Archive of Our Own

The first game of the season is on a warm Friday night in the middle of August. Brandon walks into school that morning wearing his brand new varsity football jersey, feeling awfully proud of himself. His other jersey, the one reserved for away games, is tucked safe in his backpack, freshly washed.

He was one of only a few sophomores to be offered a spot on the varsity team this year, an opportunity that he was all too happy to take, even though he probably won’t be seeing much of the field this season. But it’s worth it for how good he feels right now, getting to wear his jersey to school like the guys he looked up to last year. He didn’t think he would get to do this until junior year at least, and he’s still riding the high of being chosen, knowing his coaches actually saw enough potential in him to move him up.

When he reaches his locker, his friends are already there waiting for him. Sean’s sitting on the ground, copying Trevor’s math homework, and Trevor’s standing next to him looking like he hasn’t quite woken up yet, but he waves at Brandon when he approaches, a sideways little smile on his face. Nicki, the newest edition to their little group, is looking down at her boyfriend in judgement, dressed in her full cheer uniform. She and Sean had started dating a few months ago, and she’d been hanging out with them all summer. Brandon likes Nicki—she’s sweet, and she’s good for Sean, and she’s also unknowingly given him a very easy out to a problem that has been nagging at the back of his mind since preseason started.

“You have your extra jersey?” Nicki asks, tearing her eyes away from where Sean is struggling to read Trevor’s handwriting to look at Brandon.

Brandon pulls his backpack around to his chest and digs around for a second before he finds it, tossing it over. “Here you go. Give it back whenever, I don’t need it until next week.”

Nicki smiles gratefully, pulling it on over her cheer top. “Dude, thank you so much, you’re saving my life.”

He grins back. “Yeah, of course.”

Sean finally shuts his notebook and shoves it in his bag, handing Trevor’s back before he pushes himself to his feet. “I feel like I should be mad about this,” he says, looking pointedly at where Nicki is currently adjusting Brandon’s jersey over her stomach.

“It was literally your idea,” Trevor drawls, zipping his own bag back up.

“Yeah, well, I’m having second thoughts.”

Nicki leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “Too late. Join the football team next year, I’ll wear your jersey instead.”

“You know what actually, I’m good.”

The first bell rings, and the conversation is dropped, but just as they’re parting ways, Nicki grabs Brandon’s arm and stops him before he can walk away.

“Thank you. Seriously.”

His face softens. “It’s fine, I promise.”

At the beginning of the week, Nicki had come into school complaining about how the cheerleaders were supposed to get jerseys from the football players to wear to school on gameday. Her boyfriend, of course, was not a football player. But Sean, in all his wisdom, immediately shrugged and said, “Just wear Brandon’s. What’s the big deal?”

What neither of them knew was that Brandon was well aware of this tradition, and he had spent the last two weeks going through his mental roster of the cheer team and trying to decide which one would be most likely to accept his jersey without reading too much into it. For a lot of the guys on the team this was a prime opportunity to romance a cheerleader, something he would’ve taken egregious advantage of if he had gotten to do this last year, but for some reason, the second he actually got the chance, it just wasn’t sitting right with him. And he couldn’t actually tell anyone about this, because he didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. It didn’t have to be a big deal, but it felt like a big deal.

Either way, he had assumed Nicki was off limits as the girlfriend of one of his best friends. But then Sean was the one that suggested it, and Nicki had turned to him all hopeful, like he was the solution to all her problems, and Brandon was so relieved he almost gave himself away.

So now here they are, in matching jerseys without any of the usual implications. It’s more comforting to Brandon than he would ever admit, especially since she’s under the impression she owes him. It’s easier if she believes he’s doing her a huge favor here, and not the other way around.

Trevor bumps his shoulder against Brandon’s as they wander down the hallway in the opposite direction of Nicki and Sean. “Are you nervous for tonight?”

Brandon rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure I’m not actually gonna get to play. You’ll get to enjoy two exciting hours of watching me warm the bench.”

Trevor laughs. “Warming the varsity bench though. That’s still more exciting than last year.”

“You think watching me sit on the varsity bench is more fun than watching me actually play jv?”

“Well, if you don’t actually play then I don’t have to pretend I know what’s going on.”

Brandon can’t help the amused grin that spreads on his face. “You’ve had so many years to figure out how football works. You’re literally the smartest person I know.”

“It’s too complicated. It pisses me off,” Trevor complains, but Brandon still catches the blush climbing his cheeks.

Trevor is, in fact, the smartest person Brandon knows. But he’s also the most stubborn. Trevor hates football, he’s always hated football, so he refuses to learn how the game works. However, he’s also Brandon’s best friend, which means he comes to every single one. He’s a strange enigma of a boy.

At first, Brandon was afraid Trevor was doing it out of pity—his dad certainly wasn’t showing up to any of his games, so when everyone else was getting congratulated by their parents afterwards, Brandon had no one but Trevor, and sometimes Sean, and sometimes whichever one of Trevor’s parents had driven them if they decided to stick around. Somehow, that one just made him feel worse. But Trevor kept showing up, even in the rain, even when the game was an hour away, and he did plenty of complaining about the sport, but he never, ever, complained about coming. He just talked about it like it was a given. Brandon had a game—of course he’d be there. Why wouldn’t he?

It took an entire season before Brandon finally started to believe that Trevor really, genuinely, was showing up because he wanted to, because it was important to him to be there, and not because he felt bad that Brandon didn’t have anyone else. It got easier, after that, letting Trevor hug him even if they lost, letting them drive him home instead of brushing them off and calling his dad, who definitely did not want to come pick him up.

This year is different though—for one, Brandon made the varsity team, which means his games are the ones that everyone at school actually goes to. And on top of that, Sean is dating a cheerleader now, which means Trevor has someone to drag with him every week and Sean can’t say no.

So that night finds all four of them at the Hilland High School football field, Trevor and Sean in the student section, Nicki on the sidelines, and Brandon on the bench. Trevor, as usual, had run down to the fence to wish him luck before the game, even after being reminded for the second time that he probably wouldn’t be playing. It’s silly, but it made him feel a little better anyway.

By some miracle, Brandon gets put on the field for five entire minutes in the last quarter, and when he collapses back on the bench afterwards and rips his helmet off he’s beaming, so unbelievably happy to have been given any chance at all. Nicki catches his eye and shoots him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat as he waves back.

She’s the first one to reach him after the game, throws her arms around his neck and giggles when he picks her up off her feet and spins her around, giddy from the win and the fact that he actually got to contribute, if only because they were winning by enough points that they could start throwing in the new players.

Sean’s voice sounds from behind him only a few seconds later, calling out, “Hey! Put her down.” Brandon does as he’s told, but he knows Sean’s not actually mad because he’s smiling when she lets him go to kiss him instead.

“They let you play!” Trevor exclaims from his other side, and Brandon barely has the chance to turn around before Trevor collides bodily with him, knocking him several steps back. Trevor wraps his arms around his neck the same way Nicki did thirty seconds ago, and Brandon has to catch him around the waist to keep them upright. Trevor’s too tall for him to pick up and spin around, but the thought crosses his mind anyway as he stumbles back.

Maybe if there was no one here to see. Trevor would probably like that.

—

The next two Fridays go much the same. Brandon hands his extra jersey over to Nicki in the morning, Sean pretends to get mad about it, and then that night Brandon gets a few measly minutes of playing time and his friends celebrate like he was the starting quarterback, even when they lose the second game. They linger at the field while Brandon showers and changes out and then all four of them pack into the car of whichever one of Trevor’s or Sean’s parents was nice enough to pick them all up. It’s nice—like, really, really nice. Brandon could get used to this.

Despite the lack of play time, being on the varsity team does have its perks. Including, but not limited to, a brand new sweatshirt with his name and number on the back. A sweatshirt that Trevor had stolen approximately a week after he got it when he accidentally left it in his truck. A sweatshirt that Brandon has still not gotten back, several weeks later. It’s not even sweatshirt weather yet—it’s September. In Albuquerque. What the fuck Trevor wants with his sweatshirt is beyond him, even taking into account his usual habit of snatching up anything Brandon leaves behind. But it’s not like he’d be wearing it yet anyway, so he lets it be.

That is, until he gets a notice from his coach that they’re taking team pictures this week, and he needs it for some of the pictures.

So the next morning at school, he waits until they’ve parted ways with Sean and Nicki, and nudges Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey. I need my sweatshirt back.”

Trevor almost trips over his own feet, his cheeks flushing pink. “Oh. Uh, why?”

“For team pictures,” Brandon laughs. “Why did you even take it?”

“S’comfy,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s literally ninety degrees,” Brandon argues, but Trevor just shrugs, clearly embarrassed, so Brandon drops it.

He really has no reason to be—Trevor takes Brandon’s clothes all the time, and Brandon teases him about it on occasion, but he’s never actually gotten upset about it, or told him to stop. He has no idea why Trevor looks so guilty—this isn’t even the first time Brandon’s had to ask for things back.

Whatever. Brandon doesn’t think too much of it. It’s not a big deal, as long as Trevor returns the sweatshirt unharmed.

And he does, a day later, handing it over when they get to school with a sheepish little pout on his face. He looks genuinely upset about having to part with this hoodie that isn’t actually his. Brandon’s apparently weaker than he thought, because he immediately folds and promises to give it back as soon as he can, and this appeases Trevor enough that he finally lets it go.

When Brandon puts it on that afternoon for pictures, his first thought is that Trevor’s right—it is, in fact, the most comfortable hoodie he’s ever owned. His second thought is that it also smells distinctly like the boy in question. It’s kind of nice though. Weirdly comforting, like having a little piece of his best friend with him even though the sweatshirt’s literally his. He catches himself dragging the neck up over his nose more than once, and then drops it the second he realizes what he’s doing.

Brandon makes good on his promise to return it, but not before taunting Trevor with it for a little bit longer, because there’s nothing he loves more than getting a reaction out of him. He wears the hoodie to school the next day, despite the fact that it’s way too hot out for that, just to see if Trevor will get mad.

And he absolutely does, glares at Brandon the second he walks in that morning, eyes darting angrily between his face and the sweatshirt. He doesn’t say a word about it, probably too embarrassed, doesn’t want to expose himself in front of their friends, but he’s huffy about it all day long. At lunch, he very pointedly doesn’t sit next to Brandon in his usual spot, and then ignores every single one of Sean’s attempts to ask him why he’s in such a mood.

Brandon waits until the very end of the school day to finally give it back, stripping it off as they’re gathering their stuff from their lockers. Making Trevor upset is fun, but not for very long. Trevor can hold a grudge for an absurdly long time, and Brandon knows better than to get on the wrong side of that. Plus, he can’t have Trevor mad at him right now, because he really doesn’t want to do the math homework tonight and Trevor won’t let him copy his if he’s still mad.

He hands the sweatshirt over just as Trevor’s slamming his locker shut with way more force than necessary. Trevor glares at him for several long seconds before he finally snatches it out of his grasp.

“You’re an asshole,” he huffs, tucking it under his arm.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brandon responds, an innocent smile plastered on his face.

Trevor just rolls his eyes and smacks him in the chest, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at Brandon’s affronted “Hey!”

But apparently he’s forgiven, because Trevor starts rambling about whatever movie they’re watching this week for his stupid movie club as they walk down the hallway, completely back to normal like the rest of today hadn’t even happened.

Brandon breathes a quiet sigh of relief and follows him out the door.

—

The following week, Brandon’s game is on Saturday instead of Friday, so the four of them gather at Sean’s house earlier in the day to get ready. What this actually means is that the three boys sprawl out on Sean’s bedroom floor doing absolutely nothing while Nicki gets into her full cheerleader get-up. She sits criss-cross in front of the full-length mirror, straightening her hair with careful concentration and talking to Sean about something that happened at school yesterday.

The smell of burning hair tickles Brandon’s nose where he’s laying on the carpet. He doesn’t need to get changed yet, will change out in the locker room before the game with everyone else, so he’s still in shorts and a t-shirt while Nicki is already in her cheer uniform. He can hear Sean complaining about one of their teachers, but Brandon’s only half tuned in. He’s too busy watching Nicki pulling her hair into a ponytail, smoothing it with the brush over and over even though it already looks perfect.

He’s never actually watched a girl get ready before. It’s a lot more involved than he realized. He still can’t figure out why she needed to straighten her hair if she was just going to put it up anyway. He thought her hair was already straight.

Trevor is clearly just as fascinated, sprawled out on his stomach right next to her, rifling through her makeup bag. She seems unbothered by the fact that he’s opened up every single product and rubbed his fingers in quite a few of them, his left arm covered in smudged eyeshadow. It feels sort of unsanitary, but she hasn’t tried to stop him yet, too busy securing her ridiculously large bow in her hair.

Sean is the only one unphased by all of this, idly scrolling on his phone while Trevor makes a mess of his bedroom carpet.

“Trev, can you hand me the face paint?” Nicki asks, holding a hand out expectantly.

Trevor drops the tube of lipstick he’s currently examining. “Huh?”

“The little blue and yellow tubes,” she clarifies.

“Oh.” He rummages around for a second before he manages to find them, placing them in her waiting hand.

Trevor watches with rapt interest as she paints a dotted pattern onto her face, alternating colors curving under one eye, over the bridge of her nose, and then over her other eye. He pushes himself up into a sitting position to observe, makeup bag forgotten on the floor beside him.

Brandon’s not really surprised he’s so into this. Aside from the fact that watching a girl paint her face is just as foreign to him as it is to Brandon—both of them are distinctly siblingless, and more importantly in this instance, sisterless—he’s also always been the most creative of the three of them, certainly enjoyed his time in art class a lot more than Brandon or Sean ever did. Brandon thinks it’s kind of sweet as he watches Trevor’s face in the mirror, the childlike fascination in his eyes.

Nicki grabs a random eyeshadow palette off the floor and Brandon sees Trevor’s eyes widen as she pats glitter over the dots on her face. She catches Trevor’s gaze in their reflection and turns to him with a thoughtful smile on her face.

“You want some?”

Trevor pulls back several inches, narrowing his eyes. “Um…”

“C’mon, it’ll look cute,” she insists, and Brandon can tell she’s not trying to tease him, she’s genuinely offering.

She’s a better person than Brandon though—he would never, ever pass up an opportunity to tease Trevor.

“Yeah Trev, c’mon, don’t you wanna look cute for me?” he drawls from his spot on the floor, throwing Trevor an obnoxious grin.

Trevor turns to glare at him but Nicki touches his arm to get his attention back.

“Oh my god, don’t listen to him,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m serious.”

He still looks hesitant, but Brandon can see him eyeing the face paints.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, frowning at the glitter in her hand.

“Trevvvv,” Brandon goads from across the room, but neither of them pay him any attention.

“Just a little bit?” Nicki tries. “Like, a few dots.”

Trevor chews on his bottom lip, unsure.

“And no glitter,” she adds.

“Lame,” Brandon calls, but he gets ignored again.

Trevor sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Okay. Fine. But just a couple.”

Nicki lights up, looking surprised like she didn’t actually expect him to say yes. She reaches for the face paint again with a giddy smile on her face, and Trevor smiles back but it’s still a bit shy. He looks sort of nervous, but he’s hiding it pretty well. The sort of thing only Brandon is ever able to catch.

Brandon’s pushing himself up and crawling over to them before he really knows what he’s doing. He didn’t think Trevor was going to say yes either, and this is quite possibly the best thing that could’ve happened to him today. He can’t identify the feeling blooming in his chest at the scene in front of him, he just knows he wants to get closer, desperately needs a front row seat to his best friend playing cheerleader beauty salon. And also, maybe, he just wants some attention.

He sits himself right next to them, bouncing his knee and waiting very impatiently for someone to acknowledge him. Trevor, in complete contrast, is sitting very still while Nicki turns his head this way and that, holding his chin while she tries to decide what to do. Brandon could never.

She drops her hand and pops open one of the face paints before she finally glances over at him.

“You’re not getting any,” she laughs, turning back to Trevor. “You have to play football tonight, and I’m not wasting my face paint on you.”

He scoots a little bit closer, watching her paint a blue dot high on Trevor’s cheekbone. “Not even glitter?”

“No glitter either, you’d get it everywhere. Stop talking, you’re distracting me.”

Brandon huffs. Trevor reaches out and bats at his knees, barely suppressing a laugh, and Nicki pulls away abruptly.

“Hey, stop moving.”

Trevor freezes. “Sorry. It’s Brandon’s fault.”

Nicki rolls her eyes, reaching out to turn his head so she can do the other side. “Ignore him, he just wants attention.”

Brandon’s a little bit offended, but not offended enough to leave them alone.

“If Trev can’t pay attention to me, then who the fuck is gonna pay attention to me?” he complains.

“I don’t know, go bother Sean,” Nicki suggests, dropping the blue face paint and picking up the yellow one.

“Definitely don’t do that either,” Sean mutters, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

Trevor wraps a hand around Brandon’s ankle and cuts him off before he can tell Sean to go fuck himself.

“It’s okay, he can stay. He’s just jealous.”

Brandon opens his mouth to defend himself, but Trevor tightens his grip, digging his fingers in, and he snaps it right back shut.

Nicki finally drops her hand, leaning back to examine her work. Clearly satisfied, she nudges Trevor’s chin towards the mirror.

“How’s that? We match, sort of,” she giggles.

Brandon watches as Trevor studies his face in the reflection. There are two small dots painted on each side, on his cheekbone right below the outer corner of his eye, one blue and one yellow. It’s subtle enough that it won’t draw any attention to him, but noticeable enough that anyone in the stands tonight would know what team he’s rooting for if they cared to look.

Brandon crowds into Trevor’s space, grabbing his cheeks with a stupid grin on his face. “Aww, cute,” he teases, laughing as Trevor wrestles out of his grip.

He’s half expecting Trevor to rub it off before they leave, but he never does. It’s still on his face, albeit slightly smudged, when Trevor tackles him into a hug after the game.

In the car on the way home, Brandon takes it upon himself to lick his thumb and wipe the paint off his cheeks, and Trevor fights him for all of five seconds before he realizes he’s not going to win and gives in with a huff, letting Brandon smear his spit all over him until his face is clean. He really doesn’t know why Trevor lets him get away with this shit, but he’s not going to stop unless someone forcibly removes him, and no one else in this car has even reacted.

When he finally lets him go, Trevor slumps against his side, his head on Brandon’s shoulder, and neither of them say a word for the rest of the drive.

—

The following week, he walks into school on Friday morning with his extra jersey in hand, but when he approaches his locker the only people waiting for him are Trevor and Sean.

“Where’s Nicki?” he asks, stopping short.

Trevor doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Good morning to you too.”

Sean cocks his head to the side. “Are you only here for my girlfriend?”

“Yeah, obviously. Where is she?”

He rolls his eyes. “Said she wasn’t feeling well. She’s not coming today.”

“Oh.” Brandon holds up his jersey. “Then who the fuck is gonna wear this? I need a cheerleader.”

“You have Trev. Make him wear it.”

That is… an excellent idea.

“Not a cheerleader,” Trevor deadpans.

“Aw c’mon, you painted your face for me last weekend! You’d be such a good cheerleader, T. Just put it on.” He shoves the jersey against Trevor’s chest.

Trevor pushes it right back. “The face paint was not for you. And I’m not putting that on.”

“You’re my only option,” Brandon pleads, and he’s joking, except, not really.

“I’m your only option?” Trevor laughs. “There’s not a single other cheerleader in this entire school that can wear that jersey today?”

“Nope.”

“I could literally go find you one right now.”

Brandon huffs, dropping the hand holding the jersey. This isn’t fun when Trevor doesn’t play along with him. The swell of disappointment in his chest is so sudden and intense it almost knocks him over.

“Trevvv,” he groans, borderline whining. “You’re ruining all my fun.”

In his perfect world, Trevor would take it back out of his hands and put it on, just to let Brandon see, just for a minute, and he would pretend he hates it and take it right back off, but his cheeks would flush pink so Brandon would know that it’s a lie, that he isn’t actually upset with him.

But he doesn’t do any of that. He just kicks Brandon weakly in the shin and turns back to his phone. Trevor’s face is burning red, but not in a happy sort of way.

Brandon figures that’s probably his cue to drop it. Usually he would ignore it and keep pushing, because he’s nothing if not a stubborn asshole, but it’s 8am and he’s way too tired for that right now, and there’s an uncomfortable pit opening up in his stomach telling him to cut it out before he makes it worse.

He stuffs the extra jersey in his bag and breathes a sigh of relief when the bell rings two seconds later, saving him from this awkward little standoff.

If Trevor’s still being weird later, he’ll apologize. Maybe. Probably not.

—

The game comes and goes, and Trevor shows absolutely no indication that anything’s wrong, but despite this, Brandon wakes up the next morning feeling sort of awful. He isn’t really sure why this is weighing on him so much. He’s never felt bad about messing with Trevor before, it’s just something they do. But Brandon always wins these things in the end, because that’s the game they’ve always played, and Trevor lets him, because he likes it—or, at least, Brandon thought he did. It was just part of the game.

He doesn’t know why Trevor didn’t want to play along yesterday. He can’t shake the feeling that maybe it’s because Trevor doesn’t actually like it after all. But if Trevor doesn’t like it, then why the fuck does he keep letting Brandon get away with it?

It’s bothering him enough that he drags himself out of bed and heads to Trevor’s house instead of moping around his own. He just needs to make sure Trevor’s not mad at him, and then he’ll be fine. Trevor always makes him feel better anyway—it’s worth a shot.

He wrenches Trevor’s bedroom window open from the outside the same way he always does, then hoists himself through. Of all the times he’s been over here, he rarely comes through the door. It drives Trevor’s parents insane, but most of the time they don’t even know, and Trevor has yet to tell him to stop.

The boy in question barely reacts when Brandon comes clambering through the window, way too used to it by now. He’s curled up in bed on top of his covers, watching something on his laptop, the volume low. It’s a familiar sight, one that Brandon has happened upon too many times to count.

Except, there is one very notable difference this time that almost makes Brandon trip over his own feet as he struggles to slide the window shut behind him—Trevor’s wearing his sweatshirt. The new one that Trevor stole from him, the one with his name and jersey number on the back. Trevor’s the same height as him, if not taller, but he’s a lot lankier, hasn’t played a sport since he was a kid, which means the hoodie sits loose on his frame, the sleeves pulled over his hands.

Brandon can’t help the disgustingly satisfied grin spreading on his face as he climbs onto the bed. He knew Trevor had it, but seeing it on him is a whole different story, fully indulging the part of him that wanted so badly to see Trevor in his jersey yesterday. This is just as good, if not better, because he didn’t have to force it. Trevor put the hoodie on all on his own, no coercion necessary.

“You look so pretty in my sweatshirt,” he teases, wrapping his arms around Trevor from behind.

Trevor abruptly goes rigid in his hold. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“You’re like my WAG,” Brandon says jokingly, squeezing him tighter. “Like the perfect cheerleader girlfriend, even though you wouldn’t wear my jersey yesterday.”

“Oh my god, not this again,” Trevor groans, throwing an elbow back to hit Brandon in the side.

“I’m serious,” Brandon laughs, but Trevor’s not having it, grappling at Brandon’s arms to try and get him off.

He doesn’t let go until Trevor starts kicking, catching him off guard just enough that he manages to squirm out of Brandon’s hold. It devolves very quickly into a half-hearted wrestling match as Brandon tries to grab him again, but they’re both too tired to put any real effort in.

Trevor has the upper hand for all of five seconds before Brandon knocks him on his back, pins him down until he stops fighting, and then promptly collapses on top of him.

“Get off,” Trevor grumbles, pushing weakly at Brandon’s side, and Brandon lays there for a few more seconds just to be a dick before he finally relents, rolling off onto the bed next to him. He ends up on his back, no longer crushing Trevor’s lungs, but he stays close, their arms pressed together.

“What are you even doing here?” Trevor asks once he catches his breath. “I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

Brandon shrugs. “I don’t know. Just wanted to see you.”

Trevor yawns, rolling over to curl up against Brandon’s side. “We should take a nap,” he mumbles into Brandon’s shoulder.

“What about your movie?” Brandon asks quietly. The laptop is still on the edge of the bed, though Trevor must have paused it at some point because the screen is blacked out. He's surprised it didn't get knocked onto the floor in the scuffle.

“Can finish it later,” Trevor slurs, already sounding like he’s on the verge of sleep.

“Okay,” Brandon whispers back.

He’s perfectly content with this plan. He pulls his arm out, careful not to jostle Trevor too much, and wraps it around his shoulders, letting Trevor tuck himself up a little closer.

Trevor’s nice and warm against his side, breathing deep and slow. He’s always loved Trevor’s house, has slept in this bed more times than he can count. It’s always comfortable here, and safe, and it smells like the cinnamon candles his mom likes so much—it’s the complete opposite of Brandon’s house.

He lets his eyes slip shut, his body finally relaxing now that he’s here, now that he knows Trevor’s not upset with him. So much for apologizing—that thought went right out the window the second he saw what Trevor was wearing. This, letting Trevor doze off in his arms, is a better apology than anything he could have choked out anyway, the word sorry so foreign on his tongue. This unspoken sort of reassurance has always worked for them, and Brandon’s endlessly grateful for that. If Trevor expected anything else from him, this whole friendship would’ve blown up a long time ago.

With the pit gone from his stomach, it doesn’t take long for sleep to take him over. He drifts off the soft sound of Trevor’s breathing, still holding him close.

—

The season drags on, and the team is doing well enough that Brandon eventually starts getting a little more play time, though it’s still not much. His friends celebrate anyway, and it’s the best part of his week, the one thing he has to look forward to while he’s slogging through endless hours of classes and practice, just waiting to make it to Friday.

The weather has finally started to cool down, a welcome reprieve from the Albuquerque heat that plagues them for most of the year, and it’s still pretty warm out but the temperatures drop when the sun goes down, which means Trevor is going to start bringing blankets with him to every game very soon. Or, more realistically, Trevor’s going to whine about how cold he is until Brandon starts putting blankets in the car for him to take.

He’s always run cold, something Brandon’s been making fun of him for for a very long time. He’s the first to switch to hoodies when everyone else is still in t-shirts, sleeps with way too many blankets on his bed and is genuinely baffled when Brandon sleeps over and only needs one. He’s always crowding into Brandon’s space if they’re outside for too long, trying to leech off his body heat, shoves his freezing cold hands up Brandon’s shirt and expects him to just stay still for him while he waits for them to defrost.

Brandon complains, but he usually lets Trevor get away with it anyway. He messes with him enough, it’s the least he can do. If Trevor wants to huddle against his back and hide his cold face against his neck, he’ll let him as long as he doesn’t try to warm his fingers against Brandon’s bare stomach.

Brandon knows it’s time when Trevor comes up to hug him after one of his games, and instead of his usual congratulations, he just goes, “Oh my god, you’re so warm,” and clings on tighter, refusing to let go until Brandon literally pulls him off.

When he’s at Trevor’s house a few days later, he raids the linen closet for the pile of extra blankets that he knows they keep there over the summer. He leaves several in Trevor’s room and stashes one in the back of his mom’s car, assuming he’ll find it later.

Sure enough, Trevor shows up at the next game with that exact blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Nicki starts laughing the second she sees him after the game.

“Dude, it’s not that cold out,” she teases, pulling him into a hug.

“You were too busy cheerleading, I’ve been sitting still for two hours,” he argues, reluctant to let go when Nicki tries to pull back.

“Oh my god, come here, let Nicki go,” Brandon laughs, tugging Trevor away from her and letting him burrow into his side. “You’re not supposed to be sitting still, you’re supposed to be on your feet cheering for me.”

Trevor smacks him in the stomach, but he stays right where he is, tucked under Brandon’s arm.

—

At Sean’s house a few days later, Nicki brings Trevor another blanket. It’s blue and yellow with an obnoxiously large Hilland High logo in the center, the kind of thing you would give your grandparents to display proudly on their couch so they can tell all their friends that their grandson plays varsity football, not the kind of thing that any student would actually own.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Trevor asks, eyeing it skeptically.

“My mom bought it when I joined the cheer team. It’s literally been sitting in a closet ever since. So now it’s yours. You need some team spirit,” she laughs, draping it over his shoulders.

Trevor rolls his eyes, but he accepts it nonetheless. “I have plenty of team spirit.”

“You’re not even wearing the right colors.”

He looks down at his black hoodie, and then back up at her. “Sean isn’t either.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Sean says. “There’s no game today, why would we be wearing school colors?”

“You don’t wear school colors to the games either,” Nicki argues. “Hence the blanket.”

Brandon pauses his video game and spins around in his chair, deciding he’s more interested in the conversation happening behind him then the screen in front of him. He hands the controller over to Sean, who’s sitting right next to him, and turns his attention to where Nicki and Trevor are sitting on Sean’s bed, the blanket still draped over Trevor’s shoulders.

It’s pretty ugly—hurts his eyes a bit, if he’s being honest. And anyway, if Nicki wants Trevor to show some school spirit at the next game, he has a way better idea.

“You should just wear my sweatshirt. Problem solved.”

Trevor fixes him with a deeply unimpressed look.

Brandon laughs. “What? You still have it, right?”

Trevor keeps his mouth firmly shut, a blush steadily rising on his cheeks.

“Why do you have his sweatshirt?” Nicki asks, glancing between them.

Brandon drops his head to the side, a filthy grin on his face. “Yeah Trev, why’d you steal it?”

Trevor’s face is getting redder by the second, but he’s still refusing to open his mouth. Smart boy. He could try to deny it, but that would probably make it worse.

He’s ultimately saved by Sean, who smacks Brandon in the side of the head. “Jesus Brandon, leave him alone.”

Sean turns back to his game, but his next comment is aimed at Nicki. “Trev steals shit all the time. Mostly from Brandon, because he’s the only one that lets him get away with it.”

Brandon huffs. It’s not like he gives Trevor special treatment or anything, and he’d appreciate it if Sean stopped acting like he did. It’s not his fault Trevor takes his clothes more than Sean’s, and anyway he hasn’t noticed anything missing since the hoodie. Maybe if Sean got better clothes, Trevor would be more inclined to take them.

“Whatever. You should still wear it though, that thing was not cheap. Get some use out of it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Trevor says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and turning back to Nicki.

Brandon lets it go.

—

For two days.

It’s just, now that the idea’s in his head, it’s stuck. And there’s no getting it out until he sees it through. Which means that when Friday rolls around, Brandon takes it upon himself to corner Trevor after school.

“Hey,” he says as casually as he can manage, shoving Trevor with his shoulder.

Trevor immediately sees right through him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Like what?” Playing dumb has never actually worked for him before, but it’s always worth a shot.

Trevor just rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I just wanted to say hi.”

“Mhm,” Trevor drawls, way too used to Brandon’s bullshit. “Spit it out.”

“Okay, well, I had zero ulterior motives for being here, but now that I found you I can tell you about the really good idea I just had.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

This is why Trevor’s his best friend. Sean would’ve told him to fuck off and walked right out the door before the conversation even started. Trevor has an attitude about it, but he still entertains Brandon’s nonsense, which is really all that Brandon’s ever wanted. He just needs one more thing from him.

“So, I was thinking, you should probably wear my sweatshirt to the game tonight.”

“Oh wow, really?” He leans back against the lockers, eyebrows raised in mock surprise, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You just thought of this right now?”

Brandon plants his hand on the locker right behind Trevor’s head, leaning over him in a way that would probably be a lot more intimidating if Trevor wasn’t taller than him. “Well, I need a good luck charm, obviously. And you’ll probably freeze to death without it, so… win-win.”

Trevor straightens himself up, just to remind Brandon of that extra inch. “A good luck charm for your five whole minutes on the field?”

Brandon holds his ground. “It’s a crucial five minutes. You’d know that if you actually paid attention.”

“I think you’ll survive,” Trevor laughs, ducking out from under Brandon’s arm.

Brandon blocks him from walking down the hallway. “Okay, but you probably won’t. So you should wear it.”

Trevor huffs, clearly getting impatient now. “I have other hoodies. Are you gonna let me go home?”

“Not until you say yes.”

Trevor squints at him. “Dude, seriously. Why do you care so much?”

Brandon drops his hand, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Trevor’s upset now, which means the game is over, which means Brandon has to cut it out right the fuck now or else he’s going to be stuck with stubborn asshole Trevor for the rest of the night instead of sweet, bashful Trevor, sitting in the student section wrapped up in Brandon’s hoodie, embarrassed but not enough to take it off because Brandon told him not to.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to decide how desperate he really is.

Apparently, the answer is very. “Please?”

All the anger drops off Trevor’s face the second he says it. He blinks once, twice, his eyes darting around Brandon’s face like he’s not sure he heard him right. It takes everything Brandon has in him to hold his gaze. Because the thing is, Brandon never says please when he really means it. He says please when he’s joking, and if he really wants something he keeps his mouth shut and suffers in silence because whatever it is, he probably doesn’t deserve it. He never, ever, begs—not to Trevor, not to his dad, not to anyone.

And yet, here he is, practically about to get on his knees in the middle of the school hallway because his best friend doesn’t want to wear his sweatshirt to his game tonight and for some reason it feels like the most important thing in the entire world. This is probably a new low for him, but he’s too committed to back out now, and, based on the look on Trevor’s face, he already knows just how serious he is.

“Okay, fine, jesus, I’ll wear it.” He says it like it was supposed to come out exasperated, but he’s still looking at Brandon all wide-eyed, suddenly out of breath, so it just comes out soft instead. He almost looks scared, like he wants to ask but he doesn’t know how.

Brandon is silently grateful—even if he did, Brandon certainly doesn’t have an answer, couldn’t even begin to explain himself. Instead, his face splits into a relieved grin. He claps Trevor on the shoulder, lets his hand linger there for a second too long.

“Good. Bring that ugly blanket with you too, it’ll make Nicki happy.”

And just like that, the moment is broken. Trevor laughs like he doesn’t know what else to do, the tension draining from his figure as he slumps back against the lockers again.

“Careful. You’re pushing it.” He still sounds a little winded, but the playful lilt is back in his voice, and when Brandon turns to leave he immediately pushes himself up and follows.

He sticks too close to Brandon’s side as they wander down the hallway, like Brandon has a gravitational pull and he’s helpless to do anything but let it drag him closer, which means all is right in the universe again. This is exactly where Trevor’s supposed to be, right by his side and walking into him every five seconds like a baby deer that hasn’t figured out how his legs work yet.

—

Sure enough, Trevor keeps his promise, just like Brandon knew he would.

When he gets into Trevor’s mom’s car a few hours later, Trevor’s curled up in the passenger seat wearing Brandon’s hoodie, arms crossed over his chest to hide the logo. Brandon knows exactly what it is though, slides into the backseat and reaches over Trevor’s seat to tug the hood up over his head. He doesn’t say a word, and neither does Trevor, but Trevor’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink as he bats Brandon’s hand away.

They pick up Nicki and Sean too, and neither of them seem to notice. Nicki’s too distracted by the blanket in Trevor’s lap, delighted that he actually brought it. Brandon’s not surprised, even though she is—Trevor’s sweet like that, even though he pretends he’s not, would never reject a gift from one of his friends, no matter how silly.

He’s going to need it anyway. Brandon and Nicki have to get to the field much earlier than everyone else, so their little carpool situation means that Trevor and Sean just have to wander around until the game starts. The colder it gets, the more Trevor complains about the wait, but Brandon doesn’t pay it any mind because he’s the one that insists on them all showing up together in the first place. Besides, Brandon’s not about to try and talk him out of it—he’ll take all the rides he can get.

It’s not until they’re all climbing out of the car that Nicki realizes what Trevor’s wearing. She doesn’t even ask, just grabs his shoulder and spins him around. The hood is still up, leaving DARROW on full display across his shoulders, a large number 67 right under it covering the rest of his back.

Nicki just stands there, gaping, for several long seconds, and then she drops her hand and turns to Brandon. “I thought you were joking.”

Trevor turns back around, his face burning red, and Brandon’s quick to sidle up to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Trevor presses as close as he can get, hiding his face against the side of Brandon’s head, shoulders hunched like maybe he doesn’t like being taller after all.

Brandon smiles innocently at Nicki. “Why would I joke about that?”

She narrows her eyes, glancing between them, then turns her attention to Sean, who immediately throws his hands up in the air. “Don’t look at me. I don’t get involved in their weird shit.”

She looks back at Brandon and sighs. “Okay, yeah, I don’t actually wanna know. Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

Brandon squeezes Trevor’s shoulders before he lets go, then reaches an arm out for Nicki to take.

—

Trevor meets him down at the fence right before the game starts, same as always, and he has the blanket wrapped around his shoulders but Brandon can still see the front of the hoodie as Trevor’s wishing him luck, and it’s enough to give him a rush of adrenaline that lasts through the entire game, a feeling he can’t identify swirling in his gut when he gets subbed onto the field in the third quarter. He can’t see Trevor in the stands, but he knows he’s up there, knows he’s watching him, and that’s enough.

The feeling stays with him as he’s celebrating with his teammates when they win, spreads all the way to his fingertips when he pulls away from the group and sees Trevor making his way down to the field to congratulate him, Sean in tow. Sean beelines to where Nicki is chatting with some of the other cheerleaders, but Trevor comes right up to him, throws his arms around Brandon’s neck the same way he always does, laughs all bright and happy when Brandon trips over his feet and almost knocks them both over. It’s not until Brandon sees Sean over his shoulder, draping the blanket around Nicki, that he realizes it’s not on Trevor anymore, that Trevor’s standing here in the middle of the field with Brandon’s hoodie on full display.

What hits him a second too late, just as he’s letting go, is that every single other football player on this field right now knows exactly what Trevor’s wearing because they all own the exact same one. His stomach drops so abruptly he thinks he might vomit. Whatever it was that was making him feel so good before starts to twist itself into something awful, settling dark and heavy in his gut. Maybe he didn’t think this one through as well as he should have.

Trevor seems unaware of Brandon’s sudden change in mood, dragging him over to go talk to Nicki and Sean. He tries to subtly position himself in a way that shields Trevor’s back from the rest of the field, but it’s no use. It’s glaringly obvious to anyone that looks at them that the number on Trevor’s sweatshirt matches the one on Brandon’s jersey. All he can do is hope that the other players are too distracted to notice.

They all leave him alone for the ten minutes it takes for everyone to wrap things up and start heading back in, but Brandon only makes it five steps towards the locker room before he gets shoulder checked by one of his teammates so hard he almost falls over.

“So you got a boyfriend now, or what?”

His tone is light, teasing, but Brandon hears the underlying insult. This isn’t the first time someone’s questioned the nature of their relationship, and it’s certainly not going to be the last, but for some reason this one is cutting him deeper than these remarks usually do. Maybe it’s because this time there’s nothing he can do to deny it, no way he could possibly turn this around and pin it on Trevor knowing that he’s the one that practically begged him to wear it, assuming this is about what he thinks it’s about.

It’s not like that, at least, Brandon’s pretty sure it’s not. But he wouldn’t expect anyone else to understand, and he can’t try to explain himself without digging that hole even deeper. He’s tried before, and it’s only ever made things worse.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he shoots back, following him through the door. Playing stupid might be his only hope here.

“Dude, seriously? That kid was wearing your hoodie.”

Brandon stops at his locker, pulling his jersey off and tossing it on the floor. He starts unbuckling his shoulder pads so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “Okay, and? He’s my friend. What’s the big deal?”

His teammate just sighs, wrestling with own pads, and thankfully lets it go. “Whatever. It’s just weird.”

Brandon’s the first one out of the locker room ten minutes later. His stomach hurts. He kind of wants to run away, wants to tell his friends to fuck off and figure out some other way to get home, except mostly he just wants to see Trevor again, wants to look in his eyes and make sure he hasn’t fucked things up irreparably.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal, just part of their stupid game, except the entire football team saw and now it isn’t funny anymore, it’s just making him feel like he’s about to puke and he still can’t figure out why it’s affecting him this bad when it never has before. But then he sees Trevor waiting by car, and his face splits into a grin the second he sees Brandon heading over to him, and suddenly the nausea roiling in his gut starts to dissipate.

Maybe he just needs to stay with Trevor for the night. That way he doesn’t have to go home and stew in his thoughts all alone, and maybe Trevor will curl up against his side before he falls asleep and then he’ll feel better in the morning because he always does when he wakes up in Trevor’s bed.

—

Trevor doesn’t bat an eye when Brandon asks if he can sleep over. In fact, he doesn’t give any indication that he knows something’s wrong until they’re climbing into bed a few hours later, the lights already off. Trevor lays down on his side, facing Brandon. Brandon can just barely make out his features in the dark room, the soft furrow between his eyebrows that means he’s worried about something. Brandon reaches over and presses his thumb there to smooth it out, then rolls to his back and stares up at the ceiling, feeling a little too vulnerable under Trevor’s heavy gaze.

“Hey,” Trevor whispers, voice barely audible. “Are you okay?”

Brandon frowns. He thought he had done a good enough job pretending, but if anyone was going to see right through it, it would be Trevor. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Apparently Trevor didn’t like that answer. He shifts himself forwards, wraps a hand around Brandon’s wrist. His fingers are ice cold. “Did something happen?”

Something did happen, obviously, but Brandon can’t tell him that. What would he even say anyway? One of my teammates called you my boyfriend and I know it’s not like that but what if it was? Would you hate me?

“It was nothing. I’m okay, I promise.”

Trevor squeezes his wrist, and Brandon finally drops his head to the side to see Trevor staring right at him, eyes big and full of genuine concern. “Okay, well. If you change your mind, you can tell me.”

Brandon sighs. “I know.”

He lifts his arm up, and Trevor lets go so he can tuck himself up against his side, his head on Brandon’s chest, a hand resting on his stomach, his fingers clenched in his t-shirt. Brandon wraps an arm around his shoulders and tries to steady his breathing, hopes Trevor can't feel the way his heart is pounding a mile a minute.

It doesn’t matter anyway, none of it does. Even if it was like that, it’s not like he could do anything about it. And besides, Trevor deserves something much better, deserves someone that can actually take care of him, someone that doesn’t piss him off every other day for fun, someone that doesn’t almost throw up at the implication that they might have feelings for him.

It was a stupid thought. He closes his eyes, focuses on the sound of Trevor’s steady breathing. He’ll be over it by the time he wakes up.