Sometimes you can get what you want
Sometimes you can get what you want
Ryan POV ficlet, companion to About a girl
teen-ish
900 words, entirely unbeta'd
fake as my mom's hair color
Ryan can be selfish and self-absorbed sometimes, he knows.
He wants Bren to be happy, and he wants this band to work. He won't lie and say he wasn't worried about Jon fucking with the group dynamic. Then again, one might point out that without a bassist, there was no group dynamic, so. Whatever.
Ryan's glad they finally asked Jon to join permanently. He's even happy that Jon accepted the offer, signed the paperwork on the spot.
That doesn't mean that he's thrilled to hear Jon and Bren having noisy sex in Bren's bunk, and he lets Bren know. (To be fair, if they've fucked since, they've been quiet about it.)
It's not just that they were loud about it. It's that it's Bren.
Ryan might not communicate a ton of personal information outside of his writing, but that doesn't mean he's unaware. He doesn't lie to himself. He knows there's a part, a part of himself that he doesn't like acknowledge, that's been... proprietary of Bren since the day he gave her his lyrics. It's not the same as it is with Spencer: they've been best friends, lovers, and best friends again -- always -- when each wanted or needed something else. They'll always come first with each other. Ryan doesn't even have to ask or think twice about that.
It's not even that Ryan's sense of possession is sexual, because it wasn't at first. Not until he'd looked up from sharing a mic with her and seen her smiling around his words, her fingers sure on her guitar, and then watched her stumble onto the bus the next morning with mussed hair, her lips swollen and red. Then his stomach had knotted in something that he wouldn't admit was jealousy and desire.
And the thing is, Ryan gets it. Jon is, well, Jon. If he hadn't been stunned and blinded by William, he probably would have joined Bren in her unabashed Walker-worship.
That was before the Brent mess. Now things are infinitely more complicated.
Spencer knows. They've never talked about it, never had to; they read each other's silences and body language fluently.
He wondered, though, when Bren relaxed into Spencer's space when they were out, back in Vegas; he thought about it when she leaned into Spencer's touch, when Spencer let her perch on his drum kit without argument. When Bren curled into Ryan's lap to watch movies in the lounge, he felt Spencer and Jon both eye them. Each time he walked into a room and found just Jon and Bren, he felt like he'd interrupted something, even if they welcomed him without reservation. But no one said anything.
So, yeah. Beside the fact that they're having sex and Ryan isn't, Ryan really doesn't need a constant reminder of his childhood, a time spent wishing and hoping for things he knew he couldn't have.
And he definitely doesn't need Bren to interrupt their hotel-night Halo match by plopping herself into Jon's lap, distracting him into making out. Ryan can accept that it's happening, but he does not need to see it. Ever.
It's not like his heart is breaking or anything so melodramatic -- Ryan knows that he'll always have a part of Bren, just like she'll always own a piece of him and Spencer -- but still. They don't need to rub his face in their togetherness.
He's already up, heading toward the door, for the hotel bar or the bus, when Spencer's voice stops him. "Ryan? Wait."
Only for Spencer. He turns around and see all three of them looking at him expectantly. Bren reaches for him with her free hand, but Ryan shakes his head.
"I can't. You can't."
"Please." Jon's voice is soft, earnest. It's enough. Ryan approaches the bed reluctantly, slowly, and takes Bren's hand in his own, feels the way her bones are delicate but strong. Spencer twines his fingers between theirs and tugs him closer.
*
Ryan has the indent of Bren's nails in his back, and his lower lip feels swollen from Spencer's teeth. He's overwarm and sweaty from the heat of four bodies occupying one bed, even with the blankets kicked off.
In the dim light, he can see the arch of Bren's brow, the tuft of Jon's hair peeking up from where his face is pressed into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Spencer is spooned against Ryan's back, his breathing slow but not heavy enough for him to be asleep. Bren's already out, exhausted, but Jon's eyes are slitted open.
"Don't overthink this. It'll work out."
"But..." Why do words fail him now, of all times?
"She loves us, all of us. And sometimes you can have what you want."
"And it doesn't bother you?"
"Honestly? No. It doesn't make her want me any less. There's no less for me if I share. More, really."
"Jon Walker: plays well with others," Spencer laughs roughly, quietly.
"She was yours first. Nothing will change that."
"What if this changes us?"
Jon is quiet, and Ryan waits.
"Life changes us. Sometime we just have to see where the changes take us."
Ryan mulls over that for a long time, and when he finally pulls himself outside his own head again, he realizes that Jon and Spencer have fallen asleep.
He closes his eyes and decides to hope that whatever new direction they're headed is a good one.
Ryan POV ficlet, companion to About a girl
teen-ish
900 words, entirely unbeta'd
fake as my mom's hair color
Ryan can be selfish and self-absorbed sometimes, he knows.
He wants Bren to be happy, and he wants this band to work. He won't lie and say he wasn't worried about Jon fucking with the group dynamic. Then again, one might point out that without a bassist, there was no group dynamic, so. Whatever.
Ryan's glad they finally asked Jon to join permanently. He's even happy that Jon accepted the offer, signed the paperwork on the spot.
That doesn't mean that he's thrilled to hear Jon and Bren having noisy sex in Bren's bunk, and he lets Bren know. (To be fair, if they've fucked since, they've been quiet about it.)
It's not just that they were loud about it. It's that it's Bren.
Ryan might not communicate a ton of personal information outside of his writing, but that doesn't mean he's unaware. He doesn't lie to himself. He knows there's a part, a part of himself that he doesn't like acknowledge, that's been... proprietary of Bren since the day he gave her his lyrics. It's not the same as it is with Spencer: they've been best friends, lovers, and best friends again -- always -- when each wanted or needed something else. They'll always come first with each other. Ryan doesn't even have to ask or think twice about that.
It's not even that Ryan's sense of possession is sexual, because it wasn't at first. Not until he'd looked up from sharing a mic with her and seen her smiling around his words, her fingers sure on her guitar, and then watched her stumble onto the bus the next morning with mussed hair, her lips swollen and red. Then his stomach had knotted in something that he wouldn't admit was jealousy and desire.
And the thing is, Ryan gets it. Jon is, well, Jon. If he hadn't been stunned and blinded by William, he probably would have joined Bren in her unabashed Walker-worship.
That was before the Brent mess. Now things are infinitely more complicated.
Spencer knows. They've never talked about it, never had to; they read each other's silences and body language fluently.
He wondered, though, when Bren relaxed into Spencer's space when they were out, back in Vegas; he thought about it when she leaned into Spencer's touch, when Spencer let her perch on his drum kit without argument. When Bren curled into Ryan's lap to watch movies in the lounge, he felt Spencer and Jon both eye them. Each time he walked into a room and found just Jon and Bren, he felt like he'd interrupted something, even if they welcomed him without reservation. But no one said anything.
So, yeah. Beside the fact that they're having sex and Ryan isn't, Ryan really doesn't need a constant reminder of his childhood, a time spent wishing and hoping for things he knew he couldn't have.
And he definitely doesn't need Bren to interrupt their hotel-night Halo match by plopping herself into Jon's lap, distracting him into making out. Ryan can accept that it's happening, but he does not need to see it. Ever.
It's not like his heart is breaking or anything so melodramatic -- Ryan knows that he'll always have a part of Bren, just like she'll always own a piece of him and Spencer -- but still. They don't need to rub his face in their togetherness.
He's already up, heading toward the door, for the hotel bar or the bus, when Spencer's voice stops him. "Ryan? Wait."
Only for Spencer. He turns around and see all three of them looking at him expectantly. Bren reaches for him with her free hand, but Ryan shakes his head.
"I can't. You can't."
"Please." Jon's voice is soft, earnest. It's enough. Ryan approaches the bed reluctantly, slowly, and takes Bren's hand in his own, feels the way her bones are delicate but strong. Spencer twines his fingers between theirs and tugs him closer.
*
Ryan has the indent of Bren's nails in his back, and his lower lip feels swollen from Spencer's teeth. He's overwarm and sweaty from the heat of four bodies occupying one bed, even with the blankets kicked off.
In the dim light, he can see the arch of Bren's brow, the tuft of Jon's hair peeking up from where his face is pressed into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Spencer is spooned against Ryan's back, his breathing slow but not heavy enough for him to be asleep. Bren's already out, exhausted, but Jon's eyes are slitted open.
"Don't overthink this. It'll work out."
"But..." Why do words fail him now, of all times?
"She loves us, all of us. And sometimes you can have what you want."
"And it doesn't bother you?"
"Honestly? No. It doesn't make her want me any less. There's no less for me if I share. More, really."
"Jon Walker: plays well with others," Spencer laughs roughly, quietly.
"She was yours first. Nothing will change that."
"What if this changes us?"
Jon is quiet, and Ryan waits.
"Life changes us. Sometime we just have to see where the changes take us."
Ryan mulls over that for a long time, and when he finally pulls himself outside his own head again, he realizes that Jon and Spencer have fallen asleep.
He closes his eyes and decides to hope that whatever new direction they're headed is a good one.