BRANCE + RINNEY

Brance - To Be or Not to Be

There was blood on the wall, chips of aged paint and bits of the concrete on the floor. Though that was nothing compared to the boy's knuckles, torn and bruised as he ran them under cold water despite the rapid stinging sensation.

He didn't know what had happened. One minute he was fine, another minute he wasn't. He'd blame Bruce if he weren't so damn in love with him. But then again, that 'butterfly' feeling always threw him in a loop.

Vance liked to have good days. Days where he wasn't so angry all the time. Days where could walk around and not see someone flinch at his appearance. Good days.

Sometimes, Vance found himself wondering if he ever truly deserved a good day. When he was little, his father would tell him that there was no such thing. That there was only time. When one minute passed, another would replace it. It was a constant thing. Emotions played no part in it.

Vance liked to think it was a good day when he'd met Bruce for the first time.

Bruce had been in the baseball field. He and his best friend, Finney had been practicing their throws. Vance had been strolling by, hands tucked deep into his hoodie pockets as he tried to block out the world. He found it quite hard to do so when his name was called, loud and more than just once by a familiar voice.

Vance had taken his hands out of his hoodie, straightening up his posture as his defense mode emerged and covered him in a security blanket. He relaxed quite quickly when he found that the voice belonged to no other than Bruce Yamada.

"Hey! You're-, you're Vance Hopper right? I've seen you around." Vance looked between the two friends, containing a laugh when he saw the frightened expression on Finney's face. "Yeah. That's me."

Bruce had waved him over, a warm smile occupying his face which only doubled in size when the blonde complied and made his way towards the two.

"We're basically just throwing the ball back and forth. Care to join?" Vance was handed the ball, though he couldn't help but feel a bit awkward as he realized he'd basically been called over from the street. He hadn't even really introduced himself.

Vance nodded his head at Bruce's question but had turned to face Finney. "Hey. I'm Vance. What's your name?" He had hoped his voice was soft, not really feeling the need to want to scare off someone as frightened as the boy in front of him. Finn smiled and his shoulders slouched, showing he was quite comfortable in the conversation. "Finney. My friends call me Finn though."

And Vance would be damned if he said he didn't feel the slightest amount of warmth at the boy's comment. Friends. Vance Hopper had some friends.

The next time Vance had seen Bruce, the boy was alone.

Vance wouldn't admit it to anybody else, but he found the concept of reading in the library comforting. At least in the secluded sections it was.

Vance had picked out a fantasy novel, pale fingers stroking the spine of it as he walked with soft footsteps towards the only part he knew someone wouldn't be at.

He was sort of surprised, though not caught too off guard, when his eyes fell upon the figure of Bruce. The boy had in earbuds and seemed to be drawing something, though he could just as well have been doing a normal school assignment.

Vance made his way over to the small table Bruce was at, the book in his hand hitting the surface with a soft thud as he smiled. Bruce blinked once before his eyes traveled upwards and met the other boy's. And if Vance saw how flushed the boy became, he failed to mention it after it occurred.

"Oh, hey Vance. Didn't expect to see you here. Not that you wouldn't be here. Or, not that I expected you not to be here but, I-," Bruce quieted himself and took a breath, a small line of a smile forming on his face as he blinked once more. "It's nice to see you again."

Vance would've been lying if he had said that statement didn't pull at his heart strings.

"It's nice to see you too Bruce. Are you drawing something?" Bruce's smile was large as he nodded his head eagerly. He patted the chair next to him and Vance took no time in sitting down atop of it.

The rest of that time was spent in quick glances at Bruce's drawing and silent reading, though Bruce did mention he'd be fine if Vance chose to read aloud. Something about the boy's voice being 'quite soothing'.

The two boys spent majority of their time together after that. Not every day were they together, but most.

Two months in, Vance knew. He knew the giddy feeling in his chest wasn't just some form of regular happiness. He knew the butterflies weren't just because he ate something he wasn't supposed to. And he knew that when Bruce smiled, he didn't do it back just by pure coincidence. Vance knew he was in love, and that just might've been his downfall.

It was November 1st when Vance decided to get the feeling he had off of his chest. It had been building up and overflowing, causing him distress and an extra layer of anxiety that he had to push through every day. He couldn't say he hated the feeling, but he didn't like it either.

Bruce had sat on his porch, knees tucked to his chest as Vance poured his heart out through rushed words and tear-glossed eyes. When the blonde was done, he had his back facing the other boy. He wasn't so ready for denial.

"Could you look at me Vance?" The blonde turned around, quite quickly despite the dull aching in his chest, and faced the boy who sat near the stairs leading to the ground level. "I don't think-, I don't think I like you like that. I'm sorry. I just-," Bruce cut himself off and sighed. Vance rubbed his hands over his eyes, ignoring the additional sting it brought to them. "It's okay. Just needed to get it off my chest y'know. No biggie dude."

Bruce had opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut quickly when he realized Vance had already moved off of the porch. As the blonde walked away, the night sky boomed with a flash of lightning. Bruce shook his head before standing up and making his way inside.

When Vance had gotten home, he had went straight to his room. Despite his mom's knocks at his door and voiced concern for him, he ignored everything around him. He had punched the wall, more times he could count, until his knuckles were split and his wall was crumbled and torn open. He found that, though he couldn't voice what he felt, one look at his wall could describe the ache in his heart. Deep down he wondered if Bruce's picture did that for him.

Bruce had drawn a picture of the aftermath of war, bloodied people and grief, though in the middle of it was one single rose. It was a black one, signifying the theme of the art.

Vance still wondered about it.