Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His hand was sweaty. Sweatier than when he was gripping onto his bat, feet planted a foot from the base, knees bent and eyes focused. Sweatier than when he swung and his hands nearly slipped, but he hit the ball anyway and all he could do was run and run. 

Bruce let out a heavy breath, leaning back against the rustic brick wall. He inhaled deeply, then again, and again and again. Air wasn’t filling his lungs like it was supposed to. He peeked around the corner, watching as the dogs sniffed around and pushed their noses into nearby shrubs. 

They had been chasing him for two blocks: two rabid German shepards. Bruce had managed to duck behind a nearby building, but he knew the dogs would track his scent soon enough. He checked his surroundings again before, once more, making a run for it. He sprinted to the Grab n Go, tripping over his feet and stumbling forward. When he obtained his footing, he burst through the front doors of the Grab n Go, making sure to give the shocked cashier a nod. He dusted off his pants.

Well. He was free.

He took a few steps forward. Looked around. Then, in one swift motion, he turned an entire 360 and gasped. He stepped back, heart racing, as his eyes lifted to the face of the boy in front of him. He had long, blond curls and a face painted with danger. Yet he wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t angry at all that Bruce bumped into him. Instead, he seemed rather surprised to see someone else in the store at this time. After all, it was awfully late and Bruce had finished a baseball game merely an hour prior. 

“Sorry,” Bruce said quickly, stepping aside.

The boy looked him up and down, slowly moving towards the aisle next to him. Without moving his gaze from where Bruce was standing, the boy proceeded to pick a candy bar from the shelf and slowly unwrap it, as though seeing whether or not Bruce would do something about it. Waiting for a reaction, waiting to get ‘busted’. Maybe waiting to start a fight.

But Bruce just stared. He blinked a few times when the boy took a bite, and then, with a shake of his head, he turned away.

What a weird guy.  

Chapter Text

Bruce found himself back at the Grab n Go again after practice. He wasn’t sure why he came back, especially since he had no money on him. The blond kid was there, too. It was around 5 P.M., and from what Bruce knew, this guy wasn’t going to leave any time soon. Bruce leaned against the window, watching as the other boy knitted his brows together in focus and flicked his wrists with the buttons of the machine. The store was silent aside from gentle music that came from where the cashier stood.

Then, suddenly, the blond boy cried out a curse word and slammed his hands onto the pinball machine, shaking it back and forth in anger. Bruce jerked away, startled, and backed up, tripping over his feet and stumbling into a nearby rack of magazines before falling to the ground.

The pinball boy finally looked up; first at where Bruce was previously standing, and then down to where Bruce was now sprawled. He studied the situation for a moment, his hands sliding off the machine, and he watched as Bruce brought himself back to his feet. 

“Sorry,” Bruce said quickly. He didn’t know why he was apologizing, but from the way this kid looked at him, he felt like he had to. He stepped back, toward the door, but halted when he realized that the other boy was still staring. Why was he always staring? Bruce looked behind his shoulder, then quickly brought his gaze back in front of him.

The boy stepped toward him, and Bruce could feel his heart crawling up his throat. Then, the boy held out his hand and raised his brows, expecting. “You got a quarter?”

Bruce’s voice caught in his throat. He gulped down whatever was blocking his airway, and after a moment said, “Quarter…?” He hesitated when the other boy gave him a ‘duh’ look before shaking his head. “Nah—nah. No quarters. Uh, sorry.” 

The blond boy scoffed. He turned back around and crouched low to search the bottom of the machine. After a few moments, he popped back up and flipped a coin in his hand. He stared down at his new seemingly prized possession with a slight grin before pushing it into the coin slot. The game started up again. Bruce took the opportunity to leave.

Chapter Text

Bruce tossed the baseball into the air, watching it shoot down into his face. He caught it before it could hit his nose, and tossed it back up again. His bedroom door squeaked, and he turned his head to the side, wincing as the ball came down and hit his cheek. 

“Bruce,” Amy said, peeking inside. “Mom says I can’t go to the store by myself.”

Bruce turned away from her. “Then don’t go,” he muttered.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said then don’t go,” he said loudly, tossing the ball into the air again.

Amy groaned. “Come on…I never ask you for anything.”

“You ask me for things all the time.”

“Like what? When?” Amy nagged, but before Bruce could respond, she said, “Exactly.”

“I’m not going with you,” Bruce said flatly, sitting up. He shuffled to the side of his bed, letting his legs hang loosely over the edge. “Get out of my room.”

“Please!” Amy begged. “I need to stock up for when Gwen comes over this weekend.”

“Why can’t you go tomorrow?” Bruce asked, standing and walking toward her. 

“Ugh. Please just go with me,” Amy urged. She followed Bruce down the hallway and tugged at his sleeve. “It wouldn’t kill you,” she added.

Bruce frowned as they neared the front door. “No.”

“Come on,” Amy pleaded, “I’ll buy you something!” 

Bruce slipped his shoes on. “No.”

Amy gave another loud groan. “Bruce!!!!”

“No,” Bruce said again.

Then they were walking outside, and Amy was skipping along the sidewalk in glee. Bruce had never been to the Grab n Go so many times in one week.

When they arrived at the Grab n Go, Amy stopped in the doorway, mouth agape and arm outstretched. Bruce came to a halt and looked ahead to see what Amy was gawping at. 

There, at the pinball machine, was the blond boy from the days prior. He was focused as ever, this time another boy, also with long hair, standing beside him.

“What?” Bruce asked, pushing past Amy’s arm. Amy caught him again, and pulled him back from fully walking into the store. 

“Are you blind?” she whispered aggressively. She pointed to the blond boy in front of them. “It’s Vance Hopper!”

Bruce frowned. “Who?”

“Oh my god,” Amy said, giving Bruce a shove. “You literally live under a rock. That guy’s crazy.”

Crazy? Bruce watched as Vance’s fingers lifted and fell. The number on the machine just kept getting higher. He never noticed before, but this kid was incredible. Bruce had never seen a score that high. He watched for another few seconds, the flipping numbers hypnotizing. In all honesty, Vance just looked like another average guy who happened to play pinball for obnoxiously long periods of time. Well, of course Bruce was anxious at first when he met the boy face to face; but when simply asked for a quarter, everything seemed less taunting.  

“He is?” Bruce asked, giving Amy a curious look. Amy nodded quickly and made her way to a nearby aisle. Bruce followed her, indifferent toward the situation—his hands stuffed in his pockets and his walk a stride. He kept an eye on Vance as Amy quickly scanned the shelves. Vance was visibly becoming more panicked, his movements quicker and his hands shaking with tension. Bruce kept his eyes on the blond’s back, waiting for yesterday’s events to reoccur. Just as he expected, a loud curse word echoed throughout the store, and Vance slammed his hands down onto the machine. 

Bruce felt the small metal pieces in his pocket and flipped them between his fingers. He could…Well, fuck it.

Albeit reluctant, he walked up to the two boys, who were arguing about something, and stood quietly beside them until Vance acknowledged his presence.

Instead of saying anything, Vance gave him a look of pure scorn. However, undeterred, Bruce held out his hand. He flipped it over, revealing a shiny quarter. Vance’s expression immediately changed to something Bruce couldn’t recognize, and he took the quarter from Bruce’s hand. Bruce didn’t miss the way Vance dropped something into his pocket, though; something round and small.

Bruce’s face warmed. He just wasted a quarter for nothing. Vance already had money.  

“Bruce!” Amy screamed, and Bruce turned around. She stomped her foot like a little kid, saying loudly, “What are you doing?! Come on!”

Bruce glanced over at Vance, who had already begun to play another round of pinball, before making his way back to his sister. Well, too late now. He wouldn’t do that again. Once they were side by side, Amy eyed him incredulously. “What were you doing?” she asked again. “I told you, he’s crazy! How could you just go up to him like that—“

“Five twenty nine, please,” the cashier said. 

Amy quieted mid sentence and placed her money on the counter. The cashier handed back change, and soon the two were on their way.

“Don’t do that again,” Amy warned, as they stepped outside. “I thought he was going to kill you from the way he was looking at you.”

Bruce thought that was valid. In a way, he was also afraid; but something told him that he didn’t have to be. Maybe he could get around the reputation that Vance had built for himself. Maybe…Bruce paused his thinking. Now, more than anything, he was curious. What kind of guy was Vance Hopper, really? 

He shook away the thoughts, and settled with a response that wouldn’t make Amy attempt to choke him out. “Yeah,” Bruce muttered. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Bruce wasn’t at the Grab n Go. In fact, he was nowhere near it. So why was he seeing Vance Hopper? Why was Vance Hopper in his backyard mowing the lawn as though it were a regular thing? As though Bruce’s heart wasn’t pounding in his chest and his hands weren’t getting all sweaty at the sight. 

Vance paused, the mower still running, and wiped his forehead. Then, he glanced over at the window. When their eyes met, Bruce flinched and stepped back before quickly moving out of view. However, after a few moments, he peeked back outside. Vance had already looked away, and was back to mowing.

Bruce didn’t know what he was doing. His hands moved on their own, and soon enough he was holding a cup of water and opening his back door. 

“Hey!” Bruce called. Vance didn’t look up. He stared straight ahead, hands tight around the handles of the lawn mower that seemed to scream over Bruce’s voice. 

“Hey!” Bruce shouted again. His hands were trembling, just slightly, and he hoped that the drink wouldn’t spill. Vance wasn’t that scary, but having to actually interact with him again almost made Bruce shit his pants. It took another few minutes of loud whirring from the lawn mower and a crash upstairs from Amy’s bedroom for Vance to finally look up and glance at where Bruce was awkwardly standing. The noise from the mower came to a halt, and Vance gave Bruce a puzzled look. Bruce just gave his best smile (although he knew he looked stupid) and held out the drink in his hand. Vance hesitated, staring Bruce down, before slowly making his way over. 

Vance took the water from Bruce’s hands, and then chugged it in a couple loud gulps. 

“Need money for those pinball games?” Bruce asked with a grin. He hoped the tremble in his voice wasn’t too obvious.

Vance shrugged. He turned to look at the mower, then back at Bruce. He held out the now empty cup in his hand. “Need work,” he said simply. He seemed to tower over Bruce, although they were only a few inches apart in height, and Bruce stepped back in an attempt to feel less small. He continued to stare until Vance jerked the hand that held the cup in Bruce’s direction, raising his brows expectantly. Waiting. Bruce snapped out of it, taking the cup from Vance’s hands. Vance watched him for a few more moments before turning and walking away. Bruce finally let himself breathe, and the mower started up again.

Chapter Text

A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, Vance pushed blond curls back and away from his forehead. He kicked at a few pebbles, mumbling something, before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

Bruce felt like a stalker, watching from afar, but he really didn’t want to take the long way home, and Vance seemed to be guarding this route. 

There was some more silence—nothing but the sound of whistling wind and chirping birds. Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable and paranoid. How long would he have to wait here? When would Vance leave?

Then, to Bruce’s utter dismay, Vance turned to look at him. It was only a few moments, but Bruce’s heart caught in his throat and his hand felt much sweatier than before. Vance looked away again, quickly, still kicking at the dirt. “Fuck you looking at?” he asked.

Bruce hoped Vance wasn’t talking to him, despite the obvious fact of being the only two there. He clung to the possibility that the side eye Vance was giving wasn’t aimed towards him, that maybe he was actually invisible and none of this was really happening. But Vance just waited for a response. Waited patiently with his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes narrowed and wary, like a guarded dog determining whether or not something was a threat.

Bruce laughed awkwardly, his voice unnecessarily loud. “Uh…sorry. Just—just tryna get home. You know.”

With one big swoop of his arm, Vance gestured to the path in front of them as though to say, go right ahead. Yet Bruce’s feet still stayed planted, and the air around him still felt tight.  

“Well,” Bruce scratched the back of his neck, anxious and apprehensive, “I actually can’t go home yet.” 

Vance scoffed again, and crossed his arms. “Then what’re you waiting here for? Fuckin’ loony.” He kicked at the ground again, and Bruce’s voice caught in his throat. What was he doing? All he needed to do was take a few steps forward and be on his way. Why was he bothering to make conversation with Vance Hopper of all people? The boy who was notorious for trouble and violence. The boy Bruce should be scared of, not approaching. Yeah, that was one way to put it—should be. After all, he only heard these things from Amy. If anything, Amy could be the crazy one—especially with how she described the dorkiest looking guy Bruce had ever seen in his life as ‘tall and handsome’. “He’s kind too,” Amy had said. “He let me copy his homework.”

“Sounds like a pushover,” Bruce had replied simply, but Amy had been unfazed and proceeded to hum along to a nameless tune. Based on that criteria, Bruce decided he’d take his chances. Vance could be totally off his rocker, absolutely insane with nothing valuable to give; or he could be that thing Bruce had been searching for his whole life. Bruce still didn’t know what that something was, though; and yet he had spent so long yearning for it, chasing it, looking for it in every word, every experience, and every conversation. Each new encounter seemed like one step closer to victory. This thing…this possibility…it kept Bruce glued to the ground, his legs still, and his mind racing. Maybe Bruce really was loony. 

Vance’s gaze was elsewhere, evidentally not giving a single fuck about whether or not Bruce was there or not. It made Bruce feel even more stupid, so in an attempt to break the silence, and possibly save his impression, he blurted, “You smoke a lot?” 

Bruce’s face warmed. That’s not it. That’s not what he should’ve said. Why was Bruce Yamada, out of all people, struggling so much to talk to just one guy? Vance finally glanced at him, giving him a look of amusement and contempt. As more silence passed, Vance seemed to weigh the options of responding and ignoring Bruce altogether. Eventually, he seemed to give in and replied, “None of your business.”

Bruce held his breath, hoping to reel out a few more words; but Vance just stayed quiet and kicking at the dirt.

Well. So much for making conversation.

But Bruce wasn’t one to back down easily. If anything, he felt more compelled to get so much as a sentence out of the boy in front of him. It wasn’t curiosity anymore. It felt more like a challenge.

Bruce stepped forward. Vance stiffened. Slightly amused, Bruce took another step. Vance watched him cautiously, his hand tight around something in his pocket. His stance made Bruce smile a little bit. Was Bruce something to be wary of? Did he look like he’d start a fight? He’d never met someone who was so on guard just from a few simple steps. Finally, Bruce held out his hand.

Although still standing firm in place, Vance gave Bruce a look of irritated concern. His expression twisted into that of confusion, though, when Bruce opened and closed his hand, as though expecting payment for something. 

Bruce kept eye contact, and took another step forward. Somehow, Vance stiffened even more. Bruce, in response, offered his friendliest smile. “You got more cigs?” he asked.

They were face to face now, and Vance placed a hand on his back pocket. He frowned. “Why?”

“Just want one,” Bruce said with a shrug, his hand hanging still in the air. 

Vance watched him for a moment; scrutinized the way Bruce stood, the way Bruce’s eyes followed his every move, the hand outstretched before him. After a while, although reluctant, he reached deeper into his back pocket and revealed a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and offered it with a rough and scarred hand. 

Bruce held back the questions that bloomed inside him  from the sight. He took the cigarette, hands shaking slightly, and waited patiently as Vance searched his pockets for a lighter. 

As Vance lit the cigarette, Bruce felt paranoia creeping up his neck. He wasn’t a smoker. He’d never even thought about it. He couldn’t smoke, he’d heard too many bad things about it from know-it-all Amy, and he didn’t know why he was doing it now; but maybe this would be a good chance to show Vance that Bruce could be worth his time, even if it was only through a burning cigarette. 

Bruce brought the cigarette to his lips, and after a few seconds of Vance watching him intently, he inhaled. He held it for a few seconds before it hit him, and he tried his best not to cough; but shit, it burned—burned like crazy, and made Bruce want to dig down his throat and scoop out all the smoke. He exhaled, his chest in flames. Vance’s brows rose. 

Bruce looked over to him, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I really want to cough,” he said weakly. 

Vance smiled a bit.

It only took a few more huffs for Bruce to reach his limit, and by the fifth inhale he was hunched over as he coughed up a storm. Vance didn’t say anything about it, though, choosing to instead just stand in place and watch silently. 

Bruce felt dizzy. Nauseous. All the bad things. And the worst part, when he looked up, was that Vance was walking away. Bruce didn’t call after him. Didn’t try to follow him. He just let what remained of the cigarette drop to the dirt, watching as Vance’s receding figure disappeared around the corner. Bruce’s eyes fell to his untied laces, the tips of his shoes brown and used. Sighing, he began to walk down the path in front of him, the way he should have been minutes prior. His lungs burned all the way home.

Chapter Text

Bruce wondered if this would become a normal thing. If he’d continue to find himself at the Grab n Go at any given chance. If his feet would keep leading him back to Vance Hopper.

His thoughts came to a halt as he watched the pinball hop from platform to platform. Vance was just as focused as usual. So focused that it was likely he hadn’t seen Bruce walk in moments prior. Bruce watched with a spark of curiosity growing inside him. He stepped back and leaned against the window, the store’s music drifting in and out of his ears. He cleared his throat. Vance still paid him no attention.

“What’s your high score?” Bruce attempted, his eyes glued to where Vance’s hands hovered, beside the machine, above a small red button. He watched as Vance pressed it. Pressed it again. Then again. After a few seconds, Bruce figured he’d have to work harder to get a response.

“I’m not very good at pinball,” he started.

Vance didn’t spare him so much as a glance.

“It’s pretty cool that you can score that high,” Bruce added.

Vance finally acknowledged him, his voice quick and threatening. “Stop talking, dipshit. You’re distracting me.”

Bruce snapped his mouth shut. He wanted to apologize, to run away, to talk back. He wanted to do a lot of things; but Bruce wasn’t really one to always do what he wanted. Most of all, this just felt like another challenge. 

And, of course, Bruce couldn’t back down from that.

“You good at other games too?” he asked.

No response. Bruce tried again. “I’m pretty good at some arcade games.” 

“Stop fucking talking, shithead.” Vance scowled, his eyes still focused on the game in front of him. “You’re going to mess me up.”

“If you mess up just from me talking, are you really that good?”

“You’re pissing me off,” Vance grumbled. In response, Bruce took the safer route of being quiet and watched as Vance's score got even higher. Then, after another minute or so, Vance pulled back from the machine, breaths labored and hands pulled into tight fists. And yet he had a look on his face, one of satisfaction and…pride? Maybe?

“What?” Bruce asked, looking at the numbers again. “Did you beat your high score?” 

With a shrug, Vance finally looked at him. “Obviously.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Bruce said, stepping forward. “You wouldn’t tell me what your high score was, so I couldn’t keep track of the points.”

Vance stared at him for a moment. Then, probably with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be rid of Bruce anytime soon, he sighed. “91,500.”

Bruce whistled. “Wow.” He placed a hand on the machine, causing Vance to jerk back in surprise. Bruce grinned at him. “Lemme try.”

Bruce could see that the cashier was watching the interaction carefully. So were a couple other kids that had entered the store moments prior. And aside from the music, it was quiet. Everybody watched raptly, breaths held and bodies still. Then, Vance moved aside. 

Victory.

Bruce searched his pockets, taking Vance’s place in front of the pinball machine, and hoped to god he had a quarter. If not, this whole thing would be pretty embarrassing. After a bit of digging, he finally pulled a quarter from the depths of his back pocket and stuck it in the coin slot. Vance crossed his arms and leaned back. Waiting.

The game started up. Bruce had played pinball only a few times before in his life, and he was very prepared to absolutely flunk in front of the master of pinball. The number slowly got higher, even though all Bruce was doing was clicking the buttons non stop, and Vance just watched in silent study.

“It’s just luck I’ve gotten this far,” Bruce joked. He glanced at Vance, hoping for a response; but Vance didn’t do so much as crack a smile. “Or, I guess I’m just good.” He glanced at Vance once more, waiting for a reaction. Still, Vance was silent. With a huff, Bruce let the ball drop. The game was over now, thanks to Bruce’s lack of participation, and Vance frowned at him.

“What, give up?” Vance asked, gesturing toward the machine.

“Sure,” Bruce replied, stepping back. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave Vance an indifferent shrug. “Who cares?”

“You didn’t even try,” Vance said, his voice laced with irritated disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair. “You kicked me outta my spot just so you could pull some shit like this? Who the fuck are you?”

“Are you seriously mad because I lost?” Bruce asked with a grin. He pointed to himself, leaning toward Vance’s angry face. “Because I lost? No way.”

Vance shifted away, his body tense. “No, you’re just fucking stupid.”

Bruce felt a familiar spark in his chest. One that told him to keep going. “If it bothers you that much, you can always teach me how to do it right,” he suggested. He waited for Vance to process his words with patience he didn’t know he had.

Vance, with a glare, moved forward and shoved Bruce aside. “There’s nothing to teach, dumbass,” he replied. “It’s just practice.”

“Practice?” Bruce asked, his tone playful. “I feel like that skill would just be something you’re born with.”

“If it was…” Vance paused. Then, with a brief glance at Bruce, he scoffed. “Nevermind. Who the fuck even are you?”

Bruce raised his brows. He had figured that Vance would know already, considering Amy’s very loud introduction not too long ago. “You don’t know my name?” he asked.

Vance huffed. “Was I supposed to?”

“Well,” Bruce replied, “I know yours.”

Vance looked at him blankly, his eyes searching for any sign of a joke. Then, when he didn’t find anything, he looked away again. “No shit.”

Bruce smiled his friendliest smile. “Damn, not even surprised.”

“Everybody knows my name,” Vance muttered. He pushed another quarter into the coin slot. As the game started up again, Bruce began to wonder even more. 

“Do you wanna know my name?” he asked, watching carefully for any sign of interest on Vance’s end. However, just like before, Vance didn’t even look at him.

“Not really,” he said. 

“Come on,” Bruce tried, but Vance just shut him down again. “You’ve gotta know my name if we’re gonna be buddies.”

“Buddies?” Vance asked. He scoffed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Says you,” Bruce shot back. There was a gasp from behind him, and when Vance finally spared him a glance he gave a look that could kill. But Vance didn’t do anything else. He didn’t bother responding, and continued to play his game. There were some murmurs within the aisles, evidently due to the interaction, and Bruce took the voices as a sign to not provoke the boy any further. 

“Sorry,” Bruce said, a little quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“You're still pissing me off,” Vance grumbled.

“Well, I’ll give you a quarter as a sorry.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Two quarters?”

“Just fuck off.”

“Three quarters,” Bruce said flippantly, pushing away from the window. 

No response. Vance seemed to stop giving in. Bruce turned to the side, stepping towards the store doors with a playful, “Just kidding.” However, before he made his way outside, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.” He hoped with all his might that Vance cared enough to hear him.

Chapter Text

Vance stared in evident disbelief, his lips pulled into a deep frown. Bruce was seated across from him, hands fidgeting beneath the table. 

“How the fuck did you find me?” Vance asked, fingers pulled into a tight fist. His burger lay untouched in front of him, beside it a pile of hot fries. 

“I just ran into you,” Bruce said defensively. “It was a coincidence. Promise.”

“You’re weird as hell, dude,” Vance said after a few moments of processing. “Seriously.”

Bruce, albeit surprised that he hadn’t gotten beaten up yet, said, “Why are you letting me be?”

Vance finally picked up his burger, as though accepting the fact that it would be a long time until he was free of Bruce and his antics. “Do you want me to beat your ass?”

“You’re the idiot now,” Bruce told him with a grin.

Vance scoffed, “I could kill you if I wanted.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“This is how buddies talk.”

“Buddies?” This was the second time Vance had said that word in such a confused and scornful manner. He leaned back into his seat, letting out an irritated chuckle. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, tapping the surface of the table with his fingers. This was the most he had ever heard Vance talk. “If you were a girl, this would’ve been a lot easier.”

“If I was a girl?” Vance asked, clearly baffled. He set his burger down again. He still had yet to bite into it. “The fuck?”

“I’m pretty popular with the ladies, you know?” Bruce informed him. He rested his cheek on his fist and examined the look of pure disbelief on Vance’s face. “Still haven’t got a girlfriend yet, though.”

Vance massaged his forehead with two fingers, annoyance twisted into his features. “No shit.”

The smile fell from Bruce’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Who the hell would go out with you?” Vance asked.

That hit a nerve. Bruce tried to keep the tremble from coming back into his voice. “You don’t even know me that well, man.”

“I didn’t want to in the first place.” Vance finally took a bite out of his burger, chewing as Bruce considered a response. “Fucking loony,” he added.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “You’re an asshole.”

“No shit. Stop bothering me.”

“No, like, really; you’re an ass.”

Vance looked up, his brows raised and his lips pulled into a scowl, as though saying, Duh. Bruce did consider getting up and leaving Vance alone, never to bother him ever again. He really did; but where was the fun in that? Bruce was used to having to chase things. To chase the base—to chase the win. There was an awkward silence, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to run. He was putting a lot of effort into somebody who clearly didn’t deserve it, and at the same time wasn’t too keen on putting in any effort at all on their part. And yet, he stayed in place, waiting for a server to pass by. When the familiar red and white uniform came by the table, Bruce immediately stopped her in her tracks. 

“Hey, hey!” He called. The server looked over her shoulder, and scurried over to where he was sitting. Her eyes flitted between Bruce and Vance, her demeanor anxious and her voice a little shaky. 

“Good afternoon!” She greeted. “Would you like to order something?”

Bruce glanced over at Vance, who proceeded to eat his burger without a care in the world. Bruce looked back up again. “Can I have a coke, please?”

“Oh, for sure,” the server replied sweetly. “Is that all?”

“I think so, yeah.” Bruce caught Vance’s eye, and gave a small smile in an attempt to fix whatever had happened before. “You want anything else?”

Vance stared at him, mid bite, and with a twitch of his eye he shook his head. The server gave a slight nod before rushing away. 

“I don’t really come here,” Bruce said, once the server had left. “What about you?”

Vance just chewed his burger in angry silence, similar to a disobedient kid ignoring his parents. 

“What school do you go to?” Bruce attempted, his fingers still fidgeting beneath the table. Vance couldn’t be much older than him; sure, he was tall, but he still looked pretty young.

No response. Bruce tried again, his confidence withering. “How old are you?” he asked.

Vance stuck a fry in his mouth, his gaze averted. Bruce held his breath. Exhaled. Then he tried to smile. “What?” He prodded. “Are you in a gang or something? Why can’t you tell me?”

“It’s none of your damn business, that’s why,” Vance snapped.

That was true. Bruce stayed quiet. He thought everything over. Why was he even going this far? If it was anybody else, Bruce would’ve given up ages ago. But maybe it was the fact that this guy was notorious for violence. Maybe it was the fact that despite that, Vance not only tolerated Bruce’s presence but also had yet to yell or try to cause harm. Maybe it was the fact that Vance had every right to keep Bruce away, but still chose to sit across from him in an empty diner and permit meaningless small talk. Maybe it was because this guy was so damn difficult, but so damn genuine about it. The most real thing in Bruce’s life at the moment. Maybe that was why Bruce was so determined to get closer to the infamous Vance Hopper.

And maybe some other things. Mostly curiosity and thrill; because how exciting would it be to be the only one who was close to Vance Hopper? Maybe one day Vance would tell Bruce a secret, and Bruce would be the only person in the world who would know that secret. Bruce shooed away his thoughts, though. He was getting ahead of himself. He’d be lucky to even get a word out of this guy, much less something personal. They would never be that close.

Bruce could still try, though.

“My friend and I went here once,” Bruce said. He figured if he said something, he should stop trying to reel out information. He needed to get Vance to trust him, first. “She had just gotten dumped by her boyfriend. Well, ex. You get it.” 

The server stopped by again, and gave Bruce his soda. Bruce gave a nod of thanks before continuing. “I thought it was pretty neat that I was the first person she went to. I mean, she had plenty of girl friends. There was no reason for her to choose me. So it felt kinda special.”

Vance was still silent, chewing a few fries. Bruce went on: “So, like a dumbass, I thought she liked me. Tried to kiss her. Didn’t work out.” Bruce shrugged. “So don’t just randomly kiss people, I guess.”

“Who the fuck would do that anyway?” Vance asked, finally. 

Bruce perked up, giving a small smile, happy that he had gotten a response. “Me.”

“You’re a damn idiot,” Vance said again, and he reached to the side to grab some napkins. Bruce reached forward too, in hopes he could get a napkin before him, but his arm shot back when someone fell into the table, laughing loudly. The boy regained his footing, and turned to give Bruce and Vance an apologetic smile; but the damage was already done. Vance’s food was spilled all over his lap and the table, some pieces even managing to make their way to the floor. Luckily for Bruce, however, his coke was still perfectly intact and sitting in his hand.

“My bad,” the guy said, but Vance didn’t waste any time standing and grabbing him by the collar. 

Bruce shrunk back, shocked at the sudden reaction. Vance and his victim shifted away from the table. Vance grumbled something that Bruce couldn’t hear and, when the boy in front of him said something in return, Bruce watched in surprise as Vance’s fist flew forward. The boy stumbled back, holding his face as Vance shouted profanities.

Well. Bruce had wanted to see what Amy was so uptight about. This was it, he supposed. Vance raised his fist again, as the other boy scrambled to get away, and Bruce jumped to his feet.

One of the servers was already on the phone, presumably calling the police, and Bruce wasn’t ready to be involved with that. He stepped forward, but another person shoved past him, hooking his arm around Vance’s neck and forcing him into a chokehold. Bruce hesitated. He could do one of two things. On one hand, he could save Vance from this predicament that he had gotten himself into. On the other hand, Bruce could do what he was best at and run. 

The answer was obvious.

With a quick swing of Bruce’s arm, Vance was out of the chokehold and reaching for his original opponent again. The brunette boy swung back at Bruce, cursing when Bruce just barely dodged; and the sounds of wailing sirens overcame all the yelling. 

“Shit, Vance,” Bruce whispered. Considering the situation now, Bruce was just as at fault. His parents would kill him if he got in trouble with the police. In a flurry of panicked thoughts, Bruce grabbed hold of Vance’s shirt and attempted to drag him away from the scene. However, Vance fought back, cussing some more, and trying to rip Bruce’s fingers off of him.
“Let go, shithead!” Vance screeched, shoving Bruce away, but Bruce just grabbed him again. 

“The police are coming, dumbass!” Bruce hissed, jerking Vance away from the other two boys. They had squared up and were ready to cause even more of a scene, but Bruce wasn’t willing to stay and entertain them. There was commotion outside, and Bruce realized he had to think quickly. The police were already nearing the front doors, so the obvious answer was going out the back; but getting Vance to do that was a different story.

“Look, my parents are going to flip out if they find out I got in trouble with the police,” Bruce whispered, hand still gripped tightly onto the sleeve of Vance’s shirt. 

“So what? Mama’s boy,” Vance spat, spiteful, still attempting to pull away. 

“Shut the hell up,” Bruce said sharply, pulling Vance close. He didn’t have much time. “I know for a fact that your parents aren’t fucking angels either. You want to deal with that?”

“My parents don’t give a damn,” Vance replied, his voice low. He had stopped struggling moments prior, finally realizing that Bruce wasn’t going to let go any time soon, but his gaze still put up a fight.

“They’ll give a damn when you get sued,” Bruce shot back. The police were at the doors now, and were walking in. Vance finally seemed to get some sense knocked into him, and he turned to the diner’s back exit. 

They made a run for it.

Just as Bruce expected, two officers chased after them, screaming out, “Young men!” and “Stop running!”. But Bruce just did what he was best at, and sprinted to the next base. He slowed down, waiting for Vance to catch up, and once the two were running side by side down the street Bruce said, “Follow me.” 

He took a left turn, really hoping that Vance would follow, and not soon after took so many turns he almost lost track of where he was going. It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, though: the baseball field. Soon, he was ducking under the bleachers and taking shelter. Vance was close behind him, quickly scurrying to where Bruce was crouched down. The area was silent. They must have lost the police earlier. Bruce lifted his head, careful not to hit it, and watched Vance curiously.

Vance was panting, sweat beading down the side of his face. Bruce leaned back, just as out of breath. “I totally saved your ass,” he said, inhaling as much amazing air as he could. Even during practice he had never run so much.

For once, Vance didn’t sneer at him. He didn’t even frown. Instead, he said, “I’m fifteen. Gonna be sixteen soon.”

Bruce grinned widely. He got something out of Vance Hopper. Who knew he’d be able to do that just by putting his life on the line? To mess with Vance a little further, he replied, “So?”

Vance glared. “You asked.”

“Yeah, forever ago.”

“You know what?” Vance began to make his way out of the cramped space. “Whatever. Fuck you.”

Bruce grabbed his arm. “Hey, I didn’t mean it! I was joking. Come back.” Then, with another smile, he tugged at Vance’s sleeve. “This is a pretty shit way to thank me, especially after I brought you to my secret hideout.”

Vance frowned some more at him, looking around. “This isn’t secret.”

“I still saved your ass, though,” Bruce responded, his voice light and playful.
Vance’s face drew into a scowl. “You didn’t save me.”

“So you just decided to answer my question because you felt like it?”

“Why do you always have something to say?” Vance ripped his arm back, and proceeded to exit the area and bring himself to his feet. 

Bruce stayed put. “Get used to it,” he said, and Vance spared him an irritated glance as he brushed himself off.

“Piss off, Bruce,” Vance replied, turning around and flipping him off.

Bruce didn’t respond, even as Vance began to walk away. 

Because he knew his name.

Vance Hopper knew his name.

Bruce chuckled to himself. What an asshole.

Chapter Text

Vance was smoking again. It was the same spot that Bruce had caught him last time, except this time Vance seemed to be placing himself a little ways away from the path; as though making it clear that others could pass through. For a moment, Bruce wondered if it was because of him.

He stepped out into the clearing, shading his eyes from the sun. “You got more?”

Vance groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. He exhaled a huff of smoke, and gave Bruce a deadly glare. “Buy your own pack.”

“Nah,” Bruce replied, holding out his hand. He waited, but as per usual, Vance didn’t give in. Bruce shrugged, letting his hand drop to his side. He stood beside Vance, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You said you’re gonna be sixteen soon, right?”

No response. Bruce tried again. “When’s your birthday?”

“When’s yours?” Vance asked sourly, as though it was a question that Bruce would have a hard time answering.

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” Bruce said, “but I’m fifteen too.” His birthday already passed, but Vance didn’t need to know that.

“No,” Vance said flatly. He brought the cigarette to his lips again. 

Bruce prodded further. “I heard you got held back twice.”

Vance finally looked at him. Really looked at him. Bruce wasn’t sure if he’d ever really gotten Vance’s attention, now that he had something to compare the other instances with. “Who told you that?” he asked.

Bruce shrugged, albeit a bit nervous. “My sister. She knows too much about you. It’s really weird.”

“People can’t mind their own fucking business, huh?” Vance huffed. He kicked at the ground. “Pisses me off.”

“I’m pretty sure everything pisses you off,” Bruce said with a small grin. “Just a guess, though.”

Vance brought the cigarette to his lips again. Inhaled. “Who’s your sister?” he asked.

“What? You gonna go after her?” Bruce asked lightheartedly. 

“No,” Vance replied, giving Bruce an irritated stare.

Bruce laughed. “Nah, I meant, were you gonna kidnap her or something? I didn’t think you’d be into my sister, don’t worry.” Bruce paused before adding, “She’s too young for you anyway.”

Vance was quiet for a moment. Thinking, maybe? He shrugged his shoulders. “How old?”

“Still interested?” Bruce asked, his grin widening. “Wow.”

“I’m not interested,” Vance grumbled. “Shit. Just forget it.”

Bruce swayed from side to side in anticipation, glancing between the empty view in front of him and Vance’s scowling face. “She’s about three years younger than me,” he remarked. “Eleven, going on twelve.” 

“I don’t care,” Vance said, but his voice seemed to come to a halt near the end of his sentence–as though he hadn’t really expected himself to say it, and didn’t really mean to.

Bruce took his observations with a grain of salt, though, and let the rest of his thoughts spill out. “You seem kind of like an only child, or someone with an asshole for a sibling. Maybe that’s why you’re scary.” Bruce paused. “I mean, I don’t think you’re scary anymore. I did at first, but I think everyone thinks you’re scary. It’s not an insult. Yeah–” He put his hands up in surrender, hoping he wasn’t hurting Vance’s self esteem–although he knew it wasn’t very likely for that to happen. “You’re not that bad. I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just…first impressions and stuff.”

He waited for a response from Vance’s end, but Vance just stared at him with a look of irritation and boredom; like a teenager waiting for his mom to stop nagging. Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he let out a quiet, “Do you like baseball?”

Vance blew out a puff of smoke. Kicked the ground again. This time, Bruce let the silence eat them both; and it didn’t take long for Vance to open his mouth. “Dunno,” he said. “Never played.”

“I play,” Bruce informed him, his shoulders straightening. It always felt nice being an expert in a field that someone else wasn’t too educated on. “It’s fun.” He didn’t know why that was all he had to say about it, but without any guiding questions from Vance, he wasn’t sure what else he could acknowledge about the game. Vance didn’t say anything. The conversation was so brief, barely a few words exchanged, and it was already back to the quiet game. 

“You should come see me play sometime,” Bruce remarked. This was really a leap forward into murky water. Vance was unpredictable. One second, he’d be engaging with Bruce like a normal person, and the next he was sealed off from anything and everything around him. The attempt at connection could totally be in vain; or, for some unknown and unlikely reason, Vance could take the offer and let Bruce in a little more. 

“The field I took you to last time, that’s where my next game will be.” Bruce studied Vance’s expression, waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one, as per usual, he opted for blurting out more information. “It’s at four next Tuesday. If you can’t make it, there’s another home game on the Monday after the next at four-thirty.”

“I don’t know what made you think I want to take time out of my day to watch baseball,” Vance said, smoke entering the air with his words. Bruce’s heart sank, just a little, after hearing that.

His gaze fell to the ground. “Well,” he said, “It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.” He couldn’t get angry now. Not when he was the one wanting this friendship thing to work out. Not when Vance kept telling him it wouldn’t. He had to try. He had to try.

After all, it was the closest thing he’d had to a true friend in a long time; and who was Bruce to back down from a challenge?

“I could be smoking,” Vance retorted. “Or watching TV. Or doing chores.”

“Yeah, like the infamous Vance Hopper does chores.”

“You’re pissing me off,” Vance said, blowing out a puff of smoke. “My sister pays me to do them for her.”

Bruce brightened at this newfound information. “So you have a sister,” he said. He would not be letting this go, and judging by the look on Vance’s face, he was also not supposed to know that.

“Nah, I’m just saying shit,” Vance said quickly, looking away. Suddenly, and Bruce could tell, the trees in the far distance seemed to be much more intriguing. 

“How old is she?” Bruce pried, his eyes scouring the back of Vance’s head. “Is she older or younger?”

Vance still wouldn’t look at him. “None of your business,” he grumbled.

In all honesty, Bruce sort of felt like he was talking to Amy. The memories of attempted conversations and urges for her to open up washed over him in thick, helpless, diffidence. He didn’t think he was asking for too much. Usually it was nothing more than questions as to why she got in trouble at school, or why she suddenly didn’t feel like getting out of bed (he always had good intentions, though–although she acted like he didn’t. After all, it would be best if he knew what was going on rather than their parents; because although they grew up in a loving household, his father and mother still weren’t too good for discipline, and anything emotional was lost to them). Bruce inhaled deeply, the smell of cigarette smoke and leaves filling his lungs, and he coughed when he realized he’d breathed in too much air.  

“I told you my sister’s age,” he reminded Vance. “Your turn now.”

“I don’t need to tell you jack shit,” Vance spat back.

“I would like to know, though,” Bruce said, his voice still light and unwavering. “I’m curious.”

“Why?” Vance asked angrily, finally turning to face him. He spread his hands, leaning forward just slightly. “Why the fuck do you care so much? Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

Bruce knew Vance was trying to intimidate him with the close proximity and agitated tone, but if anything he just felt upset. “Because we’re buddies,” he said, although it came out rather quietly and even he, himself, didn’t really believe it.

Vance brought a hand to his hair, tugging at it in visible frustration. “I already have friends,” he said bitterly. He backed away, still giving Bruce a menacing glare. “I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t need to be friends with you. I don’t like you! You’re fucking annoying!”

Bruce was silent. Suddenly he could feel his heartbeat; like really feel it. Feel each thump like a hammer to his chest, each breath suffocating–and the more he examined Vance’s face, the more he realized that some challenges weren’t challenges, they were simply impossible.

But Bruce didn’t move. He stood still, stiff, with his arms at his sides and his hands pulled into fists. He brought his gaze to meet Vance’s eyes, bright and blue and angry, and he took a step back. For a few seconds, the air was quiet. Then, without breaking eye contact, Bruce said softly, “I like you.”

He didn’t know if what he said would matter. He didn’t know if Vance cared at all; but he hoped it was enough. It should be enough. Bruce turned away, walking in the opposite direction. He could find a different way home. He could find some better friends, too.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Bruce,” Coach said, his grip firm on Bruce’s shoulders. “What’s up with you today? Get your head in the game, Kid!”

Bruce’s gaze fell. On one hand, he picked at his cuticles and poked at his nails. His other hand hung neatly by his side, tightly clasping the rough fabric of his pants. “Sorry,” he muttered. Coach leaned down a bit more in an attempt to catch Bruce’s eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Bruce turned his head to the side, his heart heavy in his chest. “Nothing,” he said quickly, “I’m just tired.”

Coach was quiet for a moment. Then, he straightened and gave Bruce a light pat on the back. “That’s what happens when you stay up late watching TV instead of sleeping,” Coach said with a chuckle. He placed his hands on his hips. “Just do your best anyway, okay? And try to get the ball next time.”

Bruce’s face warmed. Just a few minutes prior, he had been so zoned out that he didn’t notice that the pitcher had pitched and the runner was running–and that, just half a minute later, the ball was surging in from the outfield and toward third base. It had hit his chest, breaking him out of whatever trance he was in, and by the time he had registered what was going on the other team had already scored a point and Bruce was throwing the ball back to the pitcher. He shook his head, shame rising up his neck in goosebumps, and he gave Coach an embarrassed, “I will,” and an extra, “Sorry”, for good measure. 

His parents were definitely wondering the same thing. Wondering why their kid, the best player on his team, was fumbling the ball and tripping over his feet while running bases. And his teammates…shit. After today, Bruce would never live it down. His leg shook, foot tapping the ground, as he waited for his turn to bat. There were two others in front of him, but he knew that time passed quickly in baseball. 

Just as he expected, barely three minutes passed and he was out on the field again, head buried in his helmet, hands tight around the bat, his teammates screaming encouragement—and yet he felt more discouraged than ever. He stood still for a moment, his gaze falling to the bleachers. He found his parents immediately, and Amy too. He really needed to shape up. They were expecting more than this, especially since everybody knew that Bruce was more than capable. His eyes scanned the rest of the unfamiliar faces, each adult and each kid.

He got ready to bat, eyes still searching. What for, he didn’t know. He finally ripped his gaze from the audience. Just stop feeling, he scolded himself. He didn’t even know why he was upset. The heaviness in his bones and the lack of usual enthusiasm was both foreign to him and uncontrollable. Even the bat, for once in Bruce’s life, felt heavy in his hands. The pitcher brought his hand back. Then, in seconds, the ball was coming Bruce’s way. It shot through the air, closer than Bruce anticipated. He swung. 

“Strike!” The umpire called. 

Bruce straightened for a moment. Then, he bent forward again, getting back into position. His whole body was hot, and the ringing in his ears didn’t seem to want to stop. He felt so damn sweaty. So much so, that despite the white gloves guarding his fingers, the bat seemed to almost slip from his hands. Bruce glanced back at the audience, eyes quick and scrutinizing. From the corner of his eye, the pitcher’s arm went back. Bruce took a deep breath. Here we go. 

He swung. 

His bat fell through the air, and he stumbled forward. 

“Strike!”

Bruce felt his legs go wobbly. Two strikes. Shit, shit, shit. His breathing was ragged, and he felt a little dizzy, and everything was closing in on him; but most importantly, the pitcher was raising the ball again. Bruce got into position, the ringing in his ears replaced by the sound of his thumping heart. He swallowed hard, tightening his hold on the bat, and waited. The ball ran towards him, unforgiving, and Bruce took a breath.

He swung.

Silence.

Then, “Strike three!”

Bruce turned around, heading back to the dugout. The coach pulled him aside again, as another batter went up. Bruce didn’t want to look at him; he really didn’t, but Coach shook his shoulders until he had no choice but to look up, just so his head would stop spinning and just so Coach would stop shaking him. “Alright, son,” Coach said, as gentle as a grown man could be to a boy, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Bruce replied, his voice flat. “Nothing. I don’t know. Just a bad day today, I guess,” he added.

Coach looked at him, his gaze soft and concerned. “You looked a little shaky up there,” he remarked, his hands still placed on Bruce’s shoulders. “I can’t have you not play, but that doesn’t mean you should push yourself too hard. We’re just here to have fun.”

Bruce liked this coach a lot more than the last one. Although he was hard on everyone, he toned it down when it mattered. This coach actually cared about the team. This coach actually cared in general. But Bruce still shook his head, his hands balled up in tight fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. “It’s fine,” he said, “I’m fine.”

Coach looked at him for a moment, brows furrowed. Then, after a few long seconds, and the umpire calling an “out!”, he gave a short nod. He patted Bruce on the back, gently nudging him toward the other boys. “Alright, then,” he said. “Just do what you can.”

Bruce nodded.

The next couple of innings went by fairly quickly. Bruce’s head wasn’t entirely in the clouds, but it was pretty far away from the game. He failed to catch a few balls. Some of his throws fell short. And now he was back in the dugout, listening to the cheers of everyone watching and trying to ignore the intense stare of his coach. 

It wasn’t long until he was up next to bat again. He looked around. It felt like everyone was watching him, even though it was evident that nobody was yet. However, he still felt like the center of attention. His eyes glossed over everyone in the bleachers. Everyone by the fence. Everyone….His gaze snagged on a particular familiar face. One that was surrounded by long blond curls. One that had a significant amount of empty space around him, for obvious reasons. 

“Bruce!” Coach called.

Bruce looked past his shoulder, confused. Coach waved a hand his way. “You’re up!”

Bruce blinked. Oh shit. He walked up to the plate. Got into position. Everything seemed a little more nerve racking than before, if that was even possible. Was he standing right? Did he look weird? Bruce glanced at the bleachers again. He huffed under his breath. As if Vance Hopper would know what was going on. Bruce lifted his bat from his shoulder. He couldn’t control whether or not Vance thought he looked weird; but he could control his performance. Vance was here to see something–Bruce knew that much–and the least Bruce could do was give him something to see. He held on tight to his bat, eyes glued to the pitcher. The pitcher brought his hand back. The familiar fire returned to Bruce’s chest. His heart was lit aflame. He was ready. 

The ball spiraled toward him. He swung. Stumbled forward.

“Strike!” the umpire called.

Okay. Bruce stood back. Maybe not that time. He got into position again, ready to swing. The pitcher lifted his leg, ball in hand. Then the ball was shooting toward Bruce with a familiar ferocity. One that Bruce loved to handle. He swung. 

The impact shot through his gloves, stinging his fingers; but he had no time to pay that any attention. He sprinted, watching as the ball flew into the outfield. He picked up his pace, his gaze returning to what was in front of him: second base. Then it was third. Then it was—holy shit. He was gonna make it. He could hear the opposing team yelling out, “Home! Home!”, and his feet were beginning to burn; but he was going to make it. He had to. It was the least he could do after his previous shit performance. The ball made it to third base. Bruce pushed forward, the ball thrown in the air, and he slid to the ground. His foot met the base in seconds, and just one second too late, Bruce could hear the sound of a ball hitting a mit above him. Bruce looked up, expectant. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. His teammates called from the dugout, screaming and yelling and all the good things. Bruce stood and brushed himself off, wincing when his hand grazed his elbow. Yup, that’ll bruise, he thought. His gaze went to the bleachers again, falling on a particular head of blond curls. The only person in that area who was still sitting down, chin in hand. 

Coach grabbed Bruce’s shoulder, shaking it. “Good job, Kid!” He said with a grin, and Bruce could feel his heart warm. Suddenly, he felt much lighter than before. 

They didn’t win the game, but that was okay. After the lineup and team talk, Bruce made his way over to the bleachers, waiting for a specific someone to walk by. When that didn’t happen, he walked back onto the field and searched the passersby. He brought a hand up, shading his eyes from the sun, and a grin formed on his face when Vance came into view. He was still sitting in his spot on the bleachers, still as ever and staring out into the distance. When their eyes met, Bruce debated going up and saying hi, but resorted to simply waving. Vance looked away immediately. 

Surprisingly, Bruce didn’t really care.

“Bruce!” Amy screamed. “Come on!”

Bruce turned around, making his way toward his family. He’d see Vance another time. He was sure of it; and when he did, he’d ask what he thought of the game. Yeah, that’s what he’d say.

Chapter Text

Bruce twirled his pencil between his fingers as he stared down at his math sheet. He didn’t understand why this was something he had to learn. What did letters have to do with numbers? Why was he calculating the amount of roses Glenda had in her backyard? Would the answer explain to him how to become a CEO? Bruce snorted quietly. Of course not. This was all bullshit.

Bruce didn’t pride himself on school. His grades were okay; not great, they had never been, but they definitely weren’t horrible either. He spent most of his time in class attempting to pay attention, and when the time came for his mind to slip, he doodled on the cover of his notebook. It wasn’t much; just shapes and such, with a couple of robots here and there. Sometimes the teacher would come by and gently slap his hand, and Bruce would pull back, push his notebook aside, look down at his work, and pretend to actually understand what he was looking at. He really had to catch up today, especially since he had spent all of Monday and Friday sulking over Vance Hopper. He had work to do, and the teacher knew it too; so Bruce didn’t dare try and slack off this time.

However, even as he scribbled away, he couldn’t help but ponder. He wondered what convinced Vance to attend his game. He wondered if Vance thought he looked stupid, considering Bruce’s terrible start on the field. Bruce contemplated the possibilities logically. For example, Vance could have just been bored. After all, he wasn’t known for doing much with his spare time. Secondly, he could have been simply walking by, unaware that the game he found himself watching was the game he’d been invited to days prior. Yet, something inside Bruce considered that maybe Vance felt bad. Maybe he cared. 

That wasn’t very likely, though. So Bruce would have to deal with the torture of being ignorant, and try to finish these last few math problems. He’d catch Vance later. 

The bell rang. Bruce turned his sheet in up front before pushing past smelly kids and squeezing through the classroom doorway. That was his last class of the day, thank god, and he had practice in fifteen minutes. He stepped outside, feeling the cool breeze brush against his face. It had been awfully warm these past couple of days, and Bruce wasn’t too keen on sweating his way through practice; so a nice breeze every now and then was always nice. He walked forward, away from the school doors. He stopped walking almost immediately, realizing that people were parting in front of him. He blinked. Were they moving for him? He had been walking slowly, though. He proceeded to stand still, curious; and just as he suspected, kids continued to move away and clear a path. He moved away too, watching to see who was coming through. He craned his neck, peeking through the heads of two boys in front of him. 

“Holy shit,” one said. “We’re dead meat.”

“He’s not coming for us, right?” The other one asked. “You took all the stuff, right?”

The first boy nodded quickly. “I did. No way he knew it was me.”

Bruce frowned. What were they talking about? Did they do something to Vance? Then he pushed the thought away, because as if. As if pinball Vance Hopper would let anyone mess with him. And yet, from the way these kids were talking, maybe something did happen. 

Vance came through the space in the crowd, eyes narrowed, a scowl painted on his face, his hands balled up in fists at his sides. He was tense, angry; and any kid that stood in his way was inevitably shoved to the ground. Bruce stood back, too. He wasn’t sure if he should meddle in the situation. 

Much to everyone’s surprise though, Vance just looked around, and then pushed past some more kids and walked into the bathroom. 

“Does he go here?” Someone in the crowd asked, voice curious and wary. There were some more murmurs, and Bruce couldn’t help but be intrigued as well. Not everyone, but many kids knew who Vance Hopper was—at least, anyone who had ever stepped foot in the Grab n Go. Not only that, but Bruce was positive Vance had no business at this school. Beyond positive, even. In fact, it was such an odd occurrence seeing Vance anywhere outside of his usual spots, that Bruce turned and began making his way to the bathroom as well. The locker room wasn’t too far away, anyway. Plus, he could change quickly. He entered the boy’s bathroom, looking around. Vance was stood by the sinks, one hand under the running water. Bruce watched for a moment, curiosity biting at him. What was he doing? Why was he here? A thought struck him, then.

“Are you here for me?” Bruce asked, breaking the silence. The water continued to rush from the faucet, just barely cutting through his voice. His words weren’t lost in the air, though, and Vance turned to look at him with a perplexed expression.

“No,” he said gruffly, looking away again. His hand twisted under the faucet, and Bruce shifted to lean against the wall.

“Do you go here?” Bruce asked. “I’ve never seen–”

Vance cut him off. “I’m pretty damn sure I told you to stop talking to me.”

“I don’t recall,” Bruce said, although reluctant to respond. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Vance really didn’t mean to watch his game.

“Think harder, then,” Vance replied, and he pulled his hand away from the water, shaking it off in the air. He put his other hand in place of it. 

Bruce ignored him. “You looking for two boys?” he asked, thinking back to the previous conversation of the two boys in front of him outside. He didn’t know why, but he was ready to rat them out if Vance needed it.

But Vance just scowled and stared away from him. “None of your business,” he said.

Okay. Bruce huffed under his breath. This guy was really pissing him off. “Dude. I saw you. I’m not crazy.”

Vance froze, then. “Saw me when?” he asked slowly. He turned the water off. Shook his hand. Wiped it on his pants. 

“At the game,” Bruce clarified. He’d figure out what Vance was so nervous about later. “My game.” 

Vance didn’t respond, and Bruce felt compelled to continue. “I don’t know what your deal is, if that was a stupid apology for being an asshole, but I still saw you.” Bruce crossed his arms, his gaze steady on the boy in front of him. “And I just…I don’t get why you’d be there if you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Vance just watched him for a moment, evidently contemplating his words and working to think up a response. For a split second, an unfamiliar expression crossed his face; one that Bruce couldn’t pinpoint, or recall ever seeing. In the end, however, Vance seemed to settle with shrugging. He shoved his hands in his pockets, sauntering to where Bruce stood by the doorway. He stopped when they were face to face, barely a foot away from each other, and stared Bruce dead in the eye. He inhaled, as though was going to say something, but then closed his mouth again.

Bruce spoke before Vance could get anything out. “What’d you think of the game?”

The chatter outside had continued, and a weird humming noise had begun to ring throughout the building. Vance blinked. Looked away. “You did terrible.”

There was another beat of silence. Then, Vance shoved his way through the door, their shoulders ramming into each other. A gentle breeze came in Vance’s place: the smell of cigarette smoke, and a cologne of some sort. Bruce looked over his shoulder as Vance left and disappeared among the crowd of kids. 

What the fuck.

Bruce made his way to the sinks. Stared into the mirror. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? 

“You did terrible.” 

Vance had been watching him. From the beginning to the end, Vance had been watching him. The grin on Bruce’s face widened. He turned on the faucet, watching as the water shot out into the sink. He placed his hand underneath the stream. His hand shot back.

It was freezing cold.

Chapter Text

Amy was in Bruce’s face again, although there wasn’t really anywhere else for her to be since she was seated across from him at the table. Still, he would’ve preferred if she’d move a little to the side so that he’d have something else to look at. 

“What?” he asked, as Amy’s gaze bored into him.

“What?” Amy echoed. She stabbed her fork into her spaghetti. 

“Why are you staring at me?” Bruce asked.

Amy frowned at him. “Where else am I supposed to look?”

“Anywhere else, dude,” Bruce replied, irritation crawling up his throat. He washed it down with a sip of water. 

“Whatever,” Amy said, but she finally averted her gaze.

Sometimes Bruce felt bad for picking random fights with her, but it wasn’t his fault that she always managed to get on his nerves. Amy had always been stuck to his side since they were little, but he never really liked having her there. It felt like he was dragging around a leech that wouldn’t seem to let go. That never got full, and always wanted more more more. He knew that, as a big brother, he should be there to give her what she needed; but he couldn’t help but turn away anything that had to do with her. Maybe it was the way she so clearly looked up to him. Maybe it was the way that she copied everything he did, down to the shoes he wore. Maybe it was the way she had to know every single person Bruce interacted with, even if they weren’t a friend and were simply at his house for a school project. Or maybe it was the way, no matter how he treated her, what he said to her, or what little he did for her, she was still there; and Bruce, like everyone, knew how much Amy Yamada loved her big brother. 

He just couldn’t understand why. 

Bruce poked at his food some more, slurping noodles bit by bit. Vance didn’t talk much. He shut Bruce down nine out of ten times, and he had blatantly stated his dislike toward Bruce on multiple occasions. Yet they still ran into each other. Vance had shared a cigarette. Vance had refused to avoid Bruce in any way. Vance had let Bruce talk his ear off. Vance had gone to Bruce’s game.

There were a lot of things that made Vance unlikeable. There were a lot of things that told everyone else to stay away from Vance Hopper: the sudden switches between calm and violent, the obnoxious use of curse words, the giant “beware of dog” sign plastered on his forehead. 

And yet Bruce still cared. Bruce still tried to hang around him. Bruce still tried to talk to him. Bruce still gave him a quarter when he needed one, and even when he didn’t need one, and Bruce was still there. Bruce looked up. Amy was still staring away from him, at the window on the nearest wall. Her chin was in her hands, and her food lay untouched. She hadn’t been eating much recently.

“Ames,” Bruce said, the nickname falling off his tongue like something sweet he hadn’t tasted in forever, “let’s play ball later.”

Amy turned to look at him, eyes wide. She visibly brightened at his words. Then, she looked at him suspiciously, as though fully processing. “Really?”

Bruce nodded. Amy beamed at him. “Okay,” she said, “you can’t take it back!”

Bruce smiled down at his plate, her enthusiasm sparking something in him. “I won’t.”

Chapter Text

Bruce wasn’t someone who would commit any type of crime. Sure, the thought crossed his mind every once in a while, because the world wouldn’t end if a little kid stole a twenty cent box of candy. Plus, he wasn’t ever in any position to break the law—especially since he was who he was.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as common in North Denver, but xenophobia was still a prominent fear in Colorado. It wasn’t rare for him to be subject to microaggressions and stereotypes. He had always figured that committing any crime, no matter how small, was not the best idea for someone like him. He already wasn’t living up to the expectations of being an academic genius, so he wasn’t ever too keen on feeding into the ‘minorities are bad’ allegations. Although, he was sure he wouldn’t get in too much trouble if he was ever stuck in that sort of situation. 

So maybe that’s why he was yapping away to a random manager of a coffee shop about Vance Hopper’s disappearance. He honestly wished the manager would just call the police, but he supposed that not everybody wanted to go through that trouble. Clearly, this guy just wanted his tip jar back; and Bruce would be all for helping out. Really, he would! Except, Vance Hopper, just moments prior, had silently convinced Bruce to not say a word as he ran by. Bruce wasn’t sure why he was doing this for someone who didn’t like him and, quite frankly, wouldn’t bother returning the favor; but Bruce found himself blurting out nonsense anyway, hoping that the manager would just take the hint and leave him alone. 

“I really can’t see well,” Bruce lied, pointing to his right eye. “Especially in this one. I saw barely a blur, but I don’t know which way he went. I’m really sorry. I could help you look for him, but I don’t think I’d be very useful—” 

The manager put up a hand, and Bruce’s sentence fell short. “I get it, Kid, I get it. It’s alright.” He turned away, walking back to the shop, his shoulders drooping. “Thanks anyway,” he added.

Bruce felt bad. He really did. Not guilty, but pitiful. He’d have to count his savings at home. Maybe Vance could tell him how much money he took, and Bruce could return the jar with his own money and then everybody would be happy. Even though Vance was now a criminal, and Bruce would be without a majority of his savings. 

Bruce actually had fine eyesight. In fact, he had incredible vision. That was why baseball was his sport. That was why he could look at the ball, keep his eye on it, and get that home run (although he had only been able to do a home run twice in his life). So even when he was speaking to the coffee shop manager, he saw the mess of tangled blond curls poking out from the side of the building. 

Bruce, hands behind his back, quietly made his way to where Vance hid. He peeked around the corner, surprised to find Vance sitting on the ground and counting coins like a little kid. Bruce curved around him, positioning himself away from the open. Vance glanced at him, but didn’t offer any other sort of acknowledgement. He continued to count the money. 

Bruce crouched down. “How much so far?” he asked.

Vance looked at him briefly before turning back to the jar between his outstretched legs. “Ten bucks,” he replied.

Bruce grinned. “There’s still a lot left. I think you’ll be rich once you’re done counting.”

“Damn right I will,” Vance said, his voice lighter than Bruce had ever heard it. 

“I’m never doing that again, though,” Bruce said. He shifted, settling into a seated position with his legs stretched out in front of him. 

“Doing what?” Vance asked.

“Covering for you,” Bruce answered, concerned as to why Vance seemed clueless about the whole situation.

Vance glanced at him again. “You want a thanks or some shit?”

Bruce shrugged. “That’d be nice.”

Vance just gave him a side eye. “I didn’t force you to do that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Bruce admitted. He leaned a little closer, enough to make Vance panic—just a little, though. “But I helped you out. So now you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit, fuckface,” Vance retorted. His fingers closed around a few quarters before he released them and let them fall to the ground in gentle clinks. 

“You owe me,” Bruce said again, leaning back. His head gently hit the wall behind him.

“Fuckin’ loony,” Vance mumbled, and Bruce watched as he seperated each coin with a single finger.

“Look,” Bruce said. He wasn’t kidding around anymore. He really wasn’t. “I could go to the police right now. Snitch. Get you in big trouble.”

“For stealing a tip jar?” Vance scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Nah,” Bruce told him, “the other thing.”

Vance watched him for a long moment. In all honesty, Bruce was spouting bullshit. He had nothing on Vance, but Vance didn’t know that; and Vance was hiding something. Hiding something big.

Vance frowned at him. “What?”

Bruce shrugged again. “You know what I’m talking about.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Vance fully turned to him with an angry expression. “Whatever. What do you want?”

Bruce perked up. Now we’re talkin’. “What do you mean?”

“For you to keep your mouth shut, dumbass,” Vance clarified. “What do you want?”

Bruce contemplated the situation. He’d never gotten this far before. Of course, at some point, the truth would get out and Vance would realize that Bruce had nothing on him; but for now, this was a great opportunity. “I got some money saved up,” Bruce said. “I could get us some tickets to the cinema.”

Vance blinked at him. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Sure,” Bruce said with a grin, “why not?”

“You’re kidding,” Vance said incredulously. He had stopped counting the coins, and his full attention was now on Bruce. In a way, it made Bruce a little excited.

“Nope,” Bruce replied, still grinning. “I’m free tomorrow. There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to see that’s showing at three. I think,” he added.

Vance was quiet for a moment. Then, he turned back to his jar of coins and began sorting through them again. “Fine. What theater?”

Bruce internally celebrated his victory. “Lumina.”

Vance didn’t respond. Bruce didn’t really expect him to. Minutes passed, and the boys were quiet. Nothing really made it to Bruce’s ears aside from the gentle sound of coins hitting pavement. Initially, Bruce had run into Vance on his way to get a pastry for his mother from the coffee shop. He knew it had been too long, and he needed to get going soon. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, bringing himself to his feet. He began to walk away, but turned to point at Vance sternly. “And don’t be late.”

“I’ll be late if I damn want to,” Vance replied bitterly, not looking up.

Bruce shrugged. “Sure, if you want me to run my mouth.”

“Fuck you!” Vance screeched. 

Bruce just laughed.

Chapter Text

The movie couldn’t have been better, in Bruce’s humble opinion; but Vance seemed to think otherwise. He frowned when Bruce asked him about it, and scowled at the words that fell from his mouth. 

“It was stupid as hell,” he insisted, as they left the theater. “Too much kissing and shit,” he added.

Bruce grinned at him. “So romance isn’t really your thing?”

Vance hesitated. “I don’t like movies,” he explained. Then he turned away and crossed his arms. “But it’s none of your business.”

“I think romance is cool,” Bruce told him. “When you’ve experienced it, you enjoy stuff like that more.”

“You experienced it?” Vance sneered. Bruce felt a little attacked, and anger sparked inside him; because did it really seem like he had no luck with ladies? This wasn’t the first time Vance said something about it. Plus, it wasn’t Bruce’s favorite topic. He had always hated when people poked fun at his losses.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Yeah, I did. And it fucking sucked.”

Vance didn’t reply, and they kept walking. To where, Bruce didn’t know; but they continued to follow a path in uncomfortable silence.

It took a few more turns and unending steps for Vance to say, “You get dumped or some shit?”

Bruce scoffed. He wanted to give Vance a taste of his own medicine and utter, ‘None of your business’, but instead what came out was, “You could say that.” Besides, Vance was never interested in Bruce and his life. This was a golden opportunity.

“Was it your fault?” Vance asked, insensitive as always.

Bruce wanted to punch him, but at the same time he almost wanted to cry. Was it his fault? He didn’t know. He couldn’t really remember, either. The girl had simply upped and left, leaving him with a torn heart and a muddy brain. “Maybe,” he said, honestly. His voice was low and bitter. “Does it matter? It’s over now.”

Vance put his hands up in surrender. “Just asking,” he said. 

Bruce scoffed. “You get to ask things?” he said, spitefully. “I ask one question…” He turned to hold up a finger, to emphasize. “One question, and you shut me down! But suddenly you give a fuck about what I’m saying?”

“Know your enemy,” Vance said with a shrug. Bruce wondered if that was a joke.

“You’re an asshole,” Bruce pointed out. “Seriously.”

Vance glanced at him, but just for a moment, and his lips quirked up. “And you’re still here.”

Well. 

Yeah. He was. Bruce shrugged his shoulders, his anger simmering down. They turned the corner again, and after a few moments Vance held out a hand and the two came to a halt. 

“Here,” he said. “This is it.”

Bruce took in the sight in front of him. The house was a faded blue, rather rundown, and had many parts that threatened to break in front of him. Eyes still scanning the property, he asked, “This your place?”

“Nah, it’s my buddy’s,” Vance answered. He stepped forward before reaching up to grip the top of the fence. It responded with a loud clatter, and Bruce winced at the sound. Vance clung onto the fence and began to climb. He paused for a moment, turning back to where Bruce stood. “Go,” he ordered.

Bruce obeyed, although he didn’t know why, and turned around. He heard more clattering, then silence. The silence followed him all the way home.

Chapter Text

Vance bit into his apple, chewing loudly as Bruce attempted to talk to him.

“I swear that was your sister,” Bruce protested, shifting so that their eyes would meet again. 

Despite Bruce’s efforts, Vance just looked away. “Nah,” he said. 

“She looked just like you,” Bruce argued. “And she has a little brother.”

“So?” Vance asked.

“So,” Bruce pressed, “is she your sister or not?”

Vance stared off into the distance, his gaze focused and bored. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied quickly, scooting closer.

For once, Vance didn’t move away. Instead, he gave Bruce another unfamiliar look. It wasn’t anything bad, Bruce could tell; but it wasn’t anything particularly great either. Vance looked at him for a few long seconds. Then he asked, “Why?”

Bruce blinked. “Why what?”

“Why does it matter, dumbass.”

Bruce paused. He had to be careful about what he said next. “Because I want to know more about you.” He smiled his friendliest smile. “We’re buddies, right?”

Vance gave him a pointed look. “So I’ve heard.”

“So, was that your sister?” Bruce tried again, and Vance sighed. Victory.

Vance took another bite of his apple. “Yes. Happy?”

“Hyped,” Bruce replied, still grinning.

Vance scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

“Are you guys close?” Bruce asked. He knew he was pushing his luck, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Vance shrugged. “Close enough.”

“Really? That’s surprising.”

“What,” Vance said mockingly, “are you best friends with your sister?” 

Bruce snorted. “Hell no. She’s my enemy.”

“Do you hate her?” Vance asked.

Bruce blinked. Hate? Did he hate Amy? He looked down at the pavement, at the small rocks and sticks that adorned it. Hate wasn’t the right word. Well, he hated how loud she was. He hated how shameless she could be. He hated how much she stuck to his side, even as she got older. But…

“I don’t hate her,” Bruce mumbled, because he didn’t hate Amy. He hated a lot of things about her, but he didn’t hate Amy. Or maybe he didn’t hate anything about her at all. Maybe he hated the fact that despite everything, she still chose Bruce. And she would choose Bruce to be her big brother time and time again, in every life. Bruce knew that much. He hated how she loved him. That’s what he hated, because he wasn’t worth such admiration. He wasn’t worth any of that.

Vance bit into his apple again, and spit flew from his mouth when he spoke. Bruce grimaced. “If she’s anything like you, I’d hate her too,” Vance said.

“I don’t hate her,” Bruce said loudly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just…I don’t get why she likes me so much.”

“Oh, yeah?” Vance said, taking another bite. “Me neither.”

Bruce glared. “You’re an asshole,” he said. 

Vance shrugged again. “And you’re still here.”

“Is it really that crazy for me to want to be your friend?” Bruce asked, frustrated. 

“Nobody wants to be my friend,” Vance replied simply. He spit out a seed.

Bruce followed his gaze to the trees in the far distance. “I do,” he said.

Vance glanced at him. Then looked ahead again, a small smile forming on his lips. “You’re just like your sister.” He paused before adding, “buddy.”

Bruce didn’t know what he meant by that, but Vance’s words made him smile too.

Chapter Text

Bruce inhaled. His chest burned still. It wasn’t getting easier, no matter how many times he did it. Even if it was only two times. He coughed, and Vance cackled behind him.

“Fucking loser,” Vance said between chuckles. “Holy shit.”

Bruce turned, exasperated. “Dude, this hurts. I don’t know how you do it.”

Vance stared at him for a moment, watching as Bruce hit his chest and hacked out more smoke. Then, he looked away, his cigarette still hanging from his lips. “Tolerance,” he told him.

Bruce, still heaving, croaked out, “When did you start smoking, anyway?”

Vance hesitated, ostensibly wondering whether or not Bruce’s question was worth responding to. He kicked at the ground. “Not too long ago,” he muttered, finally.

Bruce let his cigarette fall. Vance smirked. “What?” He questioned. “Done already?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked around as silence engulfed the two boys, taking in the plain view. It was nothing but brown grass and trees in the far distance, as well as the protruding brick wall of the building close by. There were a few birds in the sky, squawking and gliding and swooping through the air, and Bruce watched them with a silent sense of awe. 

“You ever been bird watching?” he asked Vance.

Vance looked up too. “With binoculars and shit? Nah.”

“Well, I used to go bird watching with my mom,” Bruce told him. “It was boring at first. Then I was just happy to be hanging out with her.”

“So you’re a momma’s boy?” Vance asked with a glance, his voice playful but mocking. 

Bruce grinned at him. “You’re not?”

Vance didn’t respond, but turned to face the sky again. Maybe he had run out of breath, and he had no more answers to give. Bruce wouldn’t know. He didn’t mind it, either. He had learned to not take it personally. Nothing was personal anymore. Now it was just Vance.

Bruce looked around again, the breeze becoming more rushed and violent. “My little sister would come with us sometimes,” he remarked. “We would sit there for hours just staring at the trees with my mom’s binoculars, and Amy wouldn’t shut up. She’d just whine until my mom took her back home.” Bruce shook his head with a laugh. “But she always wanted to go where I went, anyway.”

“Your mom…” Vance hesitated. Then, he looked down at his cigarette between his fingers. “She alive?”

Bruce wondered if it ever occurred to Vance that some things were better left as silent questions, but instead of ignoring him he replied, “Of course she is.”

Vance visibly relaxed. Maybe vulnerable, reminiscent conversations weren’t his cup of tea. “You just made it seem like she was dead.”

Bruce laughed. “Sorry. I just love my mom.” Then, after pausing, he asked with a sudden burst of confidence and impulse, “What’s your mom like?”

Vance didn’t seem surprised to hear the question. He brought his cigarette to his lips again and inhaled. Then he kicked at the dirt again. Exhaled. “Who knows,” he said.

Bruce was intrigued now. Vance Hopper talking about his family? In this day and age? No spiteful silence or irritated scoffs? Just a straight up answer? Vance was letting Bruce in nowadays, just a little; but there was still no particular idea of how deep Bruce could dig. However, just in case, Bruce decided to prod further and test the waters. He held his hand out to the wild cat. “What do you mean?”

It was a simple question, but Vance couldn’t give a simple answer. If this went well, Vance wouldn’t feel trapped and Bruce could reach a little farther into the mystery of the other boy’s life. Vance turned to fully look at Bruce, and for a moment he didn’t do anything but stare. Then, he leaned closer, blowing smoke into Bruce’s face.

Bruce reeled back, coughing and hoping he could hack up the bitterness of tar lacing his throat. Vance smiled, just a little, and pulled away. Then he said, “We don’t talk.”

Bruce frowned, still waving the smoke out of his eyes. Then, without acknowledging what had just happened, he asked, “Is she never home?”

Vance shrugged. “I don’t know. We just don’t talk.”

Bruce thought for a moment. Were they on bad terms or something? He voiced his concerns. “Do you not like her?”

Vance glanced at him. Looked at the ground again. “I don’t know,” he answered.

Huh. Bruce followed his gaze to the dirt beneath their feet. Maybe he’d done enough prodding for one day. “Well,” he said. A pause. “Well, that’s how it is.”

Vance nodded, voice distant. “That’s how it is,” he muttered.

Chapter Text

Bruce stopped being surprised when his feet continued to lead him to the Grab n Go. He stopped bringing anything but quarters; and just like every time, he took his place by the window to watch Vance curse at the pinball machine.

“Do you go to arcades too or do you just hang out here?” Bruce asked.

“You’re distracting me,” Vance said gruffly, and Bruce smiled.

“No fuck-face?” he asked. “What about shit-head?” Then for good measure, he added, “You tired of the names now?”

“You tryna pick a fight, quarter-boy?” Vance shot back, not taking his eyes off of his game.

Bruce stepped toward him. He leaned against the wall, right beside the machine, and caught Vance’s gaze for a brief moment. “Maybe,” he said. 

Vance blinked at him, silent, but when he looked back down he pulled back to give the machine a shove. “Fucking hell,” he said angrily. He looked up at Bruce, who gave him an innocent smile, and stepped toward him. For a moment, Bruce considered the fact that Vance might hurt him; but he stayed still regardless, and waited for whatever was coming. Vance grabbed the collar of Bruce’s shirt and shook him roughly until Bruce couldn’t tell left from right. Then, he obnoxiously let go and shoved Bruce against the wall. It didn’t hurt as much as Bruce had anticipated.

“You distracted me,” Vance grumbled. 

“Your score wasn’t even that high,” Bruce replied, hinting at the fact that Vance hadn’t lost much. He held out a quarter, which Vance took immediately with quick and angry hands. 

Bruce, still pressed against the wall, then watched as Vance pushed his quarter into the coin slot. “That kind of hurt,” he commented. He waited for Vance’s response with quiet patience.

In response, Vance glanced at him again. Just barely. “You’re just soft,” he said. 

“You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you,” Bruce replied.

Vance scowled. “Who the fuck cares?”

“I do,” Bruce said, leaning his head on the machine and watching as Vance’s curls bobbed with his movements. 

Vance was quiet for a while. The pinball continued to bounce from platform to platform, and Vance’s fingers kept clicking away. After a while, the silence seemed to have stretched long enough and Vance sighed. “Fine,” he said loudly. “Whatever.” Then, very quietly, he mumbled, “Sorry.”

And Bruce was happy with that. It was enough. 

Both boys stayed until the store closed, and when they were kicked out they walked home together. Bruce didn’t have to ask this time.

Chapter Text

The cat was too skinny, too small, and too ugly for anybody to care enough about it. 

But Bruce cared.

Shit, Bruce always cared.

“You seen its mom around?” Vance asked, taking in the surroundings. They were crouched down in an alley, inspecting the sight of a stray kitten scarfing down a can of tuna that Bruce had snatched from home. 

“Nope.” Bruce scratched the kitten’s head. “I would bring it home, but Amy’s allergic to cats.”

Vance reached forward, letting the kitten sniff his hand, before petting it from the head all the way down to its tail. The kitten purred in response, leaning into Vance’s touch; but Vance just scoffed and pulled away. “It probably has fleas,” he grumbled.

Bruce thought for a moment. He couldn’t take the cat, not with Amy’s situation, and his mom hated cats anyway. Plus, he’d have to pay for a trip to the vet and his parents wouldn’t be too keen on the idea. However…Bruce turned to give Vance a curious stare. Vance’s parents were never home. Vance wasn’t allergic to cats. And Vance had saved up enough money, Bruce was sure of it, for a vet visit. 

Vance frowned at him. “What?” 

Bruce shrugged, nodding to the kitten. Vance’s frown deepened. “What?” he asked again.

Bruce jerked his head toward the kitten again, more obvious this time, and Vance just looked at him like he was crazy. Bruce finally gave in. “Take the cat, dumbass.”

Vance stood up immediately. Shook his head and crossed his arms. “Hell no,” he said. “I don’t want fleas in my room.”

“So you’re just gonna leave it out here to die?” Bruce asked.

“Might as well,” Vance huffed, body stiffening. 

“You’re an asshole,” Bruce said, pointing, “but you’re not cruel.”

“Thanks,” Vance replied flatly. “I’m not taking no fucking cat.”

“Take the cat,” Bruce told him, adamant.

“I told you, fuck no.”

“Just take the cat, dude.”

“You take it.”

“Amy’s allergic.”

“If you care so fucking much, it wouldn’t matter,” Vance spat.

Bruce stood too. He mirrored Vance’s stance, and met his gaze. Vance wasn’t angry, Bruce could tell, but he was getting defensive. “I’ll buy the food and stuff,” Bruce offered. “Okay? You just keep the cat. Keep it safe and stuff. Give it a bath.”

“If the faucet works,” Vance muttered.

Bruce tilted his head toward the other boy, cupping his ear with one hand. “What?”

“If the faucet works,” Vance repeated loudly. 

Bruce frowned, confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t take that stupid cat,” Vance said bitterly.

Bruce just stared at him. “What’s the faucet have to do with the cat?” he asked.

Vance gestured toward the still eating kitten. “You said give it a bath.”

Bruce nodded, thinking. Then he said, “Use the hose.”

“We don’t have a hose,” Vance replied.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious, shithead,” Vance shot back, crossing his arms tightly in front of him. His demeanor was embarrassed, but his voice was angry. On a normal day, Bruce wouldn’t notice the cover-up. Today was not a normal day. There hadn’t been a normal day since Vance left the theater with a whole lot of spite and a whole lot of things to say. 

Bruce wasn’t blind anymore, and Vance wasn’t hidden in a storm too far out of reach. Vance was here, and Bruce could see it, and Bruce knew. 

Bruce shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. “No, it’s just—who the fuck doesn’t have a hose?”

“Not everybody in the entire fucking world has a hose.”

“You sure it’s not just hidden?”

“I think I’d know if a giant ass green rope was laying around my house.”

Bruce stared for a moment, and Vance stared back, their eyes locked and their gazes heavy. Finally, Bruce reached into his back pocket, where six bucks and three quarters were stuffed, unfolded, and held out his hand. “For the cat,” he clarified.

Vance examined the money, brows furrowed and eyes uncertain. Then he audibly exhaled through his nose and snatched the dollars and quarters from Bruce’s hand. “That’s all you got?” he asked.

Bruce gave him a pointed look. “You know that’s a lot.” 

“Thought you were rich or something,” Vance admitted, stuffing the money in his own pocket. “With all the baseball and shit,” he added.

“What’s baseball got to do with money?” Bruce asked.

“Rich kid sport,” Vance said. Bruce replied with a scoff and bent down to pick up the kitten. It scratched at him for a few seconds, hissing a bit, before hanging limply in Bruce’s hands. He held it over to Vance, shaking it in the other boy’s direction, and when Vance hesitated, Bruce made sure to threaten to kick him where it hurt. Vance reluctantly took the cat, which hissed again in retaliation, and stepped back. He gave Bruce a look of irritation. “If it dies or some shit,” he said, “it’s not my fault.”

Bruce grinned at him. 

On their walk back, Bruce tried to give Vance a good reason to walk him home. Vance was not easily swayed, though, and before Bruce could even finish his sentence he was often cut off immediately with an adamant, “No.” As a result, Bruce found himself being walked to his own house instead. He had considered the fact that it was a little weird for Vance to know where he lived but wouldn’t allow Bruce to follow him home, but he decided to just let Vance do what he wanted. After all, they were getting closer—much closer than Bruce knew Vance preferred—and maybe the house thing was the only thing Vance could control. Either way, Bruce supposed, Vance took the kitten and all was well. That was that.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s mother stood in the doorway, watching Bruce with narrow eyes. “Where are you going?” she asked.

Bruce wanted to tell her that he always left at that time, every weekend, and she never said anything about it until now; but instead, he answered, “I’m gonna go see a friend.”

“To do what?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

Bruce shrugged, tightly gripping the strap of his backpack with one hand. “I don’t know yet.”

“You came home yesterday smelling like cigarettes,” his mother told him, lips curled in disgust. “You’re not out smoking, are you?”

Bruce hesitated. He had only smoked a couple times, but he hadn’t in a while. “No,” he replied, honestly. It wasn’t a complete lie. He was out doing other things. “My friend’s parents smoke.”

His mother watched him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d crack and tell her the truth if there was one; but Bruce stood still, awkwardly scratching his elbow, and after a few moments she finally nodded. She reached up to ruffle his hair before gently patting his cheek. “Yes, my boy wouldn’t lie to me.” She turned away, heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t know how people can know about the danger and still smoke,” she continued. “I made your father drop it immediately when I first met him.” She proceeded to chatter away as she left the room, at some point aiming her words at Amy, who Bruce knew was still sitting in the kitchen and eating a bowl of too-sweet pink and yellow cereal. He smiled a bit, slipping on his shoes, and headed out the door. 

Vance was waiting by the mailbox, kicking at the dirt and staring down at the pebbles that went flying with each motion. He looked up when Bruce called his name, and his lips quirked. It was only a little, but it was enough. Bruce grinned back. “Ready? Come on.”

It was a weird feeling walking beside Vance Hopper, down the street, swatting at flies and laughing together like it was just a normal thing, when barely two months ago Bruce could hardly get Vance to even look his way. Now they saw each other daily, kicked at each other’s feet, exchanged quarters and shared food (only to save money, of course). 

It was something Bruce could get used to. Had gotten used to. Despite their rocky start, and Bruce’s threat that still hung over their heads like a storm cloud waiting to let go, Vance didn’t seem to be there involuntarily. He never brought up what Bruce said to him the day he stole that tip jar, and he seemed to look for Bruce on his own if Bruce hadn’t found him first. Bruce wasn’t sure if he should ask about it. Didn’t know if he would accidentally crack the bond he’d worked so hard to build; but Bruce was never one to keep quiet. He always had to talk. He always had to know. 

Even if it killed him.

So he let the words roll off his tongue, unphased and without too much worry; because that’s just who he was. Who he’d always be. “Why do you still hang out with me?” he asked, watching as Vance peeked inside someone’s mailbox. “And don’t do that,” he added. “That’s illegal.”

“You’re illegal,” Vance replied, but his voice was calm—playful, almost. He shifted to walk by Bruce’s side again, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Racist,” Bruce said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, the smile fell quickly. “Answer my question,” he ordered.

Vance shrugged. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, that’s why.” He stopped walking for a second, watching Bruce with a sort of look that made Bruce squirm. Just a little. “And you said….” He paused.

Bruce stared back, gaze unwavering. “What’d I say?”

Vance looked away. “You know what you said,” he grumbled.

“What?” Bruce asked. He kept his voice light. “Did I ask for your hand in marriage or somethin’?”

“Fuck you,” Vance spat, but he continued to stand still, glaring at the ground. “You said you’d tell everybody,” he clarified, after a while, “if I didn’t go to the movies with you.”

Bruce blinked. Then he laughed, letting his head drop as his hand clutched his stomach. He looked back up, at Vance’s shocked face, and grinned. “Yeah, that’s it,” Bruce said. “That’s all you had to do.”

Vance scowled at him and turned away, continuing down the road. When Bruce caught up with him again, Vance was muttering every curse word in the English language, and digging his feet roughly into the dirt with each step.

“And,” Bruce told him, still laughing, “I have nothing on you. I don’t even know what you did.” Then he shut his mouth, because fuck, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Vance stopped walking. Looked back at Bruce with a deep glare, his hands clenched into tight fists. Bruce screwed up. Really. He waited for Vance to blow up like he did with the kid at the diner, but Vance just watched him like a wolf eyeing prey. With silent, uneasy stillness. He turned forward again. Kept walking. Although hesitant, Bruce followed him. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The wind seemed to push Bruce to open his mouth and say something, but the air felt dangerous. Even breathing felt like a sin. But Bruce nudged Vance’s arm anyway, saying quietly, “You mad?”

Vance glanced at him, his gaze just as threatening as before. He looked ahead again. “Pissed,” he answered, flatly. “Fucking pissed.”

Well. At least Bruce wasn’t getting the silent treatment. Or beaten to a pulp, for that matter. As a response, he awkwardly bumped Vance’s shoulder with his own. “Sorry for lying,” he said. “There’s a lot I’ll do if I…really want something.”

Vance stopped walking again, and turned to face Bruce with angry eyes. Ready to spout angry words. “I really should just fuckin’ gut you,” he said. Took a breath. Added, “Beat your ass.”

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line, stepping back. “That’d make you kind of an asshole,” he said.

“I am one, already,” Vance replied. His expression cracked a little, something vulnerable showing through the mask of fury. “I know that. I’ve always known that. Who the hell in this fuckass town doesn’t know I’m crazy?”

Think, Bruce wanted to say. Think you’re crazy. Because, yeah, it was Vance Hopper. He started fights with people who just happened to be there at the wrong time. He cussed at little kids. He was rough with the elderly. He blew smoke into people’s faces and stole tip jars. But he also bit his nails. He laughed at Bruce’s stupid jokes. He let Bruce play pinball. He shared his cigarettes. He made Bruce feel something. Something different. Something real. So Bruce settled with shrugging, glancing up at Vance with a sort of half-smile. The type of smile he gave Amy when one of her stupid plans actually managed to work out. “Me,” he said. 

“Bullshit,” Vance grumbled, but his pace was still steady and Bruce stayed by his side.

There were a lot of instances where Bruce thought that maybe Vance wasn’t normal; but he never considered that Vance could be crazy. Crazy Pinball Vance, Amy had said once. Bruce had given her a weird look and swallowed down the rest of his food quickly as he formed a response. “He’s not crazy,” Bruce had countered. “Just angry.”

“Crazy people are always angry.”

Bruce had shrugged at this, and asked Amy to pass the ketchup. Then he said, “Angry people aren’t always crazy.”

He still stood by this statement. Vance was an angry person. He scowled at everything and started fights even when it was inconvenient. He spat out insults whenever he got the chance, and was too violent for his own good; but Bruce knew he wasn’t born that way. Because even if he was crazy, even if he was totally off his rocker, he didn’t start off like that. Nobody ever does. That, Bruce realized, is why Bruce cared so much. He wanted to know why. He wanted to be someone who got to see the normal. Who really got to witness the true existence of Vance Hopper. And maybe that was weird. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe Vance really was crazy; but maybe Bruce was crazy too.

He came to a halt, gently pushing Vance’s arm to hold him back. Vance stopped too, somehow willing. Bruce looked at him, his gaze honest. Sincere. “I never thought that,” he said slowly. “Ever. I promise, man.”

Vance frowned at him, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m stupid, quarter-boy?”

“You might be, if you think I’m lying,” Bruce said, voice still level. 

Vance eyed him. “You are.”

“Nah,” Bruce replied. “I’m the real deal.” He stepped back, letting the air between them thin out, and held up his hands in surrender. “You don’t gotta be my friend,” he said, “but I’d be pretty damn happy if you were.”

“You threatened to spread shit,” Vance pointed out.

“Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“You tricked me.”

“I had to. You know I had to.”

Vance groaned, running a hand through his hair. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut before opening them just to watch Bruce again with a look that Bruce couldn’t pinpoint. A new one. One that made him feel a bit giddy. Vance sighed, and looked around. He jerked his head to the path beside them. “Alright, you fucker,” he said. He began to walk. “You win.”

Bruce grinned widely. “I always do, you know?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kid.”

Chapter Text

“Bruce has a girlfriend,” Amy blurted.

The room went quiet, and both of Bruce’s parents turned to look at him. Bruce laughed awkwardly, keeping his arms pinned at his sides in case they happened to drift over to Amy’s neck and strangle her. “I don’t,” he said.

“That’s probably why he’s always leaving the house!” Amy exclaimed. “To go see her!”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Bruce hissed, his grip tight on the sides of his seat.

“A crush, then,” Amy replied. “Bruce has a crush.”

Bruce’s mother opened her mouth to speak, but Bruce cut her off immediately. “I don’t,” he said quickly. “And even if I did, why would you tell everyone?”

Amy shrugged. “You never have a crush.” She unpaused the TV, but their mother paused it again.

“Really?” she asked. “You have a crush?”

“No,” Bruce said, frustrated. “She’s lying.”

His mother turned to give Amy a pointed look, but Amy just raised her brows and jerked her head towards her brother. Their mother faced Bruce again, her expression skeptical. She glanced at her husband, who was still watching Bruce with emotionless eyes. 

“A girl?” he asked.

Bruce frowned at him. “Well, yeah. If I had a crush.”

“You’ve just never liked anyone before,” his mother explained. She exchanged a look with the others. “We were worried that….”

“They thought you were like those kinds of people,” Amy said loudly, making Bruce jump. 

Bruce furrowed his brows and turned to look at her. “Like what people?”

Amy kept picking at her toe nails, not even sparing Bruce a glance, but she had the decency to reply. “Like those queers,” she said.

The words felt like a bomb. Bruce felt hot—targeted—and a sort of dread was kicking in. A mix of irritation and disgust ran circles in his head, and he took a deep breath. Then he gave a nervous smile. “Seriously?” he asked.

It wasn’t like they were right. It was true that he had never really liked anyone before, but that was anyone. No girl or boy had ever fully caught his interest. Of course he had been on a few dates, but for a majority of his life he spent most of his time listening to baseball games on the radio, practicing baseball, watching baseball, and, now, doing dumb shit with Vance. He never had time to like anyone, and at school he was too busy trying not to fail his classes to pay attention to anybody. Except, of course, Lindsay Burke.

She wasn’t too different. She dressed like every other girl and had basic interests and, in the beginning, solely liked him because he was good at baseball. But Bruce saw the other things. Like how she kept a mini bible in her bag, how she picked pretty flowers and pressed them between the pages for later. He saw how she used her pencil to pick dirt from her nails, and drew imaginary pictures on her desk with her finger when she was bored. He saw her gaze linger when it was an exceptionally cloudy day, and the way she didn’t hold back when she laughed and snorted when she found something funny. Bruce saw all of that. And he loved it, too.

His parents might’ve liked her. They probably would have. He would’ve told them that he was spending nights at her house instead of a teammate’s, and that he wanted to go to the diner around the corner so often because that’s where she hung out with her friends, but there was one problem. 

She wasn’t asian. 

She had dark skin and wide eyes and thick, curly hair. Bruce’s parents weren’t racist or anything, but they were adamant about him marrying someone of his own culture. Which was fine. Bruce thought it was fine; but then he met Lindsay Burke, and suddenly nothing was okay anymore. Maybe he could have figured something out, had she not admitted her feelings for someone else. Had it fully worked out. Had he gotten the chance to love her forever. 

So he didn’t ever plan on telling his family about her. He didn’t plan on loving anybody ever again, either. So this stupid nonsense Amy was spouting was really starting to get on his nerves. “You guys really thought that?” he added.

His father averted his gaze, his mother gave him a sort of embarrassed look, and Amy kept picking at her toe nails. Then his mother laughed. “We were just a little scared,” she said. “Nobody actually thought it.” 

“Dad did,” Amy piped in, just as loud as before.

Bruce turned to incredulously look at his father, who cleared his throat. There was more silence. The air was full. Curious. It made Bruce take a breath and say on a whim, “Well, I do like a girl.”

More silence. Bruce thought it’d eat him whole. Finally, Amy said, “Told you.”

Bruce’s mother smiled. His father let out a breath. The room felt less tense, and even though Bruce lied, he felt better too. This lie was better than his family thinking things they shouldn’t. The TV started playing again, and Bruce’s father stood. He walked towards Bruce and ruffled his hair before silently exiting the room. His mother reached over and patted his hand. “I bet she’s pretty,” was all she said. Right after, she stood and left too. 

The television blared out dialogue and a laugh track, and Amy chuckled a couple times. After a while, she seemed to feel Bruce’s eyes on her, and she turned to give him an irritated look. “What?” she asked.

Bruce glanced at the television, then back at his sister. “How did you know?”

“That you’ve got a crush?” Amy elaborated, still loud as ever.

Bruce internally groaned. “Yes,” he said.

Amy thought for a second. Bruce knew she was thinking, because she was twirling strands of her hair between her fingers. “You’re always giggling to yourself when you’re leaving to see her.”

“I don’t giggle.”

“You chuckle like a man, then. I don’t know.”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t do that, either.”

“Okay, well,” Amy said, “you kept asking me for date ideas.”

That was not true. Bruce was asking her about places around town that she went with her friends because, admittedly, he never really got out before he met Vance. He needed new hang out spots. Regardless, Bruce nodded. “You got me.”

“I know,” Amy replied. “And whenever I ask you about who you’re seeing, you just smile like a creep and say something dumb like, ‘don’t worry about it’.” She paused. “Well, actually, me and Mom thought you were doing drugs. But you wouldn’t do that.” She glanced at him briefly, then gazed ahead at the TV. “You’re too chicken.”

Okay. That was it. Enough talking with Amy Yamada. Bruce stood, and headed toward the hallway. He heard the TV pause behind him, and he came to a stop when he heard Amy’s voice again.

“Bruce,” she said, voice softer than usual.

Bruce sighed. Looked behind his shoulder. “What’s up?” he asked weakly.

Amy stared at him for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. She shrugged before turning around and sitting down again. “Nevermind,” she said.

The TV started up again, and Bruce watched with quiet contemplation. Then, tiredly, he said, “Alright.” 

Chapter Text

Bruce crumpled the paper in his hand.

Of course, he needed his mom or dad’s signature, but he wasn’t going to get it. He never did, and the teachers learned to stop caring around seventh grade. Perks of being stubborn. 

He didn’t even look at it: that damn report card. 

He contemplated burning it. Or feeding it to a stray dog. Or simply tucking it away in his closet like he did the rest of them. His mom sometimes questioned her lack of awareness when it came to Bruce’s academics, but he always threw her off track enough to get by without a call to the school. After the nineteenth time, you’d figure she would realize something was up; but no, she never stayed too curious. 

Something about that made Bruce feel a little guilty. His mom trusted him a lot more than he should be trusted, and he really didn’t deserve it. There were a lot of things about his mother that Bruce felt shouldn’t be so great. He didn’t deserve a mom like her. However, she wasn’t always like that.

It’s just that when Bruce was little, around eight years old, a biking accident sent him tumbling downhill through trees and sharp rocks, into a shallow pond. He didn’t break anything, but before he could fall asleep a nearby witness shook him awake. Called out for help. 

His mother was absolutely hysterical in the hospital. All Bruce could think about was the bill his family was going to have to pay off, just because of his stupid mistake, but she just kept crying and telling him not to worry about it. She took his face in her hands and watched him blink at her slowly, numbly, as though he were still dreaming. Dreaming, and, ignorant of his father’s health insurance, wondering if he should start mowing more lawns to help his parents pay for his stupidity. But his mother just laughed at him with tears in her eyes and pet his hair, offering a quiet, “Silly boy,” and, “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Bruce.”

Since then, she’s been lenient, kind, and gentle with him; and even though it was damn near seven years ago, Bruce knew she was worried that one day he wouldn’t be there anymore. He knew she hoped that if the day came, she wouldn’t regret anything. Bruce just wished she showed the same compassion for Amy too, who got in many more predicaments than Bruce did. Bruce also wished he could promise to his mother that he’d never leave; but he knew that his words would be empty. Futile. After all, the truth of everything scared him, too. The truth that he could try his hardest not to go anywhere, but life would get in the way.

Regardless, he settled with tossing his report card into the nearest trash can. Nobody would care enough to dig through a landfill and uncrumple the paper.

“What’s that?”

Bruce jumped, letting out a startled, “Holy shit,” before whipping around to see Vance standing behind him. He was holding a paper of his own, watching Bruce curiously. It was a weird sight: Vance, unbothered, calm, and clearly content. His eyes were brighter than usual and he stood loosely, more animated. Bruce cracked a smile, watching as Vance peered into the garbage can. “You scared me,” Bruce said.

“Good.” Vance gave him a smile of his own. Bruce’s face fell from the sight, shocked to see Vance so perky, but soon he was grinning again and watching Vance point to the garbage once more. “Homework?” Vance guessed.

“Worse,” Bruce replied, “my report card.”

“You won’t get detention or some shit?”

Bruce shrugged indifferently, heading down the street. Vance followed close behind, dragging his feet along the tar. “Are your grades bad?” he asked.

“Nah,” Bruce said, suspiciously. Why was Vance so happy? “What about you?” he asked. He gestured to the paper held tight in Vance’s hand. “What’s that?”

Vance’s grin widened. “My report card.”

Bruce blinked at him. “Why do you have it?”

Vance ignored him. Still grinning, he asked, “Wanna see?” He didn’t wait for a response, and immediately held it out for Bruce to look. Bruce stared at him for a moment, but then let his gaze drop. He scanned the paper, thoughtful, then looked back up at Vance again. The grades were pretty good; all B’s and one C+. 

“You didn’t seem like the type to do good in school,” Bruce remarked, straightening.

Vance stuffed the paper in his pocket and shrugged. “These are way better than last year,” he explained. “I got all C’s in freshman year.”

“Still better than me, I bet,” Bruce said.

Vance looked behind his shoulder. “Do you even know what your grades are?”

“Nope,” Bruce deadpanned, watching Vance’s expression shift to that of amusement. It was weird seeing Vance so childlike. Something inside Bruce wanted to laugh at how different this was from Vance’s usual persona. The other part wanted to shrink Vance into something miniature and keep him in his pocket forever, because Vance didn’t bring the paper by chance. He was proud and wanted to show somebody. He was proud and wanted to show Bruce. “Cute,” Bruce mumbled.

Vance frowned at him. “What?”

“Like a dog,” Bruce clarified, louder this time. 

“You calling me a dog?” Vance asked, voice back to its usual gruff state.

Bruce shook his head. “I mean, you’re just—I don’t know.”

“Whatever,” Vance said, looking away again.

Bruce smiled a bit. Back to the old Vance. That quick, too. He looked up at the sky. Asked, contemplative, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Your mother,” Vance said, without missing a beat.

Bruce just stared. Then he laughed. Then he said, “Where’d Pinball Vance Hopper go?”

“Up your ass and around the corner,” Vance replied.

Bruce nudged Vance’s arm, saying, “Someone should find him before he gets lost.”

“Mmm.” Vance smiled a bit. 

They walked in silence for a few seconds, and Bruce thought that this was the most peaceful walk they’d ever had. Then Vance shoved him roughly, and Bruce jumped up to put the other boy in a headlock. Peaceful? Bruce almost laughed at the thought. Vance Hopper? Yeah, right.

He didn’t let go until Vance somehow grabbed both of his wrists and pinned him down into the ground. Bruce grimaced at the feeling of his head pressed against hot tar, but he managed to smile still when he noticed Vance was watching him. Curiously again, like a little kid wondering what his mom brought home from the store. Bruce wondered if Vance was waiting for him to fight back, and with that thought stayed as still as ever. Vance examined him for a little longer, and then let go to stand.  Bruce stood too and brushed himself off. Then, after a moment, he gave Vance a rough shove; but Vance just rubbed his shoulder, scoffed, and turned away with a subtle smile. They continued down the road.

“You’re pretty strong,” Bruce commented, after a while.

“Shut up, Bruce.”

“Just saying.”

Chapter Text

Amy twirled the phone cord around her finger, chewing gum into the other end. “Hello?” she said loudly, giving Bruce a taunting look when he gestured for her to quiet down. “Oh yeah, he’s here alright. Shocker, huh?”

“Amy, shut up,” Bruce said. 

“Oh, he owes you money for your car?” she continued. “He ran it into a tree?”

“Amy!” Bruce cried, snatching the phone from her hand and pushing her away. He glanced nervously around the room, hoping his parents hadn’t heard, and then gave Amy a glare. She just shrugged her shoulders and kept chewing her gum, sauntering over to where the remote laid on the couch. Bruce sighed into the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey.”

Taken aback, Bruce frowned. “Wha—Vance? How’d you get my number?”

Vance ignored him. “You busy?”

“No?” Bruce said, though he wasn’t entirely sure. Point was, he’d make himself free if he had to.  

“Cool. I’m at the diner.”

“Didn’t they ban us from there?”

“Not the one in Aurora.”

Bruce thought for a moment. “I don’t have a ride,” he said after a while.

“Bike.”

Bruce heard a click, and he furrowed his brows. “Hello?” He brought the phone closer to his mouth. “Hello?” he repeated. When there was no response, he hung the phone back up. He turned to give Amy a shrug. “He hung up on me,” he said. 

But Amy was staring at him wide eyed, looking as though she’d jump off the couch at any second and tackle Bruce to the floor like a too-happy dog greeting its owner. “What?” he asked, frowning.

“Vance?” she breathed. “Vance Hopper?”

Bruce raised his brows, leaning against the wall. “Shocker, huh.”

“Did you do something?” she asked quickly, suddenly looking paranoid. “Is he trying to fight you? Don’t go, in that case.”

Bruce laughed. “We’re just going to hang out.”

“You?” Amy asked, skeptical. “And Vance Hopper?”

Bruce shrugged, walking towards the front door. “It’s not that crazy, dude.”

“You’re right,” Amy agreed, “it’s insane.”

“Whatever,” Bruce mumbled. He slid his shoes on and unlocked the door. “Tell Mom I’m going to the diner.”

“Want me to say you’re with a criminal too?” Amy asked, peeking over the couch. 

“Do what you want,” Bruce said flatly. He didn’t wait for her response and closed the door as quickly as he could. He unchained his bike from the fence and hopped on, hearing it click as he pushed against the pedal. Man, he really needed to get that fixed.

This diner was loud and bustling. There were tons more people than the one in Denver, (although, it wasn’t like Bruce had bothered to check out the other diners Denver had to offer) and almost every booth was filled. Bruce greeted the girl at the counter, and walked away before she could ask any questions. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a particular head of blond curls. He found what he was searching for quickly. 

Bruce slid into the booth opposite of the window. “You couldn’t ask your friends or something?” he asked.

Vance looked up from the menu. Then he scowled. “Shut up, they were busy.”

“Something tells me you didn’t ask,” Bruce said, as casually as he could, leaning back into his seat. Vance just stared at him, frowning, but eventually he looked back down and muttered, “Fuckin’ loony.”

The waitress came by. She gave Bruce and Vance a smile. It was weird seeing someone so calm around Vance Hopper. 

“Ready to order?” she asked sweetly.

“I’ll just have a coke,” Bruce said.

“A burger, fries, a milkshake, and pickles on the side,” Vance told the waitress. Bruce laughed at him, and Vance glared. “What?” he asked.

“Fatass,” Bruce said, grinning.

The waitress smiled at them both, amused. “Anything else?” she asked, and when the boys shook their heads she nodded, said cheerfully, “Alrighty then, I’ll be back soon with your order,” and walked away, tucking her notepad into her pocket.

There was silence for a moment. Then, there was a sudden, soft sound. One that Bruce considered might have just been his ears playing tricks on him; but then it happened again, and again, and Vance was getting tenser by the second. Bruce eyed his bag. The bag that, coincidentally, Vance never carried but happened to bring along today. The bag that was making the noises of a small animal. 

“V,” Bruce said, mostly because he forgot to finish the word, partially because the nickname felt smooth and right on his tongue. “I hear that.”

“Hear what?” Vance asked gruffly, tucking his bag away from Bruce’s view. “And don’t call me that.”

“It’s gonna suffocate,” Bruce remarked.

“Just stop talking,” Vance replied, but he unzipped his bag slightly. Bruce leaned over the table to watch as little ears squeezed through the small opening, pushing until its head was fully out and staring Bruce in the eye. Bruce smiled a bit, aware that Vance was embarrassed and wouldn’t look at him. He watched as Vance awkwardly pushed the kitten’s head back into the bag, despite the obvious retaliation of the kitten itself. Just as Bruce expected, the cat popped back out again and gave a couple mews. 

“Couldn’t leave it at home?” Bruce asked. 

Vance scowled. “Last time I did, it fucked up my sheets and pissed everywhere.”

Bruce laughed. “Damn, like a dog.” He paused, watching quietly as Vance did his best to shush the kitten. He smiled a bit. “We might get kicked out.”

“Not if nobody knows,” Vance hissed, quickly shoving his bag out of the way when the waitress reappeared with Bruce’s coke and Vance’s milkshake. He gave a curt nod to her, as Bruce gave a friendly, “thanks,” and waited until she walked away to say, “My old man hates cats.” He leaned forward, fist pressed against the table. “ And dogs. Any animal, actually. Give him one and his first reaction would probably be to grill it.”

Bruce raised his brows. “Grill it?”

Vance nodded, gently pushing the kitten’s head further into his bag. He gave the waitress an awkward and strained half-smile when she came back to hand him his food, and wasted no time taking a giant bite from his burger. Something in Bruce was shocked that Vance had manners. 

As Vance ate, Bruce continued to watch him with curious scrutiny. He sipped his coke a couple times, glancing at the small ears poking out from Vance’s bag every now and then. Vance stopped chewing, and stared back at Bruce with a defensive gaze. “What?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

Bruce shrugged, his eyes falling on the table. “Just…why are you so mad all the time?” Vance seemed like a normal kid. Sure, he could be terrible, but he had manners and good grades and a conscience. He had all the potential to be something great, so why was he so bent on hurting his own reputation? 

Vance glared. He licked his lips before grumbling, “You’re pissing me off.”

“It was just a question.”

“I’m not mad,” Vance said sharply. “I’m just tired of people’s shit.”

Bruce watched him for a moment. Long enough for the silence to hold them both—long enough for them to feel it—but short enough to where Bruce could catch back up with himself and not feel awkward about his obvious lingering gaze. “Well,” Bruce said, a little dejected, “okay.”

There were another couple of mews coming from beneath the table as Vance finished off his burger. He had only eaten a couple of fries, but he seemed to be full already. He nodded at his plate, asking, “Want some?”

Bruce shook his head. “Nah, I don’t like potatoes.”

“Picky ass,” Vance said, popping a fry into his mouth. Bruce smiled, and rested his chin in his hand. He glanced back at the bag, expecting to see the same little ears from every other time he looked; but, to his surprise, there was nothing. 

“Hey,” Bruce said, voice urgent. There were no ears. Where were the ears? “Check your bag,” he ordered.

Vance looked down, relaxed and smoothly, like Bruce’s voice wasn’t coughing up panic, but after a second his face crumpled and he looked back up at Bruce in alarm. “Uh….” He started, dropping the fries in his hand. Then he scowled, groaning and leaning back into his seat. He was gripping his hair, tugging at it as he slumped further down. “That little shit….” he muttered. 

There was a scream. 

The boys nearly fell out of their seats when they turned to see where it came from, and once they did, they began to scramble to their feet and hurry to the other side of the diner. 

The lady screamed again as the kitten launched at her, hanging off the side of her dress by the grip of tiny extended claws. The lady swung side to side, trying to get the cat off of her, but to no avail. The kitten just swung with her, seeming entertained by the whole ordeal, and began climbing a little higher. The woman let out another screech. 

Bruce shoved Vance forward, gesturing at the small animal. “Grab it,” he whispered. Vance huffed, but obliged and reached down for the cat. It hissed at him immediately, releasing the woman briefly with one paw in order to swat at Vance’s hand. Vance didn’t even flinch. He just growled back and grumbled out, “You fucker,” before snatching the kitten up by the stomach and holding it out in front of him. 

By now, two waitresses had come over to see what the fuss was all about, and one of them gave the boys a small frown. “We don’t let animals in here,” she said. 

Vance shrugged. “There wasn’t a sign.”

“It’s common sense, Kid,” the other waitress muttered bitterly, helping the petrified woman clean up her now messied spot at the booth. 

The first waitress pointed to the exit. Vance followed her finger, but didn’t budge. Bruce stayed put too, partially to see what would happen, and partially out of playful defiance.  Vance raised his brows at her, a bored expression playing on his face. “What?” he asked. 

“Out,” the waitress said, tapping her foot.

“I haven’t finished my fries yet,” Vance replied, bringing the kitten a little closer to himself.

“Out,” the waitress said again.

Vance’s face  twisted into a deep glare. He was ready to object, start a fight maybe, or perhaps throw the cat at her in retaliation; but Bruce placed a hand on Vance’s shoulder, calm and collected despite his fast heart, and gave a warm, easy smile. “Come on, V,” he said, turning towards the diner doors. Vance narrowed his eyes at the waitress's stern face, and clutched the kitten tight against his chest, reluctantly following Bruce’s lead. 

Once they were outside, Bruce reached for the cat that was now snuggled up against Vance’s neck. Vance reeled back, giving Bruce a frown, but when he saw the innocent look on Bruce’s face he handed the kitten over with hesitance. “Got a name for it yet?” Bruce asked, petting the cat’s head. The kitten purred in response, leaning further into Bruce’s hand. 

“No,” Vance said, deadpan.

Bruce laughed. “Why? It’s been, like, a week already.”

“Thinking of a name is too much work,” Vance replied, kicking at the ground. They started to walk down the street. 

“How about Coco?” Bruce asked. “Since it’s brown.”

“Stupid ass name,” Vance replied. “And I dunno its gender.”

“Pick a gender neutral name then.”

“What? Like fucking ‘Mittens’?”

Bruce laughed again. “Like Boots. Or Teddy,” he added.

“Those just sound dumb as hell,” Vance said. He paused, taking a look around. Then he started to walk a little quicker. Bruce mimicked Vance’s pace.

“Hulk,” Vance said, after a while. “Its name is Hulk. There.”

Bruce barked out yet another laugh, this one much louder and more genuine than the other. “No way,” he said.

Vance shrugged. “You asked for a name. There’s the name.”

Bruce, still laughing, lifted the kitten off of his shoulder and pushed it into Vance’s arms. “What’re you doing?” Vance asked.

“Hold it out,” Bruce said, “with its back to me.”

Vance did as he was told, albeit reluctantly, and Bruce examined the kitten’s bottom. He straightened as Vance brought the kitten back to his chest. “Hulk, huh?” Bruce asked. He kept walking, the grin sticking to his face like sap to a tree. Sweet and sincere. 

“Yes,” Vance said.

“Promise?”

“Fuck you mean promise? I named it Hulk. Why do I need to promise that?”

“Well…” Bruce trailed off.

“What’d you do?” Vance questioned, leaning towards Bruce with curious eyes.

Bruce turned to look at him, his smile widening at Vance’s evident confusion. He reached toward the kitten, which still sat comfortably in Vance’s hold, and pet its head. As his hand fell again, it slid against Vance’s own fingers, rough and warm, before returning to its rightful place by his side. Bruce stopped walking. Vance did too. “You wanna know? Really?” Bruce asked, voice mischievous. 

“You’re pissing me off,” Vance said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Just tell me, dickhead.”

“My dad used to work for the pound,” Bruce said. 

Vance frowned, clearly impatient. “So?” 

“Before we found out Amy was allergic, we would foster kittens,” Bruce explained. “He taught me how to confirm their gender.”

“Okay?” Vance said, still lost as ever. There was a pause. The boys just stared at each other, one frustrated and puzzled, the other grinning a teasing smile. Finally, Vance guessed, voice low, “It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

Bruce turned away. He shrugged, and kept walking. Vance stumbled after him. “Hey, asshole!” he cried. “Tell me! What the fuck? Is it a girl or not?”

Bruce took off running, down the street. 

“You piece of shit!” Vance shrieked. “I can’t run! I got a cat on my shoulder!”

“Figure it out!” Bruce called back.

To his surprise, Vance did figure it out, but he never caught Bruce. Not really. He wouldn’t ever catch up. Nobody would. Not unless Bruce let them. 

And maybe one day he’d let Vance catch him. Hold him down like he’d done a couple times already; and perhaps Bruce would just stare with his usual big stupid smile plastered on his face, because maybe he slowed down, and maybe he had already been caught. Maybe he wanted to be.