Welcome Home / 10
"Yeah, I get it," I return, following him towards my open door, closely, giving him a rub on the back of his head, being playful and brotherly. "But, should I ever find you snuggling and shit, I really don’t care. You’re sixteen. Sixteen year old twins are weird. I’m not even going to TELL you the weird shit I did or thought about when I was sixteen. Not that it’s weird, or the snuggling thing is-but, if that gives you comfort, once in awhile? Who cares? I mean, it’s not like you fuck."
"RYAN!"
I think he’s going to be sick. Sicker than I am. He actually has grabbed his stomach, but now his head.
I flinch, "Sorry!"
"Ew, God. Ew, RYAN. THANKS. THANKS A LOT FOR THAT VISUAL."
I can’t help but laugh and give him a tiny push into my room, but once he lands on my bed, I hop to him, give him a kiss on the cheek and say, "Like it’s never crossed your mind, before, just because it could. Human nature, Jack. Disgusting and taboo things are human nature, even if we don’t want or desire them. They’re just THERE."
"Who ARE you?" He asks, giving me a tiny push, but pulling me back for a hug, which I return.
I laugh, as I pull back, about five seconds later, and grab his chin. I move it from side to side, gently, looking him over, and then finding his eyes, smiling, "I am... the man... sent down... from... planet... hazel eyes... to... talk... you, Jack, into doing crazy things with your brother."
"Fuck you, Ryan, I’m not talking to you ever again!"
I laugh, as he shoves me off of the bed, now seriously upset, and covers his head with my Brendon pillow, and I don’t even care, "Look, at least you know it’s not weird and shit. I mean, YEAH, okay, so THAT is weird, but, I mean-it’s just snuggling, who the fuck cares? I don’t. I’m just saying."
"GO FUCK BRENDON OR SOMETHING."
"Oh, Jack," I sigh at him, and then attack him, again, though he is now a lump in my covers. I kiss below his ear and he shrieks, now laughing so hard at me, "I would if I could." He just smiles at me, still laughing, and I can tell he feels better, now that he’s not torturing his mind he thinks no one else has been tortured with. Evil. It’s evil. I sigh at him, pushing myself up. "Now, just fucking relax, and, rest assured, I’m probably sure he was sitting in bed, without you there, wondering why it was so weird. You’ll get used to it. You’re so cute-oh, I love you. I love you. I loooooove you."
"You’re fucking scary."
"Okay. Goodnight, bud," I laugh, closing the door, but leaving it open a few inches.
"Ryan?"
"Yeah?" I ask, peeking back in.
"Really?"
"Of course. He’s like my Kurt."
"I HATE YOU."
I laugh, "I’M KIDDING-about the Kurt part. Kind of. Sort of. Um."
"How do I feel sixteen million times better right now?"
"Because I’m a screwed up human, too!"
"Kay. Goodnight, Ryan."
"Goodnight. Hey, are you working tonight?"
"I get off at five."
"We can go shopping for a bed, then, so you can pick. He can, too. You can get dressers and shit, if you want."
"No way, Ryan. That’s WAY too much. That’s amazing, but no."
"But you want the bed."
"Yes."
"And the comforters?"
"I can buy those, and I’ll chip in on my bed every time I have a little extra money."
"Where are you going to put your clothes?"
"In my suitcase?"
"No. No. No. Fine-I won’t buy it for you, or anything for him. I’ll just be buying my GUEST furniture, and you can help me pick that out. How’s that?"
"I suppose that’s okay."
I try not to laugh, "Okay, go to sleep."
"Ryan?"
"Yes, Jack?"
"I’m a sixteen year old boy."
Awe, bless his heart. I walk in, close the door, and then walk over to him and slide down next to him, over the covers, "You know, whatever... look, there’s always something that someone has done, out there in the world, worse than what you have done or could do or what you think about. You obviously are opposed to things if they TORTURE you. If you don’t care, and you give in, and you don’t feel disgusted or weirded out, even slightly, THEN you have problems. Otherwise, it’s just thoughts stuck in your head, and it sucks, but they’re there, lurking in the dark spaces of your mind, and, a lot of times, when you’re out in the world, it’s all just put into perspective and you laugh it off, because... it’s just funny, and weird, and you know it. Jack, life is life. It’s hard. Sometimes our minds get the best of us. Sometimes, no amount of famous type-lines mean anything. Sometimes, we fool ourselves so much that we end up having the joke played on us, and things torture us. We know such things... aren’t true. But, they’re there. Everyone has a different kind of torture inside, Jack. Some people have harder tortures to deal with, and that’s why I never judge people by what they appear to be on the outside, because it’s what’s inside that counts. Someone can appear to have the most amazing life, and, inside, be the most tortured person suffering, mentally, with a huge heart. Life is crazy shit. You roll with it. It fucks you up in the head, sometimes. You feel sick. Tell yourself it’s not true, maybe battle for awhile, forget for awhile, and then something else comes back some other time? It’s just part of... everything. It’s even worse when you have time to think about all of that shit in the first place. Let me tell you, Jack, it’s not fun. Don’t beat yourself up. If you get a-okay, I won’t say it, but whatever. You’re sixteen. Bodies are bodies. Oh fucking well."
"You scare me."
"My mind goes places."
"I... see... that."
"But, just know... you know... he’s your brother. Snuggling is fun. You don’t have girlfriends. You don’t have parents to talk to. You’ve got each other. Fuck, I’d snuggle you if I was your brother."
"Guh. I love you, Ryan," he’s laughing, so cutely, his hands over his forehead, eyeing me. "Snuggling is fun."
"And humans are weird."
"You’re fun."
"And I’m weird."
"I’m weird, too."
"Excellent," I laugh, "because we all are. No one talks about it. I mean, for all I fucking know, I’m crazy and other people don’t have such torturous minds, but... whatever. I guess I’m too open minded and too much seeps in. Too many questions. AH, okay, we’re done talking about this, now, or else I’m going to start thinking about shit I don’t want to. Anyway, I adore you, so that’s why I just said all of this shit to you that I’ve never said to any of the people I’m closest to and never will."
"Okay. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
"You like Brendon?"
"Kind of."
"I mean... you LIKE him?"
I grin at him, off the bed, "What, like you don’t? You were the one stalking him! You probably get off thinking about him."
"I DO NOT, RYAN."
"Sorry? Kurt?"
"..."
Awe. He looks like he’s going to kill me. I run back over to him and hug him, refusing him to hate me, "I’m sorry. Never again. I swear." He sniffles, I kiss his cheek, and he pats my hand, on his arm, and then I get up and leave, finally, and stay away from the door. As I walk away from the door, having imparted a certain wisdom with Jack, I feel like I’m back in my own universe, again, where everything is light and normal. I watch Brendon, listening to him talk to a man, apparently, who is waiting for our order. He just says what he wants and then looks at me, as I hop up onto my countertops, my hands at my sides. "Chicken fingers, honey mustard, french fries, mozzarella sticks and onion rings."
Brendon smirks at me, "And one heart-attack," he says into the phone.
I take the phone from him, tell the guy what I want, where I live and get the total from him. After that’s all said and done, I press the phone back to Brendon’s waiting hands, wrap them up in my own, and then pull him closer to me. I wrap my legs around him, and he does this strange little gasp, which is not expected, really. I mean, we’re just playing. He seems a little flushed, though, so I slowly drop my legs down, again, and give him a tiny shove away from me, "Calm down, Bren."
I think the tiny push offended him a little, because, for a moment, he looks wounded, but it quickly fades, "I wasn’t-"
"Forget it," I say, and hop down, again. "Twenty minutes."
"Ryan."
I look at him, casually, but he’s still holding the phone to his chest, looking at me. I frown at him, "Brendon?"
I don’t think he wanted to say anything, really. He just didn’t want me to think anything of... of whatever?
"Was Jack okay?"
I blink, nod, grin, and then head over for the couch, "Yeah, just tired."
"Why’d you send him to your room?"
"I still only have one bed for them, in there. I think they just want some space, you know?"
We both sit down on the couch, the lights now turned on, and I press the DVD power-button on, on the remote.
"You didn’t get them separate beds yet?"
"Tomorrow."
"That’s nice of you."
I look at him.
He looks back at me.
I frown, confused, and then look back at the TV, "Seriously, are you okay?"
"No."
WHAT! My eyes move to him, seriously, and I squint, "What’s wrong?"
"I don’t know. I’m just bored. I miss you. I liked laying with you... I miss you more when I lay with you."
"Why, because you have to go back to your house?" I laugh, softly, and elbow him.
"Pretty much," he laughs back.
This is just us, just sitting here, light, without having any sort of deep talk, just hanging out. "I miss you a lot."
"Do you really read it?"
"Huh?" I look at him, from the opening credits of the movie we’re now about to see. "Read what?"
"I got curious, last night, and I looked."
"Looked?"
"Reading. I read stuff."
"Reading is good. You... always... read."
"You’re so stupid."
"Hey," I gripe at him, frowning. I’m so pathetic and mope-y when I’m sick. "I didn’t do anything to you."
"You’re being stupid."
"What!"
"Yeah, your sickness is affecting you. Please follow along with what I’m saying. Notice my hinting voice."
"I’m so confused."
"I read. Things. On the Internet. That I won’t admit. I’m waiting for you to pick up on it?"
"Brendon, seriously-"
"Fan-fiction."
Okay, now I’m looking at him, wide-eyed, and I start laughing before I can stop myself. WIN. Oh, wow, "You didn’t."
"I wanted to see-I mean, I knew it was there but-I mean, I actually read something. Something with Jon. Me. Jon and Brendon. Eh." He shivers, outright, and rubs his knees, now looking at the TV, his face screwed up. It’s like he can’t believe he has just admitted what he has. That, or he’s still trying to deal with having read it in the first place. "Was Spencer serious about you, or was he kidding?"
"Kidding."
"Really?"
Damnit; he was honest with me, so I might as well be honest, too. I frown at him, "No."
Suddenly, he’s looking straight at me, for the first time, eyes locked. He just starts laughing, suddenly, "You seriously read fan-fiction about you and I?"
"Uh... well... not really-well, maybe-I... it’s... not REALLY us, though. It’s just good fiction."
"About US?"
"I don’t know, it’s interesting. It’s creepy, but-"
"Do you read... I mean... like...."
"Why are we talking about this?"
"Just answer me-do you read the sex? Brendon and Ryan. Sex. Do you?"
"Yeah," I say, carelessly, and glance back at him. "It’s hot."
"NO, RYAN. YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SAY THAT."
"Dude, grow up," I laugh, and I wrap my hand around his knee, pushing his away. "If I had wanted to seduce you, I would have, a long time ago. Besides, I couldn’t very well preach against it if I’d never attempted to read it, could I have? And, anyway, if I wanted to fuck you senseless, you would know by now."
"In the shit I read, I fucked YOU senseless."
I laugh, "Whatever helps you sleep better."
"Ryan!" He hasn’t stopped looking at me, not once, and I’m still laughing. "Get your hand off my knee!"
I just drop my hand down his inner thigh and then rub back up it, smoothly, and clutch his kneecap, again. I turn back to look at him, face to face, and lean in, the small bit, to the right, and press my lips against the angle of his jaw, under his ear, and then look back at the TV. I definitely just made him squirm, though we are both laughing, "How many did you read? One?"
"Yeah."
"Oh," I say, and then glance at him. Liar.
He grins and looks away, quickly, "That’s my story, Ross."
I smile, harder, so hard that my cheeks are hurting, but I keep examining him, "You get the good reputation. I’m always the one who gets the girl reputation. I mean, I think some people actually THINK I’m a girl. That or I’m a suicidal kid with an eating disorder who slits his wrists just... I don’t know, because I seem like I should?" He’s laughing. The jerk is laughing at me. Hard. He’s laughing so hard that he’s fallen over toward the right, holding his arms around his stomach, snorting out something, now, about how that’s totally true, that he noticed that, too. He’s laughing WAY too hard to have only read a fiction or two. He seems like he knows something that I don’t. It’s funny, but I lightly pinch his side, anyway, because that is something my stereotypical fan-fiction character "Ryan" would do. He just laughs, harder, and then sighs, laughs again, and then sits right back up and drapes his arm over my shoulders, behind me, as I pull my heels up onto the couch.
I feel a kiss on my cheek, so I grin, "You’d totally be the girl, Brendon."
"Whatever. I can deal with that."
I look at him, eyebrows raising, smiling a little, "Really?"
"Not all bottoms are submissive, you know. I mean, so I’ve heard."
"I think you would be."
"I’d top you, Ryan, pretty H ex C."
"Maybe. I’d top and bottom. I wouldn’t really care, honestly. Whatever fit the mood."
"Really?" I laugh at how cute he sounds. "Me too!"
"We’re so gay."
"OH MY GOD, I AGREE!" He’s hugging me, now, and kissing my cheek, repeatedly.
Fuck, he just licked me, "WHAT! BRENDON!" Brendon and I are close, but not THIS close when we’re wide awake and not drowsy with goofy intentions. I’m just sitting here, now, with my legs pulled up, my knees elevated, and Brendon is turned TOWARDS me, on his knees, wrapped around me, and is kissing my cheek. He’s way too excited for it being so late. I know, thus, that he has missed me a lot. He just wants someone to play with, I guess, like we’re two little puppies, and he’s been in solitary.
"I’m sorry, Ryan, but you taste so fucking good-like-like-emo things-emo tears that you cry, because you can’t have me."
I wrap my right arm around his left knee, because his knees are pulled up, too, "Stop flirting with me."
"I know you want to be loved, Ryan. I know what you do to your wrists when my world doesn’t revolve around you."
"Dear God," I groan, laughing, and then finally lock my eyes onto him. "Hell, Brendon! You’re fucking-"
"I love you, my little Ryan. You’re my princess. Let me lick your girly hips, my submissive love."
"If you’re going to hell, I’m coming with you. I can’t be without you, I’d die. I’d fall into the abyss of my own volcanic, rupturing young love; it’d burn me, char my existence, and then spit me out to exist only amongst the air you breathe, but you’d breath me so deeply, wouldn’t you?"
"Oh, Ryan," he murmurs, touching my face, now, and caressing it with soft fingertips, "do you really mean that?"
"Oh, Brendon," I sigh at him, clutching his cheeks, "what is meaning but the way my heart beats when you touch me?"
"You’re not shallow, Ryan," he sniffles back at me, our noses press together, "but you’re SO damn pretty, and sometimes I think, you and me, we’re the only two people on EARTH."
"You’re everything to me, Brendon. You’re more perfect than anything. Perfect. Perfect. Let’s be together forever, and then from forever until yesteryear, because that’s all our love really is, recycled brilliance being pulled in from the atmosphere."
"Okay, Ryan, now let’s go have really painful and, apparently, very satisfying sex."
"But, I can’t... my last relationship, see... I was emotionally abused by a... I was beaten by a one-eyed William Beckett, and then Pete, this pirate I once knew, when I was traveling on the high seas... did... things to me... and... then... God, it’s just so painful, Brendon. And then I got addicted to heroine. It was all Patrick’s fault, this candle-maker I once knew. And then... and... then... Beckett... with his giant girl hips... he... I can’t! I can’t! I can’t talk about what I... I mean... the candle-wax... the... ship splinters."
"NO! I’m so sorry you went through all of that."
I look at him, and then we both just start cracking up, "Dude, I think we might be going to hell."
"Fuck hell," he says, standing up, and pulling my right hand with him, "let’s kick Jack out and kiss."
I snort at him, "Get out of here!"
"I’m serious!"
"Brendon-"
"I WANT TO BE A BOY IN A BAND THAT KISSES OTHER BOYS AND WEARS TIGHT PANTS!"
"You already do that shit, Brendon. I hate to tell you-as if you don’t already know-but... you’re pretty much gay with me. People swear it."
"Whatever-it’s so not true-now, I’m going to the bathroom, and you’re going to kneel down in front of me and-"
"Jesus."
We both look over to Kurt, who’s standing in the living room, now, shaking his head at us.
I feel my face heat up like-shit, we’ve only been kidding around, because we’re bored, but this is embarrassing.
"Hi, Kurt!" Brendon’s back next to me, now, snuggling my shoulders. "Ryan and I have decided that we’re gay."
Kurt sighs at us, heavily, "I believe you’re gay, but Ryan? No way."
"AHAHAHAH! KURT WINS! KURT WINS!" I pronounce, and then tackle Brendon down on the couch, squeezing him.
"All right, Ryan’s a little gay, too."
"WE ARE ALL A LITTLE GAY, KURT," I tell him, and then sit up. Now, I am somehow straddling a tired, laughing Brendon. His hands are on my thighs, too, no big deal, and he’s watching the movie. He’s weird like that. As soon as a movie comes on, he’s hooked. All right, maybe that’s not so much WEIRD as it is just part of Brendon. I love how I’m just sitting here, on my best friend, all snugly and warm, feeling way too playful in my sick state. I look over at Kurt, again, laughing, and he’s just smiling. He looks a little confused, though, and then I notice the couch. Where there is no Jack. OH. HOW CUTE. I clear my throat and climb off of Brendon, whose hand just kind of follows my movement until it has to fall away.
"I’m sorry. We woke you up?"
"No, I was already awake. I can’t really sleep."
Oh, no.
"Jack’s in my room," I mention, casually, and then glance at him. "Brendon and I just ordered some food, so I let him crash in there. Big bed and all."
"Right. Yeah." Kurt has no idea that I saw them snuggling, I guess, so he tries to play it off all cool and normal. "Is he okay?"
We’re in the kitchen, now, where the light is dimmed. It’s the only light on, aside from the television screen. I turn to Kurt, who seems quite awake, though very sleepy, rubbing the back of his head, still, running his fingers though his hair, and itching the back of his right calve with his left toes, his knee bent in a ninety-degree angle, "I think so," I reply, shrugging. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I was just wondering if he said anything. We got in a fight, earlier, kind of, and... I don’t know."
A fight? I watch him, sadly, as he opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a can of soda, "A fight?"
"I don’t know. I guess. We didn’t really fight. We had a staring war. Things got weird."
"Weird?"
"Yeah, no big deal," Kurt dismisses, opening his soda. "Sorry about him taking your bed."
"No, I told him it was okay. He fell asleep on the couch."
"Yeah. I thought he’d come back, eh... I don’t know."
"Can’t sleep?"
"What?"
"You can’t sleep without him."
"What-yeah, I can."
I just stare at him, for a long moment. Okay, this is the conformed twin, after all, "Oh, okay. I just figured that you guys are so used to sleeping together..." I let my voice trail off, and he just kind of tilts his head at me, like he doesn’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t. "I think he wanted space."
"Oh." He sounds disturbed. "That’s kind of what we fought about."
"What, you didn’t want space?"
"No, we both do." He looks like he takes back saying that, because it means that there was an issue in the first place.
I don’t, however, do anything with my face, just wait for him to continue, casually standing there, like it’s no big deal.
"Nevermind, good-night."
"Go."
"Go where?"
I motion over toward my door, passing him, "I’m getting you guys beds and shit, tomorrow-separate beds. Should you need to share one, tonight, go do it."
"Wait! What!"
I turn around and look at him, seriously, "Kurt," I bite at him, but not meanly, and then point to my door. "You can’t sleep. I’m not an idiot. My room. Go. Snuggle. Hug. Do whatever the fuck it is you do, I don’t care. Just go, you guys are sucking out my soul with how cute you are-ugh, you can’t even sleep apart, because you’re mad at each other. I love it. Stop being such a pansy, and go snuggle with your brother, or drag him back to your room and snuggle with him. It’s okay, really."
Kurt’s mouth is wide open, and he looks so angry, "I don’t even-"
"Dude, don’t even try."
"Ryan, you can’t just say shit like-"
"I’m not saying any fucking thing, Kurt. I’m just pointing to my room. I’m not fucking blind. It’s nothing that comes off of you. You two ended up snuggling in my bed, earlier. You just did it. In your sleep. Go. Go to sleep, so you’re not too tired for school tomorrow. Jack’s in there, probably not sleeping, as well."
Kurt stalks back to his room and closes the door.
I sigh. I could have handled that better. Maybe if I hadn’t said, "snuggling," so many times... it’s one of my favorite words when I’m sick, in loopy, late night moods with Brendon around or when regarding, um, my two new roommates, I guess.
Brendon’s just staring, all too seriously, "What in the fuck was that?" It’s not like he’d heard me, just saw Kurt flip.
I shake my head, going to my room. I open the door, walk in, close the door, and then sigh, "Are you awake?"
There’s no answer.
"If you’re awake, your brother can’t sleep, and now he’s all pissed at me, because I told him to come snuggle with you."
"He’s the paranoid one."
Ah, so he is awake. I sigh, "You could have told me that."
"He’s the one with the girlfriend. He’s confused. He thinks he’s still a baby if he lays with me."
"And he wasn’t a baby, last week, in your own place?"
"It’s different, now, though. We’re not in that situation. And some shit happened at school, today."
"Oh, for real?" I ask, quietly, my heart aching, as I sit down, with my back to Jack, looking at me hands. "He was upset when he came in. He told me he just wasn’t feeling good. I mean, I know he has a cold, but I knew something else was bothering him."
"His girlfriend told one of her friends, or something, that, I don’t know, we’re really close-I mean, that we share a bed and all-or, we did. I mean, she meant nothing bad by it. I guess she just said it in passing, and then some of her girlfriends told people, and some jerks started stuff about it. I mean, he’s already a total target-emo kid and what-not. And I’m just kind of a weird subject, anyway, around school, and everyone thinks I’m a total fag, so..."
"What the fuck is wrong with people?"
"I don’t know, but after he woke up, when you were asleep, he, like, freaked out. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up."
I’m just gaping at him, not sure what to do with myself, "Really?" That’s all I can ask, horrified for Kurt. And Jack.
"Yeah. Before, it didn’t really matter, because it was just us sharing a bed. Now, though... eh, now there’s premeditation. Like, before, we just HAD to, because there was no room to even sleep on the floor, and that would have been stupid, anyway, because we’re brothers. But, now, here... there’s lots of room. I guess we’re just at the beginning of growing out of this... whatever... I mean, it’ll be good, and it’s probably time, but I’m kind of pissed off that he’d even-that he’d... I don’t know."
"Yeah, he said you two kind of got in a fight?"
"Not a fight, just a war of eyes."
They really are twins. Even the way they talk about it is the same, sort of distanced and pained, yet angry and sad; staring match, war of eyes!
"Oh, so he doesn’t want to snuggle, anymore, and you’re not sure you’re ready to stop having him to snuggle?"
"You make it sound so weird."
I frown, mostly because I don’t want him to think it’s weird. Sure, it’s not "normal," but their situation isn’t normal. "Look, you guys lost your mom not even a year ago. You’ve been living on your own. You quit school and jumped into full-time working. You barely see each other. Your dad is fucked up, God knows where, and your sister pretends you don’t even exist. Like... what the FUCK, dude. You SHOULD be snuggling. There’s nothing fucking wrong with being there for each other. No one can understand you like each other. You’re sixteen years old. Not twenty-five or thirty-two or-you know? He’s being a fucker. Like, what does he think? If he snuggles with his brother, anymore, he’ll be... gay? I mean, ew. Seriously?"
"I don’t know. Probably. I don’t know, but now I hate his girlfriend. Loud-mouth."
"Yeah. I bet she didn’t stop it, either. Evil girls-they always mess with snuggle time!" He gives me a strange look, so I quickly force a lights smile. "She’s probably jealous-didn’t you say she was always asking him to stay the night so he didn’t have to come back to you?"
"Yeah, the one fucking hour he saw me. Stupid prick."
I look over at Jack, who’s now on his left side, his back to me, and I frown, "Give him time."
"Yeah fucking right." I know, now, what makes them both angry is when the other has angered them. That’s pretty much the only time they curse. "What kind of jackass chooses his girlfriend’s paranoia over his brother? What kind of jackass even taints up snuggle-time with his brother with some weird bull-shit?"
"You like it, then?"
"Obviously. I mean, not necessarily the snuggling, but knowing he’s close, and even THAT freaks him out. I never see him. I never see anyone but the pricks at work. I don’t have friends or a girlfriend. I don’t have fucking parents. Sometimes I just want to fucking pretend all is okay, and being close with him is the only way I feel like I even HAVE a family. He has this whole other life-school, friends. I had all of that. I know I gave it up, but one of us had to, so we could fucking have a place to live. All I’ve been doing these last few months is working and sleeping, and, half of the time, I’m working when they do "band-practice," so they have some other kid play my parts. The shows we’ve had, so far? They used that other kid. Not me, because I’m too tired when I get home from those extra shifts on Fridays... anyway, that’s all I’ve got with him, nights. And not even snuggling. Just being close. We don’t even snuggle that much. It’s just being close, knowing my brother is there, knowing I’m not fucking all alone, and, one day, things will be better, and this will all be over, and... I don’t know, but it’s not. It won’t be all over. My mom’s still dead. My dad’s still fucked up, somewhere. My sister hates me. Now my brother is all fucking-weird. I don’t go to school. I work all day. I have anxiety issues, probably due to the death of my mother of which I have yet to cope with-like, what the fuck, Ryan? What the fuck is life? I’ve got nothing and everything at the same time. I’m alive. I’m thankful. But I’m sixteen, and feel like I’m all alone. The only time I feel somewhat okay is when I’m around Kurt. Or, I used to, at night, when he’d come home. But, now-it’s just... like... he’s just like everyone else. He’s got his friends and his girlfriend to help him. I’ve got fucking smiley-face Walmart stickers on a Walmart name-tag, and, for some fucking reason, they put an e on the end of my name. What the fuck is that? E does not go on the end of Jack; who spells Jack with an E? Oh, and it’s not like I’m seventeen, or eighteen, nineteen or in my early twenties. I’m sixteen fucking years old, and I wish I’d died. I wish I would have died, instead."
I’ve climbed on the bed, now, behind him, under my covers, and I cautiously, lightly guide my arm around him in an embrace that I know we both feel is comforting for him. I don’t even really know what to say. The truth is that he has a hard fucking life right now, and I can’t tell him otherwise. All I can offer is a few shallow words to mask it over for the time being, "I’m not Kurt, or your sister or mom or dad, but I’m me. And I love you, Jack. I’m here for you. You have me." I squeeze his shoulder, gently. "You really do."
"Yeah, but it’s not the same. You’re going on tour, anyway. And you have a bazillion people you’re close to. I’ve got the cat. That’s about it. And, sometimes, I swear she likes Kurt better than me."
My heart hurts so badly. Hearing him say these things... I just feel so helpless. I want to hold on tight, to him. So I do, "Here, turn around." He does, without saying anything, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer. It’s a really nice hold, and I know it feels good for him, too, because his hug his tight. This kid means so much to me. I kiss his forehead, for some reason, and then just rest my cheek back down in my pillow, not letting him go. I won’t, not until he’s asleep. And, even then, maybe I won’t let go. He’s in so much fucking pain. He feels so alone. He’s such a beautiful person, but, inside, he’s hurting so much, and that really, really hurts me... and brings back a lot of memories.
He wipes his tears away, after a few minutes, with the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt.
I just watch him. He’s lower than me, his face to my chest. He’s calmed down, a bit, having been crying.
After awhile, he has fallen asleep, so I leave him to go out and eat.
Brendon and I don’t really talk, probably because I’ve obviously been crying. I don’t want to talk about it.
But, before I go back to my room, to be with Jack, Brendon grabs my wrist, kisses the inner part of it, and then rubs over it with his fingertip, and his eyes are staring into mine, so deeply, even in the dark that we’ve been eating in, silently. Something happened inside of me when he did it. My heart flipped over. My chest burned. I felt like crying even more, so the tears welled up in my eyes, even though they’d never really left, and I turned back and walked into my room. I closed the door and made my way back to Jack, snuggled back in with him, just with a hand on his back, now. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can’t be that kid who just lets him deal with this on his own. I’m scared for him. I don’t want him to hurt this much. I’m close to him; I don’t know how it happened so quickly, but is has. He’s the sweetest kid, and I just wish I could make everything better.
Jack and Kurt are really like my kid brothers, but I feel so badly that I can’t help them as much as I wish I could.
I rubbed, for a few minutes, before dozing off to sleep.
The next morning, I’m sitting at the bar counter-top, jotting down some answers for some interview. Brendon had to ask me questions, and I had to ask him questions. We’ve been doing this QUITE professionally, sitting across from each other. But, a good half-way into our interview of each other, Kurt finally emerges from his bedroom and the bathroom, fully dressed. I smile at him, because he’s been running around, because he woke up a little late, only muttering things like "hello" and "what’s up" as he went back and forth between rooms, "Excellent."
"Hair?" He asks, pointing at it. "I didn’t get the time to do it right."
I motion him over, so he comes over, and I fix his hair, in only a few seconds, with a few flicks of my fingertips and a push of a lock here and there, "Are you working tonight?"
"Yeah, until eight."
I nod, "Okay, um, is it cool if I pick you up so we can go, real quick, and look at beds and shit?"
"Oh, yeah," he says, quickly, shuffling through his book-bag.
After a few moments of silence, I look up from my scribbled-in notebook, and so does Brendon.
We both look at Kurt, who’s just kind of standing there, looking around. He looks back at me, "Where’s Jack?"
Heh, "Oh, he left."
"He left?"
"Yeah," I say, casually, and Brendon glances at me, secretly, "he got an early start this morning."
Kurt doesn’t even answer me. He just stares at me like he’s expecting me to say I’m kidding, like it’s not true.
It’s true.
I glance at the clock on the microwave, "You better go, so you don’t miss the bus."
"He left?" He looks like he’s going to cry.
Ut oh. I nod, "Yeah, he said something about needing to talk to his manager, so he caught an earlier bus."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." He shuffles his foot against the floor and then slowly turns for the door, dragging my heart with him. "Okay... bye. See you at eight. Bye, Brendon."
Brendon smiles at him, genuinely, close-mouthed, and waves a hand at him, over his head, "Later. Have fun."
Once Kurt is out the door, with it closed behind him, we have a few moments of silence.
Brendon looks away from the door, his eyes dark, his eyebrows furrowed, "Are they, like, in love or something?"
I laugh at him, "If you and I weren’t already best friends, you would have just secured our place in the greatest friendships to have ever existed-and, no. I mean, maybe. They’re just really close, but some shit happened, and... yeah, I shouldn’t be telling you this, actually."
"Hey, that kid looked like he was going to cry, and Jack looked like he was dying with every step he was taking before he left!"
"They’re just really close, and they got in a fight, yesterday, because of some jerks at school-"
"I’m not following."
"They snuggle? Girlfriend told friends. Friends spread it all over school. It got back to Kurt. People started shit with him, apparently. Jack’s already a bit of a touchy subject or something there. Anyway, now that they’re here and they have other options to not sleep in the same bed, Kurt wants to be normal like that, but Jack is kind of miserable about it, because he pretty much feels like he doesn’t exist, because he doesn’t have a life, all day, like Kurt does, until he’s home and he’s close to Kurt, but Kurt is weird about it, now, suddenly, and Jack is mildly suicidal."
"Wow."
"I know."
"Poor Jack."
"Yeah."
"You’re a good friend, Ry." I look up at him, "Or whatever you are. For being with him last night."
"Yeah. I love that kid. I love them both. But Kurt.... I don’t know. He does have a school life. He has a more normal life. He goes and laughs and has fun with his friends. Jack goes to work with miserable employees, who he doesn’t have time to talk to, anyway, because he’s always so busy working, so he doesn’t have friends, or a girlfriend. He doesn’t really have anyone he can call up and start talking to. Kurt has all of that shit. I don’t know, so, maybe up until now, that hasn’t been evident, but now it is. Jack’s just trying to figure out what to do-I told him I’d go up to the college with him and help him with shit. I really want him to get in some classes, cut off the working so much-you know?"
"Ryan?"
I look up from doodling two little almost-identical figures on my lined notebook paper.
Brendon’s smiling at me, but barely, almost worriedly, "You’re... like a substitute parent or something."
"No, just... I don’t know. I don’t mind doing it-I mean, helping him with things like this."
"I know. They’re really lucky to have you."
"You know, if you tell anyone about just how lovey-dovey I am with them, I’ll probably deny it."
"No, you would not, because then you would be insulting your love for them. You can hurt me, though."
"I don’t want to hurt you."
"You’re so..."
I throw a Cheerio at him, "Look, they’re my own little family. This is my home nest. They’re my babies. I want to be here for them if they need help. They don’t have anyone else around to help them in shit like that. I’m only, like, four years older, but... I mean, I like making them feel safer. It’s so lame, but it’s true."
"Shit, you’re adorable."
I glare up at Brendon, kind of. I don’t want him to think this is adorable or cute. I’m feeling so much emotion for Jack and Kurt, and it’s stressing me out, but in a good way. I keep thinking about what I can do to distract Jack from his lack of social life, and that’s pretty much where my thoughts have been this morning. After I’d woken up, I’d sort of watched him for awhile, as he’d slept, and it had been a strange sensation. I had just wanted to squeeze him tight and tell him it was going to be okay. But, now Brendon? He’s just laughing, so genuinely, nicely, but he quickly looks down and starts doodling, like he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about and he wants to respect that. I mean, this is serious. I feel responsible for them, now. It’s not a burden or anything, God no, but they’re in my life, now, and they’re living with me, so I kind of already do feel this huge sense of older-brother-ness.
I frown, "Kurt looked pretty upset, huh?"
"Yeah, he really did," Brendon returns, looking straight at me, very seriously again. "Hurt. I’m sure that’s kind of what Jack wanted him to feel, though. You know, like: If Kurt wants to pull away, fine; I can, too."
"Yeah, although I don’t think he meant to HURT Kurt, just show him that it works both ways."
"Wow, I’m kind of sad, now."
"Don’t be sad! My new furniture will be here, soon, and then we’re going to the arcade."
"What? SINCE WHEN?"
"SINCE I STARTED HAVING TO BUY FURNITURE LIKE A REAL ADULT. Wait until you have to do it. It’s weird. I need games and to waste a few quarters and not a few thousand dollars." I cringe.
"You could have just bought Walmart furniture." He laughs, so hard, at me, and I laugh, too, shaking my head at him. "We could just stay here and play X-Box."
"Please, dude," I say to him, still laughing, and reach over and tap the tip of my eraser to his chin, "X-Box over an arcade?"
"What arcade, though? All of our old arcades are lame."
"I miss them, though. I miss the nachos, too."
Brendon and I look at each other, and then, in one nod, decide that we need said arcade’s nachos.
Brendon and I get along better when we’re not on tour, apparently. Coincidentally, there are no mentions of girlfriends.
The time has flown by. I don’t know where it all went. I didn’t do much of anything, this entire time, but write and hang out with my family, see some old friends, a couple times, hang out with Brendon, and, more than anything, sit around and do nothing with Kurt or Jack, or, sometimes, Kurt and Jack, but their schedules were still pretty different up until the beginning of last week, when Jack’s schedule had changed. So, I’d go out and drive around, visit places that meant a lot to me by just driving by, sometimes taking pictures, and when I’d get home, Kurt and Jack would be watching TV or something. Together. That had made me really happy, at first, that they had the time to spend together, but I realized that they didn’t do much talking, at all. It has really been getting to me, lately, the way they haven’t been communicating like I remember them to have been doing. But, I found out, on that Tuesday, that their seventeenth birthday was on Friday, so, of course, that was a big day.
That Sunday, I would meet back up with the crew, would gather with Brendon, Spencer, and Jon and go back on tour, overseas, which was exciting. I was looking forward to it a lot, sight-seeing and taking pictures. Being home had gotten me into a lot of thinking, and, as the days went on, when I wasn’t driving or sitting with my room-mates, I’d be in my room, laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling or out the windows, or writing somewhere-on the kitchen bar, on the couch, in the bathtub-oh, and, for the first time, I got to use my bathtub, which I hadn’t yet. Needless to say, I’d found every note-worthy occasion a cause for celebration and reflection, which always happened to be celebrated in my gigantic bath-tub. It had jets-hard ones that felt good on my feet, back and legs. It had been nice just to lounge there, when the apartment was completely quiet, and reflect or stare up out at the sky from the huge windows on the walls next to and at-the-foot of the tub. It was good times.
Friday morning was fun. I ran in and woke them both up, first Jack, with a jump on his bed, and then Kurt with a jump on his. That I had known, they hadn’t shared a bed, again, since we’d gotten their separate ones. We’d actually dragged a set in and thrown them on the floor, the very night we’d gone to look, so they wouldn’t have to use the same bed. I hadn’t really said anything about it. It had just kind of been understood. But, now, that bed had a frame. Both did, and head-boards, and they both had dressers and they’d splurged in their emergency fund and bought themselves desks, because they had always wanted their owns desks. Their furniture was not the only new furniture, though, and my apartment actually, now, looked like a real apartment, homey and lived-in, with the new comfy couches, tables and lamps in the living room. It was a really nice place to be, and we often hung out there.
Now, it’s Friday evening, and we just got back from having a birthday dinner, which had basically just been a trip to a steak-house, and now I’m fucking stuffed and am hating myself for, seriously, wearing the tightest pair of pants I own to dinner. At least I looked good? Whatever, function over beauty. I must have not been thinking when I’d been getting changed to take them out.
"Ryan, why are there gifts on the table?"
I look over from tossing my keys down on my bar counter-top. They’re looking at the kitchen table, both of them, and they’re both giving me looks, and I hear them both saying. "Now, Ryan, we talked about this." I mean, obviously, I gave them a place to live, bought them dressers and shit-okay, now, I really had just needed furniture for my guest room. But, they wouldn’t even let me buy them a pack of gum in the line at the grocery store. They had told me that, under no circumstances, should I give them presents. Okay, well, I had, because I adore them. Nothing big-heh, just a couple of stupid, cute little things I thought they might like-not need, but like. I mean, they have rooms, now-or, one giant room with a half-wall divider, and some space to fill. Right now, they, pretty much, only have furniture. But, at least their suitcases are stuffed into their shared semi-walk-in-closet. Their room is always neat, and their beds are usually always made, and, if Jack doesn’t make his, Kurt yells at him. That’s pretty much most of their conversations, now-casual greetings, farewells and the occasional bitch at each other. Oh, and I met Kurt’s girlfriend, which Jack had been not pleased about when he’d walked out of his room to say something to me and saw her hanging out. He’d said what he’d had to say, gave a nod at all of us, and then went back in his room and closed the door. I’d found it sad, the girlfriend had thought nothing of it, and Kurt, well, Kurt... I don’t know. I had never figured it out.
"I don’t know." I shrug. "Magic."
"Ryan!" Jack throws at me, and gives me a tiny shove. "I don’t want mine. That’s too much, even if it’s just a feather in nice wrapping."
I grab his elbow and pull him back toward the table, pulling Kurt’s wrist with my left hand. I’m excited. I motion them to have at it-there aren’t many. I got them both five, and they’re thoughtful gifts. I got them each a bigger gift. Kurt’s was the entire collection of some rare, early 1900’s author’s works that he was always talking about and showing me web-sites about. It had been expensive, and I’d been out-bidding jackasses on Ebay for days. I don’t like to think about the price, because Kurt’s worth it. I’m a fucking Hallmark card for these kids, I am. I hadn’t known what to get Jack, at first, because he often did keep to himself about things, but, one night, we started talking about astronomy, and he’d flipped. He’d started saying things that made my head spin. He actually used the sky coordinates, when talking about his favorite celestial bodies, instead of the names. I’d started looking for those little planetarium light-toys. You know, you turn the lights off in a room, turn on the toy, and the night-sky would be there. It had started as one of the small gifts I was going to get him, but I’d actually wound up finding this guy who made, like, traveling planetariums, and he made mini-ones, and... yeah. It would, basically, fit, like, two people, inside of it, but it had an insane collection of programming and could play proper planetarium programs, so...
IT WAS AN IMPULSE BUY. A SPLURGE. We can all use it. We’re all interested, but Jack is more-so.
It was also in my bedroom and had arrived three days earlier. I had realized that it was hard to keep them out of my room.
The thing was pretty big, too, and could inflate higher. I’m not entirely sure how to work it. Jack can figure it out.
"Come on! Open!" I urge them.
They open their presents, and they’re happy they’re just cheap little things.
I glance over at the clock, knowing that, in about an hour, Brendon and a few friends will be here. To help celebrate, of course. I let the two go back to their room, with their presents, and walk to the doorway, peeking in at them. Kurt has the room on the foot-high platform, all of the way to the right, and he’s now putting his presents on his desk, and so is Jack, but he’s spreading them all around his "room"-on his dresser, his bed (a stuffed animal), his desk, and on his night-table, "Hey, come here for a second."
They both look at me, so I motion them out and back away from the door. I walk over and into the center of the living room setup and sit down on one of the couches, casually, while they walk out. They both sit down, looking at me, like they wonder what’s up, if I’m about to give them a speech or have some kind of talk with them. They don’t say anything, though. I smile, suddenly, and perk up, looking at Kurt, directly. I point at a pretty large cardboard box on the coffee table in front of them.
Kurt looks at it, and then back at me, "What’s that?"
I shrug, stand up, and then tug at Jack’s elbow, "Hey, can you help me move something?"
Jack looks put-off that he can’t stay and stare at the box, too, like Kurt is doing. They’re so precious and awkward. But, he gets up and I motion him toward my bedroom door, "I want to get a drink, I’ll be right in."
Ha, so he goes in, and now I’m standing between two points-point thousand-dollar books and point thousand-dollar planetarium. Good times. I was looking to buy a car, this break, not furniture and presents. Furniture and presents were way, way, way, way more worth the money, though. It was just way worth it, period. I hesitate, for a moment, wondering why I haven’t heard anything, and then, I look over at the couch to see that Kurt has just pulled out one of the books, standing up over the now-opened box of card-board. He looks down at the title, and then he just-it slipped out of his fingertips like butter, but he corrected himself and collapsed down onto the edge of the couch, staring down at the one book of many. HAHA, YES.
"AH! RYAN! THERE’S, LIKE, A SPACESHIP IN YOUR ROOM! WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE HELL! AH!"
I laugh, so hard, at Jack, as he jumps out of my bedroom, truly startled.
"WHAT IS THAT THING? IT TAKES UP HALF YOUR ROOM!" True story.
"Um, your birthday present."
"My... what? But... Ryan... wait... what?" He looks so confused, maybe upset, cupping his cheeks. "I don’t understand."
I look over at Kurt, who’s looking up from his book, now holding it to his chest. Ahaha, he’s so emo. For real. He’s a sweater-vest-clad, corduroy pants rocking, glasses-wearing emo kid, now clutching the book like he’s never been so confused in his life, like it’s going to jump away from him, holding it close so he can make sure that such a thing is really that close to him. In fact, it is really close to him, because he loves the author, and, supposedly, finding rare excerpts from the Internet has helped him deal with the last few months. At least, that’s what Jack told me after Kurt just recited this really random monologue, one night, in the middle of a pizza place. I had been so confused. It had been amazing, once I realized.
I smile at Kurt, feeling a little bashful, and then slide my hands down into my pockets, from down my stomach, my arms having been crossed, and then I look back at Jack, "It’s a mini-planetarium."
His mouth opens. He doesn’t even know what to say. He turns and walks back in, slowly, and stares. I laugh.
The next hour consisted of them trying to convince me to take the things back, but I’d finally made them accept.
I love these kids so much, especially because they kept following me around, even to the bathroom-oh, I do close the door, by the way, heh-sighing at me.
A Time For Play, Work, and Evil Eyebrows