Chapter Text
Tim gently took the headphones off of his head, setting the foam covered muffs down quietly. He cast his gaze over to the cassette player, tape still lazily spinning inside, and gently clicked the off switch on the Walkman. He stared into space for a long time and sucked in a deep, careful breath, feeling the oxygen flow through his arteries into his fluttering heart. All it took was one loud, forceful exhale for Tim to lose his composure. He collapsed into a flushed heap onto his desk. The flutter of his heart lost its romantic touch, now becoming a concerning medical anomaly. His hands shook and so did his breath, now greedily sucking down huge gulps of air. He dug his head out of his arms to shoot an accusatory glance at the cassette in the player. As quick as a flash, he ejected the tape, ripping it out of the jaws of the Walkman with vigor and slapping the offending tape onto his desk.
“This is stupid,” he mumbled aloud to himself, flush still high along his cheekbones, working its way from under his collar. He glared one last dagger into the tape before letting out another sigh, his intense bravado fading into weary defeat. He scrubbed a hand along his face, leaving it to rest on his cheek. “Is this stupid?” The silence of his room did not answer him.
It was Brian’s birthday in–Tim cast a glance at the calendar on his wall–1 day. Tim fought down the second wave of panic that assaulted him. All of this stressing about his gift and he didn't even know if his friend knew it was his birthday. It seemed inconsistent what the man did and did not remember from his past life, but on the off chance he did remember, Tim thought they deserved to celebrate it.
The mixtape was filled with songs that Brian knew by heart, as well as a few songs that reminded Tim of him. Did some of these songs happen to be very obvious love songs? Yes. Did Tim also write a long winded, page-long letter detailing how important Brian was to him? Also yes. Did all of this read as a godforsaken love confession? Oh absolutely. Is that what Tim intended?
“I don't knowwww.”
Tim resumed his position of slumping over his desk, head buried in his arms. He shut his eyes and took a moment to organize his thoughts. Would he be upset if Brian read it as a confession? No. Did Tim have something he wanted to confess? Yeah probably. Now here’s the big conundrum: was this a confession to the old Brian, or current one?
The man used to be a lot worse at differentiating the two. Their first couple of weeks together were filled with awkward and misplaced familiarity. He made references to things he knew the man he loved back in college adored but instead of excited recollection, he was met with confusion and a blank expression. After their first (and hopefully last) fight around 6 months ago, Hoodie had drawn the line.
“I am not the man you think I am. I am not your college buddy or anyone from your past life. I don't remember that. I don't have years of knowing you to base my forgiveness on.”
And that was that. Tim distanced himself from Hoodie and took time to allow himself to finally come to terms with the fact that Brian Thomas was gone. He had to live without him. He could honor what memories he had of him, but he could not, should not, and would not project those onto the guy that had taken his place. He wanted to get to know him, because after putting the old Brian behind him, Tim realized the two were night and day.
Brian Thomas was the definition of an extrovert. He was sunshine and rainbows and friendliness, all wrapped up in a smile. He was a theater kid, was going for performance art, dreamed of being an actor. He loved sports, soccer, football, basketball, all stuff Tim couldn't give two shits about but would watch alongside him if it meant they could spend the evening together. Brian loved pop music, and musical theater. Taylor Swift and Mama Mia blaring at high volumes in his junky car. He projected a carefree attitude but Tim knew he was constantly observing, keeping an eye on Tim, calling people out when they were being shady. He was fiercely protective of the people he cared about. Overall, Brian Thomas was a great guy.
Hoodie was too, but he was different. He was quiet, besides being literally mute, he also didn’t make as much of an effort to initiate with Tim. When he did, it was always something thoughtful, a detail that Tim had missed in scheduling a mission or his thoughts on a new song. He still loved music, but gravitated towards “the classics.” He still had a big thing for club music from time to time, but tended to avoid louder noises. His head was always on a swivel. He seemed overly cautious of how his body moved through space, sometimes seeming to think twice before he moved. He was something graceful and untouchable in comparison to Tim's bumbling self.
Which made it all the more amazing when Tim could crack open his cold exterior more each day. Underneath it all, Hoodie was insatiably curious. He wanted to understand what made things tick, and was especially interested when Tim dumped his electronics knowledge onto him. He was a great listener.
And instead of the boisterous, immature humor Tim associated with Brian Thomas, his current senses lied with dry, witty snark, always taking Tim by surprise. Whenever he laughed at Hoodie’s jokes he was rewarded with the man literally brightening up. His posture straightened, his head would raise a little higher, and he would lean a little closer towards Tim to laugh, as if the quiet, hissing snickers that bubbled from beneath his mask were a secret for just the two of them.
Hoodie was also touchier. Nothing was hidden behind the guise of a one-armed, dap-up, hug, thing that Tim still hadn't been able to get right despite the numerous times Brian Thomas had initiated it. Hoodie dished out gentle punches on the shoulder when the two were snarking back and forth, a playful shove from a bump of his hips when Tim stood in the way, a hand tightly wound around Tim's own when wandering the woods in the dark, and the occasional head rested on the dark haired man’s shoulder after a long day, pressing close to each other for comfort.
Loving Brian Thomas felt like fire. It felt like desperation and anxiety and hope and excitement, and everything all at once. It scared him. He worried it could burn out at any moment, that if Brian knew, he would break Tim's heart with a gentle rejection and they would drift apart.
Loving Hoodie-or just Brian, felt like magma. It was quiet, calm, and undeniable. The weight of it was heavy, knowing that they could lose each other at any moment, but that's what made it all the more intense. This love took the form of quiet understanding, comfort after nightmares, and keeping each other in line and sane. The conditions were much more dire, especially because they only had each other, but there was nothing frantic about it.
Tim sat up again and began folding his letter, carefully taping it shut. He then labeled the tape “for Brian” ending the label with a heart. He packed up the Walkman in the box it came in, gently placing the tape and the letter inside. He took the brown butcher’s paper (for some goddamn reason the closest grocery store that was an hour away didn’t have proper wrapping paper) and wrapped the gift. When he was done, he taped down the wrinkled corners and wrapped a twine ribbon around it. He ended it by scribbling “For: Brian. From: Tim” on the face of the box.
Suddenly he felt like he could breathe again. Being in limbo was much more painful than making a choice, and Tim's choice was admittedly, to let Brian make it. If his friend wanted to read it as a confession, he could, and if he accepted it, Tim would be more than happy to see that play out. If he didn't accept it, Tim decided (after the past 30 minutes of grumbling to himself) that he would be okay. They would be okay. They were both grown enough to not let this noncommittal confession, hidden behind plausible deniability, ruin things.
Was Tim scared? Yeah. But was he done acting like a lovesick teenager and ready to get this over with? Fuck yeah.
So the next day Brian opened his door to a box labeled with his name.