Keltie had never been sure if she and Ryan had happened first, or if it had been Brendon and Ryan. It certainly hadn't been Brendon and her. They never talked about to afterwards, not past "Maybe friends is a little too hard." Because life the way it was now was always going to be easier.
But it wasn't. It was just a different kind of hard, but the kind that was worth every bad second. When they got angry, it only mattered until they made up again. When they cried, they cried together, curled up in each others arms and waited for the clouds to break.
It had started simply, not in an extravagant, overblown way that Ryan liked to tell everyone. Keltie had gotten angry about Ryan cutting up some of her favourite old costumes up for beads on his new vest, they had shouted and Keltie stormed out. She ended up at Brendon's house and two hours later, so did Ryan. He found his best friend curled up with his girlfriend, singing along half heartedly to Cinderella.
Instead of feeling jealous, as he expected to, he wanted to stand and watch them, he wanted to put a camera on them, so he could remember it exactly the way it was. But most of all, he wanted to walk over and curl up with them. He wanted it to be like in the movies, where he and Keltie could look at each other and instantly know that all was solved, that because Brendon was there it suddenly made any sense at all.
But it didn't happen like that. Brendon had left them to it, going into the kitchen to sit and wait it out. Keltie had shouted again, pushed Ryan back into the mantle which made me smack his head against one of the picture frames above it. The whole thing came off the wall and down onto Ryan's head.
The sound of smashing glass gave way to Brendon running into the living room. He saw Keltie standing hands over mouth in the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide and if it had not been for the other person in the room, he would have stopped with her, taking her into his arms and making it ok.
But he couldn't, because Ryan was laid across his floor, broken glass surrounding him, some of it bloody. Brendon pushed it out of the way and went to cradle Ryan's head in his lap, checking for glass shards or blood. When he saw there was nothing, that Ryan wasn't even unconscious, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Ryan apologised for the picture frame, offering to buy him a new one, as did Keltie. Brendon waved it off, thinking of the tens of pictures of his family that adorned his walls. They did buy him another frame though.
It was black painted wood, like the old one, but thicker, more solid. Inside was a picture of the three of them, standing backstage at one of the first concerts that Keltie had ever been at as just Ryan's girlfriend. Tucked inside, over the corner of the photograph, was a note in her handwriting, but using Ryan's words. Brendon could tell.
There's this heteronormative stench that's settling over our lives and it stopped making sense too many years ago. Maybe there's change in store, we're hoping so, because her body looks perfect to me in this picture and something inside tells me that's it's because you're framing it.
We'll know. You know what we'll know.
Brendon put it over the mantelpiece and they knew.
But it wasn't. It was just a different kind of hard, but the kind that was worth every bad second. When they got angry, it only mattered until they made up again. When they cried, they cried together, curled up in each others arms and waited for the clouds to break.
It had started simply, not in an extravagant, overblown way that Ryan liked to tell everyone. Keltie had gotten angry about Ryan cutting up some of her favourite old costumes up for beads on his new vest, they had shouted and Keltie stormed out. She ended up at Brendon's house and two hours later, so did Ryan. He found his best friend curled up with his girlfriend, singing along half heartedly to Cinderella.
Instead of feeling jealous, as he expected to, he wanted to stand and watch them, he wanted to put a camera on them, so he could remember it exactly the way it was. But most of all, he wanted to walk over and curl up with them. He wanted it to be like in the movies, where he and Keltie could look at each other and instantly know that all was solved, that because Brendon was there it suddenly made any sense at all.
But it didn't happen like that. Brendon had left them to it, going into the kitchen to sit and wait it out. Keltie had shouted again, pushed Ryan back into the mantle which made me smack his head against one of the picture frames above it. The whole thing came off the wall and down onto Ryan's head.
The sound of smashing glass gave way to Brendon running into the living room. He saw Keltie standing hands over mouth in the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide and if it had not been for the other person in the room, he would have stopped with her, taking her into his arms and making it ok.
But he couldn't, because Ryan was laid across his floor, broken glass surrounding him, some of it bloody. Brendon pushed it out of the way and went to cradle Ryan's head in his lap, checking for glass shards or blood. When he saw there was nothing, that Ryan wasn't even unconscious, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Ryan apologised for the picture frame, offering to buy him a new one, as did Keltie. Brendon waved it off, thinking of the tens of pictures of his family that adorned his walls. They did buy him another frame though.
It was black painted wood, like the old one, but thicker, more solid. Inside was a picture of the three of them, standing backstage at one of the first concerts that Keltie had ever been at as just Ryan's girlfriend. Tucked inside, over the corner of the photograph, was a note in her handwriting, but using Ryan's words. Brendon could tell.
There's this heteronormative stench that's settling over our lives and it stopped making sense too many years ago. Maybe there's change in store, we're hoping so, because her body looks perfect to me in this picture and something inside tells me that's it's because you're framing it.
We'll know. You know what we'll know.
Brendon put it over the mantelpiece and they knew.
A bit long, but all the same: Here you are.
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