheap vinyl bench.

He realizes, belatedly, that Trevor is wearing his sweatshirt. There’s a sandwich on the plate in front of him with only a few bites taken out of it, and he’s holding the book they’ve been reading in English class. Rowan has several notebooks spread across the other side of the table, and she’s typing away at her laptop with one hand while she eats with the other.

“How was practice?” she asks, looking up from the screen.

“You know, the usual. Exhausting. How’s the homework you’re gonna let me copy later?” He steals a fry off Trevor’s plate expecting to get swatted away, but Trevor doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Haha, very funny. If you’re gonna sit here with us you have to do your own work,” she reprimands, but the smile on her face tells Brandon she isn’t actually mad.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he concedes, reaching for his bag on the floor.

When he looks down, he sees something out of the corner of his eye and almost drops it back on the ground. With the hand that isn’t holding his book, Trevor is clutching the bottom of Brandon’s t-shirt, his fingers twisted in the fabric, the same way he did this morning when he was trying to get Brandon to stay. He hadn’t even noticed, not with the way they’re already pressed together from knee to hip.

Trevor has his moments, but he isn’t usually this outwardly needy. This is the sort of thing that maybe only a few months ago Brandon would’ve called him names for, shoved him off and tried not to let the guilt and the wanting eat him alive. But somewhere in those few months he’s gone soft, the fault of the two other people sitting at this table. So he doesn’t say anything, just grabs his bag and hopes neither of them noticed his hesitation.

While he waits for his laptop to boot up he steals another fry from Trevor’s plate, then grabs a second one and holds it in front of Trevor’s face. If he’s not going to eat on his own, then Brandon has to take matters into his own hands. He’s expecting Trevor to bat him away, or make a face or something, but he just opens his mouth and lets Brandon feed it to him, not even taking his eyes off his book.

Rowan is giving them weird looks from across the table, but Brandon staunchly ignores her and gets started on his work.

Trevor holds onto Brandon’s shirt for the entire time that they’re at the diner. Brandon ends up eating both of their sandwiches, but Trevor also lets him feed him an entire plate of fries so he feels okay knowing he at least got some food into him. Rowan stopped caring after the first few minutes of that, and Brandon can only pray she doesn’t try to bring it up later.

He throws another one of his hoodies in the back of Rowan’s car when they leave, right next to Trevor’s bag where he knows he’ll find it. Maybe, hopefully, it will help Trevor get through the next couple nights, at least. He climbs into his car after they’ve pulled away and knocks his forehead against the steering wheel, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

—

By some miracle, they all make it to Friday relatively unscathed. Trevor sleeps his way through study hall, but Brandon’s just glad he’s not skipping class. He’s planning on following them home after school, as has become his Friday routine, but one of his teammates pulls him aside after lunch to tell him he’s throwing a party, and Brandon can’t really say no without raising too many questions. He’s been skipping out on a lot lately—his teammates are starting to notice.

He thinks about dragging Trevor with him just so that he can keep an eye on him, but he knows it's the last thing Trevor would want to do, and he selfishly doesn’t want him around those people anyway. So he shoots him a text to tell him where he’ll be and lets the team drag him out to the diner after school and then over to whoever’s house they’re crashing at and tries to ignore the knots of worry in his stomach.

After the first couple hours of obsessively checking his phone, someone rips it out of his hand and replaces it with a shot. Things go downhill from there.

Around midnight, Brandon is too many drinks deep and is considering finding an empty bedroom to crash in when someone comes up behind him and pushes his phone back into his hand.

“Dude, someone keeps trying to call you. I don’t know if it’s like, important, but you should probably pick up.”

Brandon’s heart drops. On cue, his phone starts ringing, Trevor’s name lighting up the screen. He’s briefly distracted by the contact photo, a stupid selfie Trevor had taken when Brandon wasn’t looking. He hasn’t seen him smile like that in a long time. It rings again, snapping him out of his daze, and he answers the call with clumsy fingers.

“Trev? Are you there?”

He stumbles out the back door onto the patio, pushing several people out of the way, pressing his phone way too hard to his ear like it might get him closer to Trevor. It’s quiet on the other end of the line, but Brandon thinks he can hear Trevor’s shaky breathing. He waits, collapsing against the side of the house.

“…B?”

Brandon rushes to respond, relieved to hear his voice but worried that it took him so long. “Hey, hey hey hey, I’m so sorry, someone took my phone. Are you okay?”

Trevor doesn’t answer the question, but the breathing gets heavier. “Brandon?”

It’s hard to tell over the phone, but it sounds like he’s crying. Brandon thinks he might be too drunk for this right now. He wants Trevor safe in his arms, wants to climb in his bed and keep him there forever. He shouldn’t’ve come to this party.

“Yeah, hey, I’m right here. C’mon, you gotta talk to me, T. What’s wrong?”

Trevor’s voice is weak and unsteady when he finally speaks.

“Can you, um— can you come over? Sorry, I—” He sniffles. “I know you’re at that party. You don’t have to.”

Brandon’s already dragging himself to his feet before he even finishes talking.

“No, don’t worry, I don’t want to be here anyway. I just have to find someone to give me a ride. Can you go get Rowan for me?”

Trevor’s quiet for a second too long.

“Rowan’s not here.”

Brandon stops in his tracks. “What?”

“She’s at Elisia’s.”

Fuck. He drags a hand down his face in frustration. Brandon can’t think straight. He doesn’t want to be drunk anymore.

“Okay, um… I need you to hang tight for a second. I’ll call you right back.”

Brandon hangs up on Trevor and calls the only person he can think of that might be able to handle this for them.

Rowan picks up on the first ring.

“Brandon? Is everything alright?” She sounds more confused than concerned, which is fair considering it's midnight, and also that he literally never calls her.

“I need you to come pick me up,” he rushes out, pacing anxiously in the grass.

“What? Where are you?”

“Did you leave Trevor alone?” He’s not really sure he actually heard her question, but this feels more important right now.

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

This isn’t going the way he hoped it would. His thoughts are too jumbled and he doesn’t know how to get the right words out, and all he can think is that he doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“Rowan, please—”

“Hey, woah, Brandon. Take a deep breath.”

He does as he’s told. He’s not really sure if it’s helping, but he takes another, and another, and waits for her to keep talking.

“Alright, start over. I can come get you, but you have to tell me where you are.”

“Some party, I don’t really know. I can send you my location.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so he can share his location with her, though it takes a couple of tries for him to press the right button.

“Okay, good. What does this have to do with Trevor?”

He can hear the sounds of her getting up and grabbing her stuff on the other end of the line, and it calms him down at least a little bit to know she’s coming.

“He’s all alone.” It’s not really an answer, but it’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

“He was just watching a movie when I left, he seemed alright. Did he call you?”

Brandon doesn’t really want to tell her about the phone call, though he isn’t sure why.

“He’s upset.” He leaves it at that and hopes Rowan can figure out the rest.

“Okay, okay listen, I’m on my way, I’ll be there in five. Can you go wait out front for me? And call Trev back, stay on the phone with him until we get home.”

He nods, and then realizes she can’t see him, and clears his throat. “Okay. Thank you.”

He feels sort of small and helpless in a way he really doesn’t like, but he’s comforted by the knowledge that someone else is handling this.

“Call Trev,” she repeats, and then the call drops.

Brandon makes his way around to the front of the house and sits down on the curb, pressing call on Trevor’s contact and bringing the phone up to his ear.

It connects after the first ring. “B?”

Trevor’s voice is barely audible.

“Hey, sorry, sorry, I’m back. Rowan’s gonna pick me up, we’ll be there soon.”

All he gets is a soft okay in response. He figures the best thing he can do at this point is just distract Trevor until they get to him. He can do that. So he spends the next five minutes recounting every stupid detail of his day, just so that Trevor knows he’s still there.

He stops briefly when Rowan pulls up to the house, Elisia in the passenger seat. He clambers into the back, Rowan immediately pressing a bottle of water into his hand.

“Drink. All of it.”

He nods, and she squeezes his arm for a second with a soft look on her face that he can’t really decipher. Brandon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it on the center console so the girls can talk to Trevor while he tries to sober up. They pick up right where he left off, narrating the entire drive for him so he knows where they are.

He feels a little bit better now that he’s left the party, but it still feels like it takes an excruciatingly long time to get to Trevor even though it’s really only a few minutes, especially with the way Rowan is driving way over the speed limit. He knows he won’t be able to settle until he’s sure that Trevor is okay, and he’s trying not to get any more worked up about it, because the last thing they need is more than one person having a breakdown tonight. He forces himself to sit still, trying to take deep breaths until they finally pull in the driveway.

Brandon throws himself out of the car before Rowan’s even put it in park. The doors are probably locked but he bypasses them anyway, running around the side of the house to Trevor’s bedroom window. He slides it open and hoists himself inside, a little clumsy with the alcohol still coursing through his veins.

Trevor’s curled up on top of his covers the same way Brandon found him a few days ago, and this time Brandon doesn’t hesitate to clamber up onto the mattress and drag Trevor into his lap, one arm locked around his waist to hold him up and the other one coming up to cradle the back of his head where it's tucked into Brandon’s neck. There’s a little voice in the back of his head telling him that sober Brandon would be a lot more ashamed of this sort of behavior, but it's easy enough to ignore when this is the best he’s felt all day, safe and warm with Trevor in his arms, despite the tears soaking his t-shirt.

“Shhh, you’re okay T, I got you, I’m here,” he mumbles into his hair, rocking him back and forth as gently as he can manage.

Trevor is curled up sideways in the bracket of his legs, both hands clutched tight in the front of Brandon’s shirt, face buried in his favorite spot in the crook of his neck. He’s crying hard enough that his entire body is trembling in Brandon’s arms, his sobs rocking through them both.

That’s how Rowan finds them a minute later, presumably having come in through the actual door. Elisia isn’t with her, which is probably for the better right now. She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to wipe the tears off his cheeks, and Brandon has to force down the sudden, stupid urge to pull Trevor out of her reach.

“Hey, Trev, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Her voice is a low whisper, soothing even to Brandon’s ears.

He doesn’t really expect Trevor to respond, but he shakes his head against Brandon’s shoulder, which means at the very least he’s actually processing their words. He’s still crying too hard to say anything though, hiccuping sobs against Brandon’s chest.

Rowan moves a little closer and starts rubbing her hand up and down his back, clearly trying to calm him down. “Shhhh, deep breaths, you’re okay. In and out, you can do it.”

With a little encouragement, Trevor starts to get his breathing under control, Brandon doing his best to mimic the slow breaths so he has something to follow. His entire world has narrowed to Trevor’s body under his hands, his intoxicated brain focused only on tracking the movement of his lungs, so he startles when Trevor suddenly tries to clear his throat.

“I’m so tired,” he croaks out, pushing his forehead further into Brandon’s shoulder like he’s trying to hide there. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just, I can’t—” He breaks off into another sob, taking a second to catch his breath. “I just want to go to sleep.”

His voice is thick with tears, and almost too quiet to hear. The words sound like they’re being forced out, jumbled and sort of nonsensical. Brandon knows what he’s trying to say though, because it’s a feeling he knows all too well. It’s the sort of exhaustion that weighs heavy on your bones, clouds your head until you can’t even think anymore. The pieces are slowly starting to fall into place, even with his brain moving a lot slower than usual.

He doesn’t think it's insomnia exactly. Trevor sleeps just fine when Brandon’s around, and has no issue passing out in a library full of students. He’s just scared—scared of his own thoughts, scared of being left all alone. Brandon’s been alone for most of his life. Trevor probably hadn’t really known what that felt like until recently. It’s not exactly the same kind of fear that has Brandon jolting awake before the sun rises every morning, but it’s close enough. Trevor doesn’t feel safe. Brandon knows all about not feeling safe—he’s just had a lot more practice dealing with it than Trevor has.

He squeezes him a little tighter, turning his face to press into Trevor’s curls.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rowan whispers, moving her hand back up to cradle Trevor’s face.

He’s still crying, but it's quieter now, tears pouring silently down his cheeks. Brandon can feel them soaking into his shirt, hot against his neck. He wants to say something, wants to reassure Trevor that he’s not alone anymore, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Would you rather sleep somewhere else? We can move to my room instead, or the couch or something,” Rowan asks softly, but Trevor just shakes his head, fingers clutching tighter in Brandon’s shirt.

“Okay, okay, that’s okay. Let’s get you under the covers babe, c’mon. Brandon, take your shoes off please.”

He didn’t even realize he was still wearing them, too focused on getting to Trevor to remember to take them off before he got on the bed. He kicks them off his feet and onto the floor, trying not to jostle Trevor too much in the process.

It’s not until Rowan puts a hand over his on the back of Trevor’s head that he realizes how bad his fingers ache from holding so tight.

“Brandon, you gotta help me out here love,” she coaxes, and he blinks a few times before he finally breaks out of his stupor and maneuvers them out of the way enough for Rowan to pull the covers back. He looks back up at her, waiting for the go ahead.

“Alright, c’mon, get in, there we go.” She ushers them over with gentle hands, pulling the sheets and blankets up and over their bodies that are still tangled together. Brandon lays them down as carefully as he can in his still-drunken state, holding Trevor close to his chest as he lowers them down onto the pillows.

Trevor doesn’t hesitate to slot one of his legs between Brandon’s, sliding his arms around his waist and burrowing into his front. Rowan smooths her hand over Trevor’s hair and leans down to press a kiss to the side of his head. She gives Brandon a heavy sort of look, brushing his bangs off his forehead before she pulls away. She bids them good night and slips out the door, leaving the boys alone in Trevor’s room.

Brandon’s head is still spinning but he doesn’t think it's from the alcohol anymore. He’s not used to being treated with this sort of gentleness—it’s almost completely foreign to him. He hasn’t been tucked in since he was a little kid. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, but he’s quick to blink them away. He’s not really sure he’s done anything to deserve this, certainly not from Rowan. He was supposed to be taking care of Trevor, not making Rowan deal with them both. He hopes she can forgive him for tonight, hopes she’s not upset at him for interrupting her plans.

In his arms, Trevor is fading fast, weeks of exhaustion crashing down on him so hard that the minute he’s laying down with Brandon in his reach he’s out like a light. There’s something stirring in Brandon’s gut at the realization that Trevor feels safe enough to finally fall asleep now that he’s here. He slides a hand into Trevor’s hair and pulls his head a little bit closer, tucking his face into his neck, Trevor’s breath hot against his sensitive skin. He slides his other arm down and slips it under Trevor’s shirt so he can drag his fingers against his bare back. The adrenaline is finally draining from Brandon’s veins, and he’s suddenly exhausted from the events of the night, his eyelids slipping shut. He falls asleep still holding Trevor tight, trying desperately to savor the feeling while he still can.

—

Brandon blinks his eyes open at his usual 5am feeling like absolute shit. He’s in the exact same position he fell asleep in, Trevor’s body warm and heavy against his front. He quickly weighs his options—it’s Saturday so he might be able to get away with coming home later. That small chance is enough to make him close his eyes again, pressing his face into Trevor’s curls.

He’s willing to do just about anything right now if it means he gets to stay in this bed for a few more hours, warm and safe. He doesn’t want Trevor to have to wake up alone again. His head is pounding, and even the thought of standing up is making his stomach lurch. He’ll deal with the consequences later. For now, this is more important.

Brandon takes a deep breath of Trevor’s warm sleep scent and lets it pull him back under.

—

The next time Brandon wakes up, the sun is much higher in the sky, shining through the open window directly onto the bed. It’s uncomfortably hot under the covers, both of their bodies sticky with sweat. Despite this, Brandon makes no move to pull away.

His head still hurts, but not as bad as it did the last time he woke up, and he feels shockingly well-rested despite the lingering hangover. He wants to check the time, but that would require him to let go of Trevor, so he stays put. The whole room smells like musk and boy, and it’s making Brandon’s head spin a little bit. He buries his nose back in Trevor’s hair where the scent is stronger, filling his lungs with it.

Trevor is still clinging tightly to him in his sleep, arms around his waist and face tucked into Brandon’s throat. Brandon can feel every exhale against his neck, his back rising and falling against Brandon’s hand that’s still under Trevor’s shirt.

By Brandon’s best estimate, it must be late morning at the very least. He wonders if Rowan’s already up, and how long she’s going to hold out before she makes them all sit down and have a talk about this. He’s already dreading it, but she’d get upset if he tried to get out of it, and he’d only be putting off the inevitable. He and Trevor have plenty of experience in not talking about things, and it’s only ever made everything worse.

Brandon doesn’t move a muscle.

—

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, just holding Trevor in his arms, but a little while later he’s startled out of the daze he had fallen into by a quiet knock on the door. He almost thinks he imagined it, but then it comes again, a little louder.

Rowan. He wants to tell her he’s awake but he’s afraid of waking up Trevor, so he just waits there quietly until he hears the door creak, and he looks up to see Rowan carefully pushing it open. She startles when she sees him looking at her, but her face quickly softens into a smile.

She steps inside, and Brandon can see that she’s holding two water bottles and a bottle of Advil in her hands, but she doesn’t move any closer, just stands right inside the doorway sort of awkwardly. She’s already dressed for the day.

“Sorry, I just wanted to check on you guys. It’s past noon, but… I mean if he’s still sleeping we should probably let him…” she trails off, voice soft.

Brandon experiences a brief moment of panic at the news that he had apparently slept for almost 12 hours, but that means Trevor had too, which makes him feel a little better.

He reluctantly pulls his hand out of Trevor’s shirt and reaches out from under the covers so he can beckon Rowan into the room.

“You can come in,” he whispers back. “Can you hand me my phone?”

She shuts the door behind her and pads across the room on socked feet, placing the waters and meds on the nightstand before picking up Brandon’s phone off the floor where he had dropped it and putting it in his hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, tapping the screen on. To his relief, the only notifications are a couple texts from Sean, so he shuts it back off and tosses it on the mattress, pulling his hand back under the covers to tuck around Trevor’s waist and lifting his gaze back up to Rowan.

“Alright well, I’m gonna go pick up some food for us. Waters and meds are for you if you want. Text me if you need anything.”

She reaches out a hand and combs her fingers through his hair, Brandon’s eyes fluttering shut for a second at the contact. Her hand hesitates over Trevor’s head for a split second before she pulls it away, turning around and leaving the room just as quietly as she had come in.

Trevor doesn’t stir until twenty minutes later, shifting in Brandon’s hold. He blinks his eyes open blearily, rubbing his face into Brandon’s t-shirt, and then abruptly freezes.

Trevor slowly pulls his head back until he can look Brandon in the eyes, staring at him like he’s still not quite sure if he’s awake yet, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re still here?” he asks cautiously, like he’s afraid if he says it out loud it won’t be true anymore. His voice is rough from disuse, words a little slurred.

Brandon doesn’t really know what to say. He’s never actually around for this part. He’s afraid for a second that Trevor might be upset, but he’s still hugging Brandon’s waist, fingers clenching against his back.

What ultimately comes out of Brandon’s mouth is exactly what he was trying not to say out loud.

“You scared the shit out of me last night.”

The eye contact is suddenly much too heavy, so he uses the hand still on the back of Trevor’s head to pull him back into his chest. Trevor goes easily, burying his face into Brandon’s shoulder.

An entire minute passes before he says anything in response.

“Sorry,” Trevor mumbles without picking his head up. His voice is barely audible where it’s muffled against Brandon’s shirt. He doesn’t say anything else, just hugs Brandon a little tighter.

“No, no it’s— it’s okay,” Brandon stumbles out.

He scratches his fingers through Trevor’s hair. He doesn’t think either of them are cut out for this. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he changes the subject, figuring he should at least fill Trevor in on what he missed when he was still asleep.

“Rowan’s out picking up food. She’ll be back soon. You slept for like, twelve hours. It’s almost one.”

Trevor just hums into his chest.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.” His voice is low, and still so sleepy.

“You’ll feel better once we eat,” Brandon reassures him, but he’s honestly just making shit up.

Ten minutes later, Rowan knocks on the door again and then lets herself in without waiting for an answer. She’s a smart girl, but sometimes Brandon questions her self-preservation instincts. Trevor groans, hiding his face in Brandon’s chest.

“Oh, you’re up,” Rowan says, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No I’m not,” Trevor mumbles into Brandon’s shirt, but Rowan just laughs, reaching over to scratch her nails through his hair. Brandon can feel Trevor’s mouth tug into a smile.

“You feeling better?” Rowan asks. Her tone is casual, but Brandon can tell she’s worried—understandably so, because so is he.

Trevor turns his head to peek up at Rowan, studying her face for a few seconds before turning back to Brandon and nodding against his chest.

“Yeah, I think so,” he whispers.

“Okay, good. I got breakfast. You should come eat before it gets cold.”

She slides her hand over his head one more time and then gets up and leaves the room.

Trevor makes no move to get up. Brandon doesn’t want to do this either, but he knows it’ll be easier if they just get it over with now.

“Alright, c’mon Trev, time to get up,” he says, scrubbing his fingers through Trevor’s hair to try and rouse him.

He’s expecting Trevor to put up a bit of a fight, but he just sighs into Brandon’s chest and mumbles a quiet okay.

Trevor’s awfully clingy as Brandon pulls them up into a sitting position, hands tugging at his t-shirt, but he’s pliant in Brandon’s arms, seemingly alright with going wherever Brandon puts him as long as he doesn’t have to let go. It makes Brandon sort of sick.

He doesn’t get a good look at Trevor’s face until he’s dragged him all the way out of bed, standing face to face while Brandon makes sure he’s steady enough on his feet. Trevor honestly looks like shit. His eyes are red-rimmed and still a bit puffy from all the crying, and he seems sort of dazed like he’s not really fully awake yet. He just looks miserable.

Brandon’s stomach hurts. He was supposed to be taking care of Trevor. He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

Glancing back at the bed, he spots the sweatshirt he had left in the car on Wednesday balled up by Trevor’s pillow. He doesn’t have another one to offer right now so he reaches over to snatch it up, then tugs it over Trevor’s head without asking. Trevor barely reacts, just puts his arms in the sleeves one at a time so he can keep holding onto the hem of Brandon’s shirt with the other.

Brandon grabs one of the water bottles off the nightstand too, pressing it into Trevor’s free hand, then takes the other one for himself. He’s wracking his brain for anything else he can think of that might help right now, but he comes up empty and realizes he’s just sort of been staring, standing awkwardly in front of him.

The sound of plates clanging in the kitchen shocks Brandon out of his stupor before one of them can say anything, and he leads Trevor out of the bedroom, hyper aware of the way his shirt is being tugged to the side. He doesn’t take Trevor’s hand the way he wants to, but he doesn’t push him off either.

Rowan smiles when she sees them wander into the kitchen, gesturing over to the table with the handful of silverware she’s holding, a couple takeout bags unpacked all over the tabletop. Brandon does as he’s been instructed, pressing his fingers into Trevor’s back to guide him over to one of the chairs and pulling it out for him. It’s incredibly unnecessary and he knows it, but it at least makes him feel like he has some modicum of control over the situation. He has to keep reminding himself that this isn’t about him.

The three of them settle in their seats, Trevor hooking his foot behind Brandon’s and dragging his chair a little closer. Brandon traps it between his ankles to keep him there. He grabs food for Trevor and makes sure he starts eating before he gets any for himself.

As unfortunate as the circumstances are, Brandon has to admit that there’s something really nice about sitting around the breakfast table with Trevor and Rowan, fresh air coming through the windows and the radio playing quietly in the background. About waking up with Trevor in his arms, warm and clingy. If he lets himself enjoy this too much, he might collapse under the weight of all the wanting. He gives himself a second to bask in it anyway.

Rowan only lasts about ten minutes before she breaks the silence. She puts her food down and glances back and forth between the boys, her eyes landing on Trevor.

“Okay, um, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if there’s something we can do to help then you’ve gotta tell us.”

Trevor stares resolutely at his plate. This is probably Brandon’s queue.

He nudges Trevor’s knee under the table and tries to keep his voice casual.

“I can sleep over on weekends and stuff, but we gotta figure something else out for the rest of the week.”

Trevor wraps his fingers in the hem of Brandon’s shorts, his fist holding tight. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“No, guys it’s— it’s stupid, you don’t have to…” he trails off, sounding sort of like he might start crying again.

Brandon squeezes his ankles tighter around Trevor’s foot. Rowan reaches across the table and takes Trevor’s free hand where it’s laying next to his plate.

“Hey. It’s not stupid, and we want to help,” she tells him softly. Her words don’t leave any room for argument.

Trevor chews on his bottom lip, lifting his gaze cautiously up to Rowan, then over to Brandon, like he’s afraid one of them is going to take it back. Brandon can feel him messing anxiously with the material of his shorts under the table, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Whatever he sees in their faces makes him relax the slightest bit, and he nods, but it’s still sort of hesitant.

“We could get you a TV for your room maybe,” Rowan muses. “When I lived with my dad and he worked nights, I used to sleep on the couch sometimes because I liked the background noise. It might make you feel a little better.”

“Okay,” Trevor says quietly. He still sounds unsure, but Brandon can feel his grip loosen.

“You can also just call me, you know. Even if I can’t come over,” Brandon tells him, ignoring all the voices in his head screaming at him for showing any sort of vulnerability. This was a lot easier when he was still drunk.

Trevor turns his big, watery eyes on him and Brandon’s stomach clenches hard. Luckily, Rowan cuts in before he says something stupid to try and save face.

“Yeah, and we can also, like, hang out at night if you want. It’s not a big deal, I’d be happy to just watch TV with you or whatever. I know you haven’t had siblings before, but that’s, like, normal sibling stuff. I’ve kinda missed it since my sister moved out.”

Trevor glances helplessly between them. “Guys,” he chokes out, pulling his hand out of Rowan’s hold to scrub at his eyes.

Brandon wraps his arm around Trevor’s shoulders and pulls his head into the crook of his neck. He feels Trevor’s breath hitch.

“Hey, c’mon, you’re okay T,” Brandon soothes, scratching his fingers through Trevor’s hair while he gives him a second to pull himself together.

He turns his head just enough to pull his face out of Brandon’s neck and opens his mouth to say something, but Rowan cuts him off before he can get any words out.

“Don’t you dare say sorry, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Trevor snaps his mouth shut.

He’s switched from fidgeting with Brandon’s shorts to rubbing his fingers over Brandon’s bare knee, tracing the shape of his kneecap over and over again. Brandon has to fight back a shiver.

Trevor swallows thickly, and opens his mouth again. “Thank you.” He pauses. “I really do appreciate it.”

He leaves his head resting on Brandon’s shoulder, like it’s too heavy for him to lift back up.

—

Brandon doesn’t go home that day.

When night falls, he steals a pair of pj pants from Trevor’s drawer and climbs into his bed, and Trevor crawls right into his arms without saying a word. He’s asleep in a matter of minutes, Brandon following close behind.

The next day the three of them go out and buy a TV for Trevor’s room, and when Brandon finally leaves he’s not too worried about him anymore.

—

The following week, Brandon receives a selfie almost every night from Rowan of her sitting in Trevor’s bed with him passed out next to her, lit by the glow of the TV in front of them. He saves all of them to his camera roll.

Brandon tosses a couple more sweatshirts in the back of Rowan’s car, soft ones that Trevor can sleep in, and zooms in on Rowan’s selfie later to make sure Trevor found them. At night he keeps his ringer on and his phone under his pillow and tries to convince himself it’s a good thing when he doesn’t get any calls.

Trevor manages to stay awake through five entire days of school, at least as far as Brandon’s aware, and things go back to normal so fast it almost gives him whiplash.

The part of Brandon that had spent the last few weeks worried sick is relieved beyond belief. But the part of him that had become disgustingly obsessed with how badly Trevor had needed him is feeling the loss so hard it’s carved a cavern in his chest. As grateful as he is that Trevor isn’t falling over in the hallways anymore, he misses the warm weight of him pressing into his side. He misses Trevor’s fingers in his clothes, misses having an excuse to keep his hands on him.

By the time Brandon’s sliding open Trevor’s window on Friday night, he’s convinced himself that he’s a horrible person and has accepted that anything that happened the last couple weeks was due to extenuating circumstances and he can’t expect it to continue. He’s hurt Trevor enough already with his own selfish bullshit, and he can’t do that to him again.

“Hey,” he calls, tossing his backpack through before climbing inside.

Trevor’s in bed scrolling through Netflix, upper body propped up on the pillows behind him, and he smiles sweetly up at Brandon, laughing when his back foot gets caught and he almost face plants onto the carpet.

“You good?” he asks, still giggling.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Brandon says, trying and failing to fight the smile growing on his own face. He kicks his shoes off and collapses next to Trevor on the bed, their arms pressed tight together. His fingers twitch in his lap, but he doesn’t reach over the way he wants to.

Brandon zones out while Trevor flips through movies, only really aware of Trevor’s warmth beside him. He wonders if Trevor will want to hold his hand tonight, or if he doesn’t need it anymore.

He’s contemplating whether or not he should offer when all of a sudden Trevor rolls over right on top of him, blanketing the side of his body with his head pillowed on his chest. Brandon freezes for all of two seconds before his entire body relaxes, relief washing over him in waves. Trevor seems oblivious to all of this, nuzzling his face into Brandon’s hoodie with a sigh.

His heart is pounding. Brandon had worked himself up so bad that even Trevor’s usual fidgeting with his fingers or his clothes probably would have been enough to make him sick with the reassurance that Trevor still needed him. He wasn’t even sort of prepared for this, Trevor casually curling his whole body around his.

He should have known. Trevor has always been braver than him.

He wraps his arm around Trevor’s shoulders and tries to let himself settle under his warm weight. Belatedly, Brandon realizes Trevor had actually picked a movie, something animated flashing across the screen.

Trying to keep his voice level, he asks, “What are we watching?”

He probably isn’t fooling him at all, but Trevor just mumbles “How to Train Your Dragon,” and then picks his hand up off Brandon’s stomach and slides it up under his hoodie, open palm resting flat against his bare skin, eyes still fixed on the TV like all of this is perfectly fine and normal for them.

Jesus christ. Somehow, this was much easier when Trevor was on the verge of hysteria. Brandon feels sort of insane. His insides have all turned to mush, but there’s also a small spark of something bright and wishful blooming in his chest, and he can’t bring himself to tamp it down. Brandon doesn’t often let himself hope for anything, because things don’t usually turn out for him. But right now, under the dawning realization that despite everything he’s done, Trevor is still choosing to trust him, he thinks maybe this might be something he’s actually allowed to have.

He knows Trevor feels safe with him, he just never really thought he deserved it. Trevor had trusted him before, and then he’d gone and fucked it all up. There was no universe in which he should have gotten a second chance. And yet, here Trevor is, trusting him with the most vulnerable parts of himself over and over again. It’s probably pretty stupid on Trevor’s part, but Brandon isn’t going to throw it away again. He tugs him a little closer and does his best to pay attention to the movie instead of the boy in his arms so he doesn’t combust.

—

When the credits start rolling two hours later, Brandon has mostly managed to calm himself down, but now he’s concerned for a completely different reason. Trevor should be asleep by now, but he is most definitely not. He can’t really see Trevor’s face, but he can feel his breathing, and Trevor’s fingers are tracing lazy patterns on the bare skin underneath his sweatshirt.

Every time he’s done this so far, Trevor’s passed out within twenty minutes of Brandon being there. Significantly less if he’s being held. Brandon didn’t really prepare for a scenario where Trevor was conscious for more than the opening sequence of the film. This is all far too intimate for their usual hang out—Brandon has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

He’s about to suggest another movie when all of a sudden Trevor pushes himself up on his free arm, his face hovering only a few inches from Brandon’s. His other hand is still planted firmly on Brandon’s stomach. Brandon blinks, confused, and opens his mouth to ask if he’s okay, but Trevor cuts him off.

“Hey, um—”

His eyes dart quickly around Brandon’s face before landing on his lips. Then, just slow enough that Brandon could stop him if he really wanted to, Trevor leans in and presses his mouth to Brandon’s.

Brandon abruptly stops breathing. He didn’t think—

It doesn’t matter. He kisses back, his hands coming up to cup Trevor’s face.

This is not the first time he’s kissed Trevor, but he really wishes it was. He had been drunk last time, and taking advantage when he shouldn’t’ve. He didn’t think he was ever going to get a do-over—he’s not going to waste it.

It’s slow, and gentle, and everything it wasn’t the first time. As much as he wants to take over, Brandon holds himself back and lets Trevor explore his mouth, content to slide his greedy hands over any part of Trevor’s body he can reach. He doesn’t pull back until his head is spinning from the lack of oxygen, and even then he keeps a hand anchored on the back of Trevor’s neck so he can’t go too far.

Trevor makes eye contact with Brandon for all of two seconds before he collapses back on top of him, burying his face in Brandon’s neck.

“Was that okay?” he whispers, his voice uncharacteristically shy like they hadn’t been making out ten seconds ago.

Brandon almost laughs at the absurdity of the question until he realizes why Trevor felt the need to ask. Brandon had been just as eager last time. In fact, Brandon had kissed him first. He had then gotten so scared that he spent the next several months making Trevor feel awful about it. So yeah, Trevor is understandably concerned.

“Trev.”

He doesn’t pick his head up. “Mhm?”

“Look at me.”

He just shakes his head, still tucked in Brandon’s neck.

“Hey, c’mon T,” Brandon coaxes, in a much softer voice. He slides his hand from the back of Trevor’s neck down his jawline, gently pulling him out from his hiding place.

Trevor doesn’t fight it, weak under Brandon’s hands. When Brandon finally catches his eye, he looks terrified, his bravery from before all used up.

It’s okay. It’s Brandon’s turn anyway. He holds Trevor’s jaw firmly, forcing him to hold eye contact, and takes a deep breath.

“Listen. I know I fucked up last time.” The words come out weaker than he wants them to, but he forces himself to keep going. “And you deserve better than this.”

His voice breaks. Trevor tries to shake his head, but Brandon tightens his grip to hold him still. “You do. But…” He pauses, swallows, searching Trevor’s face. “If you let me try again. I’m gonna try really hard not to fuck it up this time.”

He’s never been very good with words. But he thinks he gets his point across alright, because Trevor surges forward, Brandon’s hand no longer holding him back, and kisses him again.

Brandon can’t breathe, but he kisses back anyway. His lungs are burning, and his heart is pounding, and the knots in his stomach haven’t loosened. His head is starting to spin. Despite all this, Brandon thinks this might be the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life.

He wraps an arm around Trevor’s waist and flips him to his back, pulling back for a second to catch his breath. Trevor’s chest is heaving underneath him, and it takes his eyes a second to focus on Brandon. He watches as Trevor’s mouth slowly pulls into a smile.

“Of course I’m gonna let you try again. Just… talk to me, okay? If you’re freaking out or something. And we’ll deal with it.”

Brandon’s not really sure if that’s a promise he can make, but the way Trevor says it makes it seem like the easiest thing in the world.

“Okay,” Brandon whispers, achingly sincere.

Trevor is looking up at him in a way that makes his chest hurt.

Brandon wants to kiss him again, wants to keep kissing him until he loses himself completely, but he watches the way Trevor’s eyelids are starting to droop and remembers why he was here in the first place.

He gives in and kisses Trevor one more time, just because he can, just to feel Trevor sigh against his mouth and sleepily kiss him back, and then he uses all his willpower to drag himself away, settling down on his side and wrapping his arms around Trevor to pull him into his chest. Trevor goes all too easily, curling up in Brandon’s arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his head tucked under his chin.

“Good night Trev,” Brandon whispers into his hair, pressing his lips into Trevor's curls.

Trevor mumbles something unintelligible that was probably supposed to be a response, but he’s asleep before Brandon can question him.

He lays there quietly, tracing his fingers up and down Trevor’s back, focused on the feeling of Trevor’s lungs expanding against his front. He thinks it might be the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, still not completely convinced he’s not dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But Trevor is warm, and solid, and so very real under his hands, and Brandon feels better than he has in a very long time.

He tries to stay awake as long as he can, soaking it in, memorizing it, just in case, but the steady rhythm of Trevor’s heartbeat eventually starts to drag him under.

Brandon lets his eyes fall shut. Trevor will still be there in the morning. And so will he.