Notes:

For the sake of all of our sanities, I've basically ignored everything that happened to Brandon in the s1 finale, apart from the fact that he moved back home.

Title from Daniel Johnston's 'True love will find you in the end'.

Thank you to mirbells for beta-reading.

Callie was used to gutting it out through bad feelings. She was used to enduring.

She just wasn't used to enduring while sitting in a beautiful kitchen lit by morning sunshine and filled with the smell of fresh pancakes. She fidgeted in her seat. She scraped her fork across her plate. She sneaked a glance across the table. And, from the boy who sat there, she found only lowered lashes, a furrowed brow, a closed expression.

She kicked one bare foot experimentally and her toes brushed his ankle. The two of them froze like that for a moment; the tiniest skin-to-skin contact and she felt fused to him, helplessly. Then he moved his leg and the moment reset.

She looked down at her plate and lifted a forkful of pancakes to her mouth, chewing without tasting. She watched his hand as it picked up the syrup bottle. She watched as a single rivulet of syrup dripped down his hand, catching in the V between his index and middle fingers. He replaced the bottle and laid a syrup-sweet hand on the table.

It was impossible for Callie to eat pancakes seated opposite Brandon and not think of the apartment that never was – the love seat that never was; the kitchen table that never was; the life that never was.

She looked down at his hand on the table, just inches from her own. It made her lightheaded – the feeling of wanting.

Callie was used to gutting it out. She was used to enduring.

But all she wanted to do was reach over, lift his hand, and press his syrup-sweet fingers to her lips.

"I mean, I miss him, obviously. But I don't miss him miss him. It's, like… it's fine. I'm not gonna be one of those girls. Cry all the time. Throw myself off a cliff. It's fine. I can miss him and still be fine."

In their bedroom, Callie listened silently as Mariana rambled on about Zac.

"Moms said I can go to Arizona in the summer," Mariana continued, unconvincing in each cheerful word. "And that's only a couple months away. That's nothing. This whole thing will just be a cute story we tell our kids one day."

Mariana gave a forced laugh and then launched into a long monologue about baby names ("I really like Regano for a boy, and maybe, like, Lilabeth for a girl").

Callie, who was not really needed in this conversation, let her thoughts overtake her. She wondered absently if she was just as unconvincing as Mariana.

When Lena cautiously asked how Callie was finding it now that Brandon was back at home, did her lie – "It's fine, it's good that everything's back to normal" – ring just as false as Mariana's airy claims about not missing Zac?

Since Brandon's return to the house, he and Callie had become scrupulous about avoiding one another. As if acting according to unspoken rules, they'd established routines that minimized any time spent alone together.

Morning was the most fraught time. The hazard level was high. There was always the possibility of bumping into each other on the way to and from the bathroom, half-dressed and half-awake. There was potential for bedroom doors to be left cracked open as they changed. And Callie was acutely aware of the sleepy longing that rose from her like steam as she and Brandon sat jammed together at the breakfast table. For this reason, morning routines needed to be rigid.

Brandon was an early riser and he often grabbed breakfast to go, blaming piano practice or homework. He left for school early, in his own car, occasionally taking Jude or Jesus if they were ready in time. Callie was, by design, never ready in time. Though she was often the first to shower in the morning, she purposely dragged her feet. Sometimes she was ready even later than Mariana (a true feat). Invariably, she rode with Lena and the others to school.

Routines made her life easier. But not every moment could be scheduled.

Inevitably, each day was filled with a hundred almosts. The brush of skin against skin as he handed her a plate at dinner. The way his body twisted (away from her, toward her) as they passed on the stairs. The way his hand found the small of her back, automatically, as the family jostled into the living room for movie night.

Every moment could have been a precursor to a kiss. Every moment was an almost.

Worst of all were the moments when all the best laid plans fell away and they ended up alone together after all. She'd wander into an empty room and realize it wasn't empty at all. Brandon was pouring juice in the kitchen. Brandon was reading his History textbook in the living room. Brandon was listening to music through earphones on the porch. And they were alone. Together.

Every time, a sudden heat rushed to fill the room. Callie felt it prickle at her skin, color rising up her neck. The heat was a reminder. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how rigid her schedules, her feelings for Brandon remained rooted inside of her.

Every time, her resolve wavered. And, every time, Brandon got up and walked out of the room.

Three weeks had passed since Brandon had come home.

Three weeks has passed and Brandon had been nothing but congenial. He asked how she was finding Algebra. He offered to let her borrow his computer for an assignment. He passed her the syrup on days when family breakfast couldn't be avoided.

And he never once looked her in the eye for more than a second.

It was three a.m. when Callie climbed out of bed. Somewhere in the darkest reaches of her mind, it was always three a.m. – and, when the clock ticked around to three a.m. each night, her mind liked to remind her of that fact.

In bare feet, she padded out of her room, past a sleeping Mariana. Her footsteps made only the slightest shuffle-and-squeak as she walked downstairs. The house slept on.

Downstairs, in the dark living room, she took a seat on the couch and thought back to when it had been her bed. Not even her bed. A bed. A temporary stop before life catapulted her onward.

Back then, her feelings for Brandon had been wisps in the back of her mind. A possibility, but one that was easily ignored. Now her feelings for Brandon had thickened to a fog. It clouded her mind.

It was a terrible thing to wish away her current happiness. To wish away her new family, her new life, the bed of very her own that waited for her upstairs. But part of her wished she could go back – to a time when this couch was her bed; to a time when she'd genuinely believed she didn't need anyone but Jude.

Callie curled up on the couch-bed and wrapped herself in a blanket. The blanket smelled of Lena's lilac-scented perfume and Stef's drugstore hand lotion. She rubbed the scratchy-soft wool against her skin.

And, as she began to cry, she watched the tears catch on the fibres, like raindrops on a spider web. She needed to cry at night so that she could breathe during the day. That was the simple fact of it.

Lately, though, her lungs still felt heavy and fit-to-burst, no matter how much she cried.

She didn't hear Brandon's approach until he spoke.

"Sorry… I came down for some water," he said, his form a shadow in the doorway.

She sat up, straight-backed all of a sudden, and wiped away her tears quickly.

"Oh hey… I was just… you know, Mariana kinda snores when she gets her allergies, so sometimes I… sleep down here. But don't tell her I told you," Callie gabbled.

Brandon was silent, still shrouded in darkness. She heard him release a long breath. Then he turned to leave.

Callie felt her relief mingle with disappointment as she watched his retreating back.

Then, just as suddenly, he turned around and walked back into the living room.

"I didn't come down for water," he said in a rush. "I came down to check on you."

The glow of the streetlight filtered in through the half-drawn blinds of the living room windows. A slice of muddy yellow light hit Brandon across the face, but his eyes remained wells of darkness. Unreadable.

"So are you," he said, "okay."

"Yeah," Callie said. Barely able to mouth the word, she forced herself to speak the next two aloud: "I'm okay."

She listened as Brandon let out another sighing breath.

"…How about that's bullshit?" he said at last, shaking his head. "I can pretend, Callie. I can pretend everything's normal. I can pretend I don't miss you. But I can't pretend I don't know you're crying."

Callie felt her throat constrict, new tears forming in her eyes. Furious at herself, she wiped them away. She tried to find her voice, find the lies to tell him he was wrong – she was fine – but her voice was gone and Brandon was still talking.

"I can't pretend I don't know about this whole routine of yours," Brandon said. "Three a.m., every morning, you come downstairs. You sit on the couch and you cry. Not for long. That's the whole point, I guess. You need to give yourself time for your face to go back to normal.

"So I guess maybe you cry from three till four. Very regimented of you." Brandon let out a single breath of sad laughter. "And I guess then you sit and you stare at the walls and you wait for morning. I never hear you crying after four, but you're also never in your bed.

"You're always the first one in the shower in the morning, but always the last one ready for school. I bet you think I didn't notice that."

Brandon took a few cautious steps toward her. He hesitated a moment longer and then took a seat on the couch. Now he was close enough for her to see his expression; close enough to see the sadness that pooled in his eyes.

"Callie… is it because of me? Are you crying every night because I moved back?"

She shook her head. She looked down, searching for the right words and finding only approximations.

"No, it's… it's hard to explain," she said at last. She sucked in a deep breath, but the air only seemed to skate the top of her lungs.

"You know Cole?" she said haltingly. "My friend, Cole. He finally found a new foster place. It lasted two days. I don't know what happened, but he's back in a group home again. And Daphne found out it could be another year before she can get her daughter back. She just lost her job and she's… slipping. I can see this darkness creeping back into her life. This sadness.

"And me… I'm… here. And I have everything. I feel guilty. And I'm scared. I'm still so scared. That the bad luck will catch up to me. The darkness will catch up." She could feel the tears threatening to overwhelm her voice. "It was a lot easier," she choked out, "when I had nothing. Because I didn't have anything to lose."

The tears came thick and fast now, dripping off the end of her nose, obscuring her vision. She couldn't see Brandon as he placed his hands on her shoulders; she could only feel him, drawing her close, wrapping her up in his embrace. He felt solid and warm. And, as he hugged her tight, she felt the heaviness in her lungs begin to dissipate.

She cried for a long time and Brandon didn't say anything. He didn't shhh her or whisper platitudes. He just held her – his breath steady, the rise and fall of his chest comforting. And, finally, after her tears ran dry, she felt like she could breathe again.

Sleep pulled her in slowly. For the first time in a long time, she slept soundly and peacefully. Brandon must have let her go at some point, but she wasn't aware of when it happened. She went to sleep locked in his arms, but woke up alone on the couch, the perfumed, scratchy-soft blanket tucked around her.

She wondered briefly if he'd watched her as she slept, if he'd pressed a kiss to her sleeping forehead or cheek or shoulder. She pushed the thoughts away and went upstairs to shower.

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Stef said to Brandon, heaping pancakes onto his plate. "Running late this morning? You're usually out the door."

Brandon lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his mouth already full of pancakes.

"Callie… pancakes…?"

Callie took two of the pancakes that Stef offered and then reached for the syrup. Brandon went for the syrup at the same time. His hand covered hers for a moment too long before he drew back.

As Callie poured syrup over her pancakes, the syrup dripped down her hand, catching in the V between her index and middle fingers. She lifted her hand to her mouth and licked off the syrup sweetness.

She looked across the table at Brandon, who was watching her. Their eyes met and, for the first time in three weeks, he didn't look away.

Next chapter:

Brandon teaches Callie to play piano. Also… kissing.