Brayden doesn’t realize he’s gone so long without even saying a word, until Arlo places himself in front of Brayden to take over. Fuck, he can’t even look at Landon, he’s that pathetic. Things were shit right before Landon graduated, but at least Brayden could form a sentence around him. Back then, he was still an angry teenager–a high angry teenager. He’s still angry obviously, but he’s also had years and multiple sessions with Betsy to process his down-whirl spiral. He decided he was better just cutting his family out of his life, and to try not think about them anymore, which is nearly impossible when he sees Landon’s face all the time, and he pulls shit like this.
This is the second time Landon approached him in the span of a few months, when he would usually just ignore Brayden. Part of him can’t help but be curious about the sudden change, but he decides he doesn’t want to know. Whatever his brother has to say will only fuck him up more. Landon can’t erase how badly he hurt him. The word “dance” brings him back to reality, causing him to look up in surprise, meeting Landon’s gaze instantly. His brother looks both frustrated and confused. Brayden didn’t have anything resembling a relationship when they were still living under the same roof. Even when they were kids, he never brought up crushes. Either Landon doesn’t believe Arlo or he’s wondering how much has changed in the past few years.
Which is why Brayden resists the urge to protest and just lets Arlo drag him away. It’s an excuse to get away from his brother that he can’t turn down, even though as soon as they enter the thick of the crowd, he wants to escape. Sighing, he winces as someone pushes against his side, while dancing to the upbeat song playing. “It’s fine. It worked, didn’t it?” He avoids looking at the other Foxes, not wanting to see their reactions to him on the dance floor.
“Or maybe I need self-defense lessons,” Brayden manages a weak snort, huffing in annoyance as another body pushes up against him. Obviously, he’s going to keep up with the act to keep Landon off his back, but he’s not standing in the center of the chaos for a second later. Taking Arlo’s elbow, he guides him towards the edge of the dance floor, closer to the back where it’s both darker and more secluded. “Thanks,” He mumbles when they settle in their new area, unsure if Arlo can even hear him over the music. He came with Arlo with the intention of him being a buffer, but he didn’t realize he would be so good at it.
Looking around wearily, he makes sure there’s no one looking in their direction before deflating a little and turning back to Arlo. “Look, I don’t fucking dance, but now we have to keep up with appearances so…” He goes to–he’s not really sure…shimmy? But then then whatever song was playing fades out and transitions into a much slower, softer song and Brayden wants to die. Stupid pop songs are one thing, but slow songs?
He’s about to give up on the whole charade, but Landon is still in the building, and he’s not allowed to leave without getting benched, so he looks at anything except for Arlo, and holds his breath as he places his hands on his slim hips, pulling him closer. “Of fucking course,” He manages a hoarse laugh before meeting his gaze, breath catching when he realizes how close they are.
Arlo allows himself to be lead through the crowd. Brayden’s hand is warm on his elbow and the disco ball is spinning overhead and, for the first time in months, he feels... almost weightless. Happy, in a way. Adrenaline is still pumping through him after the encounter with Landon and, as uncomfortable as that had been, at the very least it had convinced Brayden that maybe dancing wasn’t the absolute worst thing that could happen to him tonight.
By the time they come to a stop, they’re on the fringes of the dance floor. It’s quieter here. The strobing lights are weaker and no one is elbowing him in the back or stepping on his shoes anymore, which is nice.
Despite the more relaxed atmosphere, Arlo still has to strain his ears to catch what Brayden says next. As soon as he figures it out, though, he can’t stop the almost manic grin that takes over his face. Brayden Sykes just thanked him. Genuinely. Out loud. In person. (He wishes he’d caught it on camera. Recorded it. Something to immortalize the situation.)
He contemplates giving the other striker a hard time. Milking it for all it’s worth. But, eventually, he decides against it. His smile softens and he shrugs. “No problem. You would have done the same for me.” And, maybe he shouldn’t assume something like that - that Brayden would protect him from Theo, should the need arise.
But, he does anyway. He could be wrong, but even still, it’s a nice idea.
Arlo watches in amusement as Brayden practically whines at being forced to dance. The awkward wiggle he produces is both completely adorable and wildly hilarious. Biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, Arlo shoots the other Fox an encouraging thumbs up. “Hey, you’re not that bad. I promise.” He laughs, open and easy, eyes crinkling with mirth.
The music shifts, suddenly, into something much slower. Softer. Languid and fluid. He’s not sure what the song is, but he actually likes it. For a moment, they just sort of stare at each other. Brayden looks away first. Arlo opens his mouth to say something, anything, to keep him from leaving but before he can speak the other Fox is stepping forward and reeling Arlo in by the hips.
For a minute, Arlo can hardly breathe.
This close, he can smell Brayden’s aftershave. See the stubble on his jaw. There’s a bruise fading on the side of the other striker’s neck (probably from practice, or the last game) and the temptation to reach out and smooth his thumb over it is almost overwhelming.
To be honest, Arlo’s been fighting the urge to touch Brayden practically since they met. Naturally, he fails a lot. There’s a lot of back patting and slapping. Nudging. Arms thrown over shoulders. Even a few side hugs and, of course, that time they held hands under the bleachers. But, even those failures are still acts of self-control.
What he really wants is to thread his fingers through Brayden’s soft, blonde hair and pull. To grip the back of his neck and haul him close, until they’re breathing the same air. To trace every single scar, over and over, and remind him how perfect he is.
Arlo wants everything, has wanted it for months, and holding back is starting to kill him.
Brayden laughs and looks up, finally.
Their eyes meet and, this close, there’s mistaking the way Brayden’s breath hitches in his chest. The way his pupils dilate in the low light and his throat bobs when he swallows.
Arlo leans in, carefully pressing his body against Brayden’s until they’re touching from chest to ankle. He’s barley breathing. He knows it’s showing on his face: the hope.
“I.... Uh.” He starts to speak but cuts himself off, uncertainty and tension reverberating through him.
ellievsbear
dededos
izzy806
kianamaiart
