Archive of Our Own ^beta

Brandon knew Phillip was scared of fireworks. He had always known this, ever since they were boys in prep school. Phillip would hide under his bed anytime there were fireworks.

What baffled Brandon was why Phillip agreed to go to David's Fourth of July party. He kept opening his mouth to ask in the days leading up to it, but couldn’t quite get the words out without stuttering.

So he tried to give Phillip an out instead—offering to stay in and challenge each other to poetry contests, or cuddle on the sofa with Nietzsche. But Phillip would gently refuse.

Even Mrs. Wilson was concerned. She was ironing a shirt Phillip wanted to wear when Brandon walked in, already on his third cigarette of the morning, listening to her beg her favorite of the two not to go.

"You don't have to mother me, Mrs. Wilson," Phillip said.

She set the iron down and lifted her head to get a good look at him. Brandon raised an eyebrow.

“You two boys are the closest thing I have to sons, and I care about you. Now tell me—why do you want to do something that scares you?”

Phillip looked away. Brandon fought the urge to embrace him. Not in front of Mrs. Wilson.

“It’s just something I want to do this year.”

He was picking at a ball of lint on his jacket. He wouldn’t make eye contact with either of them.

That evening, in bed, Phillip was snuggled as close to Brandon as he could physically get without them wearing the same pajamas. Brandon had one arm around him.

“I hope David doesn’t blow his arm off. That would be tragic for Janet,” Brandon said lightly, thinking Phillip would laugh. He just hummed and said nothing.

“Phillip, why don’t we go to the country tomorrow to see my mother.”

Another out.

“David’s party is tomorrow. We already told him and Janet we would attend.”

Another rejection.

Brandon could hear Phillip breathing. He turned his head and saw Phillip was already asleep against him. His arm would go numb beneath Phillip, but it was worth it to give him peace. He kissed him on the forehead and tried to sleep himself.

The day of the party came and Brandon had everything they needed. Mrs. Wilson had made them a pie to take—because showing up empty-handed was rude. He suspected she just wanted to check on Phillip.

Phillip looked handsome in his burgundy suit. His tie was crooked, so Brandon fixed it. The fire in Phillip’s brown eyes set Brandon ablaze, and he hoped Mrs. Wilson didn’t see anything.

“You always take good care of me, Brandon,” Phillip said so softly Brandon’s ribcage hurt. Brandon brushed imaginary lint off him just to keep touching him.

“I guess it’s time to go,” Brandon said, needing a cigarette so badly he was trembling.

Mrs. Wilson kissed them both and sent them on their way. The taxi ride was quiet. They sat apart in the backseat, not touching—because they dared not be near each other in public. Brandon went through two cigarettes because of it. Phillip’s knee was bouncing.

David’s family was at the party. Janet looked marvelous—the most interesting person there. Phillip and Brandon stayed close, as if attached at the hip, even while greeting former classmates. One of them, an oaf named Jack, commented that they’d always been inseparable in school.

Kenneth was there, pining over Janet. Brandon tried to detach from Phillip to speak to him but felt an unbearable yearning he wasn’t prepared for. So he simply waved.

“Oh look, a cat,” Phillip said, squatting down to pet an orange cat.

“Brandon,” said David, reaching out to shake his hand.

He made a rude comment suggesting something between Brandon and Phillip—something Brandon was thankful Phillip didn’t hear. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but the way he demeaned Phillip’s role was insulting. Brandon huffed and walked away.

Brandon stared at the food. Hot dogs and beer and a handful of sides—but no wine. He’d lost Phillip in the small crowd, so he decided to have a hot dog.

“You should have two. You’re pretty slim,” said Janet. “I made the coleslaw.”

“Have you seen Phillip?”

“Yes. He was talking to David. It did not seem to go well. I don’t know why those two knock heads, but it’s not my responsibility to mediate. I’m not their mother.”

Brandon abandoned his food to search for Phillip. He was not having a good time at this party without him.

Phillip was sitting on a bench by himself, eating a piece of bread. Brandon sighed.

“David called me your wife,” Phillip said as Brandon lit a cigarette. “If only I were your wife. Mr. Phillip Shaw.”

“Why did we come here, Phillip?” Brandon couldn’t hold it in any longer. “You hate fireworks. They remind you of the war.”

“The first time you held me was during Rupert’s fireworks party in second year. That’s the moment I fell in love with you.”

Phillip was staring at him so intensely that Brandon suddenly didn’t care if people could see them. He leaned over and kissed Phillip right on the mouth.

“So you brought me here to tell me you love me under the fireworks?” Brandon asked.

“Yes. I thought it would be romantic.”

They found a secluded spot between David’s parents’ house and the parked cars to kiss.

The first firework sent a jolt through Phillip that Brandon felt. He wrapped his arms around him tighter and stuck his tongue in Phillip’s mouth like the French do.
The second firework made Phillip yip like a frightened little dog. They stopped kissing.

“I love you. I’m sorry. I thought this would be romantic. It isn’t.”

The third left Phillip absolutely immobilized. He was unable to function. Brandon sat beside him—not touching, just waiting—until Phillip was okay again. It took fifteen whole minutes. The finale left Phillip a blubbering mess. Brandon scrambled to wipe the snot and tears from his face before the other guests saw them.

“Don’t let me do this again,” Phillip sniffled as Brandon helped him into a taxi.

Brandon smirked and slid in after him. Mrs. Wilson was still at the flat. She had tidied everything and left out Phillip’s comfort foods—and lots of wine.

She stuck around to mother them. Brandon let her, for Phillip’s sake. As she gathered her things, she glanced back once—watching them curled on the couch, Brandon brushing Phillip’s hair away from his face. She didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes made one thing clear: she knew far more than they thought she did.

When she finally left, Brandon brought the wine and two glasses over to Phillip on the couch.

“I love you,” Brandon said, taking Phillip’s hand. “We don’t need scary events to tell each other our feelings, Phillip. It’s beneath us.”

“I love you too, Brandon. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave and ruined your good time.”

“Seeing David Kentley’s dumb face ruined my good time. Not you.”

And they took off their shoes and snuggled on the couch.
This was Brandon’s favorite Fourth of July.