Disclaimer: The Dark is Rising Sequence and its characters are property of Susan Cooper. This fiction is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from its 'publication'.
Warnings: implied slash, writing exercise
Pairing: Bran/Will, Will/Bran
Notations: Eiliadau is written with the intent to tell the story of about a year in the lives of Will and Bran from the point at which they meet back up at university on through while working within a frame of 20 themes and thereby 20 short stories (ficlets) that chronicle 'moments' in their lives.
Cuppa (theme: tea)
He takes his tea in a small café on Magdalen, whose name amuses him. His fingers are stained with ink and roughened by long hours turning dry pages. Every so often one hand reaches up in an automatic, swift gesture to brush the fringe from his eyes, neglecting the fact that it will return to its original position the moment he releases it.
The tea, an aromatic cup of 'Prince of Wales', sits at his elbow, slowly going cold as he focuses his attention on his book. The jingle of the door chimes dance around him, unnoticed, as patrons come and go.
It isn't until the chair across the table slides a little noisily across the tile of the floor that he notices his guest. Wide, grey-blue eyes lift from the tome he's been engrossed in, fixing on the interloper, a silent 'o' gracing his lips in surprise.
"Helo, Will," says the man before him, slipping, uninvited, into the vacant chair. "Fancy meeting you here." He says with an arrogant grin that splits his pale face, his amber eyes twinkling in such a way as to suggest he hadn't come to this place by chance.
"Bran," the young man smiles, the light in his eyes at the sight of his friend overpowering the sad loneliness that usually resides there.
The arrogance on the man's face softens into a tenderness at the sound of his name from Will's lips. "You always were the only Sais who pronounced my name right," he says in bemusement.
"You say it like it's a bad thing," Will teases, his tea and book long forgotten.
Bran's chuckle is deep and throaty, a testament to his maturation, and Will feels his heart flutter a little at the sound. "Never that," the pale man intones softly.
A long pause settles between them as they take in the changes in one another. It is neither comfortable, nor uncomfortable, it just is. A span of time, heartbeats, breaths. Then Bran speaks again, a teasing grin crawling up his cheeks and splitting his face. "Magic Café, that's so like you, Will Stanton." And Will's heart flutters again, half in hope, half in fear. "You always were a mysterious kind of guy," he continues and Will's heart settles and constricts, relief mingled with disappointment.
"It's right next to the book store," Will says by way of explanation as he drops his eyes.
They talk for a bit, of this and that, of the years that have passed, of home and trivialities. They talk until Will's tea is long cold as well as long forgotten. And Will thinks, as Bran reaches a hand across the table to clasp his own, Who needs tea anyway?