Archive of Our Own

Trevor likes to think he’s getting better. He’s turning over a new leaf for senior year, or, at least, that’s the phrase that Rowan had used. It’s true enough. His grades are back up, he re-joined Cinema Clique, he’s even applied to a few colleges. He’s sober, mostly, aside from the occasional joint, but that barely counts. The all-consuming black hole that follows him around isn’t nearly as threatening as it used to be.

And he’s getting over Brandon. Sort of. He’s working on it. It’s easier now, with Brandon away at boarding school, not around to distract him anymore. He visits sometimes on the weekends, texts on occasion, but that’s about all the interaction Trevor gets with him these days. Part of him absolutely hates it, but that’s the part he’s been aggressively trying to smother. Trevor’s well aware that getting over his lifelong crush on his best friend is probably going to take much longer than he wants it to, but he’s at least sort of come to accept that nothing’s ever going to come of it. If nothing else, Brandon isn’t consuming his every waking thought anymore, and that’s a drastic improvement from before.

So, naturally, Brandon comes barging into their house one weekend and ruins all of his carefully maintained progress with one single sentence.

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

It’s not even a question, it’s a direct request. Trevor almost chokes on his drink.

“What?”

Rowan jumps down from the counter. “I don’t wanna be involved in this,” she declares, and promptly leaves the room.

Trevor watches her go and wonders if it’s too late for him to follow.

He turns back to Brandon. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

Brandon sighs, dropping his bag in the middle of the floor, and turns to go rummage through the fridge. “I think my roommate’s homophobic.”

He emerges with a can of soda in hand, looking at Trevor expectantly like there’s an obvious correlation between these two facts that Trevor’s supposed to have put together by now.

“Yeah, I don’t… know what you want me to do about that,” Trevor says slowly, eyes narrowed.

“I want you to come back to school with me and pretend to be my boyfriend to piss him off,” he clarifies a little too casually. “Not this weekend, obviously, that would be too suspicious. But ideally next weekend.”

Trevor just stares blankly at him. “You wanna purposely piss off the guy you live with? The guy that sleeps in the same room as you every single night?”

Brandon rolls his eyes, leaning over to prop his hip against the counter. “He won’t actually try anything, he’s way too much of a pussy. I just want him to shut the fuck up.”

Trevor puts down the drink he’s been clutching a little too hard and crosses his arms. “I don’t feel good about this. Like, at all. Has he been saying shit to you?”

Brandon drops his gaze, messing with the pull tab on his can. His voice is uncharacteristically strained when he speaks. “Just— I said something a couple weeks ago. He’s been weird about it ever since. But, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Trevor’s almost entirely sure there’s more to this story than Brandon’s letting on, but he’s not going to push. Brandon’s better at putting up a front than anyone he knows, so to see him so visibly uncomfortable right now is a little bit worrying, to say the least. Aside from the one time they hooked up, Brandon’s queerness is something he expressed mostly in crude jokes about blowing his teammates in the locker room that may or may not have actually been jokes—Trevor was never quite sure. Either way, it’s not entirely out of character for him to be making questionable comments, but it is out of character for him to be putting up with comments made on his behalf. The Brandon he knows would’ve either beat this kid up by now or threatened him until he shut up for good. But whatever it is he’s holding back, he probably has his reasons, so Trevor lets it lie and voices the other concern at hand here.

“Okay, look. I know this isn’t about me, but I’m not really looking to spend my weekend trapped in a dorm room with your homophobic roommate.”

Brandon’s eyes snap right back up to meet Trevor’s. “I won’t let him touch you. I swear. I would never.”

He seems genuinely shocked that Trevor would even consider the possibility. It would be touching if the circumstances weren’t so bizarre. As it is though, it’s just kind of funny, because that’s not what Trevor was talking about at all.

“I appreciate that,” he says, trying really hard not to laugh and mostly failing. “But I just mean I have better things to do with my weekend. Like sit around and watch movies and not leave the couch. You could even join me, and then neither of us would have to deal with whatever the fuck is up with your weird roommate.”

Brandon huffs. Trevor might be hallucinating it, but his cheeks stain a soft shade of pink.

“Okay, I know there’s not really anything in it for you,” he starts, and Trevor raises his eyebrows in amusement, but Brandon barrels on. “But you’ve been asking about visiting anyway and this is your chance. We can literally do whatever you want, stay in bed all day and watch movies or whatever, I don’t care. I’ll buy you dinner or something. I just really need you to do this for me.”

Trevor blinks, taken aback. He was almost entirely sure Brandon’s argument was going to be some gross comment about how spending the weekend with him was a privilege and he should consider himself lucky to be invited, or something along those lines. Never in a million years did he think Brandon was going to start bargaining with him. Trevor can’t for the life of him figure out why this is so important to him, but it’s so deeply unlike Brandon to beg like this, which means that for whatever reason, he’s dead serious about this.

This is an awful idea. Like, astronomically horrible. If Trevor says yes to this, he’s basically signing his own death warrant. The last two months he’s spent painstakingly trying to build a life that doesn’t revolve around Brandon will have all been in vain, because there’s no way he could ever make it through this without ending right back up at square one, hopelessly pining for a boy that doesn’t like him like that and never will.

But… Brandon’s his best friend. And he clearly needs him right now. And it’s not his fault that Trevor can’t get his feelings in check. It wouldn’t be fair to him if Trevor said no because he was worried about his own bullshit getting in the way.

“Okay,” he says quietly, against all his better judgment. “But I get to pick the movies, and you can’t complain about any of them.”

Brandon’s face lights up the second he says it, like he didn’t actually expect Trevor to say yes. Trevor’s not sure why—he’s pretty sure he’s never actually said no to Brandon and not caved almost immediately afterwards. It’s pathetic, but not quite as pathetic as the way his stomach is filling with butterflies just from the way Brandon’s looking at him right now, smiling all helpless and relieved. Who the fuck was he kidding? He hasn’t gotten over shit.

Before Brandon can respond, Rowan suddenly appears back in the doorway, staring at Trevor with an expression that he can only describe as bewilderment. “Did you just agree to that?”

“I thought you didn’t wanna be involved,” Trevor mocks.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to have opinions. You’re both insane.”

He rolls his eyes, and when he glances over at Brandon he’s still smiling, but it’s cocky now, like he’s proud of the fact that he has Trevor wrapped around his finger.

Trevor’s absolutely fucked.

—

Brandon stays the rest of the weekend, and doesn’t say another word about it. Trevor almost brings it up several times, but ultimately decides against it—this was Brandon’s idea, so he gets to take the lead, even though Trevor’s already concerned about the logistics. Shouldn’t they be thinking this through a little better? They need a backstory, at the very least, some basic details just in case someone asks so they don’t blow their cover immediately. Ideally they won’t have to explain themselves to anyone, but if they’re going to do this, they should do it right.

But Brandon’s mouth stays shut, so Trevor’s does too.

Rowan, on the other hand, corners Trevor the second Brandon leaves on Sunday afternoon.

“Did he say anything else?”

Trevor frowns at the incredibly vague question. “What?”

“Brandon,” she clarifies. “About whatever he wants you to do with him next weekend.”

“Oh. Um, no, he didn’t. Just what he said on Friday, which I’m assuming you were listening to.”

“Yeah, obviously. Are you, like… okay with this?”

Trevor stays quiet for a minute, searching Rowan's face for any hint of what she’s trying to imply. See, the thing is, Trevor has absolutely no idea how much Rowan knows. As far as he’s aware, there’s only one other person outside of him and Brandon that knows that they hooked up, and that’s Sean, who’s the least likely person to be going around gossiping about them, so anything she’s figured out by now probably would’ve had to have been on her own.

But, Rowan’s not stupid—in fact, she’s actually quite observant, and she was also around all summer when Brandon was practically living in their house because he didn’t want to go home, which means there’s absolutely no way she’s completely oblivious. Brandon’s idea of what constitutes “friendly” is questionable even with people he isn’t that close with—which is to say that the way he behaves around Trevor, his childhood best friend, is so wildly inappropriate that if Trevor wasn’t stupidly in love with him he would probably be horrified. And Trevor, though he tries to deny it, is well aware that he wears his heart on his sleeve. Rowan must be at least a little suspicious by now. Or maybe a lot suspicious, judging by the look of concern on her face.

He swallows thickly. “I can handle a weekend with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She sighs, fidgeting with her necklace. “I know, it’s just— he was being weird, right? Like, do you think something’s wrong?”

Trevor softens. Like he said—observant. At least he’s not the only one worrying. “Yeah. I mean, something’s definitely wrong, which is why I said yes. I don’t know, maybe I can figure out if something’s going on.”

“Okay,” she says quietly, but she still seems wary. “It’s just— you know how he is. I just wanna make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but the look she gives him is heavy, loaded with all the things she’s not saying. Trevor just stares back, trying desperately to convey that whatever it is, he already knows.

“I’ll be careful.”

Rowan nods, visibly deflating. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Of course.”

—

On Thursday evening, Trevor gets the following texts:

Brandon: pack a bag
Brandon: ill pick u up after school

Trevor slides his phone across the counter to show Rowan.

She frowns at the screen as she reads the messages. “Oh my god. He’s straight up kidnapping you.”

“Do you think it’s too late to back out?”

“Even if you did, I think he’s still gonna show up here tomorrow and throw you in his car and maybe handcuff you to the door.”

Trevor drops his head on the countertop in defeat.

“Okay, seriously though,” Rowan says, her tone much gentler. “If he tries to pull some crazy shit, call me, and I’ll come get you.”

This is probably when he’s supposed to say something kind and genuine in return, but he can’t help himself. “What if he takes my phone? That’s like, the number one rule of kidnapping.”

Luckily, she takes it in stride. “I’m trusting you to be smart enough to not let that happen,” she replies with a smirk. “But just in case, you can also just think about it really hard and maybe I’ll get your message. Use that twin telepathy that Brandon’s so convinced we have.”

A laugh bubbles up in the back of Trevor’s throat. Brandon’s been making jokes about the two of them being twins ever since he got released from juvie and discovered their new family arrangements, and it’s only escalated since then. Brandon’s entirely sure that Trevor and Rowan have developed some sort of psychic connection, because they have a mild tendency to say the same thing at the same time. Trevor’s pretty sure it has everything to do with them spending way too much time together and nothing to do with any newfound superpowers, but it’s still funny watching the way Brandon freaks out every time they do it.

“Deal.”

—

True to his word, Brandon shows up Friday afternoon, walks right into the house, and asks Trevor where his bag is.

Trevor just sighs, shoulders his backpack, and follows him back out to the car with the solemn acceptance of a soldier returning to war. He tries not to let himself indulge in these sorts of dramatics anymore, but he feels like he deserves it right now.

The drive to Brandon’s boarding school isn’t actually very long—half an hour maybe, forty-five minutes if you leave at the wrong time of day. Trevor knows this because he’s mapped it out a hundred times in moments of weakness. Brandon wasn’t lying when he said that Trevor’s been asking about visiting, but it hasn’t worked out, mostly because Brandon always insists on coming to them instead.

So Trevor’s only done this drive once, on the day Brandon moved in. Brandon’s car was packed full, and Trevor and Rowan were supposed to follow in Trevor’s truck, but at the last minute Brandon shoved his keys in Rowan’s hand and climbed in Trevor’s passenger seat. He didn’t say a word the entire drive despite Trevor’s best attempts to distract him, just stared out the windshield with an unreadable expression on his face, an image that’s been burned into Trevor’s brain ever since.

He’s trying really hard not to think about that drive right now, but it feels eerily similar, Brandon’s usual easygoing nonchalance nowhere to be found. Trevor knows he’s almost always faking it, but it’s still horribly disarming every time Brandon drops the act around him and Trevor finds himself suddenly sitting next to a shell of a boy.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to nudge Brandon’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what’s going through Brandon’s head right now, but whatever it is, he wants it to stop. “We need a backstory.”

Brandon’s face goes through several emotions in the span of only a couple of seconds and then he starts laughing in a way that looks like it surprised him as much as it surprised Trevor. “What?”

“If we’re going to be fake boyfriends this weekend, we need a fake backstory just in case someone asks,” Trevor explains. “It won’t work if we blow our cover because we don’t have a consistent story to tell.”

“Oh my god. You really thought this through,” Brandon teases, and Trevor feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but it’s worth it for the way the tension bleeds out of Brandon’s shoulders, the easy grin finally back on his face, one that actually reaches his eyes and isn’t being forced out.

Trevor settles back in his seat, satisfied that Brandon’s back to himself. “Yeah, because I knew you weren’t gonna.”

Brandon rolls his eyes, but he plays along. “Okay, fine. If someone asks, we can tell them to mind their fucking business.”

“Won’t that be way too suspicious?” Trevor argues.

Brandon gets that stupid look on his face that means the next thing that comes out of his mouth is going to piss Trevor off. “I mean, we can tell them we’re juvie boyfriends if you want—”

Trevor cuts him off. “You know what actually, the first one’s fine.”

“C’mon, we’d be such good juvie boyfriends,” Brandon goads. “All the private school assholes would be scared of us, it would be perfect.”

This conversation is not going the way Trevor thought it would. “The goal here is to not invite any more questions. If we tell people we started dating in juvie it would have the exact opposite effect.”

“Well, since I was in juvie for allegedly planning to shoot up the school, we can tell them that we were both planning to shoot up the school, like a Thelma & Louise situation.”

Trevor doesn’t even know where to start with that one. “Have you even seen Thelma & Louise?”

“Nope. I just know they’re gay lovers that commit crimes together and then drive off a cliff.”

Really bad movie references are Brandon’s favorite way to bait a reaction out of Trevor, and unfortunately it works every single time. “They’re not actually gay lovers. And everything that happens to them is because they kill some guy in self defense and have to flee the country. Us planning to shoot up a school together isn’t even sort of close to that.”

“Wait, what? I thought they were like, outlaws on the run.”

“You’re thinking of Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Oh.”

Trevor can’t help his laughter at the confused expression on Brandon’s face. “It doesn’t actually matter though, because we’re not telling people we’re school shooters.”

“Lame. But, whatever. I still think we should go with my original plan of telling people it’s none of their business.”

“I’m cool with that.”

Brandon looks away from the road for a second to grin at him. “Okay. Anything else?”

Trevor’s so distracted he doesn’t actually process the question. “Huh?”

“You’ve clearly thought about this more than me. So are we missing anything else?”

“Oh, um…” Trevor chews on the side of his thumb while he tries to get his thoughts back in order. “No, I don’t think so.”

Brandon reaches over and bats his hand away from his mouth. His voice is suddenly much softer. “What’s wrong?”

Being away from Brandon for weeks at a time now, it’s easy to forget how easily he can read him. Trevor doesn’t even bother trying to deny it. “I feel like this is going to backfire and blow up in our faces.”

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be like that. It’ll be fine. We’ll literally be doing exactly what we would be doing anyway, just with a little more handholding or whatever. No big deal.”

Trevor might be imagining it, but it sounds like he might be trying to convince himself too. It makes Trevor feel a little bit better at least, knowing he’s not the only one nervous about how this is going to go. It’s sweet of Brandon to try and reassure him anyway.

“Okay,” he says, still sort of hesitant. “I guess.”

“You don’t have to worry about it anyway, you don’t even go here. If it blows up on us, I’m the only one that has to deal with the consequences.”

That one definitely doesn’t make Trevor feel any better. The thought of leaving Brandon alone here to deal with the fallout of whatever the hell they manage to get themselves into is enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Brandon must notice the look on his face, because he immediately rushes to backtrack. “Sorry, forget I said that. Nothing’s going to happen, I swear. You’ll sleep in my bed for a couple nights, piss my roommate off enough that he shuts the fuck up, and then you can go home and we’ll both be fine. Yeah?”

Trevor swallows thickly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Brandon nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and turns the music up, which either means he’s all done talking or he can tell that Trevor’s all done talking. Either way, Trevor’s not complaining.

They’re almost there anyway, if Trevor’s mental map is correct. Only a few minutes away. He’s trying not to worry, but it’s a lot easier said than done. The pit in his stomach is only getting worse the closer they get, and it’s not just because of Brandon’s fake boyfriend plan that’s almost certainly doomed to fail.

It’s also because he has absolutely no idea what he’s walking into. Despite the fact that Brandon’s been here for a few months now, and Trevor’s seen him several times since then, he doesn’t actually know much of anything about Brandon’s life here. Other than a couple vague mentions of one random friend from one of his classes, Brandon hasn’t said anything about who he hangs out with here, or what his social life is like at all. Last weekend was the first time Trevor heard anything about his literal roommate, the guy he’s been living with this entire time. And Brandon’s not obligated to share anything he doesn’t want to, but Trevor has no idea why he’s keeping it locked up so tight. In fact, every time he or Rowan tries to ask, he immediately steers the conversation away, which has definitely raised a few red flags but Trevor’s never pushed, doesn’t want to accidentally hit a random nerve and end up getting the silent treatment for the rest of the weekend.

It’s just strange, that Brandon would be so weirdly secretive about it and then randomly drag Trevor to school with him one weekend, barely even giving him the chance to say no, and then still not elaborate on what’s going on. Which means Trevor has to find out for himself, and he’s not looking forward to it in the slightest. The only thing he has to hold on to right now is the promise Brandon made to watch out for him. It doesn’t really feel like enough, but it’s going to have to be.

—

Five minutes later, Trevor climbs out of Brandon’s car and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Brandon comes around the front as he’s shutting the door, holding his hand out expectantly.

Trevor frowns, no idea what he’s asking for. He cautiously reaches out his own hand and slides it into Brandon’s.

Brandon huffs a laugh, clearly entertained by Trevor’s apparently incorrect guess. “Your bag, T.”

Trevor immediately drops his hand, his cheeks heating up. “Oh. It’s fine, I got it.”

Brandon rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling in amusement. “I’m supposed to be your boyfriend. Give me your bag.”

“Oh,” he says for the second time, feeling sort of stupid, and hands the bag over.

Brandon shoulders it and then holds his hand out again. “Okay, now your hand.”

When Trevor doesn’t move fast enough for his liking, Brandon just reaches over and snatches it up, laces their fingers together and then promptly turns around and starts walking towards the dorms, leaving Trevor to stumble along behind him.

“Hey, you told them already, right? Like, we’re not about to surprise your roommate?” Trevor asks, struggling to catch up.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I told him a couple days ago. And a few other guys on our floor that we hang out with sometimes. I’m sure word has spread by now.” He shoots Trevor a cocky grin, but Trevor’s not buying it.

“They were okay with it?”

“They’re all scared of me. If they had opinions they kept it to themselves.”

Trevor starts laughing despite himself. “What the fuck did you do?”

Brandon just shrugs, smirking like he’s a little too proud of himself. “I might’ve stretched the juvie story a little bit.”

“You didn’t tell them you got your ass handed to you when you were in there?”

“Absolutely not. So keep your mouth shut.”

Brandon holds tight to his hand as he leads him into his dorm, up two flights of stairs, the same route Trevor remembers from moving him in. He pulls him to a stop right before they leave the stairwell and steps right in front of him to give Trevor a quick once-over.

“Let me do the talking, okay?” he says, reaching up with his free hand to comb his fingers through Trevor’s hair like he’s trying to smooth it down. If Trevor had his wits about him, he would bat his hand away and fix it himself, but he’s already so distracted from the way Brandon’s been casually rubbing his thumb over his knuckles that he just nods and stays still while Brandon apparently changes his mind and ruffles his bangs to fluff them back up.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back, seeming satisfied with his work. “Let’s go.”

Trevor almost trips over his feet as Brandon tugs him out of the stairwell and down the hall to his room. He hasn’t processed a single thing that’s happened in the last couple of minutes, and it’s finally starting to sink in for real that he has to survive an entire weekend of this, but he doesn’t have enough time to start questioning all of his life choices that led him to this point before Brandon’s stopping in front of his door and pulling his key out of his pocket. Trevor squeezes his fingers without really meaning to as Brandon turns the key in the lock, and Brandon squeezes back right before he pushes the door open and leads him inside.

Brandon’s dorm room doesn’t look much different than it did the day he moved in, aside from the accumulated mess. The walls are barren, the bed unmade, the floor strewn with dirty clothes, and every surface is littered with random papers and empty energy drink cans. His roommate is lounging in bed on his laptop, and Trevor watches as he glances up at them, his gaze immediately dropping to their hands clasped between their bodies.

If Brandon notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it, just tosses Trevor’s backpack on his bed and then steps back up to his side, dropping his car keys on the dresser.

“Trevor, James. James, Trevor,” he says casually, gesturing between them. “We’re gonna go grab dinner.”

The rommate—James, apparently—is staring at them like he didn’t realize Brandon was serious about the boyfriend thing until right at this very moment. He has an all-American sort of look about him, like he’s predestined to be a frat president. Attractive, but not the type that would usually catch Trevor’s eye. And Trevor might be a little biased here, based on what Brandon’s already told him, but mostly he just looks like a douche.

“Um. Hi,” James says, dumbly, and Trevor was told to keep his mouth shut, so he just gives him a half-hearted wave in response.

“You doing anything tonight?” Brandon asks, and his tone is casual, but he’s gripping Trevor’s hand a little too tight for him to believe it.

“I don’t know. Might see if any of the guys wanna hang out, if, um… if you guys wanna come.” He keeps glancing over at Trevor like he’s not entirely convinced he’s not hallucinating this entire interaction, barely doing anything to conceal his obvious discomfort.

But apparently Brandon wasn’t lying when he said he was afraid of him, because Brandon narrows his eyes the slightest bit and James immediately schools his expression. Trevor has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

“Alright, cool,” Brandon responds, like that whole interaction didn’t just happen. “I might take him out, but I’ll hit you up if we’re looking for something to do.”

James just nods, and Brandon takes that as the dismissal it is, nudging Trevor back out the door.

They make it all the way back to the stairs before Trevor dares to open his mouth. “That was weird, right?”

Brandon huffs a laugh. He’s still holding Trevor’s hand, seems unbothered by the sweat that’s gathered between their palms. “Could’ve been worse. I mean, he’s been weird for a couple weeks now. I think he thought I was fucking with him.”

“You are fucking with him.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He’s never gonna know that.”

Brandon pushes the door open, the two of them spilling out onto the sidewalk behind the dorm building.

“Alright, um, the dining hall doesn’t actually open for dinner for another half hour, I just needed an excuse to get out of there. Want a campus tour while we wait? There’s not actually that much to see, but, you know.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, sure. Lead the way.”

—

Brandon’s impromptu campus tour takes longer than expected, so by the time they’re actually sitting down, plowing through way too many pieces of mediocre dining hall pizza, it’s been at least an hour. Mostly because Brandon insisted on taking him inside every single building he could just to waste time, and got a little carried away.

It’s sort of strange, seeing Brandon in his element like this. The weirdest part is that this is the last place Trevor ever would have expected him to end up, much less actually fit in. And that wasn’t the impression he got initially, what with the whole roommate situation, but when they were wandering around earlier, Brandon got stopped more than once to say hi to random classmates who were happy to meet his fake boyfriend and didn’t seem phased by it at all. No one Brandon seemed particularly close with, but they definitely liked him, at least enough to come chat with him outside of class. He probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he is—Brandon is incredibly charming when he wants to be. Trevor knows that better than most.

Speaking of. “So. Where are we going tonight?”

Brandon pauses to swallow his mouthful. “Huh?”

“You told James you were taking me out. Where are we going?”

Trevor watches as a stupid little grin spreads on Brandon’s face. “Ice cream, if you’re up for it. There’s a place pretty close that’s open late. You in?”

Trevor eyes him skeptically. “Is this just an excuse to get out of the dorm?”

“Well, yeah, obviously, but it’s still a date, so it works.”

“Isn’t the whole point of this to bother him though? Why do we keep leaving?”

Brandon rolls his eyes. “Trev, relax. We have all weekend. I promised you we’d stay in anyway, so trust me, you’ll get plenty of time to hang out with him.”

“That’s not—” Trevor snaps his mouth shut, refusing to take the bait. Not that it really makes a difference, because Brandon’s already laughing at him.

“He’s probably gonna be out anyway. So don’t worry about it.” Brandon’s tone is light, but Trevor can tell he’s still genuinely trying to reassure him, and he finds himself deflating slightly, slumping back in the booth.

“Who was he talking about, by the way? That he asked if we wanted to hang out with tonight?”

“Just his other friends,” Brandon says dismissively. “He’s been at this school a lot longer than I have, obviously. A few of them live in our building, so they hang out all the time.”

That doesn’t really answer Trevor’s question. “And you… hang out with them?”

Brandon just shrugs. “Sometimes.”

That’s also not an answer. But, clearly, for some reason, Brandon doesn’t want to talk about this, and Trevor knows better than to push, so he drops it instead.

Maybe later.

—

They don’t leave the dining hall until it closes, and Trevor dutifully bites back a second comment on the fact that Brandon’s clearly avoiding the dorm. Brandon takes Trevor’s hand again, and Trevor doesn’t comment on that either. It’s overkill, surely—of all the seventeen year old couples Trevor knows, none of them act like this, but Trevor’s enjoying the physical contact way more than he would ever admit, so he’s not going to be the one to break that news to Brandon.

Brandon drags him back to the dorm, but only to grab his keys and a hoodie, and, if Trevor’s suspicions are correct, so Brandon can check on James. But he’s not in their room, so Brandon lets Trevor follow him inside, goes rummaging through his closet while Trevor collapses on his bed.

“What if we just stayed here?” Trevor suggests. It’s supposed to be a joke, but the yawn he barely manages to muffle isn’t really helping his case.

Brandon pauses, turning back with an extra sweatshirt in his hand. “I mean, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Trevor frowns. Brandon sounds… disappointed, almost, which was certainly not his intention. He pushes himself up on his elbows. “Nah, it’s fine, I want ice cream. Let’s go.”

Brandon shakes his head, but there’s a relieved smile on his face when he tosses one of the hoodies to Trevor. “Put that on. C’mon.”

So now here they are, twenty minutes later, standing in front of the counter in a quaint little ice cream shop just outside campus. It’s not busy by any means, but there are a few tables occupied by what look like other students, probably this place’s primary source of income, and certainly the reason they stay open on Friday nights.

Brandon’s chatting up the cashier in the flirty way he talks to everyone, but his hand is resting on the small of Trevor’s back, underneath the hoodie he had lent him for the night. Trevor brought his own hoodie, but he’s not complaining, always happy to wear Brandon’s clothes when they’re offered, and also sometimes when they aren’t offered and he steals them anyway. This one’s new, has the school logo on the front, and Trevor’s not really sure if Brandon gave it to him to make him look like a student or to make him look like he’s wearing his boyfriend’s clothes, but either way, he didn’t question it.

He also didn’t question when Brandon said he’d do the ordering, because he gets the same thing every single time they get ice cream, which Brandon obviously knows, and he just assumed part of Brandon’s whole fake boyfriend thing included doing all the talking everywhere they went, which is perfectly fine with Trevor. But maybe he should’ve, because now all he can do is keep his mouth shut and try to conceal his mild horror and confusion as Brandon orders some sort of disgustingly elaborate sundae situation and then politely asks for two spoons to go with it.

Trevor doesn’t say a word until they’re sitting at a table tucked in the corner of the shop, the absolute monstrosity of a sundae on the table between them. “What the fuck is this?”

Brandon hands over one of the spoons. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re gonna throw up hot fudge in the parking lot.”

Brandon just laughs, digging his spoon in. “Stop complaining, it’s half cookies and cream just for you.”

That is true—at the very least, Brandon had stuck to Trevor’s flavor of choice. Trevor takes a bite, just to make Brandon happy, and then another when he discovers that it’s actually really good. Maybe Brandon’s taste in ice cream toppings isn’t as concerning as he thought.

“I know you told James this was a date, but you know it didn’t actually have to be a date, right?” Trevor says between spoonfuls. “Like, you could’ve gotten us separate cups. Or at least let me pay or something.”

Brandon kicks him under the table, and then traps Trevor’s foot between his ankles when he tries to kick him back. “What, you don’t like sharing ice cream with me?” he teases.

Trevor rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Hey, c’mon, quit pouting,” Brandon says, squeezing his legs around Trevor’s foot like he’s trying to reassure him. “It’s just fun. I’m literally forcing you to be my fake boyfriend all weekend, the least I can do is take you on a real date.”

Trevor sighs, his cheeks heating up. It sounds a little too good to be true. “Okay, but you don’t really have to keep the act up here. We’re not even on campus.”

But Brandon doesn’t back down. He just shrugs, taking another bite. “I mean, we’re committed for the weekend, unless you tell me you need a break or whatever. Get used to it.”

Does Trevor need a break? Probably. Is he going to tell Brandon that? Absolutely not.

“Alright, fine, Jesus. Didn’t realize you were so serious about this,” he laughs, but he knows he’s still blushing, and Brandon can almost definitely see right through him.

“I don’t do things halfway. You know this.”

Trevor does know this. And it’s going to be the death of him.

This is sort of nice though, he has to admit. He’s never actually been on a proper date before, never really bothered with that sort of stuff. There was only one person he ever would have even entertained the idea with, and that boy is currently sitting across from him, shoveling mint chocolate chip ice cream into his mouth at a truly frightening pace. To be fair, him and Brandon used to do stuff like this all the time—they’d go to the diner, or out for fast food, or out for ice cream like they are right now, or Trevor would drag him to the movies, or the local record shop, or the thrift store to look at DVDs, and even though it was often just the two of them, they never called it a date. That didn’t mean Trevor didn’t like to pretend, but he always felt sort of bad. Dirty, almost, for having those thoughts around his best friend, even though he never said any of them out loud. It didn’t seem fair, putting that on him, even just in Trevor’s head, so he kept it all to himself, tried not to think about it.

But it’s different now, sitting in this ice cream shop so far from home, sharing an oversized sundae, their feet still tangled under the table. He doesn’t have to pretend this time, because Brandon keeps insisting it’s a date. So that means it’s real, to a certain extent. It’s still part of the act, sort of, but Brandon doesn’t look like he’s performing right now, doesn’t look like he’s putting on a show for anyone. He looks the same way he always does around Trevor, just happy to be hanging out with his best friend, his usual pretty face set in an amused little grin as he listens to Trevor catch him up on everything he’s missed back at Hilland. It’s a lot, having Brandon’s full attention like this, though Trevor’s had years to get used to it. Brandon always looks good, in that messy boyish way that Trevor likes too much, and it still has the same effect it had when they were thirteen and Trevor didn’t yet have a name for the feeling that swirled in his stomach every time Brandon smiled at him.

Honestly, Trevor feels exactly like that thirteen year old right now, his cheeks heating up under Brandon’s gaze against his will. If Brandon was pretty back then, he’s gorgeous now, all grown up, his features sharp and matured, and Trevor’s noticing it more than usual these days, now that their visits have become so few and far between, but it’s hitting him so much worse right now because this is a date, and it doesn’t seem very fair that Brandon had time to prepare for this and Trevor’s just sitting here in Brandon’s hoodie and a pair of jeans that he picked up off his bedroom floor this morning. Brandon doesn’t seem to mind though—to be fair, he’s the one that gave Trevor the hoodie in the first place. And anyway, surely he wouldn’t have asked Trevor to do this if he didn’t think he was good-looking enough to tote around as his plus one for the weekend.

He’s probably reading too much into this. Scratch that—he’s definitely reading too much into this. It’s just a date. One that may or may not also be a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security, but whatever. Brandon said it himself, he just wanted to take Trevor out to say thank you. He can handle that. He can let himself have this, let himself believe it tonight. And, you know, just in case shit hits the fan sometime in the next two days, at least he can say he’s been on a date with Brandon Darrow. At least he finally knows how it feels.

—

They have to head back to the dorm eventually, upon Brandon’s insistence, something about a curfew, which is a little bit funny because Trevor’s pretty sure he’s never seen Brandon follow a single rule in his entire life. Maybe boarding school has actually been good for him.

James still isn’t back when they get to the room, but Brandon doesn’t seem too concerned. He just empties his pockets onto the desk and strips out of his clothes, digging through the dresser, presumably for something to wear to bed. Trevor moves to do the same, but Brandon puts a hand out to stop him, tossing a t-shirt and a pair of sweats onto the bed beside him.

“For you,” he explains, grabbing another t-shirt out of the drawer to tug over his head.

Trevor picks up the clothes, taking a second to examine them. Like the hoodie he just took off, they’re both branded with the school logo. Freebies, maybe, for anyone that goes here, since he can’t imagine Brandon ever buying any of this stuff for himself.

“Why do I have to keep wearing your clothes?” Trevor questions as he’s pulling them on, just to be annoying. “Why don’t you wear mine?”

“James doesn’t know what your clothes look like,” Brandon explains, like it’s obvious. “But those are obviously mine. And anyway, pretty sure you didn’t bring enough clothes for that.”

Trevor ignores that last part, collapsing back onto the bed. “I thought you said you didn’t think about this,” he laughs, all too happy to have caught Brandon in the lie. He had his suspicions, but he wasn’t going to say anything without confirmation.

Brandon shoves him in the shoulder, pushing him over so he can climb onto the bed next to him. “Barely. Don’t push it.” But it’s an empty threat, because Trevor can see him fighting a smile.

Trevor pushes up on his elbows, reaching for his phone to check the time. “Speaking of James—where is he? Isn’t it past curfew?”

“Probably in someone else’s dorm,” Brandon responds, leaning back against the wall. “The dorm parents usually check our floor last, so he has a few more minutes. And they don’t really care usually, as long as he’s in the same building. They’ll just send him back up.”

“Dorm parents?”

“They live in the building, check up on us and stuff. How else do you think they could actually enforce a curfew?”

“Huh. I guess. I didn’t realize someone was coming to check on you. Do I need to, like, hide? Am I actually allowed to be here?”

Brandon huffs an amused laugh, kneeing Trevor in the side. “Yes, you’re allowed to be here, dumbass. I just had to tell them ahead of time. Fill out some forms and shit so they know you’re not a serial killer. I would tell you to go get ready for bed while I deal with them, but they’ll probably wanna meet you.”

Turns out, Brandon was right. They do, in fact, want to meet Trevor, and they have a lot more enthusiasm about it than James did. James, who hasn’t said a word to them since he got back to the dorm, but Trevor doesn’t really care. He’s exhausted, has been up since 7am, and he doesn’t complain when Brandon ushers him out of the room after check-in to show him the bathrooms so they can actually go to sleep soon. He offered to stay up so they could watch something, but Trevor shut that down immediately. They have the whole weekend for that. Right now, Trevor just wants to go to sleep.

James is already in bed when they get back, so Brandon shuts the lights off, lets Trevor climb in first and then crawls under the covers right after him, wraps his arms around Trevor’s waist and presses up close against his back, a protective wall between Trevor and the rest of the room—or, more importantly, between Trevor and James. It’s the only way the two of them fit comfortably in this bed, but still, it’s so lovely that Trevor thinks he might cry.

Or maybe he’s just overtired. But it’s been so long since Brandon held him like this, and it feels so, so good, too good, safe and warm and secure in Brandon’s arms, relishing in the obscene amount of heat radiating off Brandon’s body. He’s already dreading when he has to go home to his cold, empty bed, sick to his stomach at the prospect of going to bed all alone on Sunday night.

Brandon slides one of his feet between Trevor’s legs, rubs his nose against the back of his neck, breathing in deep, and Trevor can’t fight the full body shiver that wracks up his spine. Brandon just tightens his hold in response, strokes a thumb over Trevor’s stomach like he’s trying to soothe him, like he can feel how tense he is despite Trevor’s best efforts to relax.

Trevor’s heart does a sick lurch inside his chest. Forget everything he said five seconds ago—he can’t do this. He really, really can’t do this. But he’s trapped now, no way out, can’t exactly escape from Brandon’s iron grip, and Brandon would be upset with him anyway if he tried. He promised him, didn’t he? It’s not fair if he tries to bail on night one.

He reaches up and pulls his phone out from under the pillow though, because he needs to do something, anything to calm himself down enough that he can actually fall asleep. The plan was to text Rowan, but to Trevor’s surprise, Rowan beat him to it, several texts lighting up his phone screen.

Rowan: u still alive?
Rowan: pls confirm before i go to sleep
Rowan: unless ur already asleep then pls text me as soon as u wake up!

Trevor holds the phone down by his stomach, just to make sure Brandon can’t read over his shoulder, and texts back.

Trevor: still alive
Trevor: mostly
Rowan: ???
Rowan: whats that supposed to mean
Trevor: dw about it
Rowan: did u figure out whats going on?
Trevor: not yet. roommates super weird though. not sure what his deal is but him and b are definitely fighting over smth
Rowan: something he didnt already tell u about?
Trevor: i think so. ill tell you if i figure it out
Rowan: kk
Rowan: get some sleep <3
Trevor: night :)

—

The next morning, Trevor is so rudely awoken from a dead sleep to the shrill blare of an alarm sounding from the other side of the room. Before he even registers where he is, Brandon’s hands come up and clamp over his ears, muffling the piercing ringing.

“Dude, turn that off,” Brandon groans, but it’s not directed at him.

The alarm, which apparently belongs to James, promptly cuts off, leaving the room in blissful silence once again. Trevor sighs, letting his eyes slip back shut.

“Sorry,” Brandon mumbles, and this one’s meant for Trevor this time, too quiet for James to hear. He slides his hands down off of Trevor’s ears, presses a kiss to the back of his neck in apology, then wraps his arms right back around Trevor’s middle, squeezing tight.

If Trevor wasn’t half asleep, he would probably be freaking the fuck out right now. But as it is, his sleep-addled brain’s only response to the feeling of Brandon’s lips against his skin is to push back against him, wordlessly begging for him to do it again. He doesn’t get another kiss, but he does get a hand slipped under his t-shirt, Brandon’s warm palm splayed flat across his stomach, pulling him impossibly closer.

He can hear James getting out of bed behind them, rummaging around the room, but Brandon doesn’t make any move to get up, so Trevor lets himself start to drift off again, lulled by the slow rise of fall of Brandon’s chest against his back. He wants to stay here forever, wrapped up in Brandon’s arms, quiet and sleepy and a little too warm under the covers, Brandon’s entire body pressed up to his.

An hour passes, or maybe two, or maybe it’s only a few minutes, Trevor doesn’t really know. He’s only half-aware of his surroundings, slipping in and out of dreams, perfectly content to stay right here as long as Brandon will let him. He can feel Brandon’s hands idly sweeping up and down his sides, over his torso, but he’s not entirely sure if it’s actually real, or just a really nice dream.

But, unfortunately, this can’t last forever, and his thoughts are slowly starting to become more lucid, awareness trickling in about how hungry he is, and how hot it actually is under all the blankets, and isn’t the dining hall only open for so long?

Reluctantly, he forces his eyes open, rolls over as best as he can in the cramped space between Brandon and the wall, legs tangled up in the sheets.

Brandon, who looks a lot more awake than Trevor, just smiles sweetly at him, pulling an arm out to prop his head on. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Trevor’s pretty sure he’s not projecting anything close to sunshine right now, his whole face scrunched up against the daylight, but it sets off the butterflies in his stomach anyway.

“Did we miss breakfast?” he asks, his voice groggy with sleep.

Brandon’s expression shifts to amusement. “No, it’s open later on weekends. But we should probably get going soon.”

He doesn’t make any move to get up though, his other arm still slung loosely around Trevor’s waist, blunt nails scratching idly at his back. Trevor doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but unfortunately, his stomach makes that decision for him, rumbling just loud enough that it’s incredibly obvious in the quiet room. It sets Brandon off into a fit of laughter, and he squeezes Trevor’s waist one more time before letting go and climbing out of bed, still looking far too amused as he pulls a hoodie on and shoves his feet into his shoes. Trevor just rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling in defeat.

“C’mon,” Brandon says, clapping Trevor on the shoulder. “Get dressed, just take something from the dresser. I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be back in a few.”

It takes several more minutes for Trevor to convince himself to get out of bed, mostly because the second Brandon walks out the door he immediately burrows right back under the covers, face buried in the pillow, just to indulge for a little bit longer. It’s just that, of all the times they’ve slept in the same bed, it’s always been Trevor’s, which means he doesn’t ever get the luxury of crawling into a bed that already smells like Brandon, has never gotten to wrap himself up in Brandon’s blankets like this before. It’s borderline intoxicating, makes his head spin if he thinks too much about it, so much better than his old, pathetic habit of rolling over to Brandon’s side after he left to curl up in the last remnants of the warmth he left behind, nose pressed to the sheets so he could breathe it in before the scent of his shampoo faded.

But he can’t stay here all day, as much as he wants to, and it doesn’t take very long for the guilt to set in, the little voice in the back of his head reminding him that this is a horrible idea, that he’s just being weird and creepy, and he’s only making things worse for himself, and this is the exact opposite of what he should be doing right now if he wants to preserve any ounce of sanity for the rest of the weekend, and wasn’t he supposed to be getting over this? And the longer he lays there the worse it gets, until all he can think about is the fact that none of this is real and he’s taking advantage of a pretty awful situation for his own selfish cravings, so now he’s not even enjoying this anymore, he just feels like he’s doing something horrible, like destroying that stuffed frog that Brandon’s always carrying around that he thinks no one knows about, or downing a bottle of liquor after so many months of sobriety. Which is to say, he feels like absolute shit.

This, in turn, makes it even harder to emerge from under the covers, but Brandon could hypothetically be back any second now, and Trevor really, really doesn’t want to get caught huffing his pillow, so he takes one more deep breath of the lingering sleep smell still thick between the sheets and then stumbles out of bed, right over to the dresser to go grab something to wear. He doesn’t really feel great about going through Brandon’s clothes right now either, but he was given pretty explicit instructions to do just that, so at least he doesn’t have to feel quite so guilty about this one.

Brandon’s drawers are a mess, exactly what he expected. Trevor doesn’t know what the laundry situation is like when you live in a dorm, but whatever it is, it’s clearly Brandon’s responsibility, which means it probably gets done maybe once a month, reflected by the current state of this dorm room. But surely there’s a clean t-shirt and shorts in here somewhere, so Trevor rummages through each drawer one by one until he finds something usable.

He gets changed quickly, leaves last night’s sweats on the bed so he can wear them again later, and he should probably step away now, go brush his teeth or something, but Brandon’s not back yet, and there’s still one more drawer he hasn’t touched, the one at the very bottom, and he really can’t help himself, spares one single glance at the door before squatting down and tugging it open.

This drawer is not like the others. For one, it’s a lot neater than the first three, everything folded semi-properly and tucked into place. And secondly, nothing in this drawer actually belongs to Brandon, save for the aforementioned frog plushy that Trevor finds buried beneath the clothes. And the only reason Trevor knows this, he realizes with a start, is because half of the things in this drawer are his.

He slams the drawer shut and stares at it for several long seconds before pulling it right back open again, just to make sure he didn’t hallucinate that. But no, it’s all still here, a hoodie and a few band t-shirts he thought he lost in the move, currently hidden away in Brandon’s dresser, alongside a sweatshirt that Trevor’s pretty sure belonged to Rowan, and a couple other things that he figures it’s safe to assume aren’t his either. A little dragon’s hoard of stolen clothes, neat and untouched in his bottom drawer. Trevor was almost certainly not supposed to see this.

His stomach hurts. All summer, Brandon did a pretty good job pretending he was totally okay with this, brushed off any attempt Trevor or Rowan made to actually ask how he was feeling about moving away, would huff a humorless laugh and say something along the lines of, it’s better than the military, but it still never sat right with Trevor, no matter how many times he insisted it was fine. Because it’s not fine, none of it is fine, he got thrown in juvie for something he didn’t do and now he has to repeat junior year at a boarding school while the rest of his friends graduate without him, and it doesn’t really matter which way you twist it, it still sucks. And Brandon can pretend it’s not bothering him all he wants, but Trevor’s never going to believe him.

Trevor’s not even the one that had to leave, and he still misses Brandon like a lung, his absence so palpable that it left a gaping hole in Trevor’s life where his best friend used to be, so much worse than when he was in juvie because this time, he’s not coming back. If Brandon feels even a fraction of what Trevor feels on a daily basis, it’s no wonder he was stealing things from all his friends he had to leave behind. It tracks for him anyway, if any of Trevor’s theories about the stuffed frog are correct—Brandon likes to have a piece of the people he loves. It’s sweet in a way that breaks Trevor’s heart and makes him sick to his stomach.

A sudden burst of laughter from the hallway catches Trevor’s attention, and he realizes all at once that he’s just sitting here staring at the open drawer like a fucking idiot that, apparently, really wants to get caught. He hastily closes the drawer back up and stumbles to his feet, taking several steps back and turning to his bag instead to rummage for his toothbrush, and it’s a good thing he realized when he did because Brandon’s key rattles in the doorknob only a few seconds later.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath, sending a quick prayer to the universe to thank whoever it was that was making too much noise out there and inadvertently saved his ass, and quickly schools his expression before he turns back around.

—

Trevor has mostly managed to calm himself by the time they make it to the dining hall, and if Brandon noticed the guilt written all over his face, he hasn’t said anything. In fact, he hasn’t said much of anything at all, but he held Trevor’s hand all the way here, so everything’s probably fine, hopefully, and Trevor chalks it up to morning grogginess.

They’re back at the same corner table they sat at for dinner last night, two bowls of cereal between them, and it’s so achingly familiar, something they’ve done a million times, that Trevor starts to feel better without even realizing it, until suddenly he can breathe again, the weight on his chest finally letting up.

“You decided what we’re watching yet?” Brandon asks casually, kicking him under the table.

Trevor grins at him. “I have a list.”

“Of course you do,” Brandon responds, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling into his cereal, so Trevor knows he’s not actually upset about their plans for the day. “Anything I might actually like?”

“We’ll see. You can veto if you really want.”

“Nah, I trust you. Just don’t be offended if I fall asleep.”

Brandon takes his hand again as they make their way back to the dorm, with a minor detour to pick up some snacks, and Trevor lets himself soak it in, a lot more comfortable with this than he was yesterday. Too comfortable, maybe, because all he can think about is how easily he could get used to this, how badly he wants to do this forever.

They could hypothetically go to college together, right? It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility anyway. Even if Brandon doesn’t want to hold his hand on the way to class, they could still share a dorm, or an apartment, they could still go to the dining hall together, talk about nothing over cereal every morning like they did all summer, but it would be so much better, like it was today, because he won’t have to be in that house that he still has a harder time living in than he’d like to admit.

It’s hard not to think about it, as Brandon drags him across campus, hard not to imagine a future together when this is the closest he’s ever gotten to it, right at the tips of his fingers, so close he could touch it if he just stretched his hand out a little bit further. A cruel trick of the universe, letting him get a taste when he knows it’s not real. But he can fantasize, just for the weekend. Probably couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

Honestly, he hasn’t actually thought much about college, has mostly been avoiding it as much as he possibly can. He’s submitted a few random applications, just to keep his parents off his ass, but he’s not particularly attached to any of the schools he applied to. After spending so long in a depressive rut so bad that he could barely see past the next few hours, let alone graduation, it’s been a lot harder than he’d like to admit trying to claw himself out of that hole, plan for a future that still barely feels conceivable. Even worse because he knows damn well he dug that hole himself, and practically blew up his entire life in the process, which means not only is he just barely learning to function again, but he’s also still dealing with the consequences of barely going to school for several months of his junior year.

But he’s pushing through, one day at a time, doing his best to ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling him that he’s never going to get better, that he’s going to feel like this forever, shoving it aside and forcing himself to go to school, do his homework, get his grades back up, and even if he feels like shit the entire time, at least he’s doing it. So, needless to say, preparing for college has not exactly been his top priority these days when it takes most of his motivation for the day just to get out of bed. But it’s a little bit easier to swallow right now, while he and Brandon are playing pretend, like a trial run of sorts, just enough to convince his rotten brain that maybe he could have a future after all, maybe college wouldn’t be that bad as long as he had his best friend with him.

Maybe he could take a gap year, take some time to get his shit together while he waits for Brandon to graduate. It’s not the worst idea in the world. Brandon would make fun of him, call him clingy, or something worse, but he’d probably still stick by him if he asked, apply to the same schools, look for apartments, let Trevor follow him around for a little bit longer.

Or maybe it’s a pipe dream. But it’s something to hold onto, at the very least, and Trevor doesn’t have much else.

He tries to push all of it out of his mind when they get back to the dorm. He has more important things to worry about right now anyway, like the fact that Brandon’s already pulled his shirt off before Trevor’s even closed the door. This isn’t exactly shocking in and of itself, considering Brandon’s almost never wearing clothes unless it’s strictly necessary—honestly, now that he’s thinking about it, the shocking part is that he wore a t-shirt to bed last night—but it is a problem. Because Trevor can handle Brandon shirtless, but he’s not sure if he can handle being cuddled up to him in a twin bed without at least a couple layers of fabric between them.

Speaking of—

“How are we actually gonna do this?” Trevor asks, eyeing the mattress that isn’t actually big enough to fit them both comfortably without a fair bit of creativity while Brandon pulls out his laptop.

Brandon turns around to follow his line of sight. “Same way we slept last night. You got a better idea?”

“I mean, no, but… where are we putting the laptop?”

Brandon frowns, like this hadn’t occurred to him. “Um… the nightstand? I’ll figure it out, just get in bed.”

Trevor’s stomach swoops against his will. This is not the context he wants to be hearing those words in, especially coming out of Brandon’s mouth. But beggars can’t be choosers, so he does as he’s told and climbs up on the mattress.

Brandon hands him the laptop to get the first movie set up, and then hastily clears off a corner of the nightstand, mostly by sweeping a bunch of random things onto the floor, before climbing up after him and laying down in the narrow space between him and wall, waiting for Trevor to put the computer down and lay down with him.

For the ten millionth time in the last twenty four hours, Trevor wonders what the fuck he got himself into. He briefly considers clicking around for a few more minutes just to stall, but then Brandon reaches out and starts tugging on the back of his t-shirt, impatient as always, and Trevor’s never been very good at denying him, so he hits play and slides the laptop onto the nightstand and lets Brandon pull him down into his arms.

It takes a few seconds of awkward maneuvering—or, more accurately, a few seconds of Brandon manhandling him—but they eventually settle into a position comfortable enough to actually stay in where they can both see the screen, Trevor curled up on his side, legs tucked up so his feet don’t hang off the end of the bed, Brandon pressed along his back, a little farther up on the bed so he can see over Trevor’s head.

Brandon slides his hand around Trevor’s side, squeezes his waist. “See? Figured it out.”

Trevor bats his hand away. “Shush. Pay attention.”

Brandon keeps his mouth shut, but he slips his hand right back around Trevor’s body the second Trevor lets his guard down again, and Trevor doesn’t stop him this time, doesn’t want to, lets himself lean back into Brandon instead, tries his best to pay attention to the movie and not Brandon’s fingers idly sweeping across his stomach.

—

Shockingly, he’s actually pretty successful, gets thoroughly distracted by the movie in no time at all. So distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t notice when Brandon’s hand goes limp against his side, breathing slow and steady against his back.

It’s not until the movie ends and he tries to ask Brandon what he wants to watch next that he realizes that he’s fast asleep.

“B?”

No response. Goddammit.

He doesn’t want to wake him up, but he does want to put on something else, so after several seconds of deliberation he reaches out as carefully as he can, trying not to disturb Brandon’s sleep, and is just barely able to grasp the corner of the laptop to pull it towards him so he can grab it off the nightstand. He does a quick mental run through of the list he made earlier this week, figures he should pick whatever Brandon would be the least interested in, assuming he’s going to sleep through most of it.

After adjusting the volume low and turning on closed captions so he can read the dialogue instead, he puts the laptop right back where it was, then settles back against Brandon’s front, stomach full of butterflies when Brandon’s arm tightens around his waist even though he’s clearly still fast asleep.

Brandon’s nap doesn’t last much longer though. They’re only about halfway through the second movie when he jolts awake to the sound of a key in the turning in the lock, pulling Trevor even closer with a protective hand flat on his stomach as James walks in the door.

“Hey,” Brandon says, just to acknowledge his presence, his voice rough from sleep. He digs his fingers in a little harder, and Trevor has no idea what he’s trying to convey, but he keeps his mouth shut just in case. Not that he has anything to say anyway.

James looks visibly uncomfortable, his gaze lingering on them for a second too long before he pointedly averts his eyes, dropping a bag on the ground and rummaging through his dresser.

“I’m going out with the guys tonight. Won’t be back til late,” he says, pulling a hoodie on. “You staying here?”

“Yeah,” Brandon replies casually, but he’s still holding Trevor a little too tight, eyes trailing James as he grabs a backpack and heads for the door. “See ya.”

James shoots them an awkward little salute, and then he disappears into the hallway, the lock clicking shut behind him.

Brandon squeezes Trevor’s waist and then finally lets him go, pushes himself up and reaches over to grab the half-empty energy drink off the nightstand, downing the rest of it with a grimace.

“Would you believe we used to be friends?” he asks, huffing a hollow, humorless laugh.

Trevor’s not really sure what the right answer is here. “Not really.”

But Brandon’s not even listening to him, too busy squinting at the laptop screen. “Is this a different movie?”

“Oh, uh— yeah. You slept through the end of the first one.”

“Sorry,” he says as he climbs off the bed, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep that soon.”

“S’okay,” Trevor responds, watching as Brandon grabs the chips they bought earlier, moving out of the way so he can get back up. “This one’s not that good anyway. We can start something new.”

Brandon grabs the laptop and hands it to Trevor, then sits himself against the wall, opening the chips. “Whatever you want. I’ll stay up for this one. Promise.”

Trevor eyes the chip bag, debates whether or not it’s worth sitting up so he can share, but apparently Brandon was serious when he promised Trevor he wouldn’t have to get up all weekend, because he threads his fingers through Trevor’s hair and pulls his head down onto his thigh, scratches idly at his scalp and puts the chips right in front of him.

Trevor’s entire brain short circuits. For some reason, the only thought that makes it through the static in his head is that he feels eerily similar to a dog that’s about to get put down. Brandon’s being suspiciously nice to him, and all weekend he’s been haunted by an impending feeling of doom, knowing that this has to end somehow and it’s not going to be pretty when it does. It never is with them.

Except, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s different this time. Because he’s been through this before with Brandon, where things got a little too good and then very, very bad immediately afterwards—though, of course, at the time it didn’t feel too good to be true, it just felt good, and right, a natural progression of their relationship that had been teetering on the edge of more than friends for a very long time—but even then, Brandon certainly wasn’t acting like this, wasn’t playing the role of a doting boyfriend, he was just drunk and horny and awfully handsy, which is just about the best thing you could possibly ask for when you’re sixteen and closeted and in love with your best friend.

Trevor was naive then, and just as drunk, but right now he’s neither of those things, so he should probably be asking some questions, or, at the very least, keeping his guard up to some extent. Except, he’s not as strong as he was back then either, can’t hold a grudge the way he used to, and he’s missed Brandon so, so badly these past few months, and his thigh is so warm under Trevor’s cheek, and his fingers feel so nice scratching along Trevor’s scalp, and if all of this has to end tomorrow he might as well soak it up while he has the chance.

So he stays right where he is, grabs a handful of chips, and picks out the next movie.

—

They pass the rest of the afternoon like this, and Brandon actually manages to keep his promise, downs another energy drink and makes it through two entire movies without falling asleep again, engaged enough to keep a running commentary going even though it’s mostly nonsense and questions that Trevor can’t answer because he has the exact same amount of information as Brandon does and somehow Brandon never seems to understand this because he’s so used to Trevor making him watch movies he’s already seen a hundred times. And Trevor loves every second of it, because this is how they spent so much of their summer, and even if it’s just for a few hours, he feels almost normal again, can breathe a little bit easier.

They order in for dinner, upon Brandon’s insistence, because neither of them want to get up, and picnic on the dorm room floor to avoid making a mess of Brandon’s bed, despite the fact that they already ate two entire bags of chips up there earlier. And then their efforts to stay in all night end up being in vain anyway, because Trevor wants dessert and Brandon declares that he’s not spending anymore money on him and drags him to the dining hall instead to raid the freezer full of ice cream bars. It’s supposed to be a one per person sort of deal, but Brandon pulls two more out of his pockets the second they leave and then slides a third one out of his sleeve, and Trevor happily takes back his accusations that Brandon was being a bad boyfriend for not taking him out for a sundae again.

Trevor almost forgets that something’s wrong. Almost. They eat their ice cream on the way back to the dorm, sticky fingers tangled together, climb back in bed when they get back and start a new movie, but, unfortunately for Trevor, this is where his perfect dream day comes to an end. Because, despite telling them he wouldn’t be back until much later, James appears at the door again, here to ruin everyone’s night.

“Hey, uh… we’re hanging out upstairs, if you wanna join. The guys were wondering where you were. Nick got more booze from his brother, so, if you’re interested…” He trails off, glancing between the two of them impatiently like he’s hoping they’ll say no so he can go back to getting drunk.

“Nah, we’re good,” Brandon responds immediately, without taking any time to even consider the offer.

James takes no issue with this answer. “Okay, cool. You know where we are if you change your mind,” he says right before he turns and shuts the door behind him.

But Trevor doesn’t feel good about any of this, doesn’t like the way Brandon’s acting right now. James obviously has some issue with Brandon, but he was clearly sent down here by his other friends, who Brandon hasn’t said a word about, and if they actually want Brandon to come hang out, Trevor doesn’t want to be the reason he says no. He spent all summer watching Brandon and Rowan hide all the alcohol in the house, awkwardly making sure no one was drinking around him, declining random party invites and pretending it was fine, and it was sweet and all, but it sucked, because it just made him feel like shit knowing his friends apparently felt like they weren’t allowed to have any fun around him, and he knows they meant well, but it was still sort of awful.

“Are you sure?” Trevor asks, once James is already gone.

Brandon just brushes him off, his attention back on the laptop screen in front of them. “I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Trevor pauses the movie, forces Brandon to actually look at him. They’re sitting side by side against the wall, so he has to wait for Brandon to turn his head before he starts. “Dude, if you wanna go drink, it’s fine. They clearly want you there. I can handle myself, it’s not a big deal.”

Brandon frowns, a look of confusion flashing over his face for a second before he realizes what Trevor’s saying. “Oh, no, that’s not— that’s not why I said no. They don’t actually want me there, trust me. James has probably been talking about us and they just wanna know if he’s making shit up. I don’t wanna hang out with them, much less drink with them. And I’m not gonna subject you to that either.”

“But… you used to, right?” Trevor asks, still confused.

Brandon rolls his eyes. “Do you wanna go? Because I’m not gonna stop you, but Rowan would be pretty pissed at me—”

“Oh my god, Rowan’s not my fucking sobriety coach—”

“Tell her, not me,” Brandon laughs, narrowly avoiding Trevor's attempt to smack him in the head.

“Don’t try to turn this back on me. What’s your deal with them?”

“There is no deal. I used to hang out with them, because they’re my roommates' friends, but they’re all rich assholes so I don’t anymore. Is that good enough for you?”

Trevor deflates. There’s still something Brandon’s not telling him, he’s pretty sure, but he’s obviously not getting that information out of him if he doesn’t want to share. “I guess.”

Brandon doesn’t respond, just hits play on the movie again, a very clear cue that he’s done with this conversation.

Trevor slumps back against his side and lets it go. Or, tries to, at least. He knows he should, knows he shouldn’t push, knows he should leave Brandon be so he doesn’t accidentally make things worse, but still. He’s never been very good at letting things lie if something’s bothering him.

But Brandon obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine. He doesn’t have to, Trevor reminds himself over and over again. He’s here to play Brandon’s boyfriend for the weekend to piss off his roommate, not to force Brandon to talk about his feelings, or actually fix any of his problems.

So he keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t say a word and does his best to forget about it. Brandon’s running commentary slows and then stops completely, and the movie’s not over yet, but he moves the laptop back to the nightstand and flicks the lamp off, pulls Trevor down onto his side and slots himself behind him, wraps his arms around his waist and presses up close to Trevor’s back.

Trevor tries to focus on the movie. He really, really does. But something’s wrong. And not just in general, no, something’s bothering Brandon right now. He’s not even pretending to pay attention to the screen, his face tucked against the back of Trevor’s neck, holding Trevor a little too tightly against him. And he’s not trying to go to sleep or anything, because they’re still on top of the covers, still in the clothes they wore to the dining hall.

This is a horrible idea. But he has to try, just one more time. He can’t go to bed knowing Brandon’s upset, can’t just lay here and pretend everything’s fine just because that’s what Brandon wants him to do.

Just one more try—and if he still won’t say anything, he’ll let it go. Maybe. Tonight, at least.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s actually wrong?” Trevor asks quietly into the dark room.

Brandon’s quiet for long enough that Trevor starts to wonder if maybe he is asleep after all, or just straight up ignoring him, before he finally responds. “I already told you.”

“Brandon,” Trevor sighs, reaching over to pause the movie. “I’m not stupid.”

Brandon presses his mouth to the top of Trevor’s spine. “I know,” he mumbles into the fabric of Trevor’s t-shirt.

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

Brandon’s fingers dig harder into his sides. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“B—” Trevor starts, trying to turn over so he can actually look at him, but Brandon holds him in place until he stops struggling.

He’s quiet for several long moments before he finally gives in.

“The day I moved in,” Brandon says softly, “I met one of the other guys on this floor. James didn’t move in until the next day, so after you left I was just wandering around looking for something to do. I helped him carry some of his stuff in. His t-shirt had one of the bands you like on it. I don’t know, it felt like a sign or something. And Rowan had just given me this whole speech about getting a fresh start or whatever, how none of these people knew me so I didn’t have to act like an asshole.”

Trevor has absolutely no idea where this is going, why Brandon doesn’t want Trevor to look at him, why he’s recounting this seemingly mundane story with the hushed tone of a confession, but whoever this boy is, this is the first mention of him this weekend, which doesn’t feel like a very good sign, so Trevor stays perfectly still, waits for him to keep going.

“Anyway, that’s not the important part. He had a boyfriend. He didn’t go here, but he lives pretty close, so he was around all the time, and like, I wasn’t really trying to make friends here but I hung out with them a lot. We’d go to the dining hall together, I’d crash at his dorm sometimes, we had a couple classes together so it worked. And it wasn’t like, a secret or anything, obviously, but James and his friends found out I was friends with him, and they got so fucking weird about it, like they genuinely could not wrap their heads around it.” He sighs, annoyed, like he’s getting frustrated just thinking about it. “I barely knew any of these people. But apparently they had a history or something. Just some stupid shit I got caught in the middle of. I tried to defend him, but I didn’t want to make things worse, except I did anyway, because he got all mad at me, and James and his fucking loser friends wouldn’t leave him alone, and then a few weeks ago, he just… disappeared. Transferred. Didn’t even tell me. I guess they’d been tormenting him for years, but it still feels like my fault. Not that it even matters anymore, but, yeah. There you go.”

He sounds awfully defeated as he says it, just flat out sad, and it’s so unlike the Brandon Trevor knows that he almost tries to turn around again to make sure he heard him right. It’s a lot to process, but it makes more sense than the story Brandon told him originally. It might not have been a lie, but he certainly left out the most important parts. And that part actually is a lot like him, the way he lied and pretended it was only about him to protect a boy he wasn’t even friends with anymore, but usually he’s so good at playing these things off that Trevor might be the only one that knows how often he does it.

“So, what?” Trevor says slowly. “This is your way of avenging him or something? Even though he has no idea you’re doing it?”

Brandon just shrugs. Trevor can feel it against his back. “I guess. Don’t really have anything left to lose at this point. They already think I’m gay, I might as well double down to piss them off a little more.”

The first thought that goes through Trevor’s head is aren’t you? but now’s probably not the best time for that. So he says something else he probably shouldn’t instead. “That’s… weirdly sweet of you.”

He’s expecting Brandon to deny it, or punch him in the stomach or something, his usual reaction when Trevor tries to insinuate that he might actually be capable of being a good person, but Brandon just sighs against the back of his neck, holds him tighter. “I hate this. It was so much easier to just be an asshole all the time.”

Trevor can’t help the laugh that spills out of his mouth, and this time Brandon does retaliate, pinches hard at his side. “I mean, you kinda are still being an asshole though. This whole thing is to piss James off on purpose.”

“Well, yeah, but it stops being fun if you think about it for more than two seconds,” Brandon complains. “Like, he’s still a piece of shit and we’re just making him angrier.”

This is probably where Trevor’s supposed to offer some piece of sage advice, except the only thing he can think about right now is that it’s a shame Rowan’s not here to hear this because she would be getting such a kick out of it, listening to Brandon gain consciousness in real time. But before he can think of something to say, Brandon presses his face closer and starts talking again, much quieter this time.

“Sorry for dragging you into this.”

Trevor’s heart lurches in his chest. When’s the last time Brandon really, genuinely apologized to him, not just for something stupid? He can’t remember. The pieces are starting to fall into place though, this whole bizarre weekend, Brandon’s half-cocked revenge plan. They’ve barely even seen James at all, nothing more than a few minutes of gossip material for him to bring back to the other assholes he hangs out with, and apparently Brandon didn’t even have an end goal in mind, was well aware that this wasn’t actually going to get them anywhere, was just making things worse at best.

But he’s holding Trevor right now like he’s scared to let go, after finally admitting that all of this was about a boy he met and then lost in the span of only a couple months, and it’s clear now, what this is really about. Brandon’s just lonely, all by himself at a new school where everyone already made their friends several years ago with a roommate that hates him and has only left him alone thus far because he’s intimidated by him. And instead of just asking his best friend to come visit like a normal person, he decided to pull this bullshit instead.

Jesus christ. What is Trevor supposed to do with him?

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, wrapping his fingers around Brandon’s wrist. “You know I’m always up for some poorly thought out revenge.”

Brandon snorts a laugh, and Trevor releases the breath he was holding, the tension between them dissipating. “Don’t insult my revenge plans. You’re not supposed to think it out, that ruins it. That’s like, rule number one.”

That is not, in fact, rule number one of getting revenge. But Trevor doesn’t care enough to fight him on this. “Yeah, alright. Whatever you say,” he laughs, reaching out to turn the laptop back on so they can finish the movie.

They don’t move until James comes stumbling in a little while later, their cue to get up before the dorm parents show up to check on them. James makes a face when he sees them, but he doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his phone and doesn’t make eye contact while they wait.

Trevor takes the opportunity to shoot a text to Rowan, just to keep her updated, a quick back and forth ensuing when she responds right away. He probably shouldn’t be so shocked by that—her phone is literally always in her hand.

Trevor: figured it out
Rowan: ???
Rowan: is everything okay?
Trevor: ill tell you when i get home
Trevor: dont wanna do this over text
Rowan: is it bad? or just complicated
Trevor: just complicated
Trevor: hes fine dw
Rowan: okay :(

—

The next morning, Brandon drags Trevor out to a diner off campus, claiming he’s sick of dining hall breakfast. Trevor didn’t protest, but he did try to convince Brandon to let him stay in bed a little longer, with the unspoken clause of you have to stay too. Brandon only let him get away with it for a few minutes though, promised he’d buy Trevor whatever he wanted for breakfast and then they could come right back afterwards, and Trevor only acquiesced because Brandon physically picked him up and pulled him out of bed.

So now they’re here, tucked on opposite sides of a booth, and Trevor’s only slightly more awake now, mostly because there’s a stack of pancakes in front of him the size of his head, smothered in butter and maple syrup, and a warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands, because if Brandon’s treating him, Trevor’s going all out. Brandon makes fun of him for his sweet tooth, but he’s just as bad, keeps stealing bites of Trevor’s pancakes, so Trevor’s stolen half his bacon in retaliation.

The atmosphere’s a little tense, as much as Brandon’s trying to pretend it’s not, but Trevor doesn’t mind, is happy to play along. He’s been a little weird all morning, but Trevor’s guessing it’s just because of their conversation last night, and he’ll get over it soon enough. For now, he lets Brandon hold one of his legs captive under the table, trapped between his ankles, even though they aren’t on campus and there’s no one here to see, and Trevor’s starting to lose feeling in his foot, but if Brandon wants the comfort of physical contact he’s content to stay put.

Honestly, he sort of needs it just as bad right now. He’s spent all weekend praying for this to be over for the sake of his own sanity, but now that he actually has to leave today, he doesn’t want it to end. Once he goes home, it’s over—no more cuddling, no more hand holding, no more pretty boy guiding him through a crowded diner with a hand on his lower back. Brandon looks gorgeous, even half asleep with a bed head, stretching out the shoulders of the band t-shirt Trevor had on on Friday, and it’s not fair, because Trevor can’t even look at him for more than a few seconds at a time, but even more than that, Trevor doesn’t want anyone else to be allowed to look at him ever again. He just wants to stay right here and play boyfriends with him forever, keep him all to himself for the rest of his life, but he doesn’t have that long, just a few more measly hours.

If he lets himself count them, he might throw up, so he very pointedly doesn’t check the time, doesn’t ask Brandon when they have to leave because he trusts that Brandon’s got it, and he just wants to enjoy the rest of the day without a countdown looming over his head.

“Anything else you wanna do today before you leave?” Brandon asks, stealing another bite of Trevor’s pancakes. Maybe he’s thinking about it too.

Trevor bats his fork away. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t wanna watch any more movies?”

Brandon laughs, stabbing at his own plate instead. “Nope. Just checking.”

On the walk back, Brandon clings to his hand a little harder than usual, and when they get back to the dorm, Trevor’s relieved to find it blissfully empty. He kicks off his shoes and climbs right back into bed, lets his eyes slip shut the second his head hits the pillows. He can hear Brandon rummaging around, presumably getting his laptop set up, doesn’t bother opening his eyes until Brandon gets on the bed with him, nudging his side.

“Nap time?” he teases, and Trevor opens his mouth to deny it but it turns into a yawn instead.

“Maybe,” Trevor mumbles, running a hand through his messy curls. He doesn’t want to waste any more of his day sleeping, but if it means he gets to fall asleep and wake up in Brandon’s arms one last time, he’ll happily take it. And honestly, he’s exhausted.

He’s expecting Brandon to make fun of him, but instead he just moves the laptop to the nightstand and rolls onto his back, beckoning at Trevor and patting his chest. “C’mere.”

Trevor frowns at the incredibly vague instruction, rolls onto his front so his body blankets Brandon’s side, drops his head down onto Brandon’s shoulder. But apparently that wasn’t what Brandon meant, because he immediately starts tugging on his arm, trying to pull him further over.

“No, c’mon, get up here for real,” Brandon clarifies, still not very clear, but Trevor’s pretty sure he knows what he wants now, pushes himself up just enough to lay right on top of him, his head pillowed on Brandon’s chest. And he must have gotten it right, because Brandon stops tugging, smooths his hands down Trevor’s sides and squeezes his waist instead.

“Don’t let me sleep too long,” Trevor says around another yawn, eyelids already fluttering shut.

“I won’t,” Brandon promises, sliding a hand up to card his fingers through Trevor’s hair.

Trevor nuzzles his face against Brandon’s chest, can’t help himself, lets the steady thump of Brandon’s heartbeat under his cheek lull him to sleep.

—

The next few hours pass in peace and quiet, the only sounds in the room the low din of a Youtube video on Brandon’s phone and some occasional chatter from the hallway.

Trevor doesn’t know how long he sleeps for, but he wakes up with one of Brandon’s hands under his sweatshirt, blunt nails idly scratching up and down his back, and it’s so much better than this morning because he gets to stay right where he is, Brandon nice and warm underneath him, his hands roaming Trevor’s body like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He puts on a movie that neither of them pay attention to, and they don’t talk, because there’s nothing left to talk about, but it’s a comfortable silence, the kind you only get with someone you’re so comfortable with that neither of you feel the need to fill it. Trevor just soaks it in, carefully catalogs the feeling of Brandon’s body against his, files it away somewhere safe for when he needs it later. He does his best to keep his brain nice and empty, focuses instead on the rise and fall of Brandon’s chest under his face, which is usually borderline impossible for him, but something about having Brandon around always makes it easier for him to stop thinking for a little bit.

Which is why he almost jumps out of his skin when Brandon suddenly perks up, gaze trained on the closed door, pushing up to his elbows and dislodging Trevor in the process.

“What—?” Trevor starts, pushing himself up to look at him, but Brandon motions at him to stop talking, cutting him off.

“Is that James?” he asks, still staring at the door, and Trevor follows his gaze, even though there’s nothing to see, but he can hear what Brandon’s talking about now, the loud voices carrying down the hallway.

One of them does sound like James, but Trevor’s barely heard him say more than two words, so he’s not exactly the best person to ask. “Um… maybe?”

But Brandon’s not actually listening to him, too locked into the conversation outside. “It totally is,” he mumbles, then suddenly snaps his attention back to Trevor, grasping his shoulder. “I need you to make out with me.”

Trevor’s stomach lurches so hard he almost throws up. “What? No, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Hey, no, c’mon,” Brandon rushes out, pleading eyes boring into Trevor’s. “Just for a second, just to mess with him. I’ll do all the work, I swear.”

“B…” Trevor tries one more time, but it’s a weak attempt at a protest, and Brandon’s already taken it as the permission it is, messing up Trevor’s hair, rucking his hoodie up to make it look like they’ve actually been making out, pinching his cheeks like his face isn’t burning red already at just the prospect of getting to kiss him again. And Trevor—like an absolute fucking idiot—is doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

The voices in the hallway are getting louder, and Trevor’s very quickly realizing that there’s no getting out of this. Part of him doesn’t want to, is all too eager to go along with this idiotic plan, but the logical part of his brain is screaming at him that this is a horrible idea, that the second he gets his mouth back on Brandon’s it’s over for good, he might as well kiss his last ounce of sanity goodbye.

But then Brandon puts a hand on his jaw, his voice going all soft as he coaxes, “C’mere, I got you,” and any restraint he has left goes right out the window.

Yeah, alright, he thinks dumbly, planting his hands on either side of Brandon’s head, fuck it, and he barely registers the sound of the key in the door before Brandon’s pulling him down into a wildly overenthusiastic kiss with a hand clamped firmly on the back of his neck.

It gets messy awfully quick, all teeth and tongues, like they’ve been at this for a while and not just the last three seconds, and Trevor’s head is already spinning, dizzy from the blood rush, the adrenaline flooding through his veins, the lack of oxygen, almost too distracted to register Brandon’s other hand sliding down to grope at his ass. All he can do is clench his fingers in the sheets and let Brandon take the lead, not that he even had a choice in the matter. Not that he’s complaining.

“Brandon, dude, what the hell,” James calls from the doorway, but Trevor can barely hear it over the rushing in his ears, and he’s expecting Brandon to let him up so he can say something in response, but he holds tight to the scruff of Trevor’s neck, fingers digging in way too hard, keeps kissing him, doesn’t acknowledge James at all, and then a few seconds later he hears an obnoxious sigh and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.

Brandon slides his hand around to hold Trevor’s jaw, pulls back and kisses him one, two, three more times, slower this time, a lot more gentle, like he’s saying thank you, and then promptly collapses back into the pillows and bursts out laughing. Trevor’s arms give out from under him and he drops back down on top of him, but he doesn’t find this nearly as funny as Brandon does, can’t even think, just groans and hides his face in Brandon’s neck, holding on for dear life.

“You okay?” Brandon asks as his laughter dies down, stroking his hands down Trevor’s sides, and his tone is teasing but Trevor knows he’s genuinely asking, which just makes everything worse, fixing Trevor’s sweatshirt while he patiently waits for an answer.

And Trevor doesn’t really know, but he doesn’t want Brandon to worry, because somehow this is the happiest Brandon’s been all day and he doesn’t want to ruin that by doing something stupid like bursting into tears over a thirty second makeout session and accidentally revealing how horrifically desperate he’s really been, so he just nods and stays right where he is while he waits for his heart rate to slow down.

It’s not even the kissing, is the thing. If Trevor wanted somebody to kiss, it probably wouldn’t be that hard to find someone. He’s in a fucking film club, honestly, he frequents basement indie shows, there are plenty of other probably-gay guys in his life. And it’s not like he doesn’t get any attention, it’s just that he doesn’t actually want it if it’s not coming from one very specific person, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn’t know why he can’t seem to stomach it with anyone but the boy underneath him, the one currently trying to get him to pick his head up to no avail.

“That bad?” Brandon jokes, and Trevor finally emerges from his hiding spot just so Brandon can see him roll his eyes.

He crosses his arms over Brandon’s chest, props his chin on his forearms, and then, because apparently he can only let go of the reins for so long, asks, “How much time do we have left?”

Brandon’s expression softens. He reaches a hand up and pushes Trevor’s bangs off his forehead, raking his fingers through his hair like he’s petting a dog. “A few hours,” he responds without checking the time. “I just have to be back by curfew. We can watch another movie if you want. Or grab lunch if you’re hungry.”

Trevor scrunches his nose, weighing his options. He really doesn’t want to get up, but he is getting hungry, and Brandon hasn’t said anything about it but there’s no way he’s still comfortable after several hours of Trevor laying on top of him. Which is to say, they should probably get out of bed, and if they get it over with now, they can come back here for a little bit before they have to go.

“Lunch,” he relents, albeit reluctantly. “Then one more movie. I’ll pick a good one.”

“Okay,” Brandon agrees easily, then, to Trevor’s absolute shock and horror, pulls his head down and leans forward to press a kiss into his curls before pushing him off and climbing off the bed. “Let’s go.”

Trevor stumbles off behind him and wonders if, maybe, Brandon’s lost his fucking mind.

—

Time runs out much too fast for Trevor’s liking, and before he knows it, he’s back in Brandon’s car and trying desperately to ignore the gaping pit in his stomach.

As much as he tried to enjoy the last couple hours, once he started spiraling, he couldn’t stop. By the time they were back at the dorm after lunch, Trevor curled back up with his head in Brandon’s lap, he was already a wreck, and it just got worse and worse until Brandon nudged him out of bed for the last time with a quiet c’mon, we gotta go.

He doesn’t want to go home. He can’t go home. How the fuck is he supposed to go home?

Trevor knew going into it that this was probably going to be the hardest part, but somehow it’s worse than he ever could have imagined. The entire weekend was already hell for his emotional state, drudging up feelings he’s had buried for quite some time now, but then Brandon had to go and kiss him, and it knocked something loose that he had almost forgotten was ever there in the first place. Because the last time Brandon kissed him, he was way too drunk, only remembered it in hazy bits and pieces, and every time Brandon tried to tell him it wasn’t a big deal afterwards, the memories would rewrite themselves in his brain, until he had almost entirely managed to convince himself that, yeah, actually, maybe it didn’t mean that much after all.

But he remembers now, felt it like a shot to the chest when Brandon pulled away from the kiss and then immediately pulled him back for another, and another, and another, even though James was already long gone. It was like that last time too, his face in Brandon’s hands, Brandon’s lips on his, again and again and again, like he couldn’t stop, like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to keep Trevor right there forever so he never had to stop kissing him. It was so jarring, so shockingly gentle, so unlike the Brandon he thought he knew, and Trevor had been so sure, in that moment, that Brandon actually wanted him, that maybe, maybe, there might actually be a world where Brandon could love him back. And yet, in the horrible aftermath, faced with Brandon’s cold indifference, he had managed to convince himself he made it up, that he was just drunk and seeing whatever he wanted to see, that it was wishful thinking at best.

Except he’s sure now that that wasn’t the case, because his stupid traitorous brain decided that now is the perfect time to start remembering details that had long been lost to the deepest, darkest parts of his memory, and the worst part of all of this is that it doesn’t even matter anymore, because it’s not like he can do anything about it now. Even if he was right, even if Brandon did feel that way, he’s had a million chances to do something about it and instead spent months trying to convince Trevor to forget it ever happened. He got the message pretty clear.

And it’s fine, Trevor can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t feel, even if there was a time when he did, but it’s just made these past few days so much harder, knowing that it was just a game to him, that Brandon’s behaviour had everything to do with him being lonely and stupid, misplaced guilt for what he did to someone else, and nothing to do with any feelings he might have suddenly decided to act on.

But still, Trevor’s a masochist, as he’s well come to terms with by now, which is why he’s currently letting Brandon hold his hand over the gear shift instead of just fucking pulling away, for once in his fucking life.

Neither of them say a word until they’ve made it all the way home, just sitting there parked in the driveway, fingers still tangled together.

Trevor’s staring at the house in front of him, but he can’t seem to make himself move. Once he gets out of this car, it’s over for good, and he’s not ready to say goodbye yet, not ready to leave this behind.

But apparently, Brandon doesn’t have the same issue. He should’ve known. Brandon always lets go first.

“Hey,” he says casually, his tone a little too forced for Trevor to believe it. He squeezes Trevor’s hand one last time before pulling away, dragging his fingers through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Say hi to Rowan for me.”

That’s it. No thank you, no hey, that was weird, right? We should probably talk about it. Just a cold dismissal.

“Yeah. Of course,” he responds, his voice weak even to his own ears. He can’t even imagine what he’s showing on his face right now. He doesn’t want to know.

Trevor climbs out of the car with the distinct feeling that he’s leaving a part of him behind in the passenger seat. He’s still wearing Brandon’s sweatshirt, but Brandon hasn’t asked for it back, and Trevor’s certainly not going to say anything about it, considering it might be the only thing holding him together right now.

He throws Brandon one final wave as he pulls away, and steps inside the house with a sense of finality that almost swallows him whole.

—

What follows is the worst week of Trevor’s life. Well… maybe not the worst. Top five, at least. It’s definitely up there.

Rowan so graciously waits three entire days before she forces him to talk, most of which he spends holed up in his room licking his wounds and surviving off the food he smuggles in in the middle of the night because he doesn’t want to face anyone right now. Which is just pathetic, really, because this isn’t even his first rodeo. He’s been through this before, this exact cycle of getting his hopes up and then getting his heart stomped all over by the same boy, but now the wound is fresh again, ripped back open right when it was finally starting to heal, and it’s so much worse this time because there’s no one to blame but himself.

Needy, needy, always so fucking needy. Why did he always have to be so fucking needy? It wasn’t real, none of it was real, Brandon told him that none of it was real, but he still let it get to him, because he couldn’t help himself, because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t rewrite his DNA, can’t ever change the part of him that just fucking needs, too much, all the time, from the only person that doesn’t want to give, except, apparently, when he needs a favor, and it’s Trevor’s fault for being stupid enough to come running the second he calls, time and time again.

But he’s not angry, not like he was last time, can’t seem to muster it up the way he used to be so good at, doesn’t have it in him to find someone else to blame. Instead he’s just sad—sad because it’s over, sad because he got a taste of something he can never actually have, sad because he misses his best friend. It’s different from the yawning void of depression that he’s so familiar with, different from the emptiness he had grown used to. This sort of sadness is a physical pain sitting in his chest, a rock in his stomach, ever-present and weighing down his every move.

It’s the sort of thing he usually would have weathered alone. But when Rowan corrals him into her room after school on Wednesday instead of letting him disappear into his own again, he doesn’t put up a fight, just drops his bag and kicks his shoes off and climbs onto her bed with her, relieved when she pulls his head into her lap.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened last weekend?” she asks softly, dragging her fingers through his hair, idly combing out the tangles. “Or am I gonna have to torture it out of you?”

Trevor just sighs, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. “Doesn’t matter. It's over.”

She doesn’t like that answer though, pushes past the obvious dismissal. “What about Brandon? You said you figured out what was wrong, right?”

She’s got him there—he did figure out what was wrong, and he also promised to tell her when he got home. He probably owes her that, at the very least, even if he doesn’t want to confess anything else. So he swallows, and takes a minute to figure out how to put it. “He, um… he just got caught in the middle of something. He made friends with this guy on his floor that his roommate didn’t like. He ended up dropping out and Brandon thinks it’s his fault.”

Rowan’s hand stills. “Why would it be Brandons’s fault? Did he do something?”

“It’s not. His roommate and his friends are just homophobic pieces of shit. Brandon just thinks he could have tried harder to stop it.” It’s way too vague and he knows it, but he’s praying she can read between the lines. Any more information and she might start asking questions he’s not ready to answer.

But luckily, she seems to get it, goes back to petting his head. “Oh. I’m sorry. That sucks.” She’s quiet for a moment. “He seemed alright though?”

Trevor nods, relieved. This one’s much easier to answer. “Yeah. I think he’s just lonely.”

“Probably,” she says softly. “Wouldn’t you be?”

He pauses, considering. He’s not jealous, exactly, of everything that happened to Brandon, but still. He got a fresh start, a second chance. Trevor’s still stuck at Hilland, haunted by the past, and it’s hard sometimes, still walking the same hallways. But even then, at least he has his friends. Most of them. And Brandon’s all alone. Trevor doesn’t think he could do it. “I guess. He’s never really had any problem making friends though.”

“I don't know. Maybe he just missed you.”

Oh. Trevor doesn’t really know how to respond to that one. When he opens his mouth, he finds himself a little choked up, his voice weak. “Maybe.”

The room is quiet for a few moments, and Trevor wants to believe that the conversation is over, but he knows Rowan better than that by now. He glances up at her to find that she’s already looking down at him, chewing on her bottom lip like she’s trying to decide if she should say something or not.

“What is it?” Trevor asks, eyes narrowed.

“Sorry, it’s just— was he like, a good boyfriend?”

It shocks a laugh out of Trevor’s mouth—that was the absolute last thing he was expecting her to ask. “What?”

“C’mon, it’s been killing me,” she laughs. “I have to know if he’s capable of actually treating someone well for more than five seconds at a time.”

Trevor opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again when he realizes he doesn’t have anything to say that isn’t horrifically incriminating to one or both of them. He tries to keep a straight face, but he can feel the blush crawling up his cheeks, and it’s no use trying to hide it. Because the answer is yes, and it’s ruining Trevor’s life a little bit. Brandon’s been his best friend since they were kids, so he thought he knew before, what it felt like to have Brandon’s undivided attention like that, but apparently he had no fucking idea. But now he knows, knows just how good of a boyfriend Brandon can actually be, which makes the whole it’s never going to happen thing so much worse.

Rowan notices immediately, pokes at his burning cheeks and starts laughing when he bats her hand away. “Oh my god, really? That good?”

“Shut up,” Trevor mumbles, covering his face with his hands, but he can’t help the laughter bubbling up from his throat, because truly, what the fuck has he gotten himself into? A year ago, he was a raging, jealous mess, and now he’s in Rowan’s bed because she wants to gossip. If he could go back in time and tell his younger self about this, there’s absolutely no way he would ever believe him.

“What, did he take you on a date?” she teases. “Order one milkshake with two straws?”

This just makes Trevor laugh harder, because how the fuck did she know? “A sundae, actually,” he says, because he can’t help himself. “With two spoons.”

“Oh my god,” Rowan laughs in disbelief. “Oh my god!”

“You said that already.”

“Sorry, but this is crazy. An actual date? Just one?”

“I mean, he took me out to breakfast too. But he didn’t call that one a date.”

“Did he pay? If he paid, it was a date.”

“Okay fine. It was a date.”

Rowan giggles like this is the greatest information she’s ever received. “Did he hold your hand?” she teases, twisting one of his curls around her fingers. “Did he kiss you?”

And that’s Trevor’s cue to leave. He promptly picks his head up off her lap and moves to roll off the bed. “Yeah okay, we’re all done here.”

“Wait! No, come back, I’ll stop interrogating you, I promise,” she laughs, grabbing his arm so he can’t escape. “I just wanna hear about your weekend.”

Trevor collapses back on the mattress. “My weekend was shockingly uneventful. We stayed in bed and watched movies the whole time. There’s not really anything else to tell.”

It’s true, except for that last part. But there’s a slight chance she might actually believe him.

“Then why have you been moping around all week?”

Or maybe not.

“I haven’t been moping around,” Trevor argues, but it’s really no use. He totally has.

But Rowan’s clearly not interested in petty arguments, because she’s already jumping to conclusions again. “He totally kissed you.”

Correct conclusions, but still. Not ones he wants her jumping to.

“Bye Rowan,” he says, climbing off the bed for a second time, but she catches his wrist again.

“C’mon, I’m your sister, you’re supposed to tell me these things,” she complains, laughing as she tugs him back up.

“You have another sister to talk to. I don’t wanna be a part of this,” he grumbles, but he lets Rowan pull his head back into her lap nonetheless. It’s too nice to resist, the first human contact he’s gotten since Brandon dropped him off on Sunday night. Maybe holing up in his room wasn’t a very good idea after all.

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay,” she says, her tone much softer this time.

Something breaks inside Trevor’s chest. “I’m fine,” he responds quietly, pressing his cheek against her thigh. “Just miss having him around.”

It’s true, for the most part. He does miss having Brandon around, and getting to spend a few days with him was a brutal reminder that it’s not their normal anymore, that their days of living around each other like that are over. Brandon spent so much time here over the summer that most of his clothes ended up in Trevor’s room, his various belongings scattered all over the house, his seat always reserved at the table. Even now, Trevor still won’t sit on his side of the couch. It feels like sacrilege, going about his life here without him. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get over it.

“It’s okay, you know,” Rowan says gently, stroking her fingers through Trevor’s hair. “If you aren’t. Or if… if it’s something else.”

Trevor’s stomach drops so abruptly he has to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. This is Rowan giving him the opportunity to fess up if he wants it, but it’s also her subtle way of letting him know that she already knows. And there’s a part of him that wants to confess more than anything in the world, just wants to finally get everything off his chest, knows that Rowan, of all people, would never get upset with him, would probably be perfectly fine with it despite her own history with Brandon, but there’s another, much more convincing part of him that wants to tell Rowan that she’s got it all wrong and go right back to hiding in his room.

So he settles somewhere in between, because it’s the best he can do right now. He owes her a real explanation one day, he knows he does, but he’s just not ready. Not yet.

“I told you already. It doesn’t matter, it’s over. It’s not happening,” he mumbles, staring at the wall instead of her, praying she can hear everything he’s not saying.

“Trev—” she starts, but Trevor just shakes his head, cutting her off.

“It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

She’s quiet for a moment, fingers still twisted in Trevor’s curls, before she finally deflates with an audible exhale. “Okay. Just— you know you can talk to me, right? I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with this on your own. Whatever happened between you guys, I don’t care, I’m not— I won’t get mad at you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just wanna make sure you know I’m here if you need.”

Trevor can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. He blinks rapidly to try to dispel them, but one slips out anyway, carving its way across his face until it drips onto Rowan’s jeans.

“I know,” he says quietly, hoping she can’t hear how choked up he is. “Not now.”

“That’s alright,” she assures him, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “Do you wanna come to the library with me? I just have some homework I need to get done.”

What he really wants is to stay right here for a little longer, but Rowan’s offering him an out, and he knows he should probably take it. It’s probably her way of trying to get him out of the house anyway, or maybe she knows he hasn’t done any of his homework this week and is not-very-subtly trying to get him back on track before things spiral out of control the way they did last semester when he almost failed out of junior year.

“Sure,” he says weakly, nodding his head. “Just give me a minute.”

“Of course,” she responds, all too easily.

Trevor doesn't know what he ever did to deserve her. He still has no idea how she ever forgave him, why she would ever put up with him after everything he did to her. He doesn’t take a single second of it for granted—how could he? She saved his life. He owes her everything for that alone. It’s not something he likes to think about, but it’s hard not to when she gets like this.

He cried about it once, on a particularly bad night where he ended up in Rowan’s room because he didn’t trust himself to be alone. She tried to assure him then that he had saved her life too, that they were even, but it just doesn’t feel like the same thing. Sure, he’d been the one with the gun, the one that led the charge into the woods, but he didn’t actually do anything, basically just stalled Zoe until the cops showed up, and he wasn’t even the one that solved the VHS tape, because he was too busy getting drunk and spiraling about Brandon’s feelings for Rowan to realize that her fucking life was on the line.

So no, they’re not even, not even close. But she still seems to think so, so at the very least, it makes him feel a little less bad about how heavily he relies on her, even all these months later. Nights like that one are few and far between these days, but there was a time when that wasn’t the case, when Trevor spent a lot of sleepless nights in Rowan’s bed, or on the couch with her, back when she would come to him just as often as he would come to her because she wasn’t getting any sleep either, because it was a lot easier to make it through the night if someone else was there.

It was strange at first, having a sibling. Rowan already had a sister, so none of this was new to her, but Trevor was an only child for the first sixteen years of his life. He’s not going to lie and say he wouldn’t take it all back if he could, but he can’t go back to the family he had before, as much as he misses it, as much as it still hurts. He spent an awful lot of time being angry about it, and all that anger got him absolutely nowhere.

But, honestly—it worked out, in a really horrible, twisted sort of way where it had to get significantly worse before it got better. He has a sister now, one that actually cares about him, even if it may or may not be built on a really questionable trauma bond situation, and he loves her back, he really does. He doesn’t have to come home to an empty house anymore, has someone to eat breakfast with before school, someone to watch movies with him on weekends where he doesn’t want to leave the house, and at this point, he doesn’t really know how he ever lived without her.

Trevor takes one last deep breath, just to make sure he’s not about to cry anymore, and then finally pushes himself up. “Okay. Let’s go.”

—

By the time the next weekend rolls around, Trevor has kind of, sort of come to terms with everything again. He hasn’t heard from Brandon all week, aside from the text he sent on Sunday to let him know he made it back to school before curfew, and he’s taking that as his sign to just let it fucking go. Maybe for good this time. It’s long past due.

But, as he’s already established, Trevor’s never been able to catch a break in his entire fucking life. So, really, he shouldn’t be all that surprised when on Saturday night, sometime around midnight, he gets jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of someone pounding on his window.

It scares the shit out of him for a second before he realizes what’s going on. There’s only one person that’s ever come in through his bedroom window—that person is supposed to be asleep in his dorm room right now, but, judging by the knocking that still hasn’t let up, that’s not where he is.

Maybe if he doesn’t move, Brandon will go away. It’s not the worst plan in the world. The window’s locked, just like all the others in the house, and the doors, all deadbolted shut. He wouldn’t be able to get in. Probably. And then Trevor could pretend like he never woke up and go back to sleep and Brandon would leave him alone and drive back to school and they could forget it ever happened.

But, now that he’s slightly more awake, he’s starting to realize that he wouldn’t be banging on his window in the middle of the night if something wasn’t wrong. What could’ve possibly happened that made Brandon sneak out of his dorm in the middle of the night to come see him after a week of zero contact? What if it’s not even Brandon?

Trevor reaches under the bed and grabs the baseball bat he keeps there for just in case, heart pounding as he slowly slides out from under the covers and creeps to the window.

He’s just barely outstretched his hand when all of a sudden a voice calls from right outside—a voice that unmistakably belongs to Brandon. “Trev? Trevor c’mon, open up, I know you’re awake.”

Trevor drops the baseball bat, heaving a sigh of relief, then rips the curtains aside, fumbling with the latch on the window for a few seconds before he yanks it open.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he whisper-yells, mad at Brandon for scaring the shit out of him instead of just calling or something like a normal person, but all the fight drains out of him the second he sees the boy standing on the other side.

Brandon looks awful—like, beyond bad. Even in the dark, Trevor can see the bags under his eyes, the exhausted slump of his shoulders. He doesn’t make any move to climb inside the bedroom, just stands there, staring at Trevor through the open window looking weirdly distraught, fingers gripping the windowsill so hard his knuckles are white.

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says, breathless like they’re twelve years old again and he rode here on his bike, his gaze boring into Trevor in a way that’s almost unnerving, and Trevor doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for but he rushes to reassure him anyway, anything to get that look off his face.

“It’s okay, just— c’mon, get in here,” he says, stepping aside so Brandon can get through. The bat is still laying on the ground, so he kicks it under the bed before Brandon can comment on it.

Trevor locks the window again once Brandon’s inside, a paranoid habit he picked up for Rowan’s sake. He’s fully expecting Brandon to make fun of him for it, the same way he was expecting Brandon to say something about the baseball bat, but he hasn’t said anything at all, which is somehow even more worrying than him showing up here at all, so Trevor turns on the bedside lamp and sits next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Dude, seriously. What is it?” He’s trying really hard to be sympathetic to whatever’s going on right now, but, honestly, it’s the middle of the night, and he just wants to go back to sleep and nurse his emotional hangover, not deal with the boy that caused it in the first place.

Except, it’s Brandon, and somehow Trevor always finds himself with a seemingly unlimited amount of patience for him, even when he has none for anyone else. And, to be fair, he knows full well that the situation he left Brandon in back at his school was tense at best, and a ticking time bomb at worst. So instead of kicking him out, or telling him they can deal with it, whatever it is, in the morning, he just sits and waits while Brandon stares at his lap, picking at his fingers, clearly struggling to gather his words.

“I just— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says finally, scrubbing his hands over his face. If Trevor didn’t know any better, he’d say he sounded guilty, but that doesn’t make any sense. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I thought— I don’t know. I thought I could pretend for a few days and it would be fine, but I was so stupid, and I haven’t been able to sleep all week, and I can’t stop thinking about the look on your face when I left.”

Trevor shakes his head, even more confused than he was before. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Brandon glances at him for half a second before averting his gaze again, swallowing thickly. “Last weekend. I didn’t mean to do that to you. I know it probably felt like it, but I wasn’t trying to use you or anything, I just… I missed you, and I thought maybe you’d understand.” It looks like it’s causing him physical pain to get the words out, but he’s determined, clearly, like he has to get through this right now before he loses the nerve. “I’m sorry. I was gonna do this tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I know it’s not fair, but… I just had to tell you. Sorry.”

Trevor just stares at him, his sleep-addled brain struggling to process anything that Brandon’s saying. His heart is pounding so fast he’s shocked he can’t hear it in the quiet bedroom. He thinks maybe he knows where this is going, but he needs Brandon to say it out loud before he does something stupid he can’t take back. It’s sweet that Brandon came out here to do this in person, sweet that he keeps apologizing, but Trevor knows better than most how convincing Brandon can be when he wants something. He also knows that he’s usually the first to give in. And he’s trying to be better than that these days, he owes it to himself to be better than that, which means he can’t keep playing these games with him where they never talk about anything so that one or both of them can deny it if it starts getting too real.

But they just spent an entire weekend playing boyfriends, and, ironically, that was more real than it’s ever been with them. Brandon had no problem holding his hand around campus, introducing Trevor as his boyfriend to his random classmates. If he can’t say it now, then it’s never going to happen.

Trevor nudges Brandon’s thigh with his knee. “Tell me what?”

He knows better than to get his hopes up, but still. All these years, and this is the closest thing to a confession he’s ever gotten out of this boy. There’s a part of him that wants to pause time right here, right in this exact moment, just in case this is it, just in case the next words out of Brandon’s mouth are bad enough to force Trevor to put an end to this for good.

Brandon finally lifts his head, searching Trevor’s face. Trevor doesn’t know what he finds there, but he exhales heavily, lets himself fall back onto the mattress, covers his face with his hands. He looks so nervous, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, and Trevor doesn’t know what to do about it. Usually he’s the one freaking out, and Brandon’s the one that has to calm him down, always so good at keeping his cool. Like, too good. Frighteningly good. So good that it’s incredibly disconcerting seeing him like this right now, and Trevor doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle it.

“Sorry,” Brandon mumbles, for the hundredth time, and Trevor briefly starts to wonder if maybe he never actually woke up and this whole thing has been a dream, because the Brandon he knows would sooner jump off a bridge than apologize this many times.

“No, stop that, stop saying sorry.” He drops down next to him, propped on his elbow on his side, and grabs one of Brandon’s wrists to pull his hand down. “B, c’mon. Tell me what?”

Brandon drops his other hand with a sigh, turning his head to look Trevor in the eye for the first time since he got here. For a brief moment when their eyes meet, the Brandon that Trevor sees in front of him isn’t the one that just drove here from boarding school. It’s the eight year old he met at summer camp, the ten year old that would lay on Trevor’s floor for hours on end reading comics with him, the twelve year old that would bike to Trevor’s house in the middle of the night and climb through his bedroom window just for somewhere to sleep that wasn’t his own house, the fourteen year old that started crying when Trevor asked about his black eye and then made him swear to never tell anyone about it, the sixteen year old that bandaged Trevor’s knuckles when he caught his dad cheating and punched a hole through the drywall, the same one that brought over a handle of tequila and kissed him until he forgot all about it two weeks later. Every version he’s ever known, every version he’s ever loved, all laying in front of him right now, looking at him like he might be thinking the same thing.

“I want you to be my boyfriend for real,” Brandon finally confesses. “And I don’t— I don’t really know what that means yet, and you don’t have to say yes, but—”

Trevor doesn’t let him finish. He doesn’t know what the end of that sentence was going to be, and he doesn’t care because he already heard everything he needed to hear, plants a hand on Brandon’s chest and leans over him to press their mouths together to shut him up.

A small gasp escapes Brandon’s throat, but he immediately starts kissing back, opening his mouth to Trevor without question, hands sliding up his jaw to cradle his face.

He only lasts a minute though, uses those same hands to push Trevor back for a second, just enough to mumble, “Is that a yes?” in the space between their mouths.

Trevor laughs helplessly, barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

“Obviously,” he responds, pressing in to kiss him again, but Brandon holds him back.

“Really? Are you sure?”

He sounds so nervous, so unsure, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found, and it’s so out of character that Trevor pauses, settling down on top of Brandon so he doesn’t have to hold himself up any longer.

“What? Did you think I was gonna say no?”

Brandon chews on his bottom lip, still looking like he doesn’t quite believe it. “I mean… yeah. I thought I missed my chance a long time ago.”

Trevor drops his chin onto Brandon’s chest with a sigh. “Maybe if I had higher standards.”

Brandon’s face goes through several emotions before he realizes it was a joke and pushes Trevor off of him, shoving him with more force than necessary when Trevor starts laughing.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation and you’re making fun of me,” he whines, but it just makes Trevor laugh harder.

“You’re being a self-pitying idiot,” Trevor counters, but he’s still laughing. “Yeah, whatever, I probably forgave you way too many times, but you’re my best friend, of course I did. And I don’t really care.”

“I— really? You don’t wanna kill me right now?”

Honestly, he probably should. But he’s been waiting literal years for this, quite possibly his entire life, and any resentment he was trying so hard to hold onto two minutes ago just in case he needed it has all gone out the window by now.

“Only for interrupting my sleep,” he jokes, settling back against Brandon’s side.

“Not for last weekend?”

“I mean, that was really weird, to be fair. But not anymore.”

“Weird, like… the dating part?” Brandon asks, but he’s clearly just doing it to be annoying now, the relieved smile spreading on his face betraying him.

“Oh my god, the pretending part, jesus christ Brandon,” Trevor laughs, letting Brandon haul him back on top of him and tug him down into another kiss.

It occurs to Trevor, as he feels Brandon’s hand slip underneath his t-shirt, that this is the exact same position they were in the last time Brandon kissed him, but he thinks, with the last ounce of functioning brain power he still has left, that he likes this a lot better, the slow, slick slide of their mouths, warming Trevor from the inside out, instead of the overdramatic performance that sent him reeling so bad he barely had time to process what was happening before it was over. This one—this one’s not for anyone else. This one’s just for them, safe and alone in Trevor’s bed, all the time in the world to savor it, Brandon’s hands on his body and his tongue in his mouth, the way he’s holding him like he’s afraid he might break if he digs his fingers in too hard, so separate from the way he almost tore him apart last time. It’s comfortable, familiar in a way that doesn’t make much sense, but Trevor doesn’t question it, just threads his fingers through Brandon’s hair and lets Brandon keep kissing him.

When Trevor finally pulls away, too tired to keep up anymore, Brandon doesn’t protest, instead wraps an arm around Trevor’s waist and rolls them onto their sides, pulling his arm up for Trevor to lay his head on. Trevor just stares at him for a moment, eyelids heavy, stupid little smile pulling at his lips. He can’t believe any of this is actually happening. It feels like it’s been an entire lifetime in the making.

So, naturally, Brandon ruins it again.

“I almost threw up on the way here,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, and Trevor can’t stop the baffled laughter from escaping his lungs.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Trevor laughs. “Did you actually think I was gonna say no? I went along with your whole idiotic plan last weekend and you still thought I would say no?”

“Listen—” Brandon starts, pinching Trevor’s side to get him to stop laughing, but he’s laughing too. “I don’t think you understand the week I just had. I thought I ruined you. I thought you were never gonna talk to me again. I didn’t even— I didn’t realize what I was doing to you until I kissed you last weekend and you couldn’t even look at me.”

Trevor blinks once. Twice. Thinks about trying to defend himself, and then decides it’s not worth it. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Shut up, I know,” Brandon whines, and he’s still laughing, but it’s self-deprecating now, not as happy as it was before.

Trevor reaches up and puts a hand on his face. “Hey. It’s okay. But, can we save the rest of your confessions for tomorrow?”

Brandon deflates, exhaling heavily. “Okay, fine. Can I stay here tonight?”

“Only if you stop acting like that,” Trevor responds with a yawn, pulling out of Brandon’s hold to go get back under the covers.

“What?” Brandon sits up, looking at Trevor all worried, but he doesn’t follow.

Trevor reaches out and grabs his wrist to drag him over. “You haven’t asked permission to sleep over since you were like, ten. I’m not mad at you. Stop acting like it.”

Brandon doesn’t look like he believes him, but he lets Trevor coax him under the covers nonetheless. He doesn’t say anything until Trevor’s turned the lamp off, settled down on his side so Brandon can curl up behind him, the same way they did in Brandon’s dorm bed.

“You sure? Because you should be,” he says softly, pulling Trevor properly into his arms, pressed flush to his back.

“I’m sure. Go to sleep, man.”

He can feel Brandon sigh against the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to the top of his spine. Brandon’s quiet for a moment, and Trevor thinks he might actually have listened to him, but then—

“We’re boyfriends now. You can’t call me that.”

Trevor huffs, trying not to start laughing again. “Brandon—”

“No.”

“B.”

“Okay. Better.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, even though Brandon can’t see it. Boyfriends. Just hearing Brandon say it out loud is enough to fill his stomach with butterflies, the light, airy feeling that he’s never felt long enough for it to matter spreading its way through his veins until he’s entirely weightless, held down only by Brandon’s arms around him.

“I missed this so much,” Brandon whispers, tightening his hold. “Couldn’t sleep without you.”

“M’right here,” Trevor mumbles, tangling his fingers with Brandon’s. “Go to sleep.”

“You should come back to school with me,” he continues, like he didn’t even hear him. “Be my live-in boyfriend.”

Trevor doesn’t mind though. This, at least, is the Brandon he knows, keeping him up in the middle of night because he won’t shut up instead of apologizing for his every move.

“Mhm. Sleep.”

“M’kay,” Brandon finally relents, kissing his neck again, behind his ear, the corner of his jaw, before settling back down behind him. “Good night, baby.”

“Nope.”

“C’mon. Babe?”

“No.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Fine. Kitten.”

“Oh my god.”