BRANCE + RINNEY

a little love, a little romance, a little a lot

The air was cold, a nice contrast to the summer heat. The sun had long set, kissing the sky one last time before stars drifted overhead in seas of paintings. Streetlights twinkled, blinking at anyone who'd pass them by. Finney, who was one of the few, laughed at the thought.

"What are ya laughing at?" Bruce, baseball bat swinging from his hand lazily, quirked up a brow. He let his elbow hit Finney softly, a friendly movement. "Just thinkin'." Finney laughed again, this time quieter.

The two had been walking in silence for some time, cicadas and crickets alike chorusing to fill the quietness. The howls and echoes of wind nipped at their skin, goosebumps covering their arms and necks as they walked farther into a nearby neighborhood.

"Are we early?" Finney stuck close to Bruce as more houses came into view, breaths coming out in clouds of fog as he talked. Bruce clicked his tongue against his teeth, thinking. "No. Not really."

They walked in silence again, leaves crunching underneath their worn speakers as wisps of night air stung the skin in their nose.

"Ah, here we go." Finney jumped as Bruce's voice sounded next to him, his hands grasping onto the fabric of the boy's shirt in a spur of panic. "Would ya let go for a moment?" His voice was kind, Finney obeyed. "Yeah, sorry."

The house they had stopped in front of was a old hue of blue, paint cracking at the tiles of wood plastered around it. Grass was tucked around the walls, the shadows of it stretching into monster-like shapes and figures. Finney latched onto Bruce again.

"Are you sure this is the one?" Finney sniffled as he spoke, his eyes darting around in true fearfulness. Bruce rolled his eyes, a smile tucked away beneath the shadows of his features. "Yeah dude, I'm sure. Quit being a scaredy-cat." Finney sighed, removing his hand with a rush of mumbled words.

Bruce walked to the front door, Finney trailing behind him. The wind brushed past the both of them and Finney tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, refusing to latch onto his friend for the third time. Raising his fist to the worn black-shaded wood of the front door, Bruce knocked a pattern of threes.

Finney, hands still tucked in his pockets and skin still cold with the ghostly night air, waited for someone to jump out at him. Bruce on the other hand, grasped his baseball bat loosely and leant himself against the wall near the door.

It was fifteen seconds later when the door swung open, Finney counted. The baseball bat once grasped in Bruce's hand was snatched away and Finney ducked, waiting.

"For fuck's sake, why are you ducking? It's me idiot." Vance's voice was hushed, abnormal. Finney raised his head, much like a scared dog, and let himself smile. Bruce grimaced.

Finney wasn't a party person. He was never social, not like other teenagers are. He preferred sticking by only a few people, the safe option.

"There's drinks in the fridge if you two want anything, Robin isn't here yet." Vance pointed towards the kitchen area where it seemed like a crowd had formed, chants of 'drink!drink!drink!' echoing throughout the room like firecrackers. Finney shook his head, Bruce's hand resting around his shoulders as he was led to another place.

Vance let himself fall onto the sofa, the seemingly ancient leather coating whining as he did so. Finney stood awkwardly, shoes squeaking against the drink-stained wooden floor as he shifted on his feet. Bruce looked around, scanning.

"Where'd ya put my bat V?" His voice was soft, halfway caring. "Uh, by the front door I think. Miss it already?" Vance smiled, childishly. Bruce nodded his head, an alike smile on his face. Finney rolled his eyes at the two, fondness covering his face.