#countryroads

To clarify no Ben is not romantically involved whatsoever. No, it’s not queer platonic either. However. As a fellow guy who is also fundamentally built into their sapphic friend’s couple dynamic as a third wheel. In the kindest way possible:

This relationship is a goddamn tricycle.

Ben helped get them together, they drag him around everywhere to third wheel, Sammy uses him to test run date locations before she actually takes Yaz there, Yaz goes to him for advice (especially when it comes to getting gifts for Sammy), when they’re too tired read: burntout workaholics to come up with plans they make him do it, Ben’s the one taking half their cute couple photos-

I could go on! Half of this is shown in canon! All of this is lived experience! Actually hold on I have one more let me just edit-

Here: LONG DISTANCE THIRD WHEELING

Like, after two drinks she's got to be touching Yaz in some way, either pulling Yaz into her lap for the rest of the evening, or sitting next to each other really close so they're touching, or tossing her legs over Yaz's lap.

She gets super giggly too and Yaz just looks at her with those heart eyes and is just like "ok, cowgirl, how about we get you home?"

And Sammy's just like "hehe, you wanna take me home~"

and just boops Yaz in the nose while giggling.

The second they're home, Sammy's just demanding cuddles and ready for bed. She's eepy and wants to snuggle with her girlfriend, but her girlfriend is trying to make sure she "stays hydrated" so she's gotta drink watered-down apple juice (she won't drink regular water when tipsy, she never gets really drunk, but Yaz still worries about hangovers and tries to make sure her girlfriend is hydrated dispite her suddenly not liking water. "it's got no taste, Yaz!" "Babe... it's water.")

A Day Off

By Thursday morning, the Bros had discovered something important.

Farm work hurt.

Brock stepped outside, stretched his shoulders, and immediately regretted it.

One of the Bros watched him.

“Still think it’s easy?”

Brock shook his head.

“Never said that.”

“You absolutely said that.”

Before Brock could respond, the farmer appeared with a smile.

“Take the afternoon off, lads.”

Everyone stopped.

“Off?”

“Off.”

The Bros looked at one another.

Then someone shouted:

“VILLAGE!”

They left the farm after lunch, following an old country lane winding between green fields and stone walls.

For once, nobody was carrying tools.

No hay.

No fencing.

No buckets.

Just backpacks, footballs and their battered country boots.

Brock walked at the front, hands in his pockets, enjoying the quiet.

The countryside looked different away from the farm.

Old cottages sat behind hedges.

Wildflowers grew along the roadside.

A narrow stone bridge crossed a clear stream.

And beyond everything, rolling hills stretched toward the horizon.

One Bro pointed ahead.

“Coffee?”

Brock looked at the tiny village beyond the bridge.

“Coffee.”

That was all the convincing anyone needed.

---

The village café was small.

Very small.

The Bros squeezed around an outdoor table while the owner brought drinks and sandwiches.

She looked at them.

Then at their gold work shirts.

Then smiled.

“You're the lads staying at the farm.”

Brock blinked.

“How did you know?”

She laughed.

“There's only one group of men walking around here dressed like that.”

Everyone looked down at themselves.

Fair point.

The conversation quickly turned into stories about the farm.

The goat received particular attention.

The café owner laughed.

“That goat's been escaping for years.”

Brock leaned forward.

“Years?”

“Oh, yes.”

Everyone looked at one another.

Brock slowly nodded.

“So we're not special.”

“Not even slightly.”

The Bros burst out laughing.

---

On the way back, they passed an elderly local struggling with several heavy boxes beside a small roadside shop.

Brock immediately stopped.

“Need a hand?”

Within seconds, the Bros were carrying everything inside.

The man thanked them repeatedly.

“You boys aren't from around here.”

“No, sir.”

“Could've fooled me.”

Brock smiled.

“We're learning.”

They said goodbye and continued down the road.

As they crossed the old stone bridge, Brock stopped for a moment.

Carved into one of the stones was a small weathered symbol.

He glanced at it.

One of the Bros called from ahead.

“Brock!”

He looked back.

“Coming.”

He gave the strange carving one last glance.

Then followed his brothers.

No investigation.

No theories.

Just an old mark on an old bridge.

---

They reached a meadow before the farm.

Someone pulled the football from a backpack.

Ten minutes later, the peaceful countryside had become a football pitch.

Boots kicked up grass.

Everyone shouted.

Someone celebrated far too early.

Brock scored.

The others immediately demanded a rematch.

Then—

Baaaaaa.

Everyone stopped.

Brock slowly turned.

The goat stood on the hill above them.

He stared at it.

The goat stared back.

One Bro laughed.

“No way.”

Brock pointed toward the farm.

“You're supposed to be there.”

The goat began walking toward them.

Brock sighed.

“Of course.”

The Bros burst out laughing.

---

By sunset, they were back on the hill overlooking the village.

The sky had turned orange and pink.

Brock looked across the fields.

“This place is growing on me.”

One Bro nudged him.

“You thinking of staying?”

Brock smiled.

“Ask me after tomorrow.”

Behind them, the goat wandered through the grass.

Nobody noticed.

The countryside was quiet again.

For now.

To be continued...

Sometimes the best adventures are the ones you never planned.

A quiet afternoon. A country road. A village café. A little football in the meadow. And, naturally, one very persistent goat.

The Golden Bros came to the countryside expecting a simple week away. Instead, they're finding something better: new experiences, new friends, and a brotherhood that makes every road worth taking.

Ready to take the next road with us?