[1-2] SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW

[threedimensions]

Dimensions: [1-2]
Timeline: April 2010
Title: Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now
Summary: Brandon finds out his family is moving back to Boston--does he want to go along, or stay in Chicago?
~16.5k



Brandon pulled into the driveway behind his father's car at around half past midnight, having just dropped off Kylen and knowing no one else to further hang out with (since Mark was working again and Link was fixated on a new game and hadn't wanted to leave his apartment for the last few days). Eddie's would have been an option, except it was the middle of the week, and those of his friends that still hung out there would either have work or classes in the morning, so if anyone was still there, they wouldn't be for long.

He was pretty sure his little brothers and sisters would be coming to Dad's tomorrow morning anyway, so he might as well try to go to sleep a little earlier than usual...like three maybe...in order to be awake at nine, when they'd be dropped off. Eight-year-old Shane, six-year-old Sammie, four-year-old Shawn, and two-year-old Sari liked their older brother's full attention when they came to see him and their father (...and David), and he always tried to make time to see them. Their mother was going to be having the most recent of her and Gary Hayes's children almost any day now, and while he was happy and excited at the prospect of yet another impending little sibling, Brandon couldn't help but wonder how many more she wanted to have. He was pretty sure his dad would keep on supplying the genes for however long she wanted, but with the way she organized and ran her household and each of the five lives currently within it, and appeared to be bulldozing on with the fifth child now—and the brochures and printouts from online realtors he'd seen the last time he'd gone to her house to take care of them for her, houses bigger than the four-bedroom she owned now—he wondered if she wasn't going to make and then pass the half-dozen brood.

"When that woman does something, she does something," Dad had commented once when Sarina was imminent, as he'd been halfway through a case of beer. Brandon, who had been wrecked out of his mind due to one of the greenest joints he'd ever smoked, had laughed until he'd cried.

He was grinning as he got out of his car, locked it with the fob on his key chain, and headed for the back door. He was a little surprised to see the light on, since David at least was usually in bed by eleven and when Dad was up, he was in the living room. He was even more surprised to see both of them sitting at the table, looking up at him as he came in and shut the door.

"Uh, hi," Brandon said, off-footed and looking between them quickly.

David hesitated, putting on what he called his Discussion look and what Brandon had once, as a fourteen-year-old, called his "I'M POOPIN...FALSE ALARM" look, and then gestured to an empty chair. Brandon looked at his dad, who took a swallow of beer but looked back calmly, and he sat. He looked between Dad and David again, and got the sense neither wanted to be the first to tell him whatever it was. It wasn't something with immediate urgency, but he had the feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"Well, um..." David said. He glanced at Gary again, who didn't look back, then rolled his eyes a little. "Just so you know...some of us are going to be moving back to Boston."

Brandon blinked. "What?! Really?"

"Lynn's been offered a new job," David continued, when it was clear Gary still didn't feel like adding anything. "She wants to take it. So, she is, and she's taking the kids."

Brandon's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in horror. "What? But—she can't—how are we going to see them?" He looked at his father levelly. "They need their dad."

"Chill—we're going with," Gary said, then held up his empty bottle towards David. David looked at Brandon and raised his eyebrows. Brandon raised his back. David sighed in aggravation and rolled his eyes, then got up and went to the refrigerator, bringing back a fresh beer and setting it down in front of Gary rather harder than was necessary. Gary smirked and opened the beer.

"What do you mean, we're going with?" Brandon asked, too distracted to also make a point at David.

"I called and made some inquiries, and we have positions waiting for us too," David almost snapped. "So Lynn's going, and I'm going, and your dad wants to come with me and to stay with the kids. Your brothers and sisters will want him to be around, anyway. Now, I know I mentioned this to you a while ago, but since you haven't yet done anything about it...you don't have to go too, you know. You're free to get your own place here."

"Oh," Brandon said softly. He dropped his eyes and ran his fingernail over the scratch in the table Sammie had made with one of Shane's toys, thinking also of Shawn and Sari and the new baby. Then he thought of his home—this home. The city, his friends, the band, Mark and Kylen and Link. He slowly raised his head, and saw his dad was looking right at him already. "I don't know if I want to leave here," he said slowly.

Gary only looked at his oldest boy, the one he always meant when he said 'my son', for a long moment. Except the boy wasn't a boy any longer—Brandon had just turned twenty years old—and he must have expected this or something like it eventually. Of course Brandon had his own life, and so much of it was here. His dad shrugged. "Up to you."

"If you want to stay here, that's fine," David repeated. "We were thinking we'd just rent an apartment in the city anyway, at least at first, until we found a house. Apartments don't have a lot of room, especially with four or five little kids needing beds, and I'm sure you could visit sometimes."

"And if you decide you do want to come with, you get a room if you want," Gary said loudly, then glared at David. Brandon was pretty sure they both thought he would want to stay here, but that didn't mean they needed to push him out. At least his dad wasn't like that...it had taken a while, a few years, but he had eventually gotten the 'father' thing. He tried.

"It won't actually be Boston this time," David continued, ignoring the look. "At least not for home—we're all thinking a suburb to buy houses in, and then commuting. It'll be better for the kids."

"Probably..." Brandon murmured, eyes still on the table. He looked up finally, but only at his father. "When?"

"After this new baby is born—"

"Due date's in less than two weeks," David broke in.

Gary gave him a supremely annoyed look. "After Lynn has the baby," he began again, "I'm going to have him and the other kids for a full week or so, while she and David go look at apartments and fill out paperwork to lease and all of that shit. I already got vacation from the hospital set up for it, and Lynn talked to Shawn and Sari's preschool or daycare whatever, to tell them they'll be going from half-day to full-day. Shane and Sammie will get rides here from one of Shane's classmate's parents from the school, and the littler two will come here from one of the preschool's shuttles or whatever. We'll have to pay for that, but." He shrugged, obviously not giving a flying shit about twenty-five dollars a week for transportation. He looked back at his oldest son and raised his eyebrows. "I assume I can probably count on you to help with them when they're here."

Brandon nodded. "Sure, yeah. I can keep Steven up in my room with me so I can do his night feedings. I'll take care of him and the others the whole time. Kylen has classes and Mark works a lot, but they'll probably help, too. So will Delta and Andrew, they like kids. I'll find out what their schedules are."

Gary shrugged. "I think the end answer is that we're moving in about a month, maybe two at the outside. You're a Big Boy now; you can stay here if you want." He paused, then flicked his eyes toward Brandon. "But if you want to go...you know. You can. It's just...up to you."

It was quiet for a long moment, and finally Brandon shrugged with his eyes back on the table, back on his little sister's scratch. "I really don't know. I mean...fuck, I don't want you and the kids to be so far away from me." He looked troubled, then more pained. "But here I've got...you know, the band? We're scheduled off and on through the whole summer, and we wanted to sign up for Battle of the Bands again? And my friends...and I'm still seeing Link. He might actually be okay with a long-distance relationship, but I'm not. I've tried it, I can't do that. And I don't know if I can just drop everything here..."

"That's understandable," David said, apparently trying to sound gentle and encouraging. "You've got your own life, and you're plenty old enough to be living it without your dad. You've always been independent; you don't need to have parents and little brothers and sisters looking after you and digging into that separate life of yours."

"They don't dig—I like having my dad and my siblings around, and I like doing things for them and being with them," Brandon said, annoyed. David should've already known how much his family meant to him by now, especially considering all the time he spent with the kids since they were born, and he probably did but was still trying to push him out. "I'll miss them."

"And then when you come to visit, it's going to be a really special thing," David tried again. "No one said you couldn't come visit whenever you wanted. Come see them every month—or every other month."

"Once a month," Brandon grumbled, the tip of his finger still trailing the curvy scratch. "When I don't see those kids more than once a week I miss them." Neither his dad or David said anything to that, and he shrugged again. "I don't know. I have about a month to think about it?" He looked back up and raised his eyebrows at his father.

Gary nodded and shrugged. "Something like that. We need to wait until after the baby's born so she can fly there—taking a road trip is out of the question for some reason—"

"I doubt very much you'd want to sit in a car for nearly a thousand miles if you were eight months pregnant or had just given birth," David said.

"—and then they need to find us a couple of places, and we need to get everything squared away here, then actually move," Gary finished. "If you decide you're coming with, you should probably do that by the end of the month, or when new kid number whatever is born, so we know what sort of place we're looking for when they go to Boston. I guess you could think about it right up until we left, if you wanted, or if you changed your mind..."

"Okay." Brandon stood, ignoring the exasperated look David was giving his dad, who was also ignoring him. "I guess I'm gonna go upstairs...has she told the kids yet?"

Gary hesitated, then shook his head. "She wanted to tell them tomorrow, here. With all of us."

His stomach dropped a little further yet. "So I have to tell them I'm not sure if I'm coming too?"

"They really will live without you," David muttered. Brandon shot him a glare, but he didn't bother saying what they all knew anyway: Gary's other children loved their older brother far more than they liked their dad's 'partner'.

Gary shrugged. "They'll be okay if you don't," he said finally. "It's really all right, whatever you want to do, Brandon. Just...think about what you really want."

"Okay," he said again, his voice quiet. His dad almost never said his name, especially directly to him. Gary had always been like that: 'Hey, kid.' A general 'you'. 'That one over there.' He didn't seem to like to use names at all, as if they had a kind of power he refused to give them...making it stand out all that more when he did use them. Brandon stood there a moment longer, then headed for the door and up the stairs to his room.

.

Gary finished his beer and glared at David. "If you make that kid feel like it's a better idea to stay here than come with us because he's not wanted," he said, "I'll cut your brain stem in your sleep."

"You must've already done your own if you think he ever listens to me about anything," David shot back.

Gary gave him a withering look, then reached for his crutch and began getting up to head into the living room. He didn't expect David to follow him and he didn't.

.

Brandon headed over to his boyfriend's apartment as soon as Link texted him to confirm that he would be okay having a break from his new game for lunch. He had already spoken to both Mark and Kylen via text and messenger all day, and while neither seemed to want to tell him what to do about the move as much as his dad hadn't, it was obvious that both very much wanted him to stay. (Kylen had literally began searching apartment rental listings at once and offering to get a place with him that he knew she couldn't afford, even going so far as to suggest she'd go with and get a place with him in Boston if she needed. Mark had talked about the band and Brandon had almost suggested to him that they get a place—they'd talked about it a year ago and it hadn't really seemed necessary, but now?—but didn't yet, thinking that first, he needed to talk to Link.)

He was slightly apprehensive about telling his boyfriend and asking for his input: there was a possibility, he thought, and...maybe a large one...that he had been right in telling his dad that Link would be perfectly fine with a long-distance relationship. That if he went, and things stagnated between them, everything they had would just die. (He wasn't wasting time with any of that shit again, not after what happened with Coal. If he went, they would break up.) They had been together for just about six months, and while Link was still becoming more and more casually accepting of Brandon's presence, feeling easier around him and liking the company more gladly, he still needed days, sometimes several at a time, when he had to be left completely alone, and that was at a minimum; they had gone more than a week without communicating several times, and it hadn't seemed to bother Link at all. Brandon thought it was likely that this would always be the case with him, and he didn't know how it was making him feel about the relationship. If the guy he'd been seeing this long was all right with them living a thousand miles away and seeing each other once a month at most, it wouldn't be enough for him. He was patient with Link now, but he hoped that what the evidence suggested came true: as they spent more and more time together, Link wanted him around more. Leaving wasn't what would help them now.

Lying together, after having sex, sitting up and screwing around for a while (Link with his DS and Brandon on his phone), and then wrapping up in blankets to spend the night in Link's bed, Brandon decided he had to know. It would be an important piece of the puzzle which would sway his verdict on staying or going, and after paying close attention to Link's behavior toward him tonight (more quick eye contact, more voluntary physical contact, more smiles), he wasn't sure at all what Link would say. He could still be okay with ending it. Brandon remained lying on his back, thinking that if he was facing him, it would make Link uncomfortable or anxious with such a huge question to sort out.

"So get this," he said softly. "It's pretty important. It's going to have to do with us."

Link didn't answer verbally—he often didn't—but Brandon felt him shift and then, tentatively, one hand touched his arm, showing that he was listening. Brandon started to talk, explaining the situation as his dad had told him the night before. Link didn't respond at once and Brandon waited. When the silence spun out for several minutes, though, he began to get worried. He knew Link wasn't asleep. He sighed, afraid that his apprehension had been correct. The prospect of someone that had made him happy for half a year ditching him? Link might just...accept it.

"If you stay...will you keep your room?"

"No," Brandon said softly. "My dad's selling the house. I'll probably have to get an apartment here."

And while he had entertained the idea of getting a place with Link—a place of their own to start fresh so that Link could make it his safe place and Brandon could take care of him there—he knew it was the least likely of any scenario that involved him staying. His consideration of looking for a place for him and Link to move in together had lasted all of five minutes; they had only been seeing each other for six months, that wasn't really enough to move in with someone. Link needed Ben, and Brandon in all reality needed a roommate with a steady job to make sure rent and bills were paid. Link would probably also react badly to moving; a new surrounding and environment would be made even worse without his brother to help keep him calm and grounded.

Brandon was just about to mention that Mark or Kylen (or maybe even Andrew, the disgusting slob) might be able to split a place with him, when he felt Link tense up, his muscles tightening and his body pulling away from him. Brandon let him go, waiting for the worst, but he didn't say anything for a long while again. It was too dark to see for him to sign, but eventually he reached for his phone on the nightstand and opened the note app to type. Brandon sighed and waited.

.

Mark went up the stairs to Brandon's room a little more slowly than usual, looking around and thinking about how, very soon, he'd never be in this place again. He hadn't spent much time in any part of the house other than Brandon's room, of course, but there had been afternoons and evenings when the little kids were around that he or Kylen or whoever else (or everyone else) had been in the living room or kids' room or kitchen. There were a lot of memories here, and Mark could just imagine what Brandon or his siblings must be feeling about it. He barely remembered when his family had moved from Toronto to Chicago when he was five and more associated it with the feelings of his grandmother and parents. He sort of had the same feelings about this place now, though he'd definitely had the thought years ago that sometimes Brandon's room had felt like a second home.

If he went with them, that would suck.

Of course it was his choice, and he really might, but Mark was hoping pretty hard that he wouldn't. Having the band was fun, and having such a great connection (especially once that cut the price for him so much) was certainly convenient, but their group would lose a lot by losing Brandon. He was one of the best people they all knew, and none of them wanted him to go.

Before he tapped on the door to make sure it was okay to come in, Mark thought briefly of moving to Boston too. He could just as easily get a shitty job there. But that wouldn't be helping his parents if they needed him, not that they'd needed all that much help lately since he'd struck that lottery...

"It's open," Brandon called, and Mark went inside.

The wave of vibes hit him before he was a quarter of the way across the floor and he almost lost the rhythm of his walk, frowning slightly as he tried to block off enough of it to keep himself separate. Brandon was just sitting at his desk and appearing to calmly roll a joint, but inside he was annoyed, frustrated, sad, hopeful, excited, curious, hurt, unsure...

Mark sat on the end of the sofa near the desk. "Sup?" he invited.

Brandon glanced at him and made a face, then shrugged. "Still thinking about what I want to do. It's a lot."

"Yeah." That clearly wasn't all, though. "How did telling the kids go?"

"Ugh. About as well as it could have, I guess." Brandon sighed and finished with the joint, handing it to Mark to light and get started while he put away his hand roller and papers. "I'm pretty sure only Shane and Sammie really get what's happening. Shawn gets the 'moving away' part—their mom read them a kids' book about it—but he's only four and I'm not sure if he really understands the 'maybe not me too' part. Sari doesn't get it at all, but she's barely more than a baby, so none of us were really expecting that."

"How's Shane taking it?"

Brandon reached for the joint when Mark held it out to him. "He's really not thrilled. He likes it here a lot—they don't remember Boston, of course. He was only four when we moved here. And he's had me his whole life, almost like another parent. So if I don't go..."

Mark watched him pull from the end of the joint and hold his breath, knowing that he meant more than 'almost'. "Any more ideas on that?" he asked carefully.

"Well." Brandon looked down at the joint, rolled the end on a card that was on his desk to knock the ash off, then passed it back to Mark. "I told Link about it," he said slowly. He didn't go on for a second, but Mark just drew slowly from the joint and then looked up at the ceiling to exhale. "He asked if I would still be here, then when I said that if I stayed I'd have to get an apartment somewhere...he went non-verbal and wrote that he was 'not at all interested' in moving in with me."

This was most of the source of that annoyance and hurt he was feeling, Mark thought. He was surprised, himself. "You asked him to move in with you?"

Now Brandon rolled his eyes. "No! I literally only said I would have to get an apartment. I wasn't even thinking about with him—I mean, I was for like two seconds, but there are a lot of reasons that would be a bad idea even if both of us wanted to. He should stay with his brother right now no matter what I do." He paused. "I was actually thinking you, or possibly Kylen, if she could find a job, or maybe even, like, Andrew, since he wants out of his parents' place again."

Mark didn't have to be psychic to see the end of that solution. "Man, not Andrew. You'll murder him."

Brandon snorted. "Probably." He glanced over. "What about you? As a 'what if' for now—I still don't know if I'm going." He paused again. "But if I knew I had a good option here...we talked about it before, remember? But it wasn't like it had to happen yet and we were both fine where we are and your parents needed your income? How are they doing now—that money you won make a dent?"

Mark nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, we're actually doing pretty good right now."

He reached for the joint back when Brandon held it out and inhaled, thinking. A place in the city could cost a lot, but with both of them paying bills, it might be all right. Plenty of people made it, and although he didn't know how much exactly Brandon took in for his business, he had been confident even a year ago that he could make enough to cover half of bills for a 2- or even 3-bedroom place. The bar had been doing a lot better this spring, Mark's mom was working steadily and the car his lottery winnings had gotten for her wasn't nickel-and-dime-ing them to death...so his parents hadn't asked him at all in the last couple of months to help out. His father had insisted he put some of the lotto winnings in his own savings, and with being able to keep what he was making while working, he was even adding to it.

He started to say I bet I could swing it, but then changed almost at once to, "I—could go for that, yeah." Brandon liked absolutes, and he'd said it himself: if he knew there was a good option here...maybe he would stay. "That might be pretty great, actually," Mark continued lightly. "Maybe somewhere closer to work, or even not." He shrugged again. "Maybe it's time for me to move out too. Yeah. We could get a place."

Brandon nodded slowly, though his eyes were on the end of the joint. "That might be good," he said softly. "I really...I would hate to leave the band. I really believe we have a good thing there—especially you and me, the way we write and play together? I actually really like everything we've done. I don't know if I could find others that not only play as well but that I got along with so—" he stopped and sighed again, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't even know why the fuck she wants to go back," he said then, irritated.

Mark inhaled from the end of the joint and held it out again. "Kids' mom?" he asked, his voice squeaky while he held his breath.

"Yeah. She has a perfectly fine job here. A good one. And so does David, and does my dad, who will also have to be uprooted and transferred and all of that bullshit. He doesn't like dealing with a lot of bullshit changes, either."

Mark let his breath out slowly through his nose, watching the smoky mist rise and dissipate. "Thought about getting a place for just you and him?" he suggested. He was pretty sure Gary wouldn't be heartbroken in the least if David left and went far away, and Brandon had mentioned before wanting to get his dad away from him. He was also pretty sure Gary didn't care too much about the other little kids...if they moved away with their mom, he wouldn't be weeping into his beer anytime soon.

Brandon shrugged. "Yeah. But I don't think he would. She's taking all of the kids, of course, since she technically has full custody—which I reminded my dad to try to petition for shared care once they move, since five kids and counting is getting to the point where he's finally going to agree to protect his rights if he wants to be a father to them, since that's what she wanted in the first place. So since she's going and taking them for sure, and David's going, my dad will go to still be around them." He sighed again. "They're all so young. I'm old enough to stay. Or...do whatever I want."

Mark nodded. "I'd be interested in seeing what's out there for an apartment."

Brandon nodded too then, slowly, his eyes across the room. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look. If there isn't even anything, then it's a moot point anyway."

There would surely be something, and if not, Mark was sure someone could find space for Brandon until something was available. If he wanted to stay, there would be a way. Mark watched as Brandon suddenly turned and faced his computer, bringing up the browser and typing in some keywords. It was quiet while he did some typing and clicking and they worked the joint down, and when Mark realized he wasn't just hopeful but wanting this, a lot, he knew that it wasn't all coming from him.

.

"How many more after this?" Mark asked tiredly. It was the following weekend, a Saturday, and he and Brandon had been back and forth through various points of the city all morning, looking at apartments and even one actual house through appointments Brandon had set up.

"Just one." He looked up from his phone and frowned. "You didn't sleep after work, did you?"

Mark shrugged, leaning his head back against the seat in Brandon's car. "Figured I might after we were done with this all today."

"You got to work tonight?"

"Nah."

"Good." Brandon turned back to his phone and swiped left and right on notifications as they popped up. "We have one more apartment in this area in half an hour, six blocks north from here. But...dude, I dunno." He looked up and then over his shoulder, back at the building they had most recently exited. "I kinda really liked this last one. It's a really good location—close to work for you, a lot of my clients are in this neighborhood or not far—and they're allowing pets, so I can easily bring the Monster. I'd handle the extra deposit, of course."

Mark shrugged again; he hadn't felt any particular draw toward or away from any of the places they'd seen so far. "Whichever," he said, leaving off the last bit as he'd said it many times already. As long as we can afford it—his answer at almost every point so far. He truly didn't care, and Brandon wouldn't settle for something that was disgusting or otherwise awful, so he was perfectly fine leaving most of those decisions to him. He'd given a rough approximation of how much he took in from work, so that they would have a starting point, and while Brandon hadn't shared his own income information, he seemed to think it was fine. He had insisted, though, that Mark come along today to look at potential apartments, as any that they applied for might possibly be his new home as well.

"What if we don't find anything we like?" Mark had asked, not necessarily wanting to, but needing to put it on the radar. "Or if nothing good's available right away when you have to clear out?"

Brandon had shrugged that time. "I might throw my shit in storage and live on Kylen's couch for a while. Or wherever. I'll see about that after I check listings and make some appointments for showings and think more about that decision."

There was also the fold-out sofa in the den in Mark's parents' house, and he was sure they wouldn't mind Brandon staying with them for a while if needed, but Mark had been encouraged by Brandon's excitement as he'd started making calls and sending emails after their conversation last week. He'd claimed that he wasn't one hundred percent on staying yet, but Mark was pretty sure that if they found a place, he would be. Mark had spoken to both Andrew and Keith, who agreed that the band had something great going and didn't want to lose their lead guitarist/main songwriter/manager, attempting to gently nudge one or both of them into getting excited for their music again. Coming to practice and actually playing and writing songs, and playing songs they'd all written, talking about the future and trying to get gigs and make a name for themselves, was a key piece of Brandon's reluctance to stay with his family. It would kill him to say goodbye to them, but he had so much here. Those he was close to here had so much in him, too, and they would feel that loss pretty strongly.

Brandon glanced over, eyebrows raised. "Let's get a coffee—or whatever else cup full of sugar and caffeine you want—and I can start the application for that one while we're waiting for time to go to the next one?"

"Sure."

They went to Starbucks and got Brandon his lifeblood and Mark an energy drink, both of which they were grateful for as they trekked up to the fifth floor in the next building—a building without elevators. It was only four sets of stairs and they were young and strong, so Mark kept a lid on his complaints after seeing an elderly woman with a cane in the lobby, but he grinned a little as Brandon let out an exaggerated, annoyed exhale when they finally reached the landing for floor five.

"Jesus, I don't know about this every goddamn day," he grumbled. "Actually, even more than that, since we both sometimes come and go a lot. Can you imagine having to climb that shit after you work all night?"

Mark shrugged again while he followed Brandon to a door that was a little ajar halfway down the long corridor. "Lots of people do it."

"That doesn't mean it's not inconvenient as fuck, and I'm not that interested in—hello," Brandon said quickly as a middle-aged woman wearing a STOP DEEPWATER DRILLING sweater opened the door more fully.

"Hello," she greeted warmly, and Mark knew that a) this was the landlord, and b) she was choosing to ignore that she'd heard any of their conversation. It was a fairly big point of contention for a lot of the applicants in the area and she was having trouble getting the units over the third floor occupied. "Brandon and...Mark?"

"Yes, I'm Brandon Hayes," he said, sticking a hand out. "This is Mark Allgeyer."

She shook with him and then Mark, who said hi but then hung back slightly, as Brandon was the one with the questions and comments. He had plenty as the landlord showed them the entryway/mudroom, living room, both bedrooms, kitchen, and began listing off which businesses were nearby. "We remodeled the whole building last year," she said, gesturing vaguely as they stood in the living room. "As I said, the bathroom and kitchen are both new, and we've done fresh paint after the last tenants moved out. The carpet was new with the remodel so it's a year old, but it's been professionally cleaned and revitalized."

Revitalized carpet, shit. This was the place. Mark turned away so that she wouldn't see him smirk as Brandon asked about the pet policy. "Not bad," was his verdict as they headed down the final set of stairs and out the main door. "Could be a contender for my second choice, if not for the eight million stairs."

"Better not forget toilet paper at the store, then."

Brandon snorted as he unlocked his car and they got in. "I still really favor the one we saw before this one," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I couldn't finish with all of the application before we had to leave to be here on time, but I'll do that later today while I do this one, since it's paper too." He'd thrown his folder with a few documents including five real wood-and-pulp concoctions they'd gotten earlier this morning on the backseat, and gave it a dissatisfied glance as he looked over his shoulder to change lanes. Only the second to last place, that he'd liked the most, had been run by a business versus a private owner, and so had a website for applications to rent or lease. Since he did almost everything on his phone or computer and kept all of his information there, it had annoyed him that the others still used paper. "What year is it?" he'd mocked earlier. "Thought we were going green."

"Yeah, it was pretty nice," Mark allowed. He wasn't holding out much hope on that one himself—it being business-owned and accessible online likely meant there would be more applicants, and Brandon did have to put 'unemployed' on his half of the applications. (Some of them did not have spaces for amounts in savings or trust funds or other sources of income, and he'd grumbled about having to create his own attachments as well.)

Brandon offered to take them both back to his (for now) room, but Mark was pretty tired from working and all of the appointments (and not sleeping), so he dropped him off at his parents' and took off, likely back to his own dad's place so that he could get started on the applications that minute. If there was a place to be found, Mark was sure that Brandon would find it, probably the only thing working against them being the time frame for his family leaving and him having to clear out for realtors to get their claws in. Mark hadn't told his parents he might move out yet, but he hadn't been hedging at all when he'd told Brandon that things were okay (at least for now). They would probably not be ultra thrilled with it, but he was twenty. He hadn't made a thing of looking for a place ever since he'd turned eighteen because, even when not considering the frequent times his parents had needed his income to stay half a step ahead of the bills, he was fine here. Brandon's stepdad had suggested to him last year that he could move out and he'd briefly considered it—enough to halfheartedly make the same suggestion to Mark—but had ultimately come to the same conclusion. Now, Brandon needed a place if he was staying, and since Mark's parents didn't really need him right now...

Mark sat at the kitchen table and ate some cereal, munching it slowly and looking around. He didn't remember the house his family had lived in prior to their move when he was five; this house was all he knew. He knew the nick in the door frame to the hallway, from when his dad had been carrying part of the new kitchen table and it had slid from his hands and fell. He knew the notches in the garage that showed how much he'd grown each year. He knew where all the light switches were in the dark, all the sounds of settling, how the furnace smelled when it kicked on for the first time in the fall. People got used to new places all the time and he was sure he would too, but he would definitely miss this place as well. It would be weird living somewhere else, calling somewhere else home. And what if some other shit befell his parents, such as another disaster with the bar, his mom's job, one of their vehicles? He worried about taking his income, that extra line of safety, away from them and having to put it toward his own rent and utilities and whatever...but that was how it went, right? He was an adult and probably it was time for him to try to be at least somewhat on his own, if he could. If bad shit happened, he could try to help out as much as he could, just like he always had.

He heard movement in the hall, and a moment later his mom came into the kitchen, still a little sleepy-eyed (if he slept like the dead, as his friends often told him, his mother slept like the entire graveyard), but she smiled at him as she shuffled toward the coffeemaker on the counter and switched it on. "Hi, honey. You're up early," she said, stifling a yawn.

He smiled around his spoonful of generic Cap'n Crunch. It was almost noon...which meant it was, indeed, early. "Had some shit to do," he said, as he crunched and then swallowed. "And I'm off tonight."

"Oh, good! Do you have plans?" His mom looked at him, her gaze a little more brightly interested, though some of that was probably the coffee smell.

"Not really," he said slowly as she sat down at the table to wait for the brewer to finish. "But...I do maybe have something to talk about with you and dad. Nothing bad," he went on quickly—her face stayed the same, but he felt the ice pick in her stomach. There was always something. "It's just...well, Brandon found out that his dad and all the little kids are moving back to Boston."

"Oh no," she said, grimacing. "Does that mean he's going too?"

"Not sure yet." Mark looked down at the dregs of cereal and milk in his bowl, now basically a sweetened corn and oat flavored mush. "He's actually—I think he might stay. But that means he needs his own place, and apartments in the city now need your right hand plus whichever kidney you're not using...so...I might get a place with him." He glanced up and saw that she was smiling again, but a little sadly. She got it.

The coffeemaker made its strangulated gurgling sounds that meant it was finished, and Colette got up to get a mug and the sugar. "Been looking at apartments this morning?" she asked as she measured out two tablespoons to dump into her cup.

"A few. One or two look good. He's dealing with applying and all that shit, I just had to go along and make sure I wouldn't hate living there."

Colette smiled again as she added coffee and put the pot back on the warmer, then grabbed the half & half out of the fridge to whiten the darkness in her mug. She glanced back at him to see if he wanted anything out of the fridge before she closed it, and he shook his head. She joined him back at the table, stirred and tasted her coffee, then drank deeply. Mark thought about coffee as she drank and he ate more of his soggy cereal, wishing again that he liked it. Apparently everyone else in the world knew about its amazing wakeup powers, something he sometimes really could have used, but it turned his stomach. The smell was fine, but the smell didn't get him ready for a day when it was zero degrees outside and he'd had four hours of sleep. Brandon had offered him different varieties through the last few years, trying to help him find some kind of coffee that he liked, but every drink he'd ever received was then finished by Brandon (or Kylen or Andrew) after one or two sips.

"When your dad and I were just married, before we had you, I used to sort of like looking for a new place," his mother said after a moment. "We lived in probably half a dozen before we got the house when you were a baby. I used to think it was kinda fun—not necessarily the moving part, since it was always so tiring, and such a big production—but the 'newness' of a place. Setting it up just as I liked, having your dad move a shelf here or a chair there. Looking at empty houses or apartments and imagining, putting myself there. As long as we weren't on a tight timetable, I took my time with it, making sure the place we were signing for was a good place."

Mark had been smiling a little, thinking of her standing in an empty living room, like he and Brandon had earlier, gazing around with her creative eye opened all the way. "There is a little bit of a tight timetable," he said. "I guess the little kids' mom and his stepdad already have jobs transferred, and as soon as the next kid is born—which will be any day now—they're going back to find apartments or six-month-lease houses. Then, as soon as they do that, everyone's getting packed and going." He glanced down at his bowl, where he'd been re-smushing the rest of his cereal with the bottom of his spoon. "I think Brandon said he figures he's got a month left at the most. They can sell their current houses after they leave, so they're not worried about that. Just...getting new places and clearing out."

His mom had a skeptical look now. "Is Chicago that bad? I've never been to Boston...but I kind of like it here."

Mark shrugged. It was Chicago; there was good and bad. But it was home, at least for him...and, hopefully, for Brandon too. "I guess his dad and the kids' mom want to live in the suburbs so it's better for the kids. And there was something about her just wanting to go back to the east coast, and getting better job offers, I don't know. I guess that train's left the station, though."

Colette nodded as she finished her coffee and looked at the pot, and Mark knew she was contemplating another cup right away or making some food first. She then glanced at his bowl and nodded to it. "All done?"

He put the spoon in the bowl and took his hand away from it. "Yeah."

She took them to the sink, running water to rinse them before stacking with the rest of the dishes from last night. She made a new cup of coffee while he sat and waited, knowing that she was thinking; his mother was a quiet person, introspective and astute, and when she had something to say to him, he listened.

"It was such a stroke of luck, that lottery ticket you won," she said as she sat back down, and he nodded. It had paid off a good portion of their debt and had gotten her a new(ish) car, one that didn't need some sort of dumbass fucking repair every other month. She had been able to get a better job, and they could all breathe. "With me working so regularly, and with your father's bar doing a little better, him taking in more mechanic or handyman jobs...we're doing more okay now than we have in a long, long time."

"Yeah," Mark said quietly. He didn't want to take that away from them. This was actually the best they had done...since he could remember. Since before they moved, when his grandfather died and they'd began taking care of his grandmother and the first time his father had gotten laid off. They actually had a savings account now, once that they continued to deposit into. He knew how quickly it could all be taken away, even with just one minute of bad luck.

"Meaning," Colette went on, "that I think you should. Move out." She nodded seriously when he looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "You're twenty now, and all of us are doing fine. You've done so much—" She stopped short and looked away for a second, blinking fast, and his mouth twisted, not wanting her to feel sad or guilty at how much he had worked and contributed. They were a family, that's what he was supposed to do once he was able. But both of his parents still were guilty every time he gave them money or paid a bill, and nothing he'd ever said had changed it. They were supposed to provide for him, not the other way around—he knew both of them would still hold that belief even when he was married with his own kids. "You've grown so much in the last few years," she continued a few seconds later, her voice softer. "But you still have a lot to learn and to experience and take in. Living on your own—even with a roommate, because it's still not your parents'—will help teach you a lot about life. If you boys can find a place that isn't crawling or doesn't actually cost any body parts, then...I think it's time."

If she really felt that way—and he knew she did, he could feel it—then he knew his dad would feel the same way. It wasn't that he'd been worried, exactly, about telling them...he'd just been worried about them. "Okay," he said. "Then...I'm probably going to. I know he'll find something, I just don't—I have no idea how long it could take, especially if he needs a place in the next few weeks since they're leaving and his stepdad is going to be trying to sell the house right away. Or giving it to a realtor, whatever, I don't really know how that works." He shrugged, and smiled a little when his mom did too. "I think he said he's still not fully sure he's going...he wanted to see if finding a place here was even an option. So if he doesn't in enough time where he'd have to get out of the house so that it could be shown to buyers, and doesn't have anything here..."

His mom shrugged again. "We've got an extra couch, if he needs a temporary place to sleep while finding an apartment. He's helped you a lot over the years, too."

Mark grinned; he'd been hoping she or his dad would say something like that, and he'd thought that they probably would. They'd both seen a lot of his friends over the years, but Brandon had been the most common as they tended to spend the most time together, and they'd both always seemed to like him. "I'll tell him. That might help make a decision."

"Do you think he wants to stay?"

"Yeah, but..." Mark had to shrug again. "He really loves those little kids. And his dad—that's all he's got, since his mom died and his grandparents are in Russia. I guess they don't talk to his dad's parents."

"What about your band?"

"That's another thing that he wants to stay for. And he's seeing someone, I guess that's going all right. But there's the band and a lot of our friends here, and he won't really know anyone going back there, either." He would have to rebuild his business as well, and, apparently, he was doing quite well enough with what he had here. That'd be a hit with his income, and he'd have to either stay living with his dad and stepdad and the kids, rely on his dad's money to get a place, or get a job or more than one in order to get his own place. And Mark had the feeling he was liking looking at apartments and imagining himself there, having that real independence.

Colette nodded again as she drank down the last of her second coffee. "Well...honey, if you're deciding to move out, it's perfectly fine. Let me know what I or your dad can do to help—I'm sure he can help you move some furniture or whatever you'll be needing. Will you be needing furniture? There's a not-bad-at-all used place I see on my way to work."

"Maybe." Mark frowned a little—he hadn't thought of that. "He has a lot of shit already. We'll probably be okay, at least for now, if we're able to get a place with appliances we can use." They each had bedroom shit already, of course, and with Brandon's room being the whole attic that he'd used as a hangout for the last four years, he'd collected a few not-bad-at-all pieces of furniture they could likely use in a living room in a new place. He had a couch, a chair, a TV on a stand that could hold game consoles and a cable box and whatever else, a coffee table, a couple of end tables, a few bookshelves, a mini-fridge with a freezer, and, probably, his father would be willing to foot the bill on anything new he or they wanted if he asked. "I think at least the major appliances—stove and refrigerator—come with a lot of apartments now. And a microwave shouldn't be too much."

"What about dishes?" His mother brightened, smiling and straightening up a little more. "I'll get you dishes. Let me get you dishes and silverware."

"Nothing too expensive or fancy," he said at once. "It's just for food."

"It can still look nice—I'll see what's cheap. A lot of separates can be gotten at the dollar store, so I'm sure I can put together a set that matches."

Mark grinned again; she would, too, as she was great at making something amazing out of something small. "Cool. Thanks."

"Absolutely. You'll need a basic set of plastic containers and pots and pans too." This was more to herself as she glanced around the kitchen, studying each cupboard door and remembering what was in there.

"We got time. Haven't even found a place yet—only really started looking today."

She nodded. "All right, I'll look around for a little bit. Let me know when you think you've struck gold and I'll get it ready for you."

"That sounds great." He stifled a yawn into the back of his hand. "I think I'm gonna go take a nap. I stayed up after work to go look at those places, and now I'm dead."

His mom raised her eyebrows hopefully. "Think you can rake up some of leaves in the front yard later? We got a bunch dropping down from that storm last night. I was going to remind your dad, but he left early and picked up Carl to help him with someone's transmission, so he'll be gone all day and possibly all night."

"Yeah, sure." If he remembered. He pulled his phone out and added a note with a timer, hoping he would see it later.

"Great. Thanks, honey. I think I'm going to get the laundry sorted, but I'll run it this evening since I said I'd come in for a few hours in the afternoon today. How does fried chicken sound for dinner?"

He grinned yet again, thinking that this was another thing he'd missed or not thought of that he wouldn't have in a new apartment with his friend instead of a home with his parents. Not only was his mom a great cook, homemade fried chicken was his favorite—and she knew it. "Sounds awesome," he said as he got up and put his chair in. "Thanks mom."

He went up to his room, the same room he'd had since the summer before kindergarten, and lay down on his back, gazing up at the same ceiling and looking at the shadows of the leaves and branches of the neighbor's oak against his wall. He was starting to feel excited, though. He'd gone from really hoping his friend would stay because the band needed him and they would all miss him, to hoping he would stay so that they could share an apartment and it would be good for both of them. He hoped the place Brandon wanted would call him back soon so that it would be set, but even if it was another of the non-hellhole places, he'd try to—very gently, barely at all—nudge him into accepting it. If it really sucked they could stick it out for a year and then move somewhere else, and then have time to find a better place like his mom was talking about. Maybe she could even help, if she'd moved herself and his dad around so much before he was born—maybe she could think of a lot of shit a couple of twenty-year-olds like himself and Brandon wouldn't think of.

He turned on his side and picked up his phone from his nightstand to text him. Man I'm gonna go to sleep finally but you should come over later, I was talking to my mom about maybe moving and it sounds like she knows a lot about apartment hunting so maybe she could help?

He put the phone back down and closed his eyes, not at all surprised when he heard his phone buzz a few seconds later, nor at the content of the reply: I've read a lot of articles & have talked to people that rent or have been looking in other cities/chicago specifically but yeah ok just in case they missed something, I'll take whatever info they got.

My parents are old too, Mark texted back. They have seen shit.. shit you don't wanna know about

He snorted at the reply that came almost at once: I demand to know about the old apartment shit.

Lol ok well i'll text you when i'm up also my mom is making fried chicken for dinner your welcome, Mark sent. He saw the three dots, waited, and rolled his eyes at: That's literally so awesome that I'm not even going to correct your grammar. Whatever. Brandon hadn't capitalized 'Chicago' but who was counting? Mark drew a quick chicken leg on the screen with his fingertip and sent it as his response, then put the phone back down and closed his eyes again. The next short buzz was probably Brandon liking the drawing, and if not, he'd see whatever he said when he woke up. It was going to be a good sleep, he could tell: he'd worked a full shift yesterday and then had gone around to the apartments, he was no longer a little anxious about talking about moving out with his parents...he was currently in his childhood house and bedroom, feeling safe and secure and so much home. That would change, but that was all right; things were looking up. He sighed a little in contentment as he felt his body relax and his head sink into his pillow, wondering just a little if his bed would feel the same in a new room.

.

Brandon looked down at his phone, frowning, his lips pressed together in a line and one foot tapping the floor irritably. It had been a week since they had looked at apartments and turned in applications, and the time was fast approaching that he would need to give an answer to his dad. He had told him that he could still come with no matter what, that there would be a place for him, and Brandon knew that would be true, but. If he waited until the very last minute to decide to go with...that would be a hassle for everyone, really.

And it wasn't like he was worried about pissing off David, either, who had started fucking whining about space and plans and whatall after his dad had told him that, but. He was more and more accepting the idea that he wanted to stay. Had wanted to from the beginning. There was just too much here—the band, his business, his friends, his boyfriend, everything. Everything except his dad and the kids, and while he didn't want to think about leaving them...it was maybe time to start thinking about leaving them. David and Lynn were currently in Boston or the suburbs, looking for places for them all to move, and he knew damn well neither of them were considering a bedroom for him and he'd either end up crammed in with Shane and Shawn or on the living room sofa in his father's new house. (Or apartment, whatever was available now for the impending move that apparently could not be pushed back due to Lynn's new appointment, which she would take fully as soon as her maternity leave was over. The woman was already planning to start working from home after two weeks. She was hiring a full-time nanny for the kids, but still...)

His first choice, the nicest place, hadn't gotten ahold of him, either by email or phone. He'd wanted that place, if he was going to have a place here, but didn't get the feeling Mark cared too much about it. Plus, yeah, it was a great location and a great price and not up eight million stairs like the one that had just left him a message that they'd been approved and could he please call back with an appointment time to sign the lease, both of them needing to be present with ID. It was still two weeks until his dad and the kids were going, but waiting any longer could be cutting it too fine. It wasn't like he thought he couldn't couchsurf until he did find a place—Kylen's mom would most likely let him, Mark's parents had said they would, apparently. It was just...the not having a plan. That was it. Too much was up in the air and it needed to land.

He checked on Steven, still asleep in his Pack N Play, then texted Mark about the callback and lack of callback, hoping that he would say something helpful, though it was most likely still going to be that forced-neutral 'it's your decision' crap. Sometimes his over-understanding and open-minded friend group pissed him off—he wouldn't be asking for their opinions if he didn't want them. And he wasn't seven. Their feedback, while sometimes nudging him in one direction or another, wouldn't fully lead him anywhere. He had his own mind. Sometimes he just wanted to feel backed up, validated that what he wanted or was going to do was understandable, a good choice.

If you're at home I'll come by and we can talk about it? Mark sent back.

Brandon raised his eyebrows. He texted his dad to make sure he was home and could take Steven for a couple of hours, then replied, I am come on up. That probably meant that he'd have something specific to say...which wouldn't be any forced-neutral shit, at least hopefully. Maybe all it would really take would be one fucking person here directly asking him to stay, telling him that they didn't want him to go. One person. He'd already had to tell the little kids that he might not go, and the looks on their faces—Shane's, mostly, as they were the closest and he was the oldest—were enough to make him want to throw away the whole idea. But they were only kids, and he had his own life...so much was here. It all kept going around in his head, one circle clockwise and the other anti: Link, the band, Mark and Kylen and my business and Chicago. On the other axis: Dad and the kids. The kids. Dad. The kids.

He could, eventually, build his business back up in Boston—Lindsey was going to college there now, so she knew more than enough people—could probably even find enough guys to start or join another band. Could almost certainly find another boyfriend. Any friend group he found wouldn't be the same (Mark and Kylen and Andrew and Luke and Kieran and Matt and) but for all he knew it could also be better. The band was getting a little bit of a following online on certain sites, but he and Kylen promoted them constantly. It would take time, but he could do the same thing for a band he put together in Boston. It would almost be a fresh start for him, as an adult anyway, although he'd feel its familiar pace and know its sounds from having lived there before. He would return different, but there was no reason he couldn't have all the same things there as here.

(This band and Mark and Kylen and Link and my contacts and when the band plays and we have thirty-seven songs that Mark and I wrote I can't take them and I can't take any of Them.)

When Mark arrived about half an hour later, he was staring morosely at the callback number on his phone and biting at his lip, then he looked up and made an annoyed, impatient face when, of course, the first thing Mark said was, "What do you think you want to do?"

"I don't know," he said. "That's the problem. There's—I have so much here, but my Dad, and the kids, and—I—and it's the shitty apartment!" he burst out, throwing up his arms in disgust. "It couldn't have at least been the nice one."

Mark glanced at the Pack N Play. "Got a kid in there?"

"No, I took him downstairs to Dad. He's one of the best sleepers so far."

"Ah." Mark snorted softly as he leaned back against the sofa. "I didn't think it was that shitty. You're just whining about some stairs again, right?"

"Maybe," Brandon grumbled as he opened his desk drawer, got out a joint, and handed it to Mark to light as he stood to turn on his air purifier and grab a can of deodorizer. "It was a lot of stairs."

"Yeah, I guess." Mark got the end going then held it back out. "You know," he began, then exhaled up at the ceiling for a long moment while Brandon waited, pulling off the end of the joint. "There are...a lot of people here who would really miss you," he said finally.

"Yeah?" Brandon asked softly.

Mark nodded, looking off into the distance, and then glancing to and focusing on the small forest of guitar necks along the wall. "And the band, I mean...I kinda think we got some good shit going."

"I thought that too."

"And that's not to say your family also wouldn't miss you, or that you couldn't put together a new band—they will and you can. It's just." Mark shrugged, and Brandon realized then that he hadn't really looked at him since coming in. Ah, he knew this dynamic—straight guys didn't tend to look at other guys much, especially if they were actually trying to express something important that had to do with emotion. It was part of their culture. A stupid part, but then, a lot of it was.

It was quiet for a beat too long, and then Mark said, "Man, what's so fuckin awesome about Boston, anyway? We have organized crime and deep dish pizza."

"If you think you can't find pizza or the mob in Boston you're incredibly fucking mistaken," Brandon said immediately. He remembered ducking into an alley and hiding for the better part of an hour once when he was fifteen because he'd been in Southie—not his territory—for a delivery and was pretty sure he'd been spotted by a couple of guys he really didn't want noticing him.

Mark shrugged again. "Our mob is better. And you can probably make another band, but...this one's probably better, too."

Brandon remembered the joint, saw it had gone out, and relit it while thinking about that. The band was great—they had gotten third place and sixth place the two times they'd played Battle of the Bands in all of the Chicagoland area. He and Mark wrote amazingly well together—their own styles complemented each other's, they were great at fitting things together, they liked to do it a lot, and they almost never argued about it. When he could be nagged into coming to practice, Andrew was a pretty good bass player who could eventually get just about anything down they wanted him to. Keith was a perfectly adequate drummer (not like Brandon cared a hell of a lot about drums—he let them handle it and mostly had been fine with their finished parts for all of NNB's songs) and was so serious-minded that Brandon liked working with him, as there was hardly any fucking around when they actually wanted to get some work done.

"I do really like this band," Brandon said. He knew a lot of other musicians online who often complained about this or that issue with a bandmate; theirs had only ever had the one major issue, their first drummer who had gotten several fists to the face and thrown in the street as a way of ejection from the band when he'd unduly ran his fucking mouth about one of Brandon's exes. The only issues Keith had ever caused was feeling too anxious or depressed or whatever else to make it to practice, but there were also a lot of times Andrew slept in or just blew them off because he was too busy with a goddamn video game or a fucking girl, so it wasn't like they were going to fault him too hard. He would have to start forcing them both—Andrew with vague or specific threats and Keith with more attempts at actually rescheduling and making it later after he was out of a mood or whatever—to get them to be more serious about it if they wanted it to be a serious band. It wasn't like it was impossible. He needed to quit fucking around and try to book them more, record more on his laptop, post them online, promote.

He held out the joint to Mark, who took it and, while looking at its glowing ember, said, "I didn't think that apartment was shitty at all. I'd be up for living there. I could have my shit ready to go by the time you gotta get out of here."

Brandon looked down at his phone again. He pictured telling Link and Kylen and Mark that he was leaving. No—that was—a lot of disappointment, probably resigned and sad. People always said they'd visit but no one ever really kept that up, not with such a distance, and not over time. He'd lose touch with everyone, lose them. He pictured telling his Dad and the kids that he was staying. Dad kind of already figured he would, he knew it. Only Shane and Sammie would really understand, and only Shane would really be upset. But he was really young and would start a lot of things new—pretty soon he'd be distracted enough and get used to everything there. Kids were adaptable, and Shane was a good kid. Dad already said he'd fly him out any time he wanted to visit them, even every month. He'd also promised him quite a sum of money to 'get started' here, if he'd wanted it, so he wouldn't have to be too worried about paying his rent or what the fuck ever, just...learning how to really be on his own. On his own, but with his friends and band and boyfriend. His own life.

"Okay," he said then. Mark glanced at him for the first time and Brandon started to smile when he was pretty sure he saw hope and relief there. "Yeah. Okay. I—I think I'll stay. I'll call this place back...and we can go sign the lease. We gotta bring ID, so you can't hand over that drawing of Shaggy Doo again."

Mark snorted. "Whatever, man. I don't even look like that guy. When do we have to sign?"

"I dunno—tomorrow?" Brandon looked back down at his phone. "I could call back later. Or now. To see when."

He looked up and Mark shrugged at him—but he was actually looking at him again. Brandon decided that he'd been right...yeah. There were a lot of people who really did want him to stay, they just, for one reason or another (not their place, didn't want to pressure him, whatever) couldn't really say it. And he'd barely allowed himself to really think it, not when he also had to make himself consider leaving his dad and the kids. That was going to suck...but he had things to do now, plans to make. A lot of places to call or set up accounts online for utilities, rent the truck, pack—which was going to have to happen either way, he'd just been putting it off until he'd decided, and, well. Yeah. He'd decided. He hit the callback icon on the voicemail to the number that had called him and put the phone up to his ear to confirm when he and Mark could sign their lease.

.

Brandon set a large box down on a stack of the same, then leaned against the wall. Moving up to the fifth floor of a building was a hell of a lot harder than moving down from the third, and he was already annoyingly exhausted. He moved quickly out of the way as Mark and Andrew came to the top landing, both with boxes, both also looking tired.

"You couldn't have hired someone to do this?" Andrew complained.

Brandon shrugged. "Probably. But they likely wouldn't have accepted the same payment."

"I bet they would have. At least for a tip."

"Here's a tip: move." Brandon pointed to the wall on the far end of the living room, where he'd instructed everyone to stack boxes, and Andrew headed over there so that Mark could come inside instead of stand in the doorway. "How much is left?" he asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

Mark set the box he'd been carrying on top of Andrew's and let out a breath. "Not that much," he said. "Delta and Kylen were bringing up some of the little kitchen shit like that coffee maker you ordered and the dishes my mom got." He paused, then added casually, "Luke apparently thinks he's getting out of carrying shit up by 'organizing' and figuring out what goes next."

"My ass he is," Brandon said at once, turning to go back downstairs, not caring that he was reacting to the tattle exactly as they thought he would. It was fine; Mark tended to let 'the little shit' go if he didn't feel like Making It A Thing, which he usually didn't, and Andrew knew who he could stand up to and who he couldn't. Luke wasn't a bully or anything like that, but he did like to get his way, and of their close friend group, only Delta (his girlfriend), Kylen (who would fight anyone and anything), and Brandon himself (who didn't like to let someone slide on anything if they were the sort who would then slide on everything) could effectively get him to cut his shit.

At least the downstairs trips weren't nearly as bad, he thought, as he went by a window facing the west that gave him a view of the busiest nearby intersection. That could be a good indicator as to how traffic was before they even got down to the parking lot...there was a tiny grocery store nearby, but most of their food would probably come from the store where Mark worked, as he got a small discount and might as well just pick up whatever they needed after his shifts. The gas station three blocks away would probably be useful, as would the drugstore and the nearby entrances/exits to several main streets that led to highways and various points all around town. The walkup was still annoying, but he supposed then that the exercise would probably end up working out for his benefit...anything that helped his legs and ass look good was definitely a plus, after all.

He met Delta and Kylen on the stairs, promising again to make this worth her while as Kylen grumbled past him and he held up a hand in front of Delta to slow her. "I'm gonna take organization down here," he said. "You want to take it up there? Apparently some people don't want to help, so we're going to need to give instructions and then get called dictators for it," he said.

"You get called a dictator," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just get called 'bossy'. But I need to use the bathroom anyway, so I can. Unless Mark wants to, since it's your guys' place?"

"He's not great at telling a lot of people what to do, and he'd probably honestly prefer to just carry shit and help get it done so that we're done. He said there wasn't that much left?"

She shrugged. "The truck is almost empty except for the last of the furniture and a few boxes of really heavy shit, then there's whatever small shit y'all have in your cars."

"Mostly guitars and breakable shit. I guess that all doesn't necessarily need to come up now, either. It's the truck that needs to go back tonight."

She shifted the Keurig she was holding to get a better grip on it, then moved some hair out of her face. "Well, maybe me and Ky could probably keep on with all of the little shit," she suggested. "If you guys want to start with the big and heavy shit. Not like, 'we weak wimmins', just—"

"I know," he said, amused. Kylen would probably insist on helping with shelves from his bookcase or something anyway. "That sounds pretty good. Why don't you two have a quick break while I talk to everyone else down here, then I'll text you. Since we might want to keep someone upstairs at all times so we don't need to fuck with the locks and all."

"Okay." Delta turned to go, sighing at the stairs in front of her. Whatever, she didn't have to live here now.

"Someone should stay here to make sure nothing gets stolen," Luke said at once, when Brandon told him to get his ass up and grab the other end of his mattress with Andrew.

So he'd been sitting on that one, of course, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Sure," Brandon said, as Andrew and Mark came back out to the parking lot. "But not you—you've already had a turn. I was the first one up this last time, so I'll stay. And, we should really see if we can get all of this big, heavy shit while the girls take care of the other shit."

"Absolutely not, I'm a feminist," Luke said. "They can carry just as much as we can carry."

"Which in your case has been nothing," Andrew shot. "I wanted to carry nothing."

"No one's carrying nothing," Brandon said.

"You just said you'd stay down here, which means you're the one c—" Luke began, but Andrew threw the half-can of flat Rock Star he'd been drinking from at him.

Luke stood up—which, at 6'4, was all he normally had to do when annoyed—and Andrew threw his arms wide. "Demolish me," he invited. "Then I can rest."

"I'll demolish your mouth and maybe one day you'll give that a—"

"I'd really like to just get it all done so we can chill," Mark said, a little loudly.

"Great idea," Brandon said. "Can you assholes just take the stupid fucking mattress? Luke, I promise you can get him later. Take the bed up and think about it. Get him when he's least expecting it."

"Don't think I won't," Luke said sourly. He bent and picked up one end of the mattress that had been leaning against the side of the truck, and when Andrew sighed and reached for the other side, Luke shoved it into him and almost knocked him over. Brandon gave him a Look, as he didn't want the only place he slept to be covered in gravel, and watched them then take it inside.

Mark sighed heavily and leaned against the moving truck. "I didn't think we had so much shit," he commented, glancing back over his shoulder at the remaining boxes and small furniture.

Brandon shrugged. "It was only one truckload, since we put the rest in our cars. And it looks like more now since your parents and my dad gave us extra shit."

"Yeah, I guess." He took a deep breath and then bent down for another box of what looked like Brandon's books.

"You don't have to carry all my heavy shit," Brandon told him. "I can get that."

Mark shrugged as he shifted it in his arms. "I already picked it up," he said, then began walking toward the building's door again.

Brandon rolled his eyes and then leaned against the back of his car and got his phone out, seeing a message from Link asking when Brandon could get pictures of the unpacked and set up new apartment so that he could see what it looked like before coming over. Probably a few days at least, he sent back. Link was anxious about there being a new and different place where he lived, but they still had to finish moving and then get started on unpacking and deciding where they wanted shit. Brandon himself could do a lot of it, but Mark was still going to be working, although it wouldn't matter if his shit in his own room was still in boxes. Link would want the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and Brandon's room unpacked, so that there would be minimal changes in the future from the first time he saw it, and while he could unpack their shared shit for the kitchen and living room and whatever, Brandon wouldn't want to call everything Done until Mark, who was also living there too, got to have a look and a say.

He texted back Delta and Kylen too, as promised, and let them know that their help getting more of the smaller/lighter/breakable shit from their cars would be good, while he and Mark, Andrew, and Luke got the rest of the heavy boxes and furniture. Kylen wanted to know what he would do if she collapsed in the stairwell outside their door, unable to move from the sheer repetition of stair-climbing, and he was in the middle of typing back that he would simply chuck her out the window when she and Delta came back outside, so he held onto it until he'd graciously helped them find three lamps and a box of guitar pedals and amp cords to take up before hitting send.

.

"Say, 'bye-bye Brandon'!" Lynn instructed.

"Byyyee!" Sari called, waving cheerily from behind the driver's seat of her mother's car, while newborn Steven slept in the middle of the back seat. Shawn and Sammie were in the last row, watching the DVD that David had already gotten going on their car's screen, and both offered the same grin, wave, and, "Bye Brandon!" as if Mommy was just taking them home. Only Shane looked troubled as he sat behind the passenger seat, not taking his eyes from his brother's. As the only one of the little kids that really understood and was upset at the concept of moving away, that Brandon wasn't coming with, he had been the most morose.

"When are you coming to see us?" he asked again.

"After you guys get all your toys unpacked and your rooms fixed up," Brandon said. "Just a couple of weeks, buddy, 'kay?"

"Okay," the little boy mumbled, his eyes downcast.

Brandon felt someone's hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see his father. He suddenly felt like he was going to cry, and he fought to hold on to himself. "Bye, Dad."

Gary looked at him a long moment, then reached up and messed up his hair. Brandon grinned and smoothed it back down, then hugged him tightly. He thought he heard his father sigh, and knew he felt it in the older man's posture. When Brandon pulled back, he promised his dad the same thing he'd told his little brother: "Couple of weeks."

"Whenever you want," Gary said. "Any time you want."

Brandon nodded. "Whenever I can, just let me know."

"And if...you know."

Brandon nodded again, slowly. He knew. He saw David and Lynn coming back toward them then, Lynn pointing and gesturing to a sheet of stationery while David nodded to each thing she said. David stopped next to Gary and raised his eyebrows. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

No, Brandon thought, but he kept his lips pressed together as he watched his dad's partner help him around to the passenger side of the car, adjusting the seat so it went all of the way back. David didn't look at Brandon as he went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat. He looked at Lynn, who glanced back at him and waved, then opened her own car's door and slipped inside. Brandon waved again at all of his siblings, but looked mostly at Shane, who also looked near tears. Lynn started the car, and Brandon almost jumped at the sound.

"Shane, honey, you have to put your window up," Lynn said. "The cold air's bad for the baby."

It was only cool, not exactly cold, but. "Your mom's right," Brandon said, then reached over to lightly tousle his brother's hair. "Be good. Help take care of the babies. You're a great big brother."

"I will."

"And you can call me when you get to your new apartment, okay?"

"Okay." Shane put his hand on the window control, but he let it go up much more slowly than he had put it down. Lynn put the car into drive and followed David and Gary, whose car was waiting at the end of the block for them. Brandon watched until he couldn't see them anymore, then he slowly leaned against the side of his car and looked up at the empty third floor windows.

.

He went up the eight million stairs slowly, not wanting to be tired out when he reached his new home for the first real time. Sure, his shit had all been moved out of his dad's house yesterday, but now they were gone. (David had wanted him to give up his keys, since the realtors were taking possession, but he had refused; if they were smart, the new owners would change all of the locks anyway. His house key and his room key had been used so often over the years that they were smooth where his thumb and fingers would hold them, and they were going in a small box of special shit he kept.) With them being completely moved out of the house as well, he no longer had legal access, and it was literally like a major part of his life was closed to him, was over.

Which was fine. This was his new home. All of his shit was here, now. And—all of Mark's shit was also here, so it wasn't like he was alone, not at all. He'd stayed for them, after all, everyone that was still here: his friends, the band, Link. To have his own life and be independent and grown up and start focusing more on the band, all of that shit.

He slowed when he got up to the last landing, glancing out the window in the hall and seeing the lights—different lights than he'd always seen at home, of course, except now this was home—and pausing at the door to find his new door key among the other keys on his ring. Inside, he heard a few footsteps, something shifting, then, "Hey! You little shit. Knock it off."

Brandon smirked as he found the right key, inserted it, and turned the doorknob, seeing Mark near a pile of boxes they'd already determined belonged to the living room, frowning down at the Monster, who had his ears flattened and seemed equally ready to throw down. Mark looked up at Brandon as he came in and shut the door behind him. "Your cat's an asshole," he announced. "All I was doing was trying to move these over by the wall so they're out of the way, and he clawed at me."

"Shouldn't have picked this one, then, huh?" Brandon leaned down to scoop him up and then flop down on the sofa. His computer desk and chair had gone into his room, so for now, the sofa and an old armchair Mark's mom had found for them were the only places to sit in the living room. He'd like to get another armchair at some point, probably. Monster growled a little, but then settled down onto Brandon's lap as he rubbed his ears and the itchy spot underneath his collar. "He just hates being moved," he said then. "He'll live. He's just a cranky little bastard."

He continued giving his cat some attention while Mark shrugged and started moving the boxes again, looking around the full but bare room and trying still to imagine where things could go. And he was going to have a roommate now, he couldn't be leaving his shit wherever he wanted anymore. He was sad about his dad and the kids going, for sure...but living here, living with Mark and continuing to see Link and keep the band going...that had been the right decision. Definitely.

"Did you eat?" Mark asked suddenly, and Brandon looked over to see him standing with his phone out. He shook his head, and Mark tilted the phone slightly. "Mom wants to know if we're both home yet and if we were hungry, she was gonna bring over a lasagna or something she made. You like that, right? She makes a really good one."

"Hell yeah," Brandon said, sitting up a little. They didn't have a kitchen table yet, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly where the plates and silverware were, and they could put their plates on the coffee table in here. That would probably be a lot better than the cheap pizza or burgers he was envisioning them ordering shortly.

Mark started typing an answer back to his mom, but his phone beeped again before he was finished. "Care if they eat with us?" he asked then. "My dad's got ahold of a folding table and chairs we can use in the kitchen for now, and Mom says she got a bunch of groceries and food shit for the pantry shelf and fridge and whatever."

Brandon shrugged. He'd wanted to spend most of the rest of the night getting started on unpacking, but he could just as easily start in his room as out here, and besides, Mark's parents had helped him a lot and were apparently bringing them more shit over, and he might want to still see them on his first night having moved out of their house. They were still in the same city, unlike Brandon's family, but he could still understand that Mark was going to miss them and not see them as much as he did before.

"Sure," he said. "Are they coming over now? I can find the plates and shit, I know where they are."

"Yeah, all right." Mark sent another answer back to his mother while Brandon lifted his cat up, told him to shut up when he growled again, and put him on the other side of the couch.

He went into the kitchen to locate and unpack the dishes and Mark followed him in, wordlessly taking stacks of plates and bowls from him and putting them in whichever cupboards Brandon indicated. They had just about everything kitchenwise put away, the smaller stack of plates and silverware for lasagna set aside on the counter, when Mark's parents arrived and his mother came in to put a covered dish in the preheated oven. Brandon stood back a little while Mark's dad carried in a flat tabletop with the legs folded in and several large cloth grocery bags, and then he decided to go down with Mark to his dad's truck to get the chairs. They came back upstairs, each lugging two, to find the table set up in a corner and Mark's mom finishing an astonishing display of Tetris ability by cramming their fridge and freezer completely full; they wouldn't have to go shopping for a while, unless it was specific things they wanted, and a glance at the shelves where canned and dry goods were stored further confirmed that.

"You guys didn't have to do all this," Brandon said, setting the chairs he was carrying against the wall while Mark handed his to his dad, then bent and helped his mother pick up the empty grocery bags and packages. His dad had indeed given him quite a 'startup' sum, which he could use for groceries or bills or whatever, though he hadn't really mentioned it to anyone else yet. He'd told Mark that he'd been pretty sure his dad would give him something, but he hadn't expected that much, and it almost felt like bad luck to say anything about it.

"No trouble," Colette said, waving it away as she peeked at the lasagna and then adjusted the oven temperature. "If either of you want, I can show you or write down for you how to make some easy meal things, so that you're not always eating sandwiches or frozen food or takeout that's so expensive. And bad for you."

"I looked up some lists," Brandon said, now watching John unfold and set up each of the chairs. "Fifty twenty-minute meals, bunch of things like that. I used to make dinner for my little brothers and sisters sometimes." He looked over at Mark, who was now leaning against the counter. "Now that you're a grownup living on your own, you can do whatever you want. You get to eat cereal for dinner."

"My favorite," Mark said.

"Cereal is good for you too, but for tonight at least, you're going to have a nice, homemade, hot meal." Colette looked so happy about that Brandon had to turn a little to hide a smile so that they didn't think he was making fun of them or anything. He liked Mark's parents, how they took care of their family first and foremost, by any means necessary. It made him miss his mom, and now he would be missing his dad...so, maybe it would be a good thing if they wanted to come over and eat with them now and then. Brandon had eaten enough dinners with them in the last four years or so.

"If that's going to be ready soon, I'm gonna put my cat away so he doesn't become a nuisance," he said, and turned back to the living room as Colette confirmed it would be ten or fifteen minutes. He had to chase Monster around the living room a little, as he saw Brandon coming and jumped off the couch and evaded his hands around another stack of boxes, but eventually he grabbed him and took his grumpy, growling ass to his new bedroom.

He closed the door and dropped the cat on his bed, which hadn't even been made with the sheets yet, and dropped himself down into the chair in front of his desk. Definitely needed to do his room tonight, and it shouldn't even take that long since a lot of the things that had been in his room before were now living room things. He didn't feel like it just yet though, leaning back a little in his chair and watching Monster walk along the bed and sniff at the wall. He'd had to put the damn litter box in here, since the bathroom was too small and there wasn't really any other place for it, which meant he'd need to start buying the expensive, actually good-quality non-smelling litter and taking care of it multiple times a day, but supposedly the little asshole was worth it.

Brandon's gaze shifted to the window and he looked out from the gap that wasn't covered by the blanket he'd thrown up there (he didn't have curtains and there were no blinds in this place, something he hadn't noticed when they did the walkthrough and had forgotten about), instead of seeing the white light of the single street lamp, there were red/green flashes from the stoplights, two restaurants, a drugstore and a credit/check cashing place. He'd need heavy curtains to block out all of that shit, but at least this room had a window—Mark's would be darker and quieter, and he hadn't cared which room he'd get and had let Brandon choose, but Brandon really felt like he had to have a window if possible.

Monster jumped up on his lap with a little chirpy purr and Brandon grinned down at him, rubbing his ears and feeling him start to purr more steadily. He would be calmer without the little kids around, who always wanted to pet him and play with him, and didn't really always understand 'no that cat's a jerk and he will bite/scratch you'. Lynn had promised them a puppy after they found a new, big enough house in the next year or so, and even though he didn't really like dogs, it for some reason made Brandon feel a little sad that he wouldn't see it. They would have a part of their lives that he wouldn't be a part of, and while of course it made sense, since they were moving halfway across the country, it sucked because he'd always known those kids, known everything that happened with them and their lives. He'd given that up. He knew he'd been growing apart from his dad in the last few years too, since they'd initially moved from Boston to Chicago...he'd had his own friends and his own life. Now they'd get even more distant, and he wouldn't know when things were happening with him, either. When he was fourteen or so, his dad told him everything. Most things. A lot of things. Gary probably literally never in his life told a single person everything, but there were times he knew they'd been close, that he knew his dad trusted him. That would fade further with them being so far away. He'd given that up, too.

But when it came to the alternates—giving up the band, giving up the friends he hung out with and his tidy little business, the boyfriend he still really liked and the two best, closest friends he'd ever had—yeah. He'd been right to stay. It had been the obvious answer all along, it had just...also been the hardest. But it had been time and it was time: time to really start taking care of himself on his own, and time to start his adult life. Maybe he would even try getting a job, what the hell. If things went bad here, he knew he could always decide later to go to Boston, and his dad would help him find a place there. If he changed his mind.

He didn't think he would, though. Mark texted him that his mom was taking the food out of the oven and had set the table, and Brandon messaged back that he'd be right there, stopping to pull a can of treats from a nearby box and give the Monster a couple to occupy him so that he could sneak out of the door without the little dickhead attempting escape, which worked about half the time. It didn't work that time, but Brandon was still fast enough so that the cat had only just jumped off the bed when he closed the door, and he headed to the kitchen still grinning, smelling something good and hearing Mark agreeing with something one of his parents had said. He joined them and sat down at the table, mostly quiet while they ate and he looked around, thinking, home.