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Gabe isn't as well. Gabe hasn't been well for almost three weeks now. (Since the day Brendon left, really.)Currently, he's spending his time counting ceiling tiles in his kitchen, too weak, too fucking upset, to move from where he passed out the night before. Without Brendon there to clean up the mess, the place looks like a disaster area and he's more than slightly sure that the living room will be much worse off. He doesn't even know most of (see: any) of the people who were there the night before, hasn't a fucking clue what the rest of the house looks like or what he'd done. He vaguely remembers having people here, yes. He also sort of remembers getting a ride here from some kids - barely legal he'd say, much less legal drinking age- and finishing off a bottle of jack daniels in the backseat of some stranger's car. He can't remember much more, a night drinking, a party, maybe some heroin somewhere along the lines. He doesn't want to think about that though. He's got a pounding in his head (and in his chest as far as he can tell. Anxiety. But that's probably a good thing, right? That means he's still breathing, still living, still physically alive. And really, at times that just might be suprising to him) and the sun coming in through the small window over the sink fucking stings, and that's really all he can focus on right now.
He very nearly calls out for Brendon, for an aspirin and some water. Something to hold on to. Brendon, he's always there, he's always close and warm and caring. Gabe likes that, he likes that a fucking lot. Gabe, as self righteous as he may be, is needier than most. He needs attention, he needs someone close to him, he needs to feel as if he's got something stable to fall back on. That's why when the foundation beneath him seemingly fell out and he didn't have his career, his band, his music to support him - to pull him through when he starts to lose his head, like the drugs do (like Brendon does) - he fell apart. Gabe isn't selfish, just needy. That's how he sees it.
Gabe really has every intent to lay there for the rest of the day, even if the throbbing at the back of his skull is getting sort of unbearable, but he can't. Because he's cold and he feels like he can't fucking breathe and he knows he's having some kind of panic attack or some shit, you know? Which is exactly what he needs right now, a hangover and a fucking anxiety attack. He manages to get to the couch before he collapses again because his back is sore from sleeping on the hard tiled floor and his knees feel sort of weak. He turns onto his side to face the back of the couch, finds a blanket thrown over the back of the couch and pulls it down over himself. He thinks he might still have shoes on and he should probably take them off, but he can't be fucked.
His mind, it's everywhere right now. Everywhere it shouldn't be. What Gabe should be concerned about is if he'll be able to make it to the toilet, or where Brendon keeps the aspirin, or why the living room window is open. Instead, he's thinking about the first time he met Brendon. Young, vibrant, fucking full of life and so fucking smart too. How he could wind up in this with Gabe, honestly, Gabe doesn't even fucking know at all. He's stuck around though, through and through. Where as the band, his old friends - everyone - left almost as soon as he started deteriorating, started being a little too argumentative, demanding, emotional and uncontrollable. Started doing drugs again, kept drinking. (but now he's got more time. More hours of thought and strain and fucking sulking. Now Gabe has an excuse.) Brendon has been around to talk him down or cheer him up even before the drugs, and until now he hasn't left. Not fucking once. Gabe thinks maybe he's fucked up more than he'd thought. He's pushed things too far. He's doing it all again.
"I'm sorry." he groans to no one, pulls at his hair with his fingers, grits his teeth. "I want to be better. I want this to end." That's when he feels it. Even with the nausea, the headache, the sore limbs, it's the ache in his chest that's the worst. That emptiness he'd thought he'd gotten rid of, it was back with a vengeance. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, buries his face in the blanket as the tears come. He let's it run it's course (he calls it that because that's what it is when he's on heroin or speed or pot or- you know, anything. This isn't much different.), let's out moans, sobs, cries for help, as his body shakes and his nose runs and - God, he hasn't done this, felt this, for such along time. Maybe with Brendon around he'd forgotten just how good things were getting, just how much it hurt without him there. Just how fucking much he needs him.
Four counts in, five counts out. "Bren," he gasps, clutches the blanket tighter, "I'm so stupid." Four counts in...
-
Brendon is at Jon's house again. He's been thinking too much, trapped in his head, and so of course he winds up on Jon's doorstep. Jon knows what's going on, he understands. He makes it better somehow, usually.
"No, absolutely not. Brendon, you've made it this long, why would you." Jon cuts off, paces a little, "You don't need that fucking asshole-"
"I'm worried, Jon."
"Still!" Jon throws his hands in the air, shakes his head, "Why would you want to go back to that? Why would you fuck up your life like this?"
Jon is right and Brendon knows it. He wants to defend himself and say he doesn't, he won't go back, he's just concerned. But he knows all too well that Jon is totally fucking right because he asks himself the same things everyday when he thinks about going back, visiting or calling - he can't just not bother at all though. What if something happened? It's been three weeks. Three weeks. That had to have been enough time for Gabe to at least understand Brendon is serious about all this. He's not fucking around anymore. He knows it's stupid, but he needs to know Gabe's okay. Needs to know he's alright - alive, even - without Brendon (even if that kind of hurts to think about in a way), as stupid as it is.
Brendon gives in that afternoon, he pulls out his cellphone and calls up Gabe while he's watching some movie from the safety of his own bed. Gabe doesn't pick up but he calls back not five minutes later.
"Brendon?"
"Yeah, hey." His voice quivers a little, cracks.
He can hear Gabe shuffling around, can practically see him trying to pull himself into a more upright position on the bed or couch or floor. Then he just hears the frustrated sigh Gabe lets out when he gives up the effort. "I can't believe you-"
"I'm not going to argue with you, Gabe. I didn't call to-"
Gabe huffs, "Called." There's a long silence. Brendon chews at his lip, he didn't mean to be so defensive. He's starting to learn though, he supposes.
"Sorry." Beat. "How are you?"
"I miss you."
Brendon wishes he didn't get just a little bit excited at those three words. He shouldn't. "I know."
"Will you come back?"
"No."
"Why?"
"What'd you do last night?" Brendon doesn't want to play twenty questions here but he's not letting himself admit how much he misses Gabe. Then Gabe would just skate around the issue at hand - both the reason he called and the reason he left - and somehow, he'd get Brendon to come back and the whole cycle just starts again.
"I don't know."
"Are you okay?"
"No."
Brendon swallows hard, thinks. "Okay."
There's another silence. Brendon considers hanging up, telling Gabe he'll talk to him another time. Maybe. (This was a mistake. He should start listening to Jon.) Then he hears Gabe let out a shakey breath, practically whisper into the receiver, "I want to quit this, Bren."
"Then do it."
"I can't."
"Well, why not?"
"I need you."
"Prove it."
A grunt from Gabe's end. Brendon rolls his eyes, begins again, "Alright then, I'm going to go -"
"I will."
"What?"
"I'll do it. I'll prove it, okay? I need you here, Brendon, like nothing else."
And maybe Brendon is a fool, maybe he's a fucking moron for not hanging up when he had the chance but he says, "Okay."
Before he hangs up he mumbles something about visiting on Friday. Gabe said he wants to do this, and he's doing it on his own this time. And he wants to do it for Brendon. He said he needs him, he misses him. To Brendon, that's about as close to 'I love you' as he thinks he has ever has and will ever get from Gabe. Gabe's got almost a full week (Six days, about) to prove Brendon wrong in doubting him, to prove he can do this, will do this. If Gabe isn't at least trying then Brendon isn't even going to bother calling again. He promises himself he won't.
-
He shows up that Friday alone even though when he told Jon, (and totally got scolded) Jon demanded he at least bring someone along. Jon swears that he'll kick the shit out of Gabe if he fucks with Brendon, and Brendon appreciates that (even if he thinks that's stretching it - he wouldn't want to see Jon hurt) but he needs to do this alone. Just this once.
Gabe takes a while to answer the door and Brendon's mind almost automatically pictures him passed out on the floor, throwing up in the bathroom, cleaning up some left over coke from the coffee table. (Gabe was always last minute with things, especially cleaning) When he finally opens the door though, Gabe smiles (a little tightly, forced) and gestures for Brendon to come in. He does, after staring for a while, taking in the fact that Gabe's up and dressed quite neatly (maybe even in clean clothes) and his eyes aren't dilated, or red and glassy. He thinks it's a good start, no doubt.
They talk for hours. Brendon takes note of the fact that Gabe's hand is shaking when he places it atop Brendon's while they're sat on the couch. Definitely takes note of the fact that the house is spotless, which means Gabe had to have cleaned it himself. Gabe's put in effort, and Brendon feels like he can breathe easy again.
"I missed you too, you know." he states when things get quiet.
"Then why don't you come back? We can start over. Fresh. Clean." Gabe sort of smirks here, amused by his own play on words. Brendon just shakes his head.
"Can't. Not yet."
Gabe is about to protest, Brendon can see it in his eyes. Instead he just blinks, frowns, whispers, "Okay. I'll- I can wait, yeah? I'll wait. I just need you around Brendon, and I didn't even realize until you were gone how much I- I just." Gabe lets out a long shaky exhale, "I missed you a lot, you know? And it felt like a part of me - something, I don't even know what - was gone. I- I feel so stupid saying this, oh my god."
"What?"
"I love you? Maybe. I mean, I'm just saying-"
Brendon instantly tenses, stares. He obviously wasn't expecting anything of the sort, not from Gabe and not now. He's not ready. "What?"
"Sorry, I shouldn't be saying anything, huh? It's sort of early on in this and I know I've only got six days down. Wait, it's been six, right? Fuck, I need to buy a calendar." Gabe's babbling and that leaves him sort of breathless since it already feels like he doesn't have enough air in his lungs almost all the time. He pulls his legs up on the couch (just like he had a few weeks back when Brendon first told him to get clean, but today he's not hungover. He's hurting, but not hungover) and bites down on his lower lip. He's trying and Brendon thinks that adorable, or he would if he could think straight, if he wasn't so stuck.
"I...love you, too?" Brendon sounds hesitant, wary, when he finally speaks this but he can't really be blamed for that.
Gabe meets his eyes again, nods, "Okay." He breathes. "Okay." He doesn't move any closer or grab for Brendon's hand or anything because he knows Brendon is still so on edge, still distant. "I want you to be mine, Bren. Even if- you know, even if you aren't going to stay with me anymore. I want us. I want." and then Gabe's out of words, doesn't know what or why he's saying this anymore and feels so totally out of his forte that he just stares, hopes Brendon understands.
"I am."
-
By the end of the evening, Brendon feels better. He suggested a few good rehab facilities but Gabe refused, said he wanted to do this on his own, that he hated hospitals and would like to pull through this within the comforts of his own bed. (Brendon can't blame him. After the many nights he's spent there, whether it's alcohol induced accidents or just illness or whatever the fuck - well, Brendon's pretty sure he'd hate hospitals too after all of that.) Brendon's hopeful for this change though, so he doesn't push it. Gabe seems genuine. He even kisses Gabe goodbye at the door, bids farewell with words of comfort, encouragement, and promises to stop by next friday. (And the friday after, and the one after that. He's not ready to come back, not until this cycle is broken, but he very well will be around now) Gabe, his boyfriend. His.
-
The next three weeks go by very similarly. They talk a lot, just like that first day. Today, Gabe's been doing most of the talking, which is a totally welcome change since he's been almost impossibly quiet the passed two visits (and whenever they talk on the phone. He says it's because he misses Brendon's voice), and Brendon listens to whatever drabble he's on about. (Usually it's about some "Fucking amazing" movie, or how much Gabe hates the radio stations around here, or how much he wants to get a puppy again. They even brainstormed ideas together.) Other than that, Brendon tries to force him to eat something, they snuggle on the couch, and then eventually Brendon leaves.
He's brought soup with him today since Gabe's stomach is still all achy and he seemingly can't stomach much else. (Brendon's tried all sorts of things, things Gabe usually enjoys. Gabe tries to politely avoid actually eating it.) It seems to work out well because Gabe isn't even clutching at his stomach, hasn't had to run for the bathroom. Brendon knows he's hiding a lot though, trying to look stronger and less hurt than he really is, so who knows? Gabe is so fucking stubborn, that's one thing that will never change. They finish up and Brendon clears the table, starts in on washing the dishes (Gabe never was very good when it came to keeping up with them) when Gabe comes up behind him to grip him around the waist, kisses at his neck. He murmurs close to Brendon's ear, "Thank you."
Brendon smiles crookedly, glances over at him and quirks an eyebrow, "No problem."
Gabe slaps at Brendon's hands, pulls them away from the sink, "Come on, no more cleaning. It's me time." he jokes charmingly, pulling Brendon closer by the hips and kissing him soft and slow. Brendon lets him. He doesn't grab for Gabe's hand or reach up to cup his face, he just sort of cooperates, confused maybe. Gabe doesn't notice though. He pushes Brendon back against the kitchen wall and deepens the kiss and Brendon can't help but grip onto Gabe's shirt, his arm, his hair, just anywhere and everywhere. "What's this for?" he manages to get out when Gabe stops for breath.
When finally Gabe stops and pulls back he mumbles against Brendon's lips, "I've missed you so fucking much, babe." And Brendon agrees with a nod, stares into Gabe's eyes. He can feel Gabe's breath on his face, hot, in quick intakes and sharp exhales, and Brendon will never grow sick of the fact that he no longer wreaks of alcohol or vomit when they're this close.
He sees the change, the flash in his eyes, the way his eyes are sort of half lidded before he leans in and bites at Brendon's neck. Maybe he might he bites just a little too hard, gets a little too rough, because Brendon lets out a small squeek, says, "Gabe." a little breathlessly. Gabe doesn't catch on, he's undoing Brendon's shirt button by button, kissing down his chest as he goes. "Gabe." Brendon tries again, a little louder.
Gabe hums, returns to Brendon's mouth. He kisses him once, twice, three times, "Yes?" he inquires, quirking his eyebrow again.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Brendon doesn't get the chance to answer, Gabe reconnects their lips, kisses him hard and grinds their hips together. Brendon squirms, tries to mumble his response but it doesn't come out properly at all. Gabe's undoing his pants.
Then, he does the only thing he sees fit. He pushes Gabe away, "We can't do that now, Gabe. And- and even if we were, not here." Sure, Brendon's fucked in the kitchen, but only when Gabe was so fucking high and Brendon was weak and- see, Brendon's strong now. Brendon doesn't need to do everything Gabe asks and he's not going to lose that control. Gabe's been sober for a few weeks sure, but he hit him before, and he could relapse anyday. Things are going to work out better if Brendon just takes it all slowly - and that means not fucking against the kitchen wall. Not giving in.
"What do you mean? Come on, Brendon." Gabe grabs hold of his hips again, steps close, "You know I need you." he growls this as he snakes his hand down Brendon's front, beneath his waistband. "And I know you need me too." he purrs.
Brendon shakes his head, bites back a moan, "Gabe I-" Gabe's tugging at the waist of his pants now, pulling them down. Brendon inhales sharply, shouts, "No." and shoves at Gabe's chest, but he hardly budges, hardly blinks.
"Why are you being like this?" Gabe asks in a low growl, "Really, Bren." He grabs hold of Brendon's wrist, pulls them up above his head and pins them there, gripping too tight. Brendon idly wonders if it could really leave a bruise. Jon would never forgive himself for leaving him alone again this week.
When Gabe starts biting at his neck again, distracting him as he holds Brendon's hands above his head with just one of his own now so he can try to get Brendon's pants out of the way again, Brendon realizes that this is seriously going way too far. Gabe's going way too far. "Fucking stop." he yells, ripping his hands free and pushing Gabe away, stepping toward the door. "Did you not hear me?"
Gabe gawps, shakes his head, "What the fuck, Brendon. I figured you-"
"You figured I wanted you to fuck me, figured I wanted the first time like- since we've been for real I guess, to be up against the kitchen wall hardly days into this. I don't even know that you're serious, don't even know if-" He cuts off, narrows his eyes, " Maybe you fucking assume too much, Gabe. If we're going to fix this, and- and have a real relationship then maybe I want to wait. I want this to fucking work, maybe I." Brendon waves his hands, gives up. He starts rebuttoning his shirt and pants, steps backward toward the door. "I'll come around next Friday."
Gabe grunts a response and Brendon rolls his eyes, buttons the last button. "Don't fuck this up." he warns on his way out the door. No I love you's or "Call you later" - nothing.
-
Brendon shows up at Jon's doorstep in a huff and he's so glad that Ryan and Spencer aren't around, that he has time alone with Jon to sit and talk about what's going on. He can tell he woke Jon up from a nap so instead of sitting down on the couch he just makes himself at home, wanders into Jon's bedroom, kicks off his shoes, and lays back against the headboard. Jon crawls in beside him, lays on his side fully covered with his teal duvet and tries to look attentive. He passes it off pretty well, Brendon thinks.
Brendon goes on about what happened, how awesome the afternoon was until Gabe had to pull that shit. He subconciously rubs at his wrist and Jon takes note, grabs hold of his hands and lightly runs his fingers over Brendon's inner wrists. He's totally awake now, sitting beside Brendon and frowning like a disappointed parent.
"You should've let me come with you, Brendon. Are you okay?"
"I'm- it's fine. It's not like I haven't-"
"He's done this before?" Jon gasps, tenses and squeezes Brendon's hand just a little. It doesn't hurt. "He's rape- ra-" Jon's stumbling and staring at Brendon in disbelief, in anger.
Brendon shakes his head, "No. I was saying it's not like we haven't done it before, you know? I just- I guess it was stupid. I could've. I should've. Hell, I wanted to." Brendon is basically just mumbling to himself by the time he comes to this conclusion, outlining the crazy patterns in Jon's quilt with his finger as he has a thousand times before. Jon shakes his head, grips Brendon's chin lightly in one hand to lift his gaze, look him in the eyes.
"No. Listen, you didn't want to. It doesn't matter what you have and have not done with Gabe, what you will and will not do. You, you fucking matter, Brendon." The way Jon says things like this, always surprises Brendon - takes him off gaurd a little. He may be the jokester, the one who keeps everyone's spirits up when they're tour, but he's so serious right now that Brendon can't even bring himself to nod. He just stares at soft brown eyes and a slight pout, a scruffy beard that could truly use a few touch ups. Worry lines. He hopes silently that he hasn't caused those. (He considers getting Jon some face cream or something since he has about three at his house or something. He's very beauty conscious sometimes.)
"I know." Brendon swallows hard, licks his lips, brings a hand up to brush his fingers over Jon's. He's still cupping Brendon's chin and seemly doesn't plan on moving away anytime soon.
Then when he does, he brings that hand up and fingers through Brendon's hair, smirks, "Good," he pauses, "Your happiness comes first, Brendon. Do what you want to do and don't take any shit." He thumbs at Brendon's cheek, around his right eye that's not at all bruised anymore, "It's your life, man."
Brendon doesn't even think about how close they are, how Jon is leaned in and is speaking in this totally secretive hushed tone. How he finds himself linking their fingers, or how he can smell Jon's soap or fabric softener or something and it smells pretty inviting. Not until he's leaned in further, closing that small gap, hesitantly pressing his lips to Jon's before jumping back completely as if he'd just been shocked. He pulls his hand away, stumbles over his words, "Sorry, I- that was." He gives up on talking anymore, explaining. He thinks maybe he should get out of the bed now, he's had his talk and he's clearly not in the proper state of mind to think or talk or-
Jon laughs. What the fuck, he seriously laughs. "What is so goddamn funny?" Brendon demands with a slight pout. He doesn't think this is funny at all, this is - this is senseless, yeah. A little daft, perhaps "fucking crazy" could describe the situation nicely. This is...well, honestly, sort of what Brendon wants right now. Sort of exciting. Sort of comforting. Sort of an escape.
He leans back in and kisses Jon again, and Jon's ready this time. He let's Brendon take control, let's Brendon lower him back onto the bed, tangle their limbs a little. He nibbles at Brendon's lip as he pulls away and Brendon breathes out a laugh, runs his fingers down the side of Jon's face. The stubble feels strange, he decides, it sort of tickles his face, scratches, but maybe it's not bad. (Maybe he's thought about what it'd feel like before, to kiss someone with a beard. Gabe keeps himself fairly clean shaven most of the time.) But then, everything about Jon is different and new and sort of nice.
Even once the clothes are gone and Brendon's on his back, Jon sat between his legs murmuring about how much he's actually wanted to do this, asking if Brendon is ready, Jon is still so gentle. He doesn't grip Brendon's hip nearly as hard, doesn't bite his neck or his chest or anything. He doesn't move without permission and doesn't get too rough, not in anyway at all. He treats Brendon like a treasure, something delicate and precious to him. Brendon isn't entirely used to the feeling. He kind of loves it.
-
Brendon doesn't call Gabe at all that week, and Gabe doesn't bother much either. He figures Gabe's still angry with him, so that's reasonable, it doesn't hurt. What doesn't make sense is the fact that he hardly feels guilty, hardly. He does though, a little bit. He cares for Jon, he likes everything that Jon entails. Everything is so soft, so calm, protective and wonderful. It's such a change from what he's used to now with Gabe, always so extreme, always too something, never stable. He loves Gabe though, he really fucking does. He wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't, you know? And- and Gabe loves him too. They're together now. When he remembers that, that's when it starts to sting. That's when it hurts.
Brendon thinks maybe this was his turn to fuck up. It's his turn to face the music. Of course, as awkward as it feels since he and Jon slept together almost exactly a week before, Jon insists he tag along.
After it'd happened, Brendon didn't cry, Brendon didn't talk at all infact, but Jon knew what he was thinking. It's Jon, it's practically his job to know what's going on, how to make things better. (Usually that involves herbal remedies though. Some pot and a cuddle session with Jon and no one could possibly complain.) He told Brendon he knew it didn't mean anything, told him not to worry because Gabe will never know, and that it won't happen again. Brendon nodded, snuggled against Jon and slept wrapped in his arms that night. The next day when they were both fully dressed and out of bed, they acted as if it'd never happened. Brendon spoke his mind about what went on with Gabe some more over coffee and Jon made him promise to bring him along next visit.
That's why right now they're climbing into the car, heading for Gabe's house. Brendon ran in to get Jon because he wasn't quite ready yet and Brendon didn't feel like waiting in the car any longer than twenty minutes. Jon notices Brendon's phone on the dashboard before Brendon does.
"You left your phone out here? It's a fuckin' miracle, man."
Brendon snorts, "Hey, I'm not as bad as Ryan." He snatches it up, flips it open and furrows his eyebrows.
1 Missed Call
1 New Voicemail
He doesn't bother checking, just dials and holds the phone to his ear as they start down the road. Jon mumbles something about getting into an accident and Brendon tells him to shut the fuck up. (As nicely as possible, of course)
"Hey Bren." It's Gabe. He's practically whispering but his voice is still shaking, quivering. He hears him sniffle, take a deep breath, "I'm sorry for everything. I'm- fuck." he hisses. Brendon pictures him shooting up, pictures him possibly just hurt and laid out on the floor. "So sorry. So- I love you, Brendon. Okay? Remember that? I fucking love you and you- you're wonderful, alright? I'm sorry for making everything so tough for- for fucking this, you, your life - I don't know, everything, up like this. I want to be here for you, want to be what- whatever you want me to be." his voice is raspy and it's getting hard for him to talk now, Brendon can tell. He needs water or juice or something, he's probably just dehydrated. Brendon should be there to tell him this, to get it for him. "I'm sorry I can't be. Remember though, okay? I love you." When he snaps his phone shut and glances sideways at Jon, he's got tears in his eyes. He wipes them away quickly, they're only a few blocks from Gabe's apartment and he really doesn't want to get into an accident here. Gabe only called about an hour ago and Brendon can apologize, make it better as soon as he gets there. Apologize for not calling or stopping by, for leaving on such a bitter note. It looks like they'll be starting over again, getting Gabe clean, but he's willing to do this, right? He'll do it.
"You okay, B?" Jon asks, cocking his head.
Brendon doesn't answer Jon, not once. Jon keeps asking what's wrong, why Brendon's shaking, what he can do, if Gabe is being a fucking prick again or something. Brendon can't answer. He practically runs to the front door after he throws the car into park. He knocks. Four count in, five counts out.
Jon catches up to him, stands beside him at the door, "Seriously, what the fuck is going on, Brendon?"
"I don't- fuck, I don't know." he practically shouts and Jon looks a little taken aback. Brendon doesn't mean to come out so harsh but he's freaking out because- what the fuck? Why would Gabe leave a message like that? He must be back on the stuff and it's totally all Brendon's fault this time. He should've been there. Should've- and now he's not answering the door. Did he forget his keys too?
"Shit."
"What?"
"Can you run back to the car and get my-" Jon holds Brendon's key ring out to him, offers a soft smile. Brendon just mumbles a thank you as he struggles to unlock the door. (It's harder than it should be, his hands are shaking and his heart is pounding and he's so fucking scared. So anxious. So worried.) He manages eventually and steps inside a little hesitantly, "Gabe?" he calls. "I'm here."
He listens, doesn't hear him shuffling around at all. "Come on, don't be like this." He pauses a moment, bites his lip. He sounds just like Gabe now, doesn't he? "I"m sorry."
Brendon is peaking around in the kitchen, the living room, when he hears Jon. He's talking in a quiet, mumbled tone. "Jon? Did you find hi-" He stops.
Jon steps forward, blocking the doorway to the bathroom, and shakes his head, "Brendon go in the living room, okay? Sit down."
A flash of pale skin as Jon closes the door. Wide eyes. Off-color, dry, cracked lips. Something Brendon never would have thought - never wanted to see. Gabe. The exact thing he tried to keep him from, what haunted his sleep all these nights, what made him stick around and help, made him leave. "No, he. Jon, he's not dead. He's not fucking dead, right? He's not." Brendon states this almost confidently, even with the sick feeling in his stomach, the knot in his throat and the tight feeling in his chest. His heart is pounding and the tears he'd desperately tried to hold in in the car are hitting tenfold. "He's okay. He's- he was sick. I wasn't here, Jon. I couldn't."
Jon bites his lip, steps forward and wraps his arms around Brendon's waist, let's Brendon rest his head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bren. It's- it was going to happen someday, you know? He..." Jon trails off, apologizes again quietly "The ambulance is coming. Why don't we go outside, alright? You don't want to be here when-"
Brendon cuts him off, steps back, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I want to be here. I should've been here. I- fuck."
Jon shakes his head sadly, grabs Brendon's hand and leads him back to the living room where they wait.
-
Long after the ambulance has come and gone, Brendon lays collapsed against Jon's chest. It's almost three o'clock in the morning and Jon is asleep. He can't sleep, not tonight. He refused to leave the apartment but without Gabe here, it's not the same. With Jon, it's still always going to be different. (See, he'll keep living, he'll move forward, things don't just stop for you after all - even if you might want them to - but it'll always be different.) Brendon wonders if Gabe knew how much Brendon really did care for him, how much he loved him. How sorry he was for fucking up at the end, for letting go, for giving up and giving in. He makes wishes, says prayers (and really, seriously, when did he become so spiritually needy?), fucking cries. He ends up relocating to the couch, curls up with a blanket (He used it last. Brendon can't help but think) and writes a letter he'll never send, a letter he can't send. An apology to no one. The first love note he'll ever write Gabe, and the last. The funeral is on a Friday, Brendon thinks it's sort of ironic. He'll put Gabe to rest for the final time, no more waking up because of Gabe's hangovers or any of that. It's over, and he feels unprepared. And if there's any kind of fairness in this world, a benevolent God like the one he was taught to obey in his younger years, then he'll push through. Gabe will understand. Gabe will receive his words and maybe even forgive him. They'll meet again someday. Maybe.
Four counts in, fives counts out. Four counts in, five counts...