[FIC] Dreams Just Aren't Enough [Ryan/Brendon]
Title: Dreams Just Aren't Enough.
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (Ryan/Keltie, slight Ryan/Spencer, implied Ryan/OMC)
Summary: It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights.
Notes: I wrote this a while ago for patd olympics for the prompt 'Blood Is Thicker Than Water' and never quite got around to posting it on my journal... beware major angst...
The thing no one outside understands is that living with people - spending your days and nights constantly in their presence - is that somewhere in between that first tentative meeting and knowing exactly what they’re thinking, they kind of become your family.
Ryan attempts to explain this to Spencer, but it doesn’t quite work.
It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights. Ryan’s just trying to show Spencer he’s still sane - he’s seen the looks Spencer’s been giving him. He doesn’t want to worry Spencer, doesn’t need anyone worrying about him - but as he expands on this theory the concerned look in Spencer’s eyes only intensifies.
“Ry,” he says softly, “try and get some sleep will you?” Spencer cups Ryan’s face, gently running his thumbs across Ryan’s cheekbones. “For me?” Spencer asks, and Ryan nods, feeling rather than seeing the relieved smile that rewards his reply. Spencer leans forward and kisses him, once, twice. Ryan is desperate to lose himself in Spencer’s touch - the feel, the familiarity of him. Ryan knows Spencer inside out and it’s that which makes him want to move forward - but he knows he won’t. Spencer was the first real family he ever had and their relationship is so open only because they have boundaries neither oversteps when it comes to moments like this. Ryan will not give up their bond for a couple of hours of oblivion, even if pulling away only makes him feel worse.
He looks around for Brendon and Jon, but the dull pain behind his eyes forces him to half-stagger to bed and surrender to the old enemy of sleep, even if closing his eyes only worsened his headache, sending darts of pain through his head.
***
When he wakes up, the light is burning too bright in his eyes. Ryan feels as though those hours - maybe hours he thinks, maybe minutes, maybe days - of rest have eased the ache in his mind. He still feels like drifting back into sleep for a few years, lethargy weighing down his limbs to the point he’s not sure his body would even respond to his commands. When his eyes finally adjust to the light he sees the outline of a woman sitting at the edge of his bunk. He stares a few seconds before he realises that it’s Keltie. She smiles at him, and he feels himself smile back in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. He can tell by the nature of her smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that she’s spoken to Spencer, that she’s worried about him. For some reason - a reason Ryan can’t place (possibly isn’t willing to place) the idea of Spencer and Keltie discussing him crawls under his skin, trapping him, finally settling in the pit of his stomach.
“You okay?” she asks, reaching out to touch him. Ryan fights the instinct that wants to draw back. He sees the hurt look that passes fleetingly through her eyes and he wants to soothe her, just say it’s nothing personal, he’s just not in the mood for human contact, for any kind of contact. His world’s getting smaller all the time and he just doesn’t know if there’s room for anyone else in it.
He can hear the guys in the kitchen, and the sound of their normal conversation, their laughter, their happiness nearly chokes him. Ryan’s forgotten (let himself forget) that not everyone is followed around by a shadow of self-doubt the way he is. With that realisation - which hits him afresh every time he hears his friends behaving like normal human beings - resentment flares from within him.
He’s seized by the sudden urge to go out there, to end that brief moment of normality. They’re never like that around Ryan anymore - too uncertain of how he’ll react to the most innocent of comments. He begins to sit up before remembering he’s not alone, that Keltie’s watching him for them, for any signs that he’s cracking up.
However, just as suddenly as it’s come, the resentment is gone again and he lies back down, totally drained. The worried look in her eyes is now playing out on her features and Ryan feels bad that she’s come all this way to see him only to find he’s losing his mind.
***
The next few days pass in a blur, a blur that drags on and on until Ryan is sure time is, in fact, an imaginary concept. Time should surely go forward, it shouldn’t stay stagnant. All he remembers are worried expressions hidden badly by forced smiles and hushed conversations not meant for him to overhear. He occasionally contemplates screaming out, telling them it’s my fucking life, you don’t understand, you’ll never understand but the energy it would require is far too much for Ryan to bear even thinking about.
Keltie spends a lot of time with him those days, talking as if she can coax him back into being his old self, living his old life; he doesn’t know how to tell her how everything’s changed, that what was once a awe-inspiring kaleidoscope is now just a bad acid trip. She tells him about her life in whatever city she’s living in now, Ryan loses track of the names and places, people he’s never met and will never care about. People who mean the world to her. She tells him about her parents, about how they’re desperate to meet him, keep asking her when she’s going to find a good man and settle down. She says those last two words meaningfully but Ryan’s done with subtlety and hidden meanings, has had enough to last a lifetime. He will admit to entertaining ideas about marrying Keltie, could see his life almost spread out before him from the house just outside the city and the 2.5 children; the quiet, introverted little girl, the charming, outgoing little boy and the smiling little infant no one can resist. Hell, he even sees them in old age, their children grown up and nowhere near as fucked up as him, as her - even if she won’t admit to it.
What he doesn’t admit to, will never admit to - because part of him is desperate for the quiet simplicity of that life, the sheer easiness of it - is that he can’t see anything beyond the band, beyond his friends, beyond the life he’s leading now. She doesn’t see that this is now a part of who he is, this is what took him out of the life he was tired of living, couldn’t have gone on living for much longer. This life, these people, they saved him, but he helped to save them too. By ripping himself wide open he’d spun those stories that had landed them where they are now.
He thinks of Spencer, Spencer who’s seen him at his very worst and never once even contemplated leaving him. Spencer, who looked after him when he was five years old and scraped his knees. Spencer who looks after him now that the wounds aren’t half as obvious but twice as painful.
Jon too, Jon might not have been there for it all, but Jon didn’t have to be. He’s one of the few people in Ryan’s life who is constant and steady, something Ryan values him for more than he’ll ever know.
Then, of course, that brought him to Brendon. Of course, how could it not? This is the first time in weeks Ryan’s allowed himself to even think his name and it still sends a shock of pain to his chest.
He’s been avoiding him for weeks, even onstage he’s totally focused on the music, letting old words of hurt and loss cleanse him. He takes the words Brendon’s singing night after night and changes them, fitting them to something new, seeing how he would change them now - anything to distract himself from the desire to watch Brendon, to see that he knows without a doubt every single move Brendon will make. He was always easiest to read for Ryan - onstage at least. Ryan does what he can to avoid interviews with Brendon, knows he couldn’t handle watching him charm the interviewer, to act as though nothing has happened, each carefully contemplated phrase saccharine sweet as it falls from his mouth.
Now that Ryan’s started this dangerous line of thought, the memories and possibilities and regrets threatening to drown him, his head buzzing with a million thoughts demanding his attention right now… Ryan just wants to go under and never come back up for air.
***
“We’re going to wake them up,” Ryan giggles, pulling Brendon by his belt as his own back hits the wall before kissing him, hungry, desperate.
“You’re going to wake them up you mean,” Brendon replies in what Ryan guesses is supposed to be a whisper, but Brendon can’t whisper when he’s…
“You’re drunk!” Ryan says astonished - a little gleeful, but mostly astonished - before starting to unbutton Brendon’s shirt as the younger boy fumbles with Ryan’s belt.
“Don’t know why you wear this damn thing anyway, s’not like your pants aren’t superglued on anyway,” Brendon mumbles as Ryan’s mouth trails down his jaw, his hands sliding over the pale expanse of chest he’s uncovered.
He laughs softly, his breath hot against Brendon’s neck, and Ryan feels him shiver at the sensation.
“God… want,” Brendon manages to choke out breathlessly, and it’s not as if Ryan could ever deny him anything.
They’re on the sofa now, Ryan straddling Brendon’s waist, and for the first time in months Ryan feels sexy, powerful, in control. Brendon reaches up for him, pulling Ryan down to kiss him again, and damn, Ryan thinks, it’s been too long since he’s had Brendon like this, helpless with desire underneath him.
That is until Brendon uses the fingers he’s tangled in Ryan’s hair to pull him down until he’s growling in Ryan’s ear, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shock of arousal down Ryan’s spine.
“I want you to fuck me.”
***
The next morning he wakes up with no recollection of anything other than the thought, repeating in his mind like some tragic mantra, I need to get out.
He finds Spencer sitting on the sofa in the hotel room - wait, hotel room? Ryan thinks, unable to understand what he’s doing there - with an expression on his face Ryan has seen only once, and had never wanted to see again.
“Spin,” he starts, but his voice sounds like he’s been swallowing razorblades, rough and raw, slit down the middle.
“What the fuck did you think you were playing at?” Spencer asks, his voice cold on the surface, but Ryan can hear the anger behind it, years of experience making it painfully clear - Spencer’s anger is fuelled by fear, Ryan knows that really - and that familiar feeling of guilt cuts across his skin.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan croaks, the guilt suddenly accompanied by a cold chill of fear. It’s not just the haze of waking up, he has no idea what happened to him last night. He feels Spencer scrutinising him, trying to decide if Ryan’s attempting to lie his way out of whatever it was he did, or if he honestly doesn’t know. He hears Spencer’s sharp intake of breath when he realises it’s the latter.
So Spencer tells him. Tells him how he’d staggered on to stage the night in question, already reeking of Jack Daniels and cheap cologne, fumbled his way through the entire set and then promptly disappeared. It isn’t in fact the next morning as Ryan had thought, but two days after his great vanishing act. Ryan’s been out cold ever since, some unknown stranger bringing him back to their hotel the day before, after recognising him.
“You didn’t even know your own fucking name Ry,” Spencer says finally, the anger mostly gone now, but it’s given way to sadness, to disappointment, and Ryan suddenly misses the anger; he at least knew how to handle that.
Spencer stands up and walks to the door, muttering something outside before coming back in to sit on the chair Ryan hadn’t even noticed was positioned right next to his bed. Seconds later Brendon and Jon come flying into the room.
Ryan isn’t prepared for how tired they both look, how tense and wrecked they evidently feel. Jon goes first, no recriminations or harsh words, just wraps his arms around Ryan’s tiny frame and holds him. It’s such a gesture of solidarity, of friendship, that Ryan doesn’t feel quite as alone as he did before.
Spencer, Jon and Brendon exchange quiet words in the corner before Spencer and Jon go outside, leaving Ryan and Brendon totally alone for the first time in months.
“What were you thinking Ry? Or were you not thinking at all?” Brendon says, and Ryan’s surprised by the hurt in his voice, the raw edge to it that he hasn’t heard in a long time. But Ryan can’t handle Brendon’s hurt right now, not when he can feel the ache in his own chest heavy and tiring.
“Why the fuck do you care?” he spits back, and watches helplessly as Brendon recoils at the venom in Ryan’s words. Ryan knows this point well, he knows this is where Brendon walks away and doesn’t look back. Knows that if he pushes hard enough he can lose what he wants all over again.
Brendon, however, surprises him.
“What?” he asks, and Ryan can practically feel the anger radiating from Brendon, hard as he’s trying to control it. “You’re accusing me of not caring when you made it damn clear you didn’t want me around, couldn’t fucking care less about me, in fact. I could just about handle that Ry, being left on the outside, not allowed to know what goes on inside that precious mind of yours, but to bring her back as your way of telling me that whatever fucked up little thing we had was over? When I was damn near convinced that I’d fallen for you? That was cruel Ryan.”
Ryan tries to interrupt, tries to tell Brendon that he’s wrong, but Brendon’s started now and he won’t be stopped.
“No. I’ve spent so much time listening to what you have to say, hanging off your every word, and I just can’t do it any longer. I just have to know why you felt you needed to punish me again. I was coping with this, I thought I might finally get my life back, and what do you do? You push right back in, knock down every defence I built when you were gone and you did it all with just one kiss. Then the next morning I wake up - and honey this would be the morning after you fucked me into the sofa, told me you loved me, that you wanted only me - I wake up and find you’ve pulled some disappearing act, you’ve left me alone and broken again. Fuck me for being too weak to resist you, but fuck you for knowing I never could.”
With that Brendon storms from the room, leaving Ryan speechless and trying to process the implications of what was just said.
***
Ryan knocks on the door of the lounge where he knows the other three are sitting, having finally gathered enough energy to make the trip.
Spencer answers the door, looking momentarily surprised when he sees Ryan there, but moving aside to let him in all the same.
He sees Brendon curled against Jon’s side, apparently just woken by the sound at the door, and the sight of him almost breaks what’s left of Ryan’s heart in two. He’s never seen Brendon look this… defeated, yes, defeated is the only accurate description of how he looks, like the fight has been driven out of him. He looks up to meet Ryan’s gaze and he sees that the vibrant spark which had been there since the first day they met has given way to an almost haunted, empty stare. “What do you want?” he asks as Jon and Spencer once again retreat from the room, both pausing to squeeze Brendon’s shoulder in a show of support as they pass.
Ryan guesses this is his turn for the dramatic speech, but he just can’t find the willpower to be angry about what went on between them.
“I broke up with Keltie,” he says simply, collapsing on the couch next to Brendon. He feels the other boy’s questioning gaze on him and he decides to try and explain. “It’s just, I could see a future with her, yes, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.” He knows Brendon is giving him his attention tentatively, and Ryan can’t find it in himself to blame Brendon for it; Ryan hasn’t been the most open or even consistent person to be with. “Any future with her didn’t have you guys in it. You’re my family, all of you, and I’d be lost without you guys. Especially you.” Ryan whispers, but the last two words seem to hang in the silence his words have left.
It’s not uncomfortable, Ryan thinks, leaning back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere that isn’t Brendon.
Brendon tries to crush the note of hope in his voice when he asks, “Why should I believe you?”
Brendon doesn’t realise how well Ryan knows him, though, and hearing that little spark gives Ryan hope of his own.
“Because I don’t go around telling everyone I love them,” Ryan smiles, and for a minute it this could be like every other moment they’ve ever had. If it wasn’t for the fact nothing like this has ever passed between them.
When Ryan finally gains the courage to look at Brendon he sees the conflict of love and wariness in his eyes, written all over his features.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft again, the tone once again serious. “Can you… could you forgive me?”
He watches a little of the wariness melt away from Brendon’s eyes when he smiles.
“Isn’t that what family is for?”
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (Ryan/Keltie, slight Ryan/Spencer, implied Ryan/OMC)
Summary: It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights.
Notes: I wrote this a while ago for patd olympics for the prompt 'Blood Is Thicker Than Water' and never quite got around to posting it on my journal... beware major angst...
The thing no one outside understands is that living with people - spending your days and nights constantly in their presence - is that somewhere in between that first tentative meeting and knowing exactly what they’re thinking, they kind of become your family.
Ryan attempts to explain this to Spencer, but it doesn’t quite work.
It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights. Ryan’s just trying to show Spencer he’s still sane - he’s seen the looks Spencer’s been giving him. He doesn’t want to worry Spencer, doesn’t need anyone worrying about him - but as he expands on this theory the concerned look in Spencer’s eyes only intensifies.
“Ry,” he says softly, “try and get some sleep will you?” Spencer cups Ryan’s face, gently running his thumbs across Ryan’s cheekbones. “For me?” Spencer asks, and Ryan nods, feeling rather than seeing the relieved smile that rewards his reply. Spencer leans forward and kisses him, once, twice. Ryan is desperate to lose himself in Spencer’s touch - the feel, the familiarity of him. Ryan knows Spencer inside out and it’s that which makes him want to move forward - but he knows he won’t. Spencer was the first real family he ever had and their relationship is so open only because they have boundaries neither oversteps when it comes to moments like this. Ryan will not give up their bond for a couple of hours of oblivion, even if pulling away only makes him feel worse.
He looks around for Brendon and Jon, but the dull pain behind his eyes forces him to half-stagger to bed and surrender to the old enemy of sleep, even if closing his eyes only worsened his headache, sending darts of pain through his head.
***
When he wakes up, the light is burning too bright in his eyes. Ryan feels as though those hours - maybe hours he thinks, maybe minutes, maybe days - of rest have eased the ache in his mind. He still feels like drifting back into sleep for a few years, lethargy weighing down his limbs to the point he’s not sure his body would even respond to his commands. When his eyes finally adjust to the light he sees the outline of a woman sitting at the edge of his bunk. He stares a few seconds before he realises that it’s Keltie. She smiles at him, and he feels himself smile back in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. He can tell by the nature of her smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that she’s spoken to Spencer, that she’s worried about him. For some reason - a reason Ryan can’t place (possibly isn’t willing to place) the idea of Spencer and Keltie discussing him crawls under his skin, trapping him, finally settling in the pit of his stomach.
“You okay?” she asks, reaching out to touch him. Ryan fights the instinct that wants to draw back. He sees the hurt look that passes fleetingly through her eyes and he wants to soothe her, just say it’s nothing personal, he’s just not in the mood for human contact, for any kind of contact. His world’s getting smaller all the time and he just doesn’t know if there’s room for anyone else in it.
He can hear the guys in the kitchen, and the sound of their normal conversation, their laughter, their happiness nearly chokes him. Ryan’s forgotten (let himself forget) that not everyone is followed around by a shadow of self-doubt the way he is. With that realisation - which hits him afresh every time he hears his friends behaving like normal human beings - resentment flares from within him.
He’s seized by the sudden urge to go out there, to end that brief moment of normality. They’re never like that around Ryan anymore - too uncertain of how he’ll react to the most innocent of comments. He begins to sit up before remembering he’s not alone, that Keltie’s watching him for them, for any signs that he’s cracking up.
However, just as suddenly as it’s come, the resentment is gone again and he lies back down, totally drained. The worried look in her eyes is now playing out on her features and Ryan feels bad that she’s come all this way to see him only to find he’s losing his mind.
***
The next few days pass in a blur, a blur that drags on and on until Ryan is sure time is, in fact, an imaginary concept. Time should surely go forward, it shouldn’t stay stagnant. All he remembers are worried expressions hidden badly by forced smiles and hushed conversations not meant for him to overhear. He occasionally contemplates screaming out, telling them it’s my fucking life, you don’t understand, you’ll never understand but the energy it would require is far too much for Ryan to bear even thinking about.
Keltie spends a lot of time with him those days, talking as if she can coax him back into being his old self, living his old life; he doesn’t know how to tell her how everything’s changed, that what was once a awe-inspiring kaleidoscope is now just a bad acid trip. She tells him about her life in whatever city she’s living in now, Ryan loses track of the names and places, people he’s never met and will never care about. People who mean the world to her. She tells him about her parents, about how they’re desperate to meet him, keep asking her when she’s going to find a good man and settle down. She says those last two words meaningfully but Ryan’s done with subtlety and hidden meanings, has had enough to last a lifetime. He will admit to entertaining ideas about marrying Keltie, could see his life almost spread out before him from the house just outside the city and the 2.5 children; the quiet, introverted little girl, the charming, outgoing little boy and the smiling little infant no one can resist. Hell, he even sees them in old age, their children grown up and nowhere near as fucked up as him, as her - even if she won’t admit to it.
What he doesn’t admit to, will never admit to - because part of him is desperate for the quiet simplicity of that life, the sheer easiness of it - is that he can’t see anything beyond the band, beyond his friends, beyond the life he’s leading now. She doesn’t see that this is now a part of who he is, this is what took him out of the life he was tired of living, couldn’t have gone on living for much longer. This life, these people, they saved him, but he helped to save them too. By ripping himself wide open he’d spun those stories that had landed them where they are now.
He thinks of Spencer, Spencer who’s seen him at his very worst and never once even contemplated leaving him. Spencer, who looked after him when he was five years old and scraped his knees. Spencer who looks after him now that the wounds aren’t half as obvious but twice as painful.
Jon too, Jon might not have been there for it all, but Jon didn’t have to be. He’s one of the few people in Ryan’s life who is constant and steady, something Ryan values him for more than he’ll ever know.
Then, of course, that brought him to Brendon. Of course, how could it not? This is the first time in weeks Ryan’s allowed himself to even think his name and it still sends a shock of pain to his chest.
He’s been avoiding him for weeks, even onstage he’s totally focused on the music, letting old words of hurt and loss cleanse him. He takes the words Brendon’s singing night after night and changes them, fitting them to something new, seeing how he would change them now - anything to distract himself from the desire to watch Brendon, to see that he knows without a doubt every single move Brendon will make. He was always easiest to read for Ryan - onstage at least. Ryan does what he can to avoid interviews with Brendon, knows he couldn’t handle watching him charm the interviewer, to act as though nothing has happened, each carefully contemplated phrase saccharine sweet as it falls from his mouth.
Now that Ryan’s started this dangerous line of thought, the memories and possibilities and regrets threatening to drown him, his head buzzing with a million thoughts demanding his attention right now… Ryan just wants to go under and never come back up for air.
***
“We’re going to wake them up,” Ryan giggles, pulling Brendon by his belt as his own back hits the wall before kissing him, hungry, desperate.
“You’re going to wake them up you mean,” Brendon replies in what Ryan guesses is supposed to be a whisper, but Brendon can’t whisper when he’s…
“You’re drunk!” Ryan says astonished - a little gleeful, but mostly astonished - before starting to unbutton Brendon’s shirt as the younger boy fumbles with Ryan’s belt.
“Don’t know why you wear this damn thing anyway, s’not like your pants aren’t superglued on anyway,” Brendon mumbles as Ryan’s mouth trails down his jaw, his hands sliding over the pale expanse of chest he’s uncovered.
He laughs softly, his breath hot against Brendon’s neck, and Ryan feels him shiver at the sensation.
“God… want,” Brendon manages to choke out breathlessly, and it’s not as if Ryan could ever deny him anything.
They’re on the sofa now, Ryan straddling Brendon’s waist, and for the first time in months Ryan feels sexy, powerful, in control. Brendon reaches up for him, pulling Ryan down to kiss him again, and damn, Ryan thinks, it’s been too long since he’s had Brendon like this, helpless with desire underneath him.
That is until Brendon uses the fingers he’s tangled in Ryan’s hair to pull him down until he’s growling in Ryan’s ear, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shock of arousal down Ryan’s spine.
“I want you to fuck me.”
***
The next morning he wakes up with no recollection of anything other than the thought, repeating in his mind like some tragic mantra, I need to get out.
He finds Spencer sitting on the sofa in the hotel room - wait, hotel room? Ryan thinks, unable to understand what he’s doing there - with an expression on his face Ryan has seen only once, and had never wanted to see again.
“Spin,” he starts, but his voice sounds like he’s been swallowing razorblades, rough and raw, slit down the middle.
“What the fuck did you think you were playing at?” Spencer asks, his voice cold on the surface, but Ryan can hear the anger behind it, years of experience making it painfully clear - Spencer’s anger is fuelled by fear, Ryan knows that really - and that familiar feeling of guilt cuts across his skin.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan croaks, the guilt suddenly accompanied by a cold chill of fear. It’s not just the haze of waking up, he has no idea what happened to him last night. He feels Spencer scrutinising him, trying to decide if Ryan’s attempting to lie his way out of whatever it was he did, or if he honestly doesn’t know. He hears Spencer’s sharp intake of breath when he realises it’s the latter.
So Spencer tells him. Tells him how he’d staggered on to stage the night in question, already reeking of Jack Daniels and cheap cologne, fumbled his way through the entire set and then promptly disappeared. It isn’t in fact the next morning as Ryan had thought, but two days after his great vanishing act. Ryan’s been out cold ever since, some unknown stranger bringing him back to their hotel the day before, after recognising him.
“You didn’t even know your own fucking name Ry,” Spencer says finally, the anger mostly gone now, but it’s given way to sadness, to disappointment, and Ryan suddenly misses the anger; he at least knew how to handle that.
Spencer stands up and walks to the door, muttering something outside before coming back in to sit on the chair Ryan hadn’t even noticed was positioned right next to his bed. Seconds later Brendon and Jon come flying into the room.
Ryan isn’t prepared for how tired they both look, how tense and wrecked they evidently feel. Jon goes first, no recriminations or harsh words, just wraps his arms around Ryan’s tiny frame and holds him. It’s such a gesture of solidarity, of friendship, that Ryan doesn’t feel quite as alone as he did before.
Spencer, Jon and Brendon exchange quiet words in the corner before Spencer and Jon go outside, leaving Ryan and Brendon totally alone for the first time in months.
“What were you thinking Ry? Or were you not thinking at all?” Brendon says, and Ryan’s surprised by the hurt in his voice, the raw edge to it that he hasn’t heard in a long time. But Ryan can’t handle Brendon’s hurt right now, not when he can feel the ache in his own chest heavy and tiring.
“Why the fuck do you care?” he spits back, and watches helplessly as Brendon recoils at the venom in Ryan’s words. Ryan knows this point well, he knows this is where Brendon walks away and doesn’t look back. Knows that if he pushes hard enough he can lose what he wants all over again.
Brendon, however, surprises him.
“What?” he asks, and Ryan can practically feel the anger radiating from Brendon, hard as he’s trying to control it. “You’re accusing me of not caring when you made it damn clear you didn’t want me around, couldn’t fucking care less about me, in fact. I could just about handle that Ry, being left on the outside, not allowed to know what goes on inside that precious mind of yours, but to bring her back as your way of telling me that whatever fucked up little thing we had was over? When I was damn near convinced that I’d fallen for you? That was cruel Ryan.”
Ryan tries to interrupt, tries to tell Brendon that he’s wrong, but Brendon’s started now and he won’t be stopped.
“No. I’ve spent so much time listening to what you have to say, hanging off your every word, and I just can’t do it any longer. I just have to know why you felt you needed to punish me again. I was coping with this, I thought I might finally get my life back, and what do you do? You push right back in, knock down every defence I built when you were gone and you did it all with just one kiss. Then the next morning I wake up - and honey this would be the morning after you fucked me into the sofa, told me you loved me, that you wanted only me - I wake up and find you’ve pulled some disappearing act, you’ve left me alone and broken again. Fuck me for being too weak to resist you, but fuck you for knowing I never could.”
With that Brendon storms from the room, leaving Ryan speechless and trying to process the implications of what was just said.
***
Ryan knocks on the door of the lounge where he knows the other three are sitting, having finally gathered enough energy to make the trip.
Spencer answers the door, looking momentarily surprised when he sees Ryan there, but moving aside to let him in all the same.
He sees Brendon curled against Jon’s side, apparently just woken by the sound at the door, and the sight of him almost breaks what’s left of Ryan’s heart in two. He’s never seen Brendon look this… defeated, yes, defeated is the only accurate description of how he looks, like the fight has been driven out of him. He looks up to meet Ryan’s gaze and he sees that the vibrant spark which had been there since the first day they met has given way to an almost haunted, empty stare. “What do you want?” he asks as Jon and Spencer once again retreat from the room, both pausing to squeeze Brendon’s shoulder in a show of support as they pass.
Ryan guesses this is his turn for the dramatic speech, but he just can’t find the willpower to be angry about what went on between them.
“I broke up with Keltie,” he says simply, collapsing on the couch next to Brendon. He feels the other boy’s questioning gaze on him and he decides to try and explain. “It’s just, I could see a future with her, yes, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.” He knows Brendon is giving him his attention tentatively, and Ryan can’t find it in himself to blame Brendon for it; Ryan hasn’t been the most open or even consistent person to be with. “Any future with her didn’t have you guys in it. You’re my family, all of you, and I’d be lost without you guys. Especially you.” Ryan whispers, but the last two words seem to hang in the silence his words have left.
It’s not uncomfortable, Ryan thinks, leaning back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere that isn’t Brendon.
Brendon tries to crush the note of hope in his voice when he asks, “Why should I believe you?”
Brendon doesn’t realise how well Ryan knows him, though, and hearing that little spark gives Ryan hope of his own.
“Because I don’t go around telling everyone I love them,” Ryan smiles, and for a minute it this could be like every other moment they’ve ever had. If it wasn’t for the fact nothing like this has ever passed between them.
When Ryan finally gains the courage to look at Brendon he sees the conflict of love and wariness in his eyes, written all over his features.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft again, the tone once again serious. “Can you… could you forgive me?”
He watches a little of the wariness melt away from Brendon’s eyes when he smiles.
“Isn’t that what family is for?”