In the Shadow of Stanton

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with these characters (although you all already know that so I really shouldn't have to say it)

This story is slash. 'Nuff said.

***

Part Six: Flowering

I've got to get him back, that's what. I've got to get him back as good as he got me. While Bran felt extremely foolish thinking this, it was the only course of action that made sense. All through the day he had studiously avoided any encounter with Simon, a behavior that was obviously reciprocated by the other boy. There hadn't been any other arguments, but Bran was quickly tiring of the charade.

He sat at his harp, idly plucking at the strings as he thought. There was no tune to what he played, only a succession of chords and single notes, often with long pauses in between. He did this partly to occupy himself, and partly because he knew his father wouldn't disturb him while he was playing. The strings felt light under his fingers, making it almost feel at times as though his fingers were simply plucking the air itself. After a while he realized that he had been zoning out as he played and not thinking about Simon at all. You stupid woolhead, he admonished himself silently. Can't you even keep your mind on one thing for two minutes at a time?

And with that, he set back to thinking.

***

Simon could tell that Bran was avoiding him, and he did nothing to hinder the other boy's efforts. He spent the day randomly shuffling around the Evans' house, occasionally picking up a book and staring at the first page for a while before putting it back again. Once in a while he'd go outside, sit down on the stone wall in front of the house, and stare off at the hills, but then after a while he'd up and go back inside.

He made this slow circuit all morning, trying hard but unsuccessfully to keep his mind off the boy he had kissed, keep the sight of bright, tawny eyes out of his head, until Jen's call for lunchtime brought a welcome relief.

"What's the matter, cariad, is there something on your mind?" Jen asked, radiating matronly concern. At first it didn't even register with Simon that he should answer. "Simon?" she repeated.

"Oh, sorry. No, nothing's wrong, I'm fine. Would you pass the jam please?"

Jen didn't ask any other questions all through lunch, which to Simon's relief Bran hadn't turned up at, but as she cleared the dishes from the table she said, "Why don't you get outside and take a walk or something to clear your head. You've been spending too much of the morning indoors."

And so, if only to get her off his back, Simon pulled on a sweater, grabbed a book, and wandered outside and down the hill a ways. He stopped under a tree and lay down under it, stretching out in what was left of the summer sun, opening his book lazily. Like before, however, he could not seem to keep his attention on the page. Eventually he gave up, put his book to the side, and rolled over onto his back. Soon with the combination of stress from the last twenty-four hours and the sun shining down gently on him, he had drifted into sleep.

***

When Bran finally left the house he had little more of a plan in his head than he had hours before, sitting at his harp, but the need to do something had overcome any lingering inhibitions. He made his way determinedly to the Evans' house, but after poking around, he found that Simon wasn't there. He didn't feel like drawing attention, but eventually he asked Jen, "Have you got any idea where Simon's skipped off to?" trying to keep as much lightness in his voice as possible.

"No, I'm sorry, but I only know he went out somewhere. He seemed a bit groggy this morning, so I sent him out for some fresh air after lunch. I doubt he's gone far, though."

"Diolch. I'm sue I'll find him somewhere." And with that, Bran left the house again. He didn't think Simon would have gone far, so he started walking down the hill, keeping a lookout to either side for the other boy. It didn't take long for him to spot the boy in the school uniform sweater and trousers sprawled beneath the tree, and so he picked his way over to where Simon was sleeping. Not wanting to wake him, Bran sat down on the grass beside him, removing his dark glasses and taking advantage of the opportunity to examine the sleeping boy's features up close. Simon had straight, short-cropped, nondescript hair that ruffled slightly in the breeze off the bay. His face was pale, though not relative to Bran's, in the way of someone who has not spent all that much time outside. Bran reflected that in the time Simon had been in Wales, though, the beginnings of a little healthy color had started to show in his cheeks. His features weren't dark, but they were sharper than Will's, the nose more prominent and the dark lips thinner. Something about him that Bran couldn't quite pin down looked very English. Altogether, Bran confirmed, he was beautiful.

And so Bran continued to sit by the sleeping boy's side, staring at him, or up at the sky, occasionally plucking blades of grass out of their sheathes and toying with them in his hands.

***

A fly landing on Simon's face brought him slowly out of his slumber, and he was still half asleep as he raised his hand to brush it away. As he emerged from the folds of dreaminess, he opened his eyes, stared up at the sky, and slowly sat up with a yawn and a stretch. He realized with a jolt that he was not alone, and his pleasant, rested feeling drained away when he realized that Bran was sitting next to him. He gave the other boy a look that was meant to be a glare, but came out with more of a question in it, combined with a surprising amount of weariness.

"Why are you here?" When Bran didn't respond immediately, he went on. "I've told you I don't want to talk to you. If I could, I'd forget all about what happened yesterday, and make you forget too, but I know that's not possible." He noticed that his voice was starting to rise, but he kept on going. "So right now, I think the best thing to do is just try to leave each other alone until I go back home, and we'll never have to think about it again." He had gotten quite loud by the end, and so the softness with which Bran replied caught him off guard.

"Simon, I didn't come here to talk. I came here for you." If Simon had been caught off guard by Bran's tone of voice alone, then nothing could have prepared him for what came next; as Bran leaned over, wrapped one arm around Simon's back and placed the other hand behind his head, bringing their lips together. For a moment Simon resisted, but as Bran held him tighter he opened up, returning both kiss and embrace with equal force. He dug the fingers of one hand into the thick wool of Bran's sweater, while the other stroked the back of his pale neck, feeling the softness of the hairs there. The heat of Bran's kiss filled him inside, and he leaned in, searching for more.

Unlike their first experience of this sort, this one continued much longer, until eventually they slowly broke apart. Then Bran returned with a solid hug, murmuring with a hint of laughter in Simon's ear, "I love you, you crazy Brit."