Oh ho ho, what do I have here behind this jolly window?

We were chatting about tropes in the Nest and SOMEONE who knows exactly who they are, explained to me what was good about the best-friends-brother or brother’s-best-friend trope (they are probably different tropes, I’m new to this, don’t yell at me). And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And when I can’t stop thinking about things, I have to write about them.

Anyway, here’s a glance at my first attempt at tackling this trope. Let me know if you want more of it!

Secret Project Sneak Peek

I should start by saying that Travis is my platonic soulmate. He’s my ride-or-die, BFF, bro for life, and I love him like a brother. So living with him while we finish college is mostly amazing. We have the same taste in movies, takeout, music, and superheroes, and his wardrobe is basically mine too. Is that weird? I don’t know or care, because Travis is the number one most important person in my life, and I would literally take a bullet for him.

Still, I love him less when he decides to wake me by hurling himself bodily onto my bed, which was what he did on the morning that he told me the Thing that Changed Everything.

Yeah. Capital letter Everything. It’s dramatic, but what can I say? Drama is my middle name.

Anyway, I was asleep, and then I was hit by one-fifty pounds of best bud, and I groped my way groggily out from under the covers to find Travis on top of me, breathing toothpaste breath into my face.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m gonna need you to be real cool, all right?”

I tried to say ‘what?’ but all that came out was a groan.

Travis regarded me with an alarming level of seriousness. “So you know Dylan?”

I stared at him. *Dylan, your little brother who I have known since he was five and I was eight and I made him wet his pants and felt bad about it for thirteen years?* was what I thought, but what I said was, “Uh-huh?”

“Well, Dylan has a boyfriend.”

At first, the words just sat there, meaningless. Dylan. Boyfriend. They made no sense. I tried to indicate this in the clearest and most succinct way possible. “What?”

I must have sounded particularly dense. “Dylan,” Travis said slowly, as if giving me time to absorb his meaning completely, “came out to Mom. He’s gay. And he has a boyfriend.”

This time it penetrated my sleep-hazy brain. “Who?” I demanded.

“Some guy called Robert. I don’t know anything else.” He sat up, straddling me. “So, like, obviously I gotta find him and give him the shovel talk.”

“Obviously,” I agreed, still struggling with the idea. Little Dylan Mackenzie had a boyfriend. On what planet was this? “Is he old enough for a boyfriend?”

“Dude, his eighteenth was last month. Pretty sure he’s old enough to get laid.”

It was like a punch to the gut. “Gross. Get off me.”

Travis stubbornly stayed put. “But it’s gross because he’s my brother, right?” He looked me in the eye. “Not because it’s gay.”

“Of course it’s because he’s your brother! I’ve known him since he was *five*.”

Travis nodded. “Just gotta be sure you’re cool. ‘Cos I love you, man, and if I gotta beat the shit out of some guy for not being cool about it, I don’t want it to be you.”

I gave him a Look. As if he could beat the shit out of me. Not happening. “Bro. Do I look like a homophobe to you?”

He squinted. “I don’t know. You freaked out about that guy at Allison’s birthday.”

“That’s because he tried to put his hand up the leg of my shorts!”

Travis considered this. “Fair.” He rolled off me. “So, I figure we can get out of here in like twenty minutes, grab breakfast burritos on the way?”

This was another thing that didn’t make sense. “On the way to where?”

“To Greenview.” Travis gave me an incredulous look. “To find this Robert guy and give him the shovel talk? Dude, get up.”

There was no other option.I got up, took a shower, got dressed, and met him at the car. “You’re paying for breakfast,” I told him. “And I’m driving.”

It took an hour to drive to Greenview. Travis played Arctic Monkeys the whole way, which was fine because I was not in the mood to talk. I was too mad about this guy Dylan was dating. Robert *who*? Where the hell did Dylan meet him? And how long had Dylan been gay?

Not that it mattered. I really didn’t have a problem with that because…what kind of problem could I have? This wasn’t the eighties. The only people who would have had a problem with Dylan being gay were obviously jerks, and I didn’t think I was a jerk.

Still, something about it annoyed me and it took me the whole hour drive to work out what it was.

We got to Greenview around ten, and Travis told me to head for the coffee shop on Bartley Street. I parked the car and followed him in, still stewing over my annoyance with all this.

“Hey, little brother!” Travis said, approaching the counter. “How’re you doing this fine Saturday morning?”

The guy behind the counter was tall and slim, almost willowy, with golden skin and dark, silky looking hair. He had one of those barista haircuts, shaved on the back and sides and swooped over on top. He also had a lip ring and a bunch of black leather bracelets on his wrists. He looked like one of those guys I’d seen on campus who were way too hot and cool to work with me on group projects. Which was, of course, fine. I had Travis. I didn’t need hot, cool guys.

This hot, cool guy folded his arms and regarded Travis skeptically. “What are you doing here?” Then his expression cleared. “Oh. Mom told you.”

“Told me what?” Travis said, spreading his hands wide. “I don’t know anything. Is there something I should know about?”

Holy shit. That was *Dylan*? Now that I looked it was obvious. He had Dylan’s nose, his eyes, his mouth. That was the kid who’d thrown up on my shoes when he was ten. Except he’d grown up hot.

Hot Dylan glanced at me. “Hey, Marcus,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Uh…”

“You wanna tell me something, Dilly?” Travis was leaning on the counter; Dylan batted at him with his hands.

“Get off,” he said primly. “Get out of here. I have customers.” He flashed me a wide, white grin. “We have a half price special today. Raspberry latte. Which is your favourite, right?”

How could he possibly know that? “Sure,” I said, feeling really, really dense.

“So, one raspberry latte. Is that a regular or a large?”

“Dylan,” Travis said. “Buddy. C’mon.”

“If you want to buy something, I’ll talk to you,” Dylan said, flicking him a withering glance. “Otherwise, go away.”

Travis looked at me in agony. I cleared my throat. “One raspberry latte, one mocha,” I said, and then, “please,” I added because, you know, manners.

Dylan smiled. That smile had been impish, last time I’d checked. Now it was something else entirely. “Anything for you.”

That shouldn’t have felt the way it did, like Dylan was promising things. Things I had never really considered before, but very vivid, specific things.

Holy shit. Dylan was gay. And somehow, I had completely missed it.

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Feature image: Original Photo by Soloman Soh from Pexels