Rust and Frost

Four

The following Saturday, Brandon had a sky blue bicycle and a bad idea. In theory, the scheme itself wasn't terrible. Whether or not it'd go well was another story. But he was finally going to do something, and that was what mattered. He was always worrying, always planning, and here it came.

He'd gotten better at shutting his cruel inner-voice up. It was there, but less demanding. He could tune it out now. That high may not last for long, so he needed to ride this wave of confidence as far as it'd take him. There were no guarantees, but he figured his chances were better than slim to none.

After Thanksgiving and the weekend that followed, things had been put into perspective for him. He'd assumed his feelings were one-sided, but the way Ronnie held him sparked hope. There wasn't much of it, but it was hope nonetheless. It would be enough. Even the most fanciful pipe dreams were something to hold on to. That was all he needed: something to hold on to.

Mark was visiting his grandparents and Dave was grounded for telling his religious studies teacher he'd 'rot in hell, and gladly'. This eliminated the main obstacle that would've been in Brandon's way: his friends. This was to happen without distraction and without needing to come up with an alibi. And it had to happen as soon as possible because if he put it off, Brandon was the type who'd end up never doing it.

He woke up at the crack of dawn to half-ass his homework and get it out of the way. With an open agenda, he could focus. Focus on the words he'd have to say. He wanted this to be precise, as close to perfection as humanly possible. If the words that came out of his mouth were tangled and incoherent, he would come off across as desperate. He was pretty sure he was, but he'd gotten used to keeping up appearances.

He briefly contemplated writing his feelings out instead. A letter could be crafted and revised. But he wanted to say how he felt, with words. To tell Ronnie how he made him feel. And Brandon just had to see his face.

It was early December. The time of year where a subtle, enduring chill was always hanging about. The winds were cool, but the clouds were clear and the sun beamed down hot. These were the days Brandon loved most. It was just his luck, too. He had a Plan B, in case it was too cold or rained, but it wouldn't be ideal. The more that went to plan, the better. A hair out of place and this train could be thrown off its tracks.

He was going to wear something dressy, but he thought if he looked nicer than usual, though, Ronnie might pick up on what was happening. Earlier than he should, that is. It would've felt out of place anyway.

When Brandon went downstairs, his mom asked him what he was doing with that picnic basket. He'd been hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself. Luckily she was content with 'just gonna have fun with my friends'.

This was starting to feel silly, but he couldn't back out now. He promised himself he wouldn't.

Without needing to haul his backpack around, Brandon felt weightless as he rode through the neighborhood. Leaves were starting to die and fall onto the streets. The wind breezed through his hair, it was getting long again—just short of being chin-length.

He'd intended on listening to music as he rode to Ronnie's house, a last-gasp attempt at calming his nerves, but his arm got caught on the earphones' wire and they were yanked out of his iPod's headphone jack. Fate decided he could listen to the sound of his own thoughts instead. There wasn't much to choose between on the radio in Brandon's mind. There was doubt, which he tried to tune out, courage, which he kept close to his heart, and a refrain he kept on loop. I like you. Simple and easy enough to spit out, but he thought that if he didn't repeat it a couple of hundred times in his head it'd never come out.

He was pedaling faster, now. The roads were dead quiet. He'd planned on taking his sweet time so he could get his head right, but again, if he held this off, he'd talk himself into turning around. The silence was unnerving.