Chapter Text
The hallway noise always felt like a different world after the weekend. The soft morning light and fresh but warm air that April in Texas always carried, replaced by flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of bleach, sweat and chalk from a century ago.
The air was already warmer here. Stuffy and hot in that way it only got with too many people in the same place. The halls were already alive with chatter and laughter, sneakers squeaking on linoleum.
The floor felt sticky under his feet as he dragged them toward his locker.
He hiked his bag higher on his shoulder and dodged a group of juniors that seemed to be too invested in their own little world to watch where they stepped.
Everything was just like always.
Wilson stepped to his locker, turning the lock until it clicked open with a rattling sound.
He grabbed a notebook and clamped it under his arm, bag slipping from his shoulder again.
He balanced it against his thigh and rummaged around for his math book, stuffing it somewhere into his locker.
Then his eyes shifted automatically to the inside of the door.
The postcard from summer still hung there, crooked and the edges a little torn from where he brushed against it on accident. Mia's handwriting was a little smudged but still unmistakably hers. Practiced and pretty like she'd written it three times before committing on phrasing.
A few sticky notes were scattered on the metal too. Simple things. Stupid things. Some he simply forgot to take off and now they were part of it.
Article due in a week!
Movie night at Theo's on Saturday
A poem he'd read somewhere and found interesting.
Colorful paper stars with their names on it and what their hopes were for senior year.
Wilson smiled absently and turned the one with his name on it.
Get the fuck out of here
He'd written and Mia had rolled her eyes at him.
There was another note under it now.
An addition.
Get the fuck out of here
(with Brando)
He hadn't showed it to anyone. But it made him smile a little.
Then, his gaze dropped to a photo. It was cut at the edge so it fit properly, taped a little lopsided. It was new.
It was a picture of him and Brando. After his last soccer game. Brando was still wearing his jersey, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, one arm slung over Wilson's shoulder, grinning like he just won the world cup. His eyes were bright and shining. Wilson's cheeks were slightly flushed but his grin was just was wide. He wore a similar jersey. Brando's number and name on it.
He'd been embarrassed to wear it that day. It had been a surprise for Brando. And when he saw him, his eyes had lit up like Christmas and Wilson had immediately forgotten to be embarrassed.
Wilson's thumb traced the edge of the photo like he could re-live the moment if he looked long enough.
He wished he could.
Everything went by so fast lately.
Senior year was almost over. Graduation would be soon. And then he'd travel miles away from home.
It didn't even feel real.
Something at the edge of his vision made him perk up again.
A shift in the space beside him, a familiar weight leaning against the metal door with a quiet thud. Wilson didn't even look up right away. He felt it first, the way the air settled, the way something in his chest loosened without asking.
Brando didn't knock against the locker or announce himself.
He just appeared, like he'd always been meant to be there.
"Hey." He said, soft, almost conspiratorial like it was a secret to share.
Wilson glanced up then, already smiling a little before he meant to. "Hey."
Brando tilted his head toward him, shoulder pressed to the locker, one foot hooked loosely over the other like he had nowhere else to be.
His hair was still slightly damp at the edges, like he'd run his hands through it one too many times. There was a crease in his shirt from where his bag strap had been.
Wilson's eyes flicked over him quickly, automatically, before settling back on his face. "Aren't you late?" he asked, knocking the locker shut with his elbow. "For practice?"
Brando shrugged one shoulder, like it didn't matter. "I'll go."
Wilson raised a brow.
Brando's mouth tilted, just a little, his voice quieter now but confident in that familiar Brando Farell way that Wilson knew all too well. "I just wanted my good luck kiss."
Wilson let out a quiet breath through his nose, rolling his eyes even as his smile pulled a little wider. "It's not even a game," he said, shifting his weight, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "You don't need luck."
Brando straightened a fraction, mock-offended. "Wow. That's how lightly you treat this? What if I injure myself? And never heal again properly and then I won't go to college—"
Wilson huffed, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah, maybe." Brando said easily, already pushing off the locker.
He stepped closer without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it always had been.
Wilson didn't move back.
The space between them closed in that quiet, practiced way, no rush, no awkwardness. Just familiarity.
Brando's hand came up, settling at the back of Wilson's neck, fingers slipping into his curls like he belonged there. Like he knew exactly how to hold him.
Wilson's breath caught for half a second, soft, barely there.
Then Brando leaned in.
The kiss wasn't quick.
It wasn't anything they had to steal.
It was slow, easy, something that unfolded instead of happened. Wilson leaned into it without thinking, one hand catching lightly at Brando's shirt, grounding himself there. Brando's thumb brushed once against the base of his neck, absent, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.
Wilson smiled into the kiss, just slightly.
Brando felt it. He always did.
When they pulled back, it wasn't far. Just enough to breathe. Just enough for Wilson to see the way Brando's eyes lingered on him for a second longer, softer than before.
Then the hallway came back.
Not all at once but in tiny fragments.
A shift in the noise. A few voices dropping lower instead of louder. The kind of murmuring that didn't try to hide itself completely.
Wilson's eyes flicked past Brando's shoulder, just briefly.
He didn't need to look long to know.
When he looked back, Brando was already trying not to react.
His hand had dropped. His shoulders had set just a little straighter. His eyes stayed on Wilson, steady, like he refused to give anything else the satisfaction of pulling him away, but there was a flicker there. Quick. Barely visible.
Just the little tightening in his posture like he refused to flinch at it.
The kind you'd miss if you didn't know him.
Wilson did.
He stepped closer again, not closing the distance the same way, not for another kiss. Just inside that space where it was only them again.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Brando's gaze shifted, just slightly, their eyes meeting like it was only them here.
Wilson held it. "Don't listen."
For a second, something moved behind Brando's eyes. Not sharp. Not defensive. More like he had to remind himself of it sometimes.
Then he nodded once.
"I know," he said, softer than before.
And this time, when he smiled, it wasn't the easy, practiced one he gave everyone else. It was smaller. Real.
He leaned in again, quicker this time, stealing another kiss like he couldn't help himself. Short, but no less sure.
Wilson let out a quiet laugh against his mouth, nudging him lightly when they pulled back. "Go," he said, pushing at his shoulder. "Before coach makes you run laps again."
Brando huffed, stepping back, but his eyes stayed on Wilson for a moment longer. Like he didn't quite want to leave yet.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already turning, walking backwards a step. "Later? Hang out?" Brando asked in that hopeful way that settled warm in Wilson's chest.
He knew what hang out meant.
It meant Wilson's room, blankets and a movie nobody watched because they were too busy with themselves.
A smile tugged at Wilson's mouth. "Sure."
Brando beamed at him before finally pulling away.
Wilson watched him go.
The hallway noise filled in again, louder now that the space beside him was empty.
But it didn't feel the same.
His hand came up, brushing absently over the back of his neck where Brando's fingers had been, like the warmth had settled there.
Then he turned back to his locker, the faint smile still lingering, quiet and steady, like something he could carry with him for the rest of the day.
Outside on the bleachers, the sun was already heating up the metal railing without mercy. The air smelled like turf and wet grass, the distant sound of laughter from inside the gym travelled over, almost swallowed by the sound of the bell ringing.
Chloe sat in the middle of the bench, tiptoes on the ground and a notebook balanced on her knees. She wrote a line with careful brushes of her pen, read it, scratched it out again and rewrote it underneath.
She hummed quietly, watching the way her handwriting made these little flicks at the end of letters like she trained herself to do it at some point and never stopped.
The words had long stopped making sense.
Something about pride, about future, about friends.
Things millions of students had written before.
It still didn't felt right. She'd rewritten it countless times and every time there was something else that stuck out like a sore thumb.
Wording.
Repetition.
Generic.
Chloe tilted her head, pen scribbling tiny symbols and lines on the edge of the page like that could keep the creative flow going.
Next to her, Theo had his long legs stretch out, boots scraping the edge of the bench before him. They didn't touch but Chloe could feel the heat of him. How the sun seemed to catch in his all dark clothes. He had one earbud in, something faintly metallic sounding echoing from it. He was thumbing around on his phone almost absently.
He stopped it. Replayed it.
Stopped again.
When he noticed that she had stopped writing, he glanced over. His eyes looked always tired in a way. Not in that way that said he didn't care. No, just the way his lids dropped slightly, how the dark circles looked more prominent on his pale skin.
But the eyes themselves— they looked alive.
Warm even. Attentive.
Chloe twirled the pen between her fingers, shifting in her seat.
She wanted to say something. She wasn't quite sure what.
Theo beat her to it. "You know you don't have to finish this today?"
That made her pause for a moment.
She lowered the pen, letting it rest in the crease of her book. "I know," she said, stretching her legs out.
Their shoes sat side by side now. White sneakers next to heavy black boots. She bumped them lightly. "I just want it to be perfect. I want—" she sighed, leaning back on her hands. "I want something people will remember. Not another graduation speech that makes people sleep in."
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. "It will be good. Just...don't think about what is to come and more of all the things that happened until now."
He sounded so certain. So normal about it.
Chloe glanced up into the sky, watching a cloud move lazily along the horizon. "Maybe." She said eventually.
Then, she turned back to him. "What are you listening to?"
Theo glanced down at his phone like he had to remember what he'd even been listening to.
"Nothing finished," he said, thumb hovering over the screen before he turned it slightly toward her. "Just… something I'm trying out."
Chloe shifted closer without thinking, leaning in just enough to see.
He handed her his earbud.
The faint metallic sound from earlier returned as he pressed play again, guitar, a little rough at the edges, something layered underneath that hadn't quite found its place yet.
It looped for a few seconds.
Stopped.
Started again.
Chloe tilted her head, listening. "You made that?"
Theo shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "Trying to. It's stuck."
She hummed softly, eyes still on the screen even though there wasn't much to see. "It sounds… undone."
Theo let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh. "Yeah. That's kind of the problem."
She smiled a little at that, leaning back again, one hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. The light caught in her lashes, warm against her skin.
"I like it though," she added after a second. "It feels like it's going somewhere."
Theo glanced at her then, properly this time. Not just a quick check, but a look that lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Like he was weighing something.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Chloe nodded, turning her head toward him. "Yeah. It just needs…" She hesitated, searching for the words. "Something that makes it yours."
Theo's mouth tilted slightly, thoughtful. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
The bell's echo faded out somewhere behind them, replaced by the distant rhythm of voices drifting across campus, the low hum of a day that hadn't quite settled yet. A breeze moved through, just enough to lift a strand of Chloe's hair before letting it fall again.
She tapped her pen lightly against her notebook, then looked down at it.
"My speech kind of feels like that too," she admitted. "Like it's saying things, but none of it sounds like me."
Theo leaned back, bracing his hands behind him against the warm metal, boots scraping softly. "Then don't write what you think people want to hear."
Chloe huffed a quiet laugh. "That's hard to do."
"Yeah," he said easily. "But no one remembers those."
She glanced at him again, studying him this time. The way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like he'd already decided what mattered and what didn't.
"You think anyone's gonna remember mine?" she asked, softer now.
Theo didn't answer right away.
He looked out across the field for a second, eyes narrowing slightly against the sun, then back at her.
"I will," he said.
It wasn't heavy.
He didn't make it sound like a promise.
Just a fact.
Something small shifted in Chloe's chest, quiet but noticeable.
She smiled.
"Good," she said, nudging his boot again with her sneaker. "Then I only have to impress you."
Theo huffed, shaking his head. "That's worse."
"Please," she said lightly. "You already like unfinished things."
He glanced at her, one eyebrow lifting just slightly. "Careful," he murmured.
Chloe held his gaze for a second longer than she needed to, then looked away first, a small smile still playing at the corner of her mouth.
She picked her pen back up, tapping it once against the page before writing again, slower this time, less forced.
Next to her, Theo let the track play again, not stopping it this time.
Down on the field, movement started to gather.
A few players jogged out first, voices carrying faintly across the open space, swallowed by the distance. The dull thud of a ball followed, then another, sharper this time. Laughter broke somewhere near the goal, easy and loud, cutting through the lazy quiet of the bleachers.
More of them filtered in, jerseys catching the light, the green of the field stretching wide beneath them.
The field had already filled out by the time Brando stepped onto it.
Voices carried across the grass, easy and loud, the dull thud of a ball echoing somewhere near the goal.
The sun sat high, pressing warm against his shoulders, turning the air thick in a way that stuck to his skin.
Brando rolled the ball once under his foot, feeling the give of the turf beneath it.
The field stretched out in front of him, wide and familiar, voices already blending into something steady.
He kicked off.
The ball moved lazily between them at first.
Short passes, easy steps, the kind that didn't need thinking yet.
Someone laughed across the field, another voice calling something back that got lost in the open air.
He didn't have to look to know where everyone was.
It settled into place quickly, the rhythm of it, the spacing, the way the ball moved between them like it always had. A tap to the side, a quick pass forward, someone cutting across his path just as he shifted his weight to follow.
Brando moved with it.
A step, a turn, the ball catching clean under his foot before he nudged it on again. The grass dragged slightly in places, still damp beneath the surface, clinging just enough to slow the roll before it picked up again.
"Here," someone called.
He didn't think, just passed.
The ball left his foot with a dull thud, cutting low across the field. It was caught, redirected, sent back in a wider arc that forced him to adjust, pivoting on his heel to meet it again.
This part was easy.
Running was easy.
He pushed off, pace picking up without him noticing at first. The air felt thicker the faster he moved, warm against his chest as his breath deepened, shirt already starting to stick between his shoulder blades.
"Move, Farell!"
He did.
A quick shift, shoulder dipping as he slipped past someone reaching in too late, the ball staying close as he tapped it forward. A grin pulled at his mouth without him meaning it to, something instinctive, automatic.
It came back to him sharper this time.
He caught it, turned, and sent it forward again in one clean motion, the sound of it echoing briefly before getting swallowed by everything else.
"Nice," Liam called from somewhere to his right.
Brando didn't answer. Just angled his run, cutting across the field, the sun flashing briefly in his eyes before he blinked it away.
The pace picked up.
Passes got tighter. Faster.
Someone misstepped, laughter breaking out before it even hit the ground. A shoulder bumped into his as they crossed paths, just enough to throw him off balance for half a second before he steadied again.
"Watch it," he muttered, breathless, but there was no bite to it.
"Cry about it," came the answer.
Brando huffed a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he slowed for a second, pushing it back from his forehead. Sweat had already gathered there, damp against his skin.
The ball rolled toward him again.
He stopped it under his foot, pressing down just enough to still it.
For a second, everything eased.
Just the sound of breathing, the hum of voices, the heat settling in.
Next to him, Liam nudged another ball lightly back and forth between his feet, like standing still wasn't really an option.
"Didn't know you had your own fan section now," he said, casual.
Brando glanced at him, squinting slightly against the light. "What?"
Liam flicked the ball toward him, not looking. "Last game."
Brando nudged it back automatically.
Liam tilted his head slightly. "That was your jersey, right?"
Brando's foot stilled over the ball.
Just for a second.
The image came up anyway.
Wilson at the edge of the field, his jersey hanging loose on him, Brando's number stretched across his back. The way he'd looked when Brando noticed. Like it mattered.
Brando rolled the ball forward again, slow, controlled.
"Yeah," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "So?"
Liam's mouth twitched. "So nothing."
He nudged the ball again, a little harder this time. "Didn't think you were the type."
Brando snorted under his breath. "For what?"
"Public displays of devotion," Liam said, mock serious, a hand on his chest like he was reciting poetry.
Brando shook his head, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. "You're an idiot."
"Am I wrong?"
Brando didn't answer right away.
He tapped the ball once, then again, sharper this time. "He wanted to wear it," he said finally. Like that explained everything.
Liam hummed softly beside him. "Yeah?"
Brando shrugged, but there was something quieter in it now. "Yeah."
A beat passed between them.
Then Liam added, softer this time, "He looked proud."
Brando's foot paused again. Barely.
He exhaled slowly, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before pushing the ball forward with more force than necessary.
"Come on," he muttered, already moving again. "You're slowing down."
Liam barked a short laugh, immediately following. "Says the guy who missed the goal earlier."
"Shut up."
Brando bumped his shoulder into him as they ran, just enough to throw him off for a second.
"Focus," he shot back.
"On what?" Liam called after him. "Your fan club?"
Brando laughed this time, breath catching slightly with it as he picked up speed again.
The whistle cut through the noise, sharp and immediate.
They fell back into motion without thinking.
And for a while, there was nothing else.
Just the rhythm of it, the ground under his feet, the weight of the ball, the pull of movement that didn't ask anything of him except to keep going.
Still, somewhere underneath it, quiet and steady the memory of Wilson's grin lingered, warm and easy at the edge of it all.
The computer room was dusty, the air stale. Sun hardly caught up here and if it did it wasn't enough to heat the room.
Wilson sat in a desk chair, clicking around in a document he had prepared but didn't really care enough about to finish. One leg was pulled close to his chest, heel resting on the seat. The other stretched out.
Mia sat on a desk nearby, legs swinging off the edge of it. She had a notebook perched on her lap, flipping through it.
They'd been here all morning, brainstorming for the new school newspaper that was due in a few days and they had— nothing.
No game.
No event.
No scandal.
Nothing to really fill pages.
Mia moved a lollipop absently from one cheek to the other, resting her weight back on her hands.
Wilson tapped his fingers against the desk. "We could write about...the..." Wilson trailed off, squinting slightly at the screen like the words might rearrange themselves if he stared long enough.
Mia didn't look up. "The thrilling developments of absolutely nothing happening?" she offered.
Wilson huffed a quiet laugh, leaning his head back against the chair. "Yeah. Big headline. People will love that."
"Groundbreaking journalism," Mia said, dry, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
He dragged a hand over his face, then let it fall back to the desk, fingers tapping again, restless. The cursor blinked at him, patient. Annoying.
They'd been staring at it for too long.
Wilson glanced over at her. She was still flipping through her notebook, slower now, not really reading anything anymore. Just moving pages.
"You'd think something would happen," he muttered.
Mia shrugged one shoulder. "Give it time. Something always does."
There was a pause.
The kind that didn't feel empty, just settled.
Wilson leaned back a little more, chair creaking quietly under his weight.
"So," Mia said, "I thought of going to the movies tonight." She shrugged like it didn't really matter. "Something old on the drive-in. Theo might come. You in?"
Wilson clicked on another line. "Brando asked to hang out this morning, we could join."
Mia's leg stilled for a second.
Then it started swinging again.
"Of course he did," she said, tone light. "You two are practically glued together."
Wilson watched her.
Not obviously. Just long enough to notice.
The way she didn't look up. The way her pen tapped once against the page before she stilled it again.
It sat in his chest. Had for months now. It's not like he expected everything to be smooth immediately but...
"What's your issue with him?" he asked.
Mia's head tilted slightly, like she hadn't expected that. "I don't have an issue with him."
Wilson didn't answer right away but he kept looking.
The kind of look you didn't need to explain when you knew each other.
Mia let out a quiet breath through her nose, shifting her weight on the desk. The notebook slipped a little in her lap, and she caught it absently.
"It's just…" she started, then paused, like she was deciding how much to say. Her gaze dropped to the page, though she wasn't reading it.
"It's hard to see him different," she said finally. "When I remember how he was."
Wilson's fingers stilled against the desk.
Mia's voice stayed even. Not sharp. Not bitter.
"I was the one sitting there with you," she added, quieter now. "Back then."
That landed softer than it could've.
But it still landed.
Wilson swallowed, his gaze dropping to the edge of the desk, tracing a scratch in the surface with his thumb.
"I just still see you crying because of him and—" she cut off, shoulders lifting with a deep breath.
"Yeah," he said. "I get it." Because he did.
He'd seen the way Brando had changed. He'd seen beneath the act.
He just wished others could see it too.
There was more he could say. Something sitting right there, just behind his teeth, but he didn't push it out.
A knock cut through the quiet before he had to decide.
Both of them looked up.
Mrs. Harris stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, like she'd been moving between rooms all morning.
"Oh good," she said, relief clear in her voice. "I was hoping I'd still catch you two."
Mia straightened a little. Wilson dropped his foot back to the floor.
"Hi, Mrs. Harris," Mia and Wilson said in unison.
"I have a bit of a… situation," she continued, stepping inside. "And I was wondering if you might be willing to help."
Wilson and Mia exchanged a look.
Skeptical.
But they didn't say no.
Mrs. Harris clasped her hands together briefly, like she was organizing her thoughts as she stepped further into the room.
"I'll keep it short," she said, though her voice carried that hopeful edge that suggested otherwise. "The yearbook committee is… unavailable."
Mia's brow lifted slightly. "Unavailable?"
"They've all come down with measles," Mrs. Harris said, with the kind of calm that came from having repeated it too many times already. "Every single one of them."
Wilson blinked. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was." She offered a tight smile. "Which means the yearbook is currently unfinished. And it needs to go to print in three weeks."
That landed.
Wilson leaned back in his chair again, slower this time, like maybe if he moved carefully enough, he wouldn't get dragged into it.
Mia, on the other hand, had already straightened, interest flickering behind her eyes in that quiet, focused way she had when something needed fixing.
Mrs. Harris looked between them. "You two are some of the strongest writers I have, and you're already familiar with layout and editing from the paper…"
Wilson opened his mouth, already halfway to a no.
"We'll do it," Mia said.
Wilson's head snapped toward her.
Mia didn't even look at him. Just nodded once, like the decision had already settled into place.
Relief flooded Mrs. Harris' face instantly. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I'll get you everything you need, files, drafts, access to the lab. It's mostly layout and final edits at this point."
"Of course," Mia said easily.
Wilson just stared at her.
Mrs. Harris beamed at them for another second, then turned back toward the door. "I knew I could count on you two," she added, already halfway out. "We'll talk details tomorrow."
And then she was gone.
The room fell quiet again.
Wilson didn't move at first.
Then he turned his head slowly toward Mia.
"You fucking owe me," he said flatly.
Mia finally glanced over, a small, almost amused smile pulling at her mouth. "You'll survive."
Wilson let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down his face. "Three weeks, Mia."
"Mm," she hummed, already flipping her notebook closed. "Plenty of time."
He stared at her.
She hopped off the desk.
"Come on," she said, nudging his chair lightly with her knee. "Before you start complaining for real."
Wilson pushed himself up with a soft groan, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I am complaining for real."
"I know," Mia said.
Wilson grumbled something under his breath that sounded 'who the hell even still gets measles at that age' but Mia just laughed.
The hallway felt louder after the quiet of the computer room.
Voices bounced off the walls, lockers slamming shut somewhere down the line, the air warmer again, heavier with too many people moving in the same direction at once.
Mia stepped ahead of him, weaving easily through the crowd.
Wilson followed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, still half thinking about the next two weeks he hadn't agreed to.
He nearly walked into her when she stopped.
"Sorry—" he started, then paused.
Chase stood in front of them.
Not like it had been on purpose. Not aggressively.
For a second, no one said anything.
Chase's gaze flicked between them, quick, assessing. It lingered a fraction longer on Mia, something unreadable settling there before he looked away again.
Then he stepped past them.
No comment. No smirk. Nothing.
Just gone.
Wilson frowned slightly, glancing after him. "That was—"
"Weird," Mia said.
She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, already stepping forward again, like the moment had passed the second he did.
She shrugged. "Whatever."
Wilson lingered half a second longer, then followed.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Still weird."
Mia didn't answer this time.
The hallway noise followed them for a while, clinging to their backs even after they pushed through the doors.
Outside, it fell away.
The air felt different here, lighter, warmer in a way that didn't press in the same suffocating way as inside. The sun sat lower now, stretching long shadows across the grass, the breeze just enough to move the edges of it.
Mia stepped ahead of him without slowing, cutting across the path like she already knew where she was going.
Wilson adjusted his bag on his shoulder and followed.
They didn't have to look far.
Chloe and Theo were already out there, a little off to the side where the grass dipped slightly, away from the main walkway. Chloe sat cross-legged, shoes kicked off beside her, her hands moving as she talked. Theo leaned back next to her, long legs stretched out, boots pressing into the grass.
"…and she keeps smiling like it's fun," Chloe was saying, stopping mid-sentence when she spotted them. "Oh, there you are."
Mia dropped her bag without ceremony and sat down beside her, nudging Chloe's knee lightly. "Hey." She said simply.
Wilson let his bag slip from his shoulder, lowering himself down into the grass beside them. The ground was still warm, soft enough to sink into a little as he stretched his legs out.
Theo tilted his head at him lazily. "Newspaper working out?"
Wilson rolled his eyes with a groan. "Don't even start."
Chloe huffed out a laugh and pulled a bag of gummy bears out of her bag. The packet crinkled slightly when she held it out. "That bad?"
Wilson reached into the bag. "There's nothing happening."
Theo shrugged, reaching over to grab the bag himself. "So make something up."
Chloe nudged him with her shoulder. "That's not how that works."
"It absolutely is," Theo said. "You just call it 'creative direction.'"
Wilson let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, brushing crumbs off his hands. "Yeah, I'm sure Mrs. Harris would love that."
Theo nudged lightly at the grass with his heel. "So. Movies tonight?"
Mia tilted her head. "Yeah, I'm in. At seven?"
Theo nodded once. "Sounds good."
"I'll come." Wilson said.
Mia glanced sideways at Wilson, just enough to catch him in it. "I thought you had plans."
Wilson let out a quiet breath through his nose, already knowing where this was going. "I do. We can go after."
Mia's mouth twitched. "Sure."
He rolled his eyes, nudging her lightly with his shoulder.
Chloe looked between them, amused. "Now I'm curious."
"He has a date." Mia said.
"It's nothing," Wilson said, though there was a small smile pulling at his mouth. "We're just hanging out."
"Mm," Mia hummed.
Theo smirked faintly. "Sure."
Wilson shook his head, but didn't argue it further.
Footsteps approached from behind Wilson, sneakers dragging over grass. "What'd we miss?"
Brando dropped down beside Wilson, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He didn't move away.
Wilson turned his head slightly. "Mia just volunteered us."
"For what?" Brando asked.
Wilson let his head tilt back for a second, already sounding defeated. "The yearbook."
There was a beat.
Then Brando winced. "Oh no."
"Yeah," Wilson said.
Mia shrugged. "It'll be fine."
Wilson scoffed quietly. "You say that now."
Liam settled down on the other side, pushing his hair back. "What's going on?"
"Yearbook's a mess," Mia said. "We're fixing it."
Liam nodded once. "I could help."
It came a little too quick. He shifted slightly after. "If you want. I mean—I don't really have anything else going on."
Mia glanced at him, a little surprised. "I mean... sure, if you actually show up."
Wilson exhaled. "Great. Now it's a team effort."
Liam huffed a quiet laugh.
Brando's gaze flicked between them briefly, like he was filing something away, before he leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out.
Chloe brushed her hands off on her jeans, glancing around at all of them. "Are you guys going to the fair this weekend?"
Theo tipped his head back slightly, squinting up at the sky. "Is that this weekend already?"
"Saturday," Chloe said. "They've been putting up the lights since last week."
Mia shrugged one shoulder. "I'll go."
"Of course you will," Theo muttered.
Chloe nudged him lightly. "You will too."
Theo exhaled, long-suffering. "I'll be there against my will."
"You say that every year," Mia said.
"And every year I'm right."
Wilson huffed a quiet laugh, glancing sideways at Brando. "I'll go."
Brando's gaze shifted to him. "Yeah?"
Wilson nodded. "Why not."
There was a small pause.
Then Brando added, a little more casually, "Isn't that your dad's weekend?"
It wasn't asked loudly. Just slipped in between everything else.
Wilson's eyes dropped briefly to the grass, fingers brushing over a loose blade before he shrugged.
"Yeah," he said. "But it's just Saturday." Like that explained everything.
Wilson lifted his head, curls falling into his eyes. "And he'll probably be there anyway," then, quieter, "with his new girlfriend."
Mia turned her head slightly. "Have you met her yet?"
Wilson shook his head, quick. "No."
A beat.
"I don't really want to," he added, quieter.
No one said anything right away.
Theo shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. Chloe's hand stilled where it had been picking at the grass.
"She's… what, like—?" Chloe started, glancing at Mia.
"Twenty-four," Mia said.
Wilson huffed out a breath. "Something like that."
Theo let out a low whistle. "That's—"
"Yeah," Wilson cut in, not sharp. "She could be my damn sister."
Mia didn't comment this time. Just leaned back again, gaze drifting up toward the sky.
Brando's shoulder brushed his lightly. Grounding. Wilson leaned against it.
Chloe cleared her throat lightly, sitting up a little straighter. "So, who's coming now?"
Theo groaned again. "We're back to that."
"Yes," Chloe said. "We are."
She pointed vaguely between them. "We meet there, get food, pretend Theo's having fun."
"I will be having fun," Theo said. "Just not because of the fair."
Mia huffed a quiet laugh.
Liam leaned back on his hands. "What's even there this year?"
"The usual," Chloe said. "Food, rides, those stupid games no one wins."
Theo perked slightly. "I can win those."
"You absolutely cannot," Mia said.
Wilson smiled faintly, watching them.
The conversation drifted after that.
Liam said something about the rides.
Theo complained again.
Chloe argued back.
Liam added something that got a short laugh out of Mia.
Brando stayed quiet for a bit, just listening, his shoulder still warm against Wilson's.
The sun dipped a little lower, the light softer now, stretching longer across the grass.
Wilson leaned back fully, hands behind his head, looking up at the sky.
Voices blurred slightly around him, not gone, just quieter.
He turned his head just enough to catch Brando out of the corner of his eye.
Like he was checking if he was still there.
Then back up at the sky.
Somewhere across the schoolyard the bell rang again.