#in the mean time...maybe encouraging sunny instead of bullying him could help... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missjanjie · 5 years ago

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Branjie Fic | Take Me Back to the Start (1/?)

Title: Take Me Back to the Start Summary: Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn't over yet. Word Count: ~3.1k Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: T (so far)

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“Sweetie, look what I found!”

Brock’s mother let herself into his room - the door had been left slightly ajar, enough for her to take it as permission to enter.

That, and Brock hadn’t been paying much attention in the first place. He was lazily sprawled out on his bed, only propped up by the pile of pillows behind him. His headphones were in and he was aimlessly scrolling through his phone. It wasn’t until his mom rolled over to him in his desk chair that he became aware of the company. His face scrunched up and his head tilted to the side as he turned off his music. “What’s up?”

She was unfazed, however - being the mother of a teenager meant that this was a common occurrence. “I found this in a box of old photo albums, I think this one’s from your ninth birthday. Or maybe it was your tenth, whichever one you had at the roller rink,” she shrugged off the minor details and handed him the envelope. “Anyway, I thought you might like to look through them. There are so many cute photos, especially of you and José,” as she got up to leave, she murmured offhandedly about ‘what a nice kid he was’ and ‘such a shame they fell out.’

Brock waited until the door shut behind her before he looked through the photos. It was from his ninth birthday, he observed. They were fond memories, or at least they ought to be. Nearly every picture had him smiling and laughing – they could have been stock photos for a child’s birthday with how idyllic they looked.

But he didn’t feel the same sense of whimsical nostalgia that his mother had. When he looked at these captured memories, he felt a melancholic sense of longing. He smiled wanly as he flipped through the stack – a picture of him helping José put his skates on, one of them holding hands as they wobbled around the rink, of them smashing cake onto each other’s faces. Maybe he just missed the beauty of childhood friendship.

Except it wasn’t just any friendship, not even a best-friendship. Brock had been convinced he found the love of his life before they even started middle school. What they had was special, it was theirs. It was probably why his coming out didn’t come as much of a surprise.

And when it came down to it, it was why those feelings never left. One would think time would erase the tender yearning that came with a first love, that was what he’d always hoped for, anyway. But seeing him from a distance at school every day didn’t make that any easier.

“They are good pictures,” Brock conceded to himself, setting all but the hand-holding picture aside. His gaze refocused on the picture and he sighed. “You guys have no idea how easy you have it,” he remarked to the still-frame of his younger self.

Eight Years Earlier…

It was the morning after his birthday, it was bright and sunny and Brock woke up to something poking into his face repeatedly. “Huh?”

“Finally,” José huffed in exasperation, moving his hand away to place on his hip instead. He looked at the blonde, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. “You sleep like a dang rock. Almost went to get water, splash you awake.”

Brock yawned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Thank you for not doing that,” he mumbled, sleepiness still weighing down his voice. He got to his feet as he adjusted to the waking world. “How long have you been up anyway?”

“I don’t got a watch,” he shrugged as they made their way into the kitchen for a pancake breakfast.

Joan was cutting up some fruit to finish the breakfast spread. “Morning, boys,” she chirped, turning to watch them sit down and help themselves. “Is your mom alright with you coming to the park with us, José?”

The child nodded, dousing his breakfast in syrup until the meal appeared to be equal parts syrup and food. “She said so yesterday at the party.” And he had no reason to lie about that – his mom was just as supportive of their relationship. That, and if she were suspicious, Joan would call to double check.

And the park wasn’t too far anyway. It was close enough that, once they were dressed and ready, they could walk to within a matter of minutes. They could probably do the trip in their sleep, and Brock was promised the freedom to go there by himself when he turned ten.

This visit, at least, came with the perfect weather for a day in the park. It was almost unseasonably warm for early March, but comfortable with clear skies and a gentle breeze. The park was occupied without being crowded, and the boys didn’t waste any time before they ran off to play.

“Look! I don’t even get dizzy when I do it anymore!” Brock boasted proudly as he hung upside down from the monkey bars. He hung like that until he was certain José was looking in approval before he flipped back around and jumped down.

“See? That’s why you gonna make a great ballerina,” José grinned. Other than his mom, José was the only one that had readily embraced his dreams and aspirations. Hell, he thought it was cool that Brock wanted to be different.

Brock beamed at the praise. “You’re the best. Hold on, I’m gonna go show my mom,” he turned and started to where she was, sitting at a table in the shade and reading a romance novel.

But he hadn’t even gotten halfway there when his attention was pulled back to the playground.

“‘Sup homo?” A couple of older boys – probably in middle school – had come up to José, both towering over him with malicious smirks.

José scowled and puffed up his chest. “Didn’t yo mamas tell you to leave me alone?”

“Our mamas’ ain’t here,” the other boy retorted in a mockingly whiny tone.

He huffed, face flushed red with anger, and tried to push past them to walk away, only to be blocked off by the pair, the taller of the two shoving him to the ground.

They laughed at the way the wind was knocked out of him. “Watch it, fag,” he snapped.

The next few moments were a bit of a blur, but the next thing they knew, Brock and José were fighting the tweens with all of their might until Joan and another concerned parent came to break up the mele.

“Yo, come at me again, I dare you!” José shouted, kicking and flailing in the woman’s grasp until she struggled to restrain him.

“Oh whatever, you and your boyfriend aren’t that tough,” the initial aggressor scoffed before he and his buddy left to lick their wounds.

José was finally released and he looked over to see Brock getting lectured on ‘conflict resolution’ and his stomach twisted with guilt. “It ain’t his fault,” he interrupted, “I was outnumbered, he was just tryna protect me.”

“There are non-violent solutions to bullies,” she pointed out. “But all things considered, I understand both of your actions, though I definitely do not encourage them.” And with that, she allowed the boys to continue playing.

The two boys sat on the swings, too exhausted to do anything more than sit and lightly sway.

“I’m sorry I got you sucked into that,” José mumbled, kicking at the dirt.

“You didn’t, I chose to,” he shrugged, staring up at the sky. “They’re just big jerks, so I’ll always have your back. Even if they think we’re boyfriends.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Both of them had learned early on what ‘gay’ is, and it didn’t take long for them to figure out that the label fit them. It wasn’t weird, they’d insist, to have crushes on boys instead of girls. But they never told anyone but their mothers, and each other, of course. It wasn’t something they would announce, as even in third grade, they were well aware of the consequences that came with being different, as the targeted bullying proved.

“Well, I don’t think it’s bad,” Brock finally answered. “Do you?”

José shook his head. “I ain’t scared of it or nothin’, but what does being boyfriends even mean if we can’t even go to the movies by ourselves?”

Brock tilted his head. He wasn’t really sure what it meant to be someone’s boyfriend. Living in a single parent household didn’t give him much of a frame of reference, and the sister that he was closest to had a girlfriend, and that just wouldn’t be the same, right? “I dunno. I guess we just do what we want.”

“So, are we boyfriends now?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Not long after that, they were called to get ready and head back home, and they pushed themselves up off the swings. Brock looked over at the smaller boy and held out his hand to him.

José looked at his extended hand, then back up to him before taking it, smiling from ear to ear. Their hands fit together perfectly, it felt like two puzzle pieces connecting together and even if that was the only difference between friends and boyfriends, it was just the improvement they needed.

Present Day

The dinner table was painfully quiet, the only sounds coming from silverware clanking against plates. Except for Brock, who was just pushing his food around the plate with his fork.

“Are you feeling alright, honey? You’ve hardly eaten a bite.”

“Huh?” Brock looked up from his plate, only realizing then how much he had spaced out until he was yanked back into reality. It took him another moment to process the question. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just...nervous. First day of school and all.”

Joan was never much for pushing emotional conversations, for better or for worse, so she accepted that at face value. “Oh, but it’s senior year, you’ll be able to take it easy before you know it!”

He did smile at that, her unwavering optimism usually did the trick when it came to cheering him up. “I know, but until then, the pressure’s on.”

And even on an academic level that was true. The past year consisted primarily of Brock busting his ass to develop a portfolio to apply to the best dance programs in the country. It was all or nothing for him - he didn’t have a backup, no matter what his guidance counselor had advised. It would be insane if he didn’t have the skill to back it up, at least.

When dinner ended, Brock got up and started to clear the table.

“I’ve got it. I want you to go ahead and relax before tomorrow, alright?”

“Thanks, Mom,” instead of cleaning up, he leaned over to hug her and escaped to his room. He did want to relax, and he was sure he needed to, but he still felt like a tightly wound ticking time bomb. And it was in times like this that, even now, he wished he had José back in his life in any capacity beyond someone he could hardly stand to make eye contact when they passed each other in the halls.

Six Years Earlier…

“No. No, no, no, no. I can’t do it. I have to forfeit I-I-I--” Brock was pacing back and forth, shaking with nerves, all until José grabbed his arm with one hand and smacked him with the other. “Hey!”

José rolled his eyes, his grip on Brock’s arm remaining firm. “You being ridiculous as hell right now. You ain’t quittin’, you’re gonna get yo ass on stage and perform the hell out of that routine I seen you practice every day for months now. I don’t care if you got feet so cold they’re in Antarctica, you’re not chickening out.”

Brock whined and pouted and kicked his feet. On one hand, he hated how José left him without a leg to stand on in terms of their argument, but on the other, he knew there was nothing else that would’ve pulled him back into reality, no one else that would’ve been able to talk any sense into him. “But what if I blow it? Like, I trip, or I forget my moves, or I throw up?”

“Okay, ew. But if you do, it’s whatever. There’ll be the next one,” he said simply. “You the youngest one here, there’s gonna be more.”

“That’s the thing! I’m the only one here that’s under thirteen, if I blow it, it’ll be all ‘See? That’s why kids can’t do it’.”

He grabbed his shoulders and stood up on his tiptoes to look into his eyes. “But you can. And you gonna. Now get it together, yo ass is on in five.”

Almost immediately after that, José was ushered away so Brock could be redirected to wait in the wings. He listened to the upbeat pop music fade out, followed by reasonably enthusiastic applause. He watched a girl in a purple, sequined leotard take a dramatic bow before walking offstage, moving with the grace she must have danced with.

The next thing he knew, he was on the stage, immersed in his routine. It was almost an out-of-body experience, he swore he was watching himself perform instead of actually doing it, as if his body took over to give his mind a much needed rest.

And just like that, it was over. His chest rose and fell heavily while the crowd cheered for him. Even as he was leaving the stage, he still felt as if he were floating.

But then he saw José waiting for him and his entire being had something to focus on. With adrenaline still coursing through him, he sprinted towards the smaller boy and spun him around. “Did you see?” he asked breathlessly.

“Hell yeah I saw! That was amazing, I told ya you could do it,” José giggled, his broad smile hidden with his face resting against Brock’s shoulder until he was set back on his feet. “How many people are left?”

“Five, I think,” he shrugged, plopping himself on a couch and gulping down a bottle of water. “Might as well be a million, I don’t wanna know.”

José rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged next to him. “You know that ain’t true. You just gotta like, zone out for a little while, and you’ll be ready. I was right before, so now you gotta believe me. It’s, you know, science or whatever.”

Brock supposed there was merit in José’s logic, at least enough for him not to argue with him. Instead, he quietly rest his head in his lap - looking up at his face was a much better alternative to staring blankly into space until the emcee of the competition called the dancers back to the stage.

Third place went to a petite girl with box braids styled into a bun and a poised, confident posture that made Brock think a professional gymnast had wandered into a dance competition. And as far as he was concerned, her routine could perform circles around his, so there was no way he had placed.

“And in second place, we have… Brock Hayhoe!”

Wait, what? Surely he must’ve heard incorrectly, but the girl next to him nudged him forward, mouthing ‘congrats’ with a warm smile. It hardly even registered that a silver medal was being placed around his neck, and he hadn’t the slightest idea who had taken first. It wasn’t until the fanfare had died down and competitors were reuniting with their families that it hit him - he had placed in his first real dance competition, one that he was supposedly ‘underqualified’ for.

It was no surprise that as he bounded off the stage, still on cloud nine, his eyes focused right on José, and he picked up speed in a beeline towards him.

Brock hadn’t even realized what had happened next until a man cleared his throat and stared him down in disapproval. Then it hit him that his hands were cupping José’s face and he realized that not only had he won his first competition; he’d just had his first kiss.

They stood in awkward silence until they could be relatively isolated. “Wow,” José finally broke the tension. “Wonder what woulda happened if you got the gold.”

And like always, that humor of his put him right at ease. Brock exhaled and smiled gently. “You’re the one that says I overthink everything. Guess that’s what happens when I don’t think at all.”

José laughed and chastely pecked his cheek. “Just don’t think then. Been working for me.”

Present Day

It was in the middle of the night, and Brock had been tossing and turning for at least a couple hours now. Defeated by his inability to fall asleep, he threw the covers off of him and rose to his feet, aimlessly walking around his room in hopes of tiring himself out.

Not long after that, he’d stopped in front of the shelf at the far end of his room. His uncle had built it when he’d started running out of space on his dresser to display his awards. Lately, it had become a source of both affirmation and immense pressure. He had to live up to the reputation he had made for himself in the competition circuit.

His gaze drifted back to the pictures from his birthday party. It was nights like this that made him miss his exuberant cheerleader that much more. In the years since, no one had ever been able to have the same effect on him.

Eventually he concluded that being out of bed was doing nothing to tire him out, and gave up. He tucked himself back in, willing himself to sleep with a silent prayer that tomorrow wasn’t torture as a result.

And when Brock blearily shuffled into school the next day it became glaringly obvious that his prayer went unanswered. The fluorescent lights were far too bright and everyone yelling and laughing as they reunited after summer break was far too loud. It was like he was hungover without even getting the fun experience of being drunk.

Then he saw José stride through the halls in his freshly-cleaned cheerleading uniform, he found himself angry, almost irrationally so. His presence was mocking him, the irony was too literal. Even though he knew their paths would cross, he had hoped it wouldn’t be shoved in his face like that. He leaned against the locker, head tilted back and pressed against the metal as he groaned.

“Senior year and you’re still carrying a torch for him?”

Brock jumped, hitting his head against the locker and cursing under his breath. “Jesus Christ, Steve,” he hissed, then sighed. “What difference does it make?”

“The difference,” he smirked, “is that you’re going to do something about it.”

#branjie #branjie fic #rpdr rpf #rpdr fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Take Me Back to the Start (Chapter 1) - Joley

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