WC: 2,327
Trigger Warnings: general mental health issues
Chapters
ch1 | ch2
Brandon lays in bed, checking his phone for the time.
[2:47]
He sighs and sets his phone back down. Still no notification saying goodnight from Bart. He himself had said goodnight almost an hour ago, and while it was stupid to be upset over it, he couldn't help the pit that was forming in his stomach.
Last time he and Bart texted was earlier that day around 8, but from what he knew they were still hanging out with Kevin and Piper by then. Maybe they were tired after and just passed out…?
Brandon sighs. Surprisingly, that didn’t make it hurt any less.
The teen lays on his side, trying to sleep. His mind keeps going back to Bart though. How they’d talked less and less to him recently. He didn’t even know why, which ultimately just made it hurt more.
It’s okay, he doesn’t hate you, he tries to reassure himself, only for it to immediately go south. You’re just not important.
His chest starts to tighten as his thoughts begin to twist into a disfigured mess.
Why would he hang out with you all the time? You offer nothing. Nothing new. Nothing fun. All you want to do is cuddle and play the same games over and over. Don’t you think that gets boring?
Brandon knew he was just digging himself into a deeper hole at this point. He knew Bart didn’t mind and he knew Bart liked him.
…Right?
Sure, his thoughts continue, Until he figures out that people like Kevin and Piper are more worth his time. Actually? the voice chuckles. I think he already did! Looks like you’re too late. The voice tuts. How sad.
Brandon’s breathing starts to become slightly erratic as tears prick at its eyes. Nothing comes up in his head to combat this though, so he starts to wallow in the anxiety and dread instead.
“I don’t blame Bart,” it says aloud to no one, starting to rub the tears out of his eyes. “You’re right, the others are better.” The tears continue despite it trying its best to clear them. “He’s allowed to have friends, I shouldn’t be trying to stop them. I shouldn’t be so selfish.”
Rubbing his eyes clearly wasn’t working, so he starts to scrub at his face with both hands instead. It becomes faster and rougher the longer he goes on.
“I’m just an asshole. I don’t deserve to be part of his life.” He starts to breathe harder and harder, curling up into a ball.
Everything is starting to hurt a little too much.
He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it. Just to feel something. To feel like the tears are justified. To feel like he wasn’t just crying over words his own brain had thrown at him in the middle of the night.
He looks over at his phone despite his better judgment, checking the time again.
[2:51]
Great.
No notification, time had barely passed, and he feels even worse than he did before.
It hasn’t even been five minutes and he’d already worked himself up so much. It felt so stupid. But, almost as if to spite him, his mind keeps on racing with awful thoughts.
“I-I should just st-stop being so obsessed. I’m weird. I’m dis-gusting. I—I sh-shouldn’t be so cl-clingy. They—they have their own life.”
Tugging at his hair starts to hurt more than help the still flowing tears and the aching in his chest and stomach.
Was it getting harder to breathe?
The lump in his throat seemed to grow the more he tried to fight against the painful breaths. “I m-mean,” he starts manically, “I-if I was him, I wo-wouldn’t choose me either!”
And with that, Brandon snaps.
His sobs became uncontrollable and all he could do was wheeze and cough as he cried hard at his own thoughts and words. It all felt so real, even when he knew that he was only telling himself things that made him feel worse.
He couldn’t go to Paige about this. Paige was his best friend. His brother. Brandon would just end up spilling his guts about how often he felt this helpless and Paige would feel obligated to help. And Brandon would say, no, no, don’t worry about me. And he and Paige would go back and forth until Brandon ultimately hung up or threw his phone across the room or did something equally as dumb.
So no, Paige was out of the question.
But… it entertains the idea anyways. If things went well, Paige would eventually just tell him to go to Bart and tell him how he feels.
But how could he do that? How could he go up to Bart and admit to them how he’s just a selfish asshole who wants to keep them all to himself, no one else being able to get between the two?
Brandon sniffs. That wasn’t entirely true though, was it? If it was, he wouldn’t make himself as small as possible and distance himself whenever Bart would hang out with his friends. And it wasn’t like he hated Kevin and Piper or anything. He just couldn’t handle how much Bart liked them.
Everything felt like a threat.
God, Brandon thinks sadly. I’m pathetic.
After what feels like hours, he calms down. His breathing is still off by a lot, but it’s better than what he started with. He doesn’t really feel better, but he’s officially run out of energy to burn.
So, almost to spite himself, it looks at the time.
[3:23]
Well, it wasn’t an hour at least.
He felt tired. Numb. It had used up all of that energy for nothing.
But… At least now he could get some sleep.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
He closes his eyes, hoping for a night of good dreams.
Or no dreams.
Or maybe he just wouldn’t wake up at all.
It didn’t matter. He just needed this night to end.
So, as his consciousness fades to black, he tries to keep his mind off of how bad the night was.
…It doesn’t go well.
Bro yawns as they wake up, dream interrupted.
Ugh. What time was it?
They reach blindly for the phone they knew was somewhere in their bed. Eventually, they find it and click it on, squinting at the sudden beam of light in their almost pitch black room.
Two things greet them on their screen. 1) The time: 4:30. And 2) a text from Brandon.
It was from hours ago. Oh man.
Bro hopes Brandon’s okay as they open up their texts.
[4:32]
💥bart💥: hey
💥bart💥: srry
💥bart💥: fell asleep
💥bart💥: u good?
branflakes: omg hi
branflakes: yea mim ok haha
💥bart💥: ur not
branflakes: wat makes u say that?
💥bart💥: when tf do u ever say haha
branflakes: .
💥bart💥: do u need me
💥bart💥: ill com ovr
branflakes: it is 4 :30 bart
branflakes: how teh hell r u gonna do thta?
💥bart💥: sneak out
💥bart💥: uber
💥bart💥: gamestop pays bank to teens man
branflakes: no they dont
branflakes: u were literally complainifb about thsi yestedday
💥bart💥: damn
💥bart💥: caught me
💥bart💥: didnt answer my q tho
branflakes: do i have 2
💥bart💥: no
branflakes: aweseom
💥bart💥: im coming over tho
branflakes: WHAT
branflakes: WHY
💥bart💥: cause u need me
Bro wastes no more time after sending that message, quickly throwing on a hoodie and sweatpants. He stuffs his pockets with his keys, wallet and phone. He checks it before pocketing it though, just in case Brandon had replied.
He had not.
Oh man.
Bro sighs as they sneak their way out the back door, thankfully not arousing Goldie from her deep slumber.
Once safely outside, they request an uber and wait outside the front of their house, sitting on the sidewalk.
[4:37]
💥bart💥: omw
The two teens didn’t live too terribly far away from each other. What would be about an hour and change’s commute by bus was cut down to about 20 minutes via car. Luckily the uber shows up sooner rather than later. Bro climbs in and buckles up.
“Heyo!” the driver greets.
Bro waves.
“Quiet type, are ya?” the driver chuckles, pulling off.
Bro nods.
“Don’t blame ya. It is about 5 in the mornin’!”
Bro nods again.
The driver must get the hint that they’re not going to be opening their mouth at any moment on this trip. The rest of the drive is made in silence, aside from the radio that had been clicked on at some point.
They make it there pretty quickly, roads mostly empty due to the time. “Thanks for ridin’,” the driver waves as Bro climbs out. They wave back and the driver rides away into the soon rising sun.
Oh man.
[4:59]
💥bart💥: outside
Bro rests their weight on the side of the Aguja household as they wait for Brandon. The two of them had this routine down pat.
Seeing as the front door was actually less noisy than the back, they would meet up there. Brandon would check to make sure his mom was still sound asleep before creeping his way downstairs in socks, muffling the sound of footfalls on carpet, then go open the door. From there, Bro would remove their shoes and hold them as the two of them ascended the stairs and rushed into Brandon’s room, safe for the night.
They didn’t have to worry about getting Bro back out until they woke up. Ms. Carmen wouldn’t come into Brandon’s room unprompted until he came out for the day, or something serious needed to be addressed. But, seeing as tonight was just another night, Bro doubts they have much to worry about.
When they reach Brandon Nirvana, Brandon practically falls directly into Bro. He’s sobbing.
“Sorry,” he cries into Bro’s shirt. “I’m s-so sorry.”
“N-o need,” Bro soothes, rubbing small circles into Brandon’s back. “I g-get it.”
“You don’t!” Brandon wails, muffled. “Y-you dont! And—and that’s what makes this so bad! I’m—I’m so nothing a-and you’re everything! You’re… y-you’re my everything… And I don’t deserve to be your anything…”
Bro carefully picks Brandon’s face up, holding his cheek with one hand and running their other through his hair.
“D-don’t say that. Y-ou’re talking abo-ut m-my Brandon.” They give a soft smile. “D-don’t want no-body t-alkin’ bad a-about my Br-andon.”
Brandon’s grip on Bro tightens, like he’s afraid if he lets go he might die. “Y-your… Yours…” he breathes heavily. “I…? M-me…?”
“Yeah,” Bro nods. “Y-you.”
Brandon’s face contorts into an expression that just can’t be comfortable and then replaces his face in Bro’s chest, crying his heart out.
Oh man.
“C-c’mon,” Bro mumbles, pulling up Brandon as they stand. “Bed. O-kay?”
Brandon nods into Bro’s shirt before extracting himself from them just enough that the two can reach the bed in one piece. The second Bro’s leg touches the side of it, Brandon all but tackles them down, holding on just like earlier.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I-I’m sorry. Please d—please don’t ever leave me.”
Oh man.
Bro flips them so that instead of being on top of them, Brandon is now mostly beneath them. They knew the pressure would be a good grounding measure, as well as just the fact it would help Brandon calm down immensely.
“I n-ever pl-anned on it,” Bro mumbles, snuggling up to Brandon’s chest and reaching for his hand. When they catch it, they lace their two hands together and squeeze. “L-love you too much.”
Brandon had a lot of tears in him, it seemed. Because even as the flow grew weaker, they didn’t seem to stop. Bro’s hair was going to be damp soon.
“I… I…” Brandon huffs weepily, “I l-love you. T-too.” His voice warbles on every syllable. “So, s-so, so much.”
“Y-you too. M-more than I c-an say.” Bro replies, giving Brandon’s whole body a squeeze. He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, like he’s finally expelling some of that horrible anxiety.
“I-I’m sorry I’m like this.”
“W-wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“C-can we stay like this t-tonight?”
“‘Course.”
No other words were exchanged after that, just soft touches and steadily evening breaths. At some point the room began brightening up, the sun bringing with her the natural light. But, no sooner had the sky began turning orange had both teenagers fallen asleep, one on top of the other.
+++
Carmen carefully opens her child’s door, peeking in.
Ah. Exactly the setup she expected to see.
You see, contrary to popular belief, Carmen Aguja was a very light sleeper. So two scampering sets of footsteps running down the hall past her room?
Yeah. Not so secret.
But, she didn’t mind at all.
You see, Carmen knew a thing or two about her kid. She knew he had bad nights. She knew he would have a tendency to either become a recluse for a couple days or act like it had never happened in the first place. And she knew that, eventually, he would always end up telling her.
So, when she heard him howling last night, she knew one of two things was about to happen:
1) Brandon would come to her in a couple day’s time and tell her exactly what was up and the two of them would brainstorm solutions to help him feel better,
or,
2) She’d wake up with a little stowaway in her house.
More often than not, the latter happened. That was honestly the best out of the two. She always felt like no matter what, she would never quite scratch the itch Brandon needed quite like Bartholomew could. And as long as he was happy, and they were happy, who was she to stop this?
Her smile is gentle as she closes the door, leaving the children to rest and recuperate.
She’d be sure to pay Bartholomew back for the uber he no doubt took to get here later.