Bran had never enjoyed the dark until the Reeds had joined their party. He had hated the night because it meant he would have to sleep and sleeping meant dreaming and that was the last thing he wanted to do since the nightmares started occurring. In fact, since the Reeds had joined them Bran found he resented the day.
Most nights the Reeds would sleep separately from everyone else; Jojen directly across the fire from Bran and Meera not far away from him. She never seemed to let her brother out of her sight. However there were the scarce and precious nights's in-between, when Jojen and he would stay up past everyone else and huddle together under the furs for warmth, talking about anything they could think of but mainly of Bran's dreams. Those were the nights that Bran looked forward to; not only because Jojen's presence seemed to chase away the bad dreams when he finally did sleep but because Jojen would wrap his arms around Bran, pull him close and Bran would rest his head on Jojen's chest listening to the steady rhythm of his beating heart as it lulled him to sleep.
It was the best sound in the world, Bran decided.
When Bran woke the morning after Jojen would always be gone, leaving a cold emptiness beside him that led him to think that maybe he had been dreaming after all. Jojen would return shortly after everyone else had woken up, dismissing any questions that asked where he'd gone. Meera would always scowl and scold him for wandering off without her but he would simply shrug and tell her that he knew nothing would happen to him because he hadn't dreamt it.
At first Bran had convinced himself that he didn't mind that Jojen didn't stay with him until he woke in the morning or that they didn't speak about it – but it did. It had begun to bug him, Bran realised, because he loved Jojen with everything he had and he desperately wanted Jojen to feel the same way about him. Yet Jojen gave no indication as to whether those nights were simply spent together for warmth or because he indeed felt the same as Bran did.
Bran decided he'd find out the next time Jojen slipped under the furs next to him for warmth.
"Why do you do this, Jojen?" Bran asked as he felt the furs shift and a body climb next to him.
No reply.
Propping himself up onto his elbows, Bran turned to face Jojen with a scowl on his face and he found that the boy was gazing into the fire, his eyebrows knitted together in deep concentration.
"Talk to me, Jojen. I don't know where I stand with you right now." Bran continued undeterred by the silence. He wanted answers.
Bran's question was met with silence once more but Jojen shifted so that he no longer had his back to Bran and was looking into his eyes; it made Bran's throat dry up every time their eyes met and he could've swore at Jojen for disarming him so quickly. He had planned to get answers.
"Shh…" Jojen silenced as Bran began to open his mouth once more. Bran noted triumphantly that Jojen looked almost scared when he brushed Bran's hair behind his ear and leant forward.
Bran couldn't remember who had moved first to make their lips press together and Bran decided that he didn't care. Jojen's lips were soft and delicate, as though he were handling something precious and fragile.
Bran decided that kisses in the dark were worth the silence.