#dewey2

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

They were supposed to have more time. As much as they could get their hands on, which they assumed would be plenty, would be enough.

Turns out it was nothing at all.

It was probably stupid of him, but he’d held out hope until the very end. Ignoring all the rumors and the questions from reporters and the looks from their teammates they think he didn’t notice full of a pity that was too early to acknowledge. Ignoring the extra large carry-on containing too many clothes for just a quick back-to-back trip. Ignoring the steely resolve in Brandon’s face hiding away the pain just behind it, the set of his eyebrows betrayed by the clench of his jaw. Call it stupidity, call it ignorance, call it naivety.

Call it whatever you like; if nothing else, the hope had been there until the very end, through everything. If nothing else, that bravery is something to be proud of.

Their time together had seemed endless, a long sprawling trail, untouched, built only for their feet to walk on, a red carpet rolled out into the future just for them. Now, their time together can be counted in only minutes, the seconds ticking by one by one in the ticking of the wall clock in this barren hotel lobby.

Connor knows the rest of the guys have already said their goodbyes, their well wishes, clapped Brandon on the back preemptively and promised to keep in touch. They’ve been doing it all week where they think he hasn’t been able to see, where they think he wasn’t watching. They should’ve known it was all in vain; where Brandon goes, his eyes follow.

So they’re alone, here, in this nondescript lobby, not another soul in sight. Even the receptionists at the front desk could sense what a private moment this was and made themselves busy in some back room. The only sounds are the ticking of the clock, the shift of Brandon's palm on the handle of his bag, the slight sniffle in Connor’s nose as he tries desperately to keep his emotions in check. It feels like his heart is being cleaved out of his chest, bits of broken bone and pieces of flesh spilling onto the tiled floor beneath them.

Finally, after an eternity and instant, after not nearly enough time at all, Brandon shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. He takes one tiny step back, raises his hand to rub at the back of his neck, tightens the grip on his suitcase. The Wild green sands of their hourglass have run out.

“Dewey, I gotta…”

And Connor knows. He knows. This isn’t something he can stop, this isn’t a game he can throw his body into trying to get the win for the boys. This was a loss he looked straight in the eyes and never saw coming. There have been a lot of those this season.

The worst part, he thinks, is that he really did think they had all the time in the world. And if you have all that time, what’s the rush in voicing things already known and understood, when you know you’ll have another chance at it later?

There are no more chances.

“Brandon, you– I…”

“It’s okay,” and Connor didn’t think his heart could break anymore, but looking at Brandon’s smile, the edges trembling and cracking, he thinks it may have been kinder to just stomp the fleshy pulp of it into the floor. “I know.”

He has always known, hasn’t he, all these years? 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

And that’s right, he will. Brandon was traded to the Avs, and the team was gonna be in Colorado tomorrow night anyways. Funny, how these things tend to happen.

Connor can’t bring himself to say anything, let alone a goodbye that would only feel inadequate, so he can only nod once, jerky, because he’s holding onto himself too tightly for it to look natural. Brandon’s jaw clenches again, the muscles in his cheek bulging with it, and nods back. He turns around, pulling his luggage behind him, the clack of the wheels hitting the seams between tiles echoing between them.

But… no. No, that can’t be it. An entire future, barely even started, still a fledgling little thing, weak and without its eyes open, smothered in its crib. Snuffed out in a matter of seconds with no effort at all.

And Connor knows he’s being a little dramatic here, that he will see Brandon again, that they will keep in touch, that neither of them are actually fucking dying (even if it feels like it, a little - a lot). But he can’t let that be it. It’s not fucking fair, and he can’t let that be it.

“Wait– Brandon!”

Brandon turns around too quickly to hide the wetness in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter because Connor’s are no better, and then it really doesn’t matter at all because both their eyes are closed.

As far as first kisses go, it’s fucking shit. Connor’s aim was off center, Brandon stumbling half a step back with the weight of a body crashing into his. Their noses knock and their teeth smash together beneath their lips. It tastes like blood and ash and despair, heartbreak and the death of the life they could’ve had if only they were able to get their shit together. But it’s also a kiss with Brandon - the only one he may ever have - so it has to be good enough.

Kissing your best friend, the guy you think you’ve been in love with for years, as emotionally stunted as you both are, right before he has to board a plane that will take him hundreds of miles away from you for what feels like forever, is not a good idea. As awful and terrible as the world is right now, it would probably have been more bearable if he’d never known what it was like to actually kiss Brandon, if he’d been left to wonder for the rest of his life.