Hallelujah (just off the key of reason) [9]
Title: Hallelujah (just off the key of reason) [9]
Author: minus_four
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: Priestfic AU. Brendon's a few years older than Ryan. The morning after the night before, Ryan and Brendon try and deal with everything.
Disclaimer: Not even close to real. I think that's apparent from the subject matter lol
Author's Notes: Special thanks to lolab for allowing me to 'immortalize his trauma' in this chapter. Plus for being on crack with me and letting me come up with ridic PlaneWreckFic outtakes.
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
Usually when Ryan woke up in the morning he found himself suddenly yanked from consciousness; either by the last fragmented moments of a bad dream that his mind finally decided to let him break out of, or maybe by the loud noise of the front door slamming or his dad fumbling around the kitchen, the boy right away noting the number of times the cupboard doors banged or the man swore so Ryan could gauge the level of the hangover his father most likely had and therefore the potential risk of going downstairs for a simple cup of coffee. It wasn’t like Ryan thought his dad would... do anything though, not in the morning anyway.
Over the years Ryan had learnt from constant experience when his father was more likely to lash out and what signs to watch out for so he knew when to keep quiet or even just stay away from the house if he could. His dad was, for the most part, fairly predictable. On occasion, though, like the previous night, he deviated from the norm, but Ryan could usually tell when it was pretty much safe to be around the man. However, just because Ryan wasn’t going to be hurt physically it didn’t mean he was really safe, not by a long way.
Just being around his dad long enough to fix himself a coffee meant giving the man a big enough time window to seriously fuck with Ryan’s head for the rest of the day. Every curse word growled in Ryan’s general direction, every judgemental look up and down Ryan’s skinny frame that pretty much bordered on disgust, and every silence in between that part of Ryan still wished was filled by kind of conversation or just some interest shown in Ryan’s day or - God forbid - wellbeing.
As much as Ryan hated that he couldn’t just switch it off, that pathetic desire for some kind of approval or a glimmer of hope that his father actually gave a shit about him, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t even hate the man, as much as Ryan had tried to convince himself he did. So yeah, even ‘good’ days still held the possibility of spinning Ryan’s mind off into a spiral of self doubt, of feeling like he wasn’t worth shit, even of hating himself because after more than a decade of it being drummed into him, day after day, that he should... well, it didn’t take too much for Ryan to start believing it himself. He always knew he’d be fine once he got to school and saw Spence, but if he’d had a run in with his dad beforehand there was always going to be that little voice in the back of Ryan’s mind: Spencer doesn’t really care about you, no one does. No one should. You know that, don’t you Ryan?.
That morning though, waking up blissfully slowly, Ryan’s mind drifted into wakefulness with a sense of calm that was foreign to him. He didn’t have to listen out for signs of his father because he wasn’t at home, not his home, anyway. He was still at Brendon’s house. And, Ryan realised as he uncurled his body from where he’d still been lying cocooned in blankets and sat up, he felt so fucking safe. Seconds after that realisation Ryan registered two simultaneous thoughts that suddenly weighed heavy on his mind, slightly stifling the happy state of relaxation he’d woken up in:
He didn’t want to leave here.
And he couldn’t stay.
Trying to push those thoughts from his head until he really had to deal with them, Ryan ran a hand through his hair (not that it mattered if it stuck up anyway, most of the time he made it do that on purpose, though Ryan had started just not bothering if he was going to church because any number of old ladies would come up to him and flatten his faux-hawk because his hair was clearly ‘out of place’ and they wanted to ‘fix it’ for him) and wiped a finger under each eye to catch any stray smudges of eyeliner from the night before. He didn’t exactly want to go downstairs and have Brendon see him looking like he had two black eyes or something.
The thought jolted Ryan into remembering, and the boy then ran the pad of his right thumb lightly over his left cheekbone. It hurt, a little, but he’d felt worse. Ryan only hoped it didn’t look any more severe than it felt, because as much as his mind had been preoccupied with the whole need-to-get-out-of-here-right-now thing at Brendon’s front door, he’d still clocked the way the older man’s eyes had been fixed on his cheek for a moment or two, the priest visibly upset by the physical evidence of how bad Ryan’s night had been. On top of everything else, and Ryan cringed inwardly as he remembered precisely what that meant, what he’d done last night, he didn’t want to upset Brendon any more than he already had.
Sighing, Ryan pushed the covers from over his legs and crawled over to sit on the edge of the bed. It was then that he noticed the little digital alarm clock by Brendon’s bed, and the numbers which glowed in the dim room which was only lit by tiny rays of daylight (not sun, because Ryan could see through the crack in the curtain that the sky was a dull grey, filled with clouds which were probably still emitting drizzle; the last remnants of the storm) filtering into the bedroom. Ryan was pretty shocked to see that it was gone eleven, 11.09 to be exact. He never usually slept that late, often setting his alarm early even on a Saturday just to make sure because his father always slept through much of the day during the weekend, and Ryan liked being able to just... be in his own house for a while before heading out to browse for more CDs and books he couldn’t afford, sit somewhere and write or probably just go and hang out with Spencer.
His next thought was considering why the alarm on his cell phone hadn’t woken him up, followed closely by Ryan wondering where his cell was and then noticing his clothes were also gone. It was fairly obvious where they’d have gone, but there were some things Ryan didn’t know, and wouldn’t have guessed even if he’d let himself think about it.
He didn’t know Brendon had tiptoed up the stairs about an hour later and crept into his bedroom to collect Ryan’s clothes from their heap on the floor so he could put them in the washing machine. He didn’t know Brendon returned at three a.m just to check on Ryan and make sure he was okay, and he definitely didn’t know about the older man watching him for a minute or two after pulling the blanket back over the tiny looking form of Ryan where he lay curled up, sound asleep. And he didn’t hear Brendon sigh as he left the room to go and not-sleep on the sofa some more, a big part of him wishing things were different, or at least... less complicated.
Ryan missed all of that but, guessing he’d most likely find his clothes with Brendon, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom before following the distinct smell of something cooking and the sound which he then recognised was Brendon singing as he padded down the stairs and made his way towards the kitchen.
He just stood in the doorway for a while, feeling slightly awkward as he watched Brendon poke at the pancake in his pan with a spatula while he sang what Ryan now realised was the start of the second verse of ‘Eleanor Rigby’. Not wanting to interrupt Ryan didn’t say anything, but it didn’t matter anyway because when Brendon turned around to pick up his mug from the counter he stopped singing just as he was about to hit the chorus, his voice cut off right at the top of a crescendo, and smiled at Ryan.
“Hey,” he said, turning the heat down on the pan so he didn’t have to watch it so carefully. “How’d you sleep?”
“Yeah, good thanks,” Ryan nodded in response but Brendon noticed that Ryan’s attention was fixed on his chest rather than his face when he spoke.
“Like my shirt?” Brendon asked. He was wearing a t shirt which said ‘Jesus Loves You’ above a picture of the typical depiction of Jesus’ face, with the beard and long hair and everything, but underneath it read ‘(But I'm his favorite)’.
“It’s very ‘you’, Bren,” Ryan laughed, shaking his head. Brendon was grinning back at him and Ryan was honestly surprised that he was so easily able to return the expression. He’d thought things would automatically become difficult, even painful, between them, but it looked like he might be wrong about that.
“I know, right?” Brendon said happily, turning back to flip the pancake before setting it back on the hob. “I also have one quoting God saying like, “Don’t make me come down there” or whatever, but that’s totally stupid because if God suddenly decided to intervene in life on Earth I’m pretty sure He’d be a little preoccupied with all the famines and everything to worry about humans fighting about silly little things in their own little lives...” Brendon suddenly trailed off as he realised Ryan was just sort of staring at him bemusedly. “I’ve told you to stop me when I do that,” he pretended to ‘tsk’ at Ryan before stepping sideways so he could reach up and pull a mug out of the cupboard above. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, please,” Ryan answered, his brain acting almost on autopilot as what Brendon had just said lingered in his thoughts. It was true, he found himself thinking. There were so many things happening in the world that were so much bigger than one little kiss, one mistake on a bad night. Ryan’s initial reaction had been, even if Brendon didn’t cut their friendship off, to run away from Brendon and act like they’d never been close at all, because it was easier than trying to deal with stuff. In the morning, though, the situation looked a little different, and the kiss didn’t quite seem like the end of the world anymore, though it was still pretty close.
He was Ryan and Brendon was Brendon. All that had changed was that Brendon now knew, unless he was really stupid and Ryan knew he wasn’t, that Ryan liked him more than just a friend should, and probably thought about him in ways he shouldn’t. Now, it wasn’t as though Brendon was going to be returning any of those feelings, but for all Ryan knew the priest could decide to put a professional distance between the two of them now, for both their sakes and the safety of his job, which Ryan really wouldn’t be able to blame him for; only himself. Ryan could definitely blame himself for it, and he knew he most likely would, too.
“I was about to come and wake you anyway,” Brendon told him, handing him the mug of coffee and gesturing towards the milk and sugar on the counter, which Ryan shook his head at, smiling his thanks at Brendon. “It being pancake time and all,” he added while opening the oven door and taking out a plate of already cooked pancakes which he’d been keeping warm and tipping the last one onto the pile.
“You should have woken me up before,” Ryan said, frowning slightly even as he followed Brendon across to sit at the table, “this is a pretty late breakfast for you.”
“Brunch, then. Whatever,” Brendon shrugged, stabbing a couple of pancakes and putting them on his plate before pushing the plate across to Ryan. “Besides, I’ve got a wedding to do in about...” he glanced at his watch, “an hour or so, and no one wants to hear the priest’s stomach rumbling while they say their vows,” Brendon laughed as he reached for the syrup. “So it’s just as well I eat now, really.”
“I guess so,” Ryan smiled back at Brendon across the table as he put some pancakes on his own plate. “These look really good.”
“You sound surprised, Ryan,” Brendon replied indignantly. “It’s like you have no faith in my culinary abilities. Have I taught you nothing if not to have faith?” he joked, the pout vanishing from his face as soon as he raised a forkful of pancake to his mouth.
“Forgive me, Father,” Ryan automatically slipped into the same joking tone before he could catch himself and almost choked on his breakfast as he realised that he really could have asked Brendon for forgiveness the previous night if the older man hadn’t succeeded in keeping him from freaking out and apologising over and over. “I mean -” he coughed. “Fuck,” he breathed out the curse, staring down at his plate for a few seconds. Just when Ryan felt like things might actually be okay between them, let alone just not weird which he would even have settled for, the memory came and made him mess things up himself without any help from Brendon at all.
“Hey, Ry,” Ryan heard Brendon put down his own fork as he said it and reluctantly looked up to meet Brendon’s eyes again. “Look," he paused, making sure Ryan was making eye contact. "The way I see it is, we can either talk about it, or just let it be weird. I vote for the first one,” he told Ryan and the other male just nodded, which Brendon was glad for. He’d been wanting to talk to Ryan about last night again for one main reason, but this wouldn’t hurt either. Well, it might, Brendon reasoned, but it would help in the long run. “Last night, you kissed me,” Brendon said simply, regretting the way Ryan flinched slightly but not knowing how else to bring up the subject. “Now, this is pretty much how I think that went down. It's just... you were upset, and understandably so,” Brendon went on, trying to broach the situation gently, “and not exactly yourself, yeah?” he waited for Ryan to respond.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ryan said firmly after a moment’s pause, and it wasn’t even a lie. He certainly wouldn’t have just randomly kissed Brendon if it hadn’t had been for the night he’d had and how he was feeling. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he added, and okay, that one was maybe a lie. He knew exactly what he’d been thinking right before he kissed Brendon, but it wasn’t anything he was about to even consider actually telling the priest. “I’m... I’m sorry,” Ryan finished quietly, and that really was true.
“Forget about it,” Brendon answered, shaking his head. He was certainly going to try and forget about it, because when he thought about it, and what it meant for both himself and Ryan... It was almost too much to handle, and better for everyone if they just... forgot it. Yeah. “It’s alright, Ry, ’cause you were wrong last night, about me seeing you like a kid. I really don’t, okay? You’re an adult in my eyes, and I know you’re in control of your choices and I trust you to make the right decisions with... stuff,” he ended a little awkwardly. As much as Brendon had rehearsed the conversation in his head, actually saying the words wasn’t any easier. In reassuring Ryan that he had faith in his maturity Brendon really kind of felt like he was patronising him, which wasn’t the point at all.
“Uh, thanks,” Ryan made himself say, forcing a small smile because inwardly he was thinking more along the lines of: ‘Great, now if anything happens again it’ll be like letting him down or something. Fucking fantastic’.
Once Brendon had returned the smile, looking just as uncomfortable as Ryan felt, they ate on for a little while, the awkward silence stretching between them across the table. So much for things being okay again, Ryan thought with a slight sigh just as Brendon spoke again, the older man having to drum up some courage in anticipation of Ryan’s reaction.
“Ry,” he started, and Ryan looked up before bracing himself a little when he saw the expression on Brendon’s face. “Last night wasn’t the first time your dad hit you, was it?” Brendon asked softly, his eyes flicking unconsciously to the bruise on Ryan’s cheek before he fixed his eyes on Ryan’s hazel ones again. Saying the words and seeing Ryan’s reaction to them was hard, but Brendon had to do it, he had to get through to Ryan on this. “Ryan -”
“No,” Ryan cut him off, sighing. “But like I told you last night... It’s - He hardly ever... you know. I’m okay,” he shrugged, trying to fake that it was okay, that it wasn’t a big deal, because if Ryan started thinking about how maybe it was a big deal, he might let himself break a little as a consequence.
“And I told you last night, it’s not,” Brendon said straight away, frustration clear in his tone because Ryan was just accepting it or something, like it actually was okay just because the guy was his father. And it really, really wasn’t. “You need to report this so, you need to do that so -”
“So ‘what’?” Ryan interrupted again, his own voice tainted by both anger and sadness. “So my dad gets into trouble and... then what? I get moved away and get to spend the rest of the year with some foster family I don’t even know’ll be any better? And I can’t switch schools, not now. I’d probably have to retake the year or something for fuck’s sake. And then I really fucking don’t want to move away from Spencer, or our church, or y-” Ryan bit the word ‘you’ back as he just about managed to halt his rant and stop his temper from flaring even more while he took a breath in and out to calm himself down. “I can’t,” he ended quietly, almost apologetically. “And it’s a little late for that stuff,” Ryan finished sadly, knowing in himself that he’d never have done it anyway. When he was a bit younger it would never have even crossed his mind to do that, to stand up to his father in that way, and now it really was too late, in all honesty.
“Ry...” Brendon began, but he didn’t even know what he was going to say to that. There wasn’t really anything he could say.
“It’s okay, really it is,” Ryan tried again, summoning a reassuring smile from somewhere in the hope of taking that look away from Brendon’s features.
“I... I wish you didn’t have to deal with this shit,” Brendon said without really thinking, and Ryan could see the honesty on his face and he let himself think maybe, maybe, and then he was saying it, almost unable to stop himself.
“I could just... stay here.” The second Ryan had spoken he knew it was wrong, actually wrong of him to put Brendon in that position, and he’d fucked up. Again.
“Ryan, I -” Brendon said at the same moment Ryan immediately started taking it back.
“Bren, that was... I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry I even said that. It was stupid.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon responded, his tone shot through with regret. “But we... you can’t, Ry. It’s just -”
“I get it,” Ryan nodded, trying to ignore the sudden ache in his chest and wishing really hard that he’d never let even the possibility enter his mind. It really was stupid to even think about it, because even if Brendon had broken all the rules and said ‘yes’, it would still have put Brendon’s job, which was really his whole life, at risk, and there was no Ryan was going to do that. Brendon was born to help people, and Ryan wanted him to have that, no matter what. “It’s fine, really. I get it,” he repeated, not even really attempting to convince either Brendon or himself at this point.
Almost a minute passed (Ryan knew because he counted the seconds as he pushed the remnants of his last pancake around his plate, unable to do or think anything else at that point) before Ryan decided to speak again.
“So, um, you’ve got my clothes and my cell, right?” Ryan said, his tone almost approaching normal and clearly signalling the end of the previous subjects.
“Yeah,” Brendon nodded, pushing his chair back so he could stand up. He then went through into the living room for a moment before returning with Ryan’s stuff in his hands, the phone sitting on top of Ryan’s washed, dried, and folded clothes. “It was just in the pocket of your jeans. I didn’t realise when I, uh, picked them up,” Brendon just stopped talking as Ryan got up silently and took the small pile from Brendon’s hands and started walking away. He paused just before reaching the kitchen door.
“Thanks,” the word was barely audible, the occurence not exactly helped by the fact that Ryan didn’t even turn around, but Brendon still heard it.
“Sure,” he answered just as quietly, but by the time he had Ryan was already gone, heading for the stairs. Brendon’s next thought after oh, shit was something to do with not looking forward to having to fake the joy of marrying the young couple that afternoon, but by then Brendon wasn’t really listening to himself. After all, listening to himself and being so damn rational was what had made Ryan be like that, and Brendon already knew it was going to take him a long time to forgive himself for it, and maybe even longer for Ryan to forgive him, if ever.
Brendon hadn’t moved from where he’d been stood in the kitchen until he heard Ryan coming back downstairs, when he walked out into the hallways almost tentatively, more than surprised when he saw Ryan greet him with a smile which looked genuine enough.
“Thanks for this, Bren,” he said, eyes right on Brendon’s. Ryan honestly was thankful for Brendon even giving him one night where he’d felt so safe. It seemed strange, but it kind of felt to Ryan like it gave him something to aim for; a time when he’d be able to feel like that every night, once he’d graduated and moved on, gotten out. It was coming someday, Ryan knew.
“You need a place to crash again sometime, you come here, okay?” Brendon told him, voice firm. “It can’t be every night, or even often really,” he went on, guilt creeping into his tone, “but I just don’t want -”
“I’ve got somewhere I can go, Bren. Don’t worry,” Ryan cut in, actually answering honestly. He technically could go to Spencer’s place at times like last night. Ryan just chose not to because for one thing he tried to hide that stuff from his friend as much as possible since he knew how much it upset the younger boy and Ryan was maybe worried Spence might try to hit back at his father some day, which was never going to end well. As well as that, Ryan might have spent the majority of his life hanging out with Spencer, but when it came to things like staying over and spending extended periods at his house, Ryan just felt, despite Spencer’s mom always being so great to him, that he was imposing himself on the family, intruding where he shouldn’t; where he didn’t fit. So really, Ryan wasn’t lying to Brendon, but he already knew he probably wouldn’t go to Spencer’s house when things got bad at his, just like he knew he wouldn’t be coming back to Brendon’s house like that again. He shouldn’t be there; he didn’t fit.
Ryan knew that now. And it wasn’t Brendon’s fault; it was just the way things were. And he didn’t want Brendon to feel guilty for it when he didn’t need to.
“But if you need...” Brendon trailed off; realising there was no point in saying the same things over again. It wouldn’t make any difference, and Brendon didn’t know what could, what could convince Ryan and break through the apathy Brendon could see somewhere behind the relaxed expression he didn’t quite buy.
Not allowing himself time to think, Brendon stepped forward a little and pulled Ryan into a hug, wrapping his arms around the boy’s skinny frame. He hadn’t even tried to hug Ryan the night before, so Brendon didn’t know what the hell he was doing just then, but he just knew he wanted to, and he knew that way it might just get through to Ryan that he still cared, but the younger male just couldn’t stay there permanently, he just... couldn’t.
Pulling back just slightly and turning his neck a little, Brendon sighed as he felt Ryan’s body relax a little against his before pressing his lips ever so gently to the top of Ryan’s head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and slowly breathing in and out one more time before stepping back from Ryan, their eyes locking immediately.
“I know,” Ryan replied, Brendon more reading his lips than hearing him barely say the words.
Then Ryan was gone, leaving Brendon alone as he just stood at the door watching Ryan walk away up the road without looking back and wondered why the hell doing the right thing had to feel so fucking wrong, because Brendon really wasn’t sure any decision had felt quite so wrong in his entire life.
Author: minus_four
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: Priestfic AU. Brendon's a few years older than Ryan. The morning after the night before, Ryan and Brendon try and deal with everything.
Disclaimer: Not even close to real. I think that's apparent from the subject matter lol
Author's Notes: Special thanks to lolab for allowing me to 'immortalize his trauma' in this chapter. Plus for being on crack with me and letting me come up with ridic PlaneWreckFic outtakes.
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
Usually when Ryan woke up in the morning he found himself suddenly yanked from consciousness; either by the last fragmented moments of a bad dream that his mind finally decided to let him break out of, or maybe by the loud noise of the front door slamming or his dad fumbling around the kitchen, the boy right away noting the number of times the cupboard doors banged or the man swore so Ryan could gauge the level of the hangover his father most likely had and therefore the potential risk of going downstairs for a simple cup of coffee. It wasn’t like Ryan thought his dad would... do anything though, not in the morning anyway.
Over the years Ryan had learnt from constant experience when his father was more likely to lash out and what signs to watch out for so he knew when to keep quiet or even just stay away from the house if he could. His dad was, for the most part, fairly predictable. On occasion, though, like the previous night, he deviated from the norm, but Ryan could usually tell when it was pretty much safe to be around the man. However, just because Ryan wasn’t going to be hurt physically it didn’t mean he was really safe, not by a long way.
Just being around his dad long enough to fix himself a coffee meant giving the man a big enough time window to seriously fuck with Ryan’s head for the rest of the day. Every curse word growled in Ryan’s general direction, every judgemental look up and down Ryan’s skinny frame that pretty much bordered on disgust, and every silence in between that part of Ryan still wished was filled by kind of conversation or just some interest shown in Ryan’s day or - God forbid - wellbeing.
As much as Ryan hated that he couldn’t just switch it off, that pathetic desire for some kind of approval or a glimmer of hope that his father actually gave a shit about him, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t even hate the man, as much as Ryan had tried to convince himself he did. So yeah, even ‘good’ days still held the possibility of spinning Ryan’s mind off into a spiral of self doubt, of feeling like he wasn’t worth shit, even of hating himself because after more than a decade of it being drummed into him, day after day, that he should... well, it didn’t take too much for Ryan to start believing it himself. He always knew he’d be fine once he got to school and saw Spence, but if he’d had a run in with his dad beforehand there was always going to be that little voice in the back of Ryan’s mind: Spencer doesn’t really care about you, no one does. No one should. You know that, don’t you Ryan?.
That morning though, waking up blissfully slowly, Ryan’s mind drifted into wakefulness with a sense of calm that was foreign to him. He didn’t have to listen out for signs of his father because he wasn’t at home, not his home, anyway. He was still at Brendon’s house. And, Ryan realised as he uncurled his body from where he’d still been lying cocooned in blankets and sat up, he felt so fucking safe. Seconds after that realisation Ryan registered two simultaneous thoughts that suddenly weighed heavy on his mind, slightly stifling the happy state of relaxation he’d woken up in:
He didn’t want to leave here.
And he couldn’t stay.
Trying to push those thoughts from his head until he really had to deal with them, Ryan ran a hand through his hair (not that it mattered if it stuck up anyway, most of the time he made it do that on purpose, though Ryan had started just not bothering if he was going to church because any number of old ladies would come up to him and flatten his faux-hawk because his hair was clearly ‘out of place’ and they wanted to ‘fix it’ for him) and wiped a finger under each eye to catch any stray smudges of eyeliner from the night before. He didn’t exactly want to go downstairs and have Brendon see him looking like he had two black eyes or something.
The thought jolted Ryan into remembering, and the boy then ran the pad of his right thumb lightly over his left cheekbone. It hurt, a little, but he’d felt worse. Ryan only hoped it didn’t look any more severe than it felt, because as much as his mind had been preoccupied with the whole need-to-get-out-of-here-right-now thing at Brendon’s front door, he’d still clocked the way the older man’s eyes had been fixed on his cheek for a moment or two, the priest visibly upset by the physical evidence of how bad Ryan’s night had been. On top of everything else, and Ryan cringed inwardly as he remembered precisely what that meant, what he’d done last night, he didn’t want to upset Brendon any more than he already had.
Sighing, Ryan pushed the covers from over his legs and crawled over to sit on the edge of the bed. It was then that he noticed the little digital alarm clock by Brendon’s bed, and the numbers which glowed in the dim room which was only lit by tiny rays of daylight (not sun, because Ryan could see through the crack in the curtain that the sky was a dull grey, filled with clouds which were probably still emitting drizzle; the last remnants of the storm) filtering into the bedroom. Ryan was pretty shocked to see that it was gone eleven, 11.09 to be exact. He never usually slept that late, often setting his alarm early even on a Saturday just to make sure because his father always slept through much of the day during the weekend, and Ryan liked being able to just... be in his own house for a while before heading out to browse for more CDs and books he couldn’t afford, sit somewhere and write or probably just go and hang out with Spencer.
His next thought was considering why the alarm on his cell phone hadn’t woken him up, followed closely by Ryan wondering where his cell was and then noticing his clothes were also gone. It was fairly obvious where they’d have gone, but there were some things Ryan didn’t know, and wouldn’t have guessed even if he’d let himself think about it.
He didn’t know Brendon had tiptoed up the stairs about an hour later and crept into his bedroom to collect Ryan’s clothes from their heap on the floor so he could put them in the washing machine. He didn’t know Brendon returned at three a.m just to check on Ryan and make sure he was okay, and he definitely didn’t know about the older man watching him for a minute or two after pulling the blanket back over the tiny looking form of Ryan where he lay curled up, sound asleep. And he didn’t hear Brendon sigh as he left the room to go and not-sleep on the sofa some more, a big part of him wishing things were different, or at least... less complicated.
Ryan missed all of that but, guessing he’d most likely find his clothes with Brendon, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom before following the distinct smell of something cooking and the sound which he then recognised was Brendon singing as he padded down the stairs and made his way towards the kitchen.
He just stood in the doorway for a while, feeling slightly awkward as he watched Brendon poke at the pancake in his pan with a spatula while he sang what Ryan now realised was the start of the second verse of ‘Eleanor Rigby’. Not wanting to interrupt Ryan didn’t say anything, but it didn’t matter anyway because when Brendon turned around to pick up his mug from the counter he stopped singing just as he was about to hit the chorus, his voice cut off right at the top of a crescendo, and smiled at Ryan.
“Hey,” he said, turning the heat down on the pan so he didn’t have to watch it so carefully. “How’d you sleep?”
“Yeah, good thanks,” Ryan nodded in response but Brendon noticed that Ryan’s attention was fixed on his chest rather than his face when he spoke.
“Like my shirt?” Brendon asked. He was wearing a t shirt which said ‘Jesus Loves You’ above a picture of the typical depiction of Jesus’ face, with the beard and long hair and everything, but underneath it read ‘(But I'm his favorite)’.
“It’s very ‘you’, Bren,” Ryan laughed, shaking his head. Brendon was grinning back at him and Ryan was honestly surprised that he was so easily able to return the expression. He’d thought things would automatically become difficult, even painful, between them, but it looked like he might be wrong about that.
“I know, right?” Brendon said happily, turning back to flip the pancake before setting it back on the hob. “I also have one quoting God saying like, “Don’t make me come down there” or whatever, but that’s totally stupid because if God suddenly decided to intervene in life on Earth I’m pretty sure He’d be a little preoccupied with all the famines and everything to worry about humans fighting about silly little things in their own little lives...” Brendon suddenly trailed off as he realised Ryan was just sort of staring at him bemusedly. “I’ve told you to stop me when I do that,” he pretended to ‘tsk’ at Ryan before stepping sideways so he could reach up and pull a mug out of the cupboard above. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, please,” Ryan answered, his brain acting almost on autopilot as what Brendon had just said lingered in his thoughts. It was true, he found himself thinking. There were so many things happening in the world that were so much bigger than one little kiss, one mistake on a bad night. Ryan’s initial reaction had been, even if Brendon didn’t cut their friendship off, to run away from Brendon and act like they’d never been close at all, because it was easier than trying to deal with stuff. In the morning, though, the situation looked a little different, and the kiss didn’t quite seem like the end of the world anymore, though it was still pretty close.
He was Ryan and Brendon was Brendon. All that had changed was that Brendon now knew, unless he was really stupid and Ryan knew he wasn’t, that Ryan liked him more than just a friend should, and probably thought about him in ways he shouldn’t. Now, it wasn’t as though Brendon was going to be returning any of those feelings, but for all Ryan knew the priest could decide to put a professional distance between the two of them now, for both their sakes and the safety of his job, which Ryan really wouldn’t be able to blame him for; only himself. Ryan could definitely blame himself for it, and he knew he most likely would, too.
“I was about to come and wake you anyway,” Brendon told him, handing him the mug of coffee and gesturing towards the milk and sugar on the counter, which Ryan shook his head at, smiling his thanks at Brendon. “It being pancake time and all,” he added while opening the oven door and taking out a plate of already cooked pancakes which he’d been keeping warm and tipping the last one onto the pile.
“You should have woken me up before,” Ryan said, frowning slightly even as he followed Brendon across to sit at the table, “this is a pretty late breakfast for you.”
“Brunch, then. Whatever,” Brendon shrugged, stabbing a couple of pancakes and putting them on his plate before pushing the plate across to Ryan. “Besides, I’ve got a wedding to do in about...” he glanced at his watch, “an hour or so, and no one wants to hear the priest’s stomach rumbling while they say their vows,” Brendon laughed as he reached for the syrup. “So it’s just as well I eat now, really.”
“I guess so,” Ryan smiled back at Brendon across the table as he put some pancakes on his own plate. “These look really good.”
“You sound surprised, Ryan,” Brendon replied indignantly. “It’s like you have no faith in my culinary abilities. Have I taught you nothing if not to have faith?” he joked, the pout vanishing from his face as soon as he raised a forkful of pancake to his mouth.
“Forgive me, Father,” Ryan automatically slipped into the same joking tone before he could catch himself and almost choked on his breakfast as he realised that he really could have asked Brendon for forgiveness the previous night if the older man hadn’t succeeded in keeping him from freaking out and apologising over and over. “I mean -” he coughed. “Fuck,” he breathed out the curse, staring down at his plate for a few seconds. Just when Ryan felt like things might actually be okay between them, let alone just not weird which he would even have settled for, the memory came and made him mess things up himself without any help from Brendon at all.
“Hey, Ry,” Ryan heard Brendon put down his own fork as he said it and reluctantly looked up to meet Brendon’s eyes again. “Look," he paused, making sure Ryan was making eye contact. "The way I see it is, we can either talk about it, or just let it be weird. I vote for the first one,” he told Ryan and the other male just nodded, which Brendon was glad for. He’d been wanting to talk to Ryan about last night again for one main reason, but this wouldn’t hurt either. Well, it might, Brendon reasoned, but it would help in the long run. “Last night, you kissed me,” Brendon said simply, regretting the way Ryan flinched slightly but not knowing how else to bring up the subject. “Now, this is pretty much how I think that went down. It's just... you were upset, and understandably so,” Brendon went on, trying to broach the situation gently, “and not exactly yourself, yeah?” he waited for Ryan to respond.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ryan said firmly after a moment’s pause, and it wasn’t even a lie. He certainly wouldn’t have just randomly kissed Brendon if it hadn’t had been for the night he’d had and how he was feeling. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he added, and okay, that one was maybe a lie. He knew exactly what he’d been thinking right before he kissed Brendon, but it wasn’t anything he was about to even consider actually telling the priest. “I’m... I’m sorry,” Ryan finished quietly, and that really was true.
“Forget about it,” Brendon answered, shaking his head. He was certainly going to try and forget about it, because when he thought about it, and what it meant for both himself and Ryan... It was almost too much to handle, and better for everyone if they just... forgot it. Yeah. “It’s alright, Ry, ’cause you were wrong last night, about me seeing you like a kid. I really don’t, okay? You’re an adult in my eyes, and I know you’re in control of your choices and I trust you to make the right decisions with... stuff,” he ended a little awkwardly. As much as Brendon had rehearsed the conversation in his head, actually saying the words wasn’t any easier. In reassuring Ryan that he had faith in his maturity Brendon really kind of felt like he was patronising him, which wasn’t the point at all.
“Uh, thanks,” Ryan made himself say, forcing a small smile because inwardly he was thinking more along the lines of: ‘Great, now if anything happens again it’ll be like letting him down or something. Fucking fantastic’.
Once Brendon had returned the smile, looking just as uncomfortable as Ryan felt, they ate on for a little while, the awkward silence stretching between them across the table. So much for things being okay again, Ryan thought with a slight sigh just as Brendon spoke again, the older man having to drum up some courage in anticipation of Ryan’s reaction.
“Ry,” he started, and Ryan looked up before bracing himself a little when he saw the expression on Brendon’s face. “Last night wasn’t the first time your dad hit you, was it?” Brendon asked softly, his eyes flicking unconsciously to the bruise on Ryan’s cheek before he fixed his eyes on Ryan’s hazel ones again. Saying the words and seeing Ryan’s reaction to them was hard, but Brendon had to do it, he had to get through to Ryan on this. “Ryan -”
“No,” Ryan cut him off, sighing. “But like I told you last night... It’s - He hardly ever... you know. I’m okay,” he shrugged, trying to fake that it was okay, that it wasn’t a big deal, because if Ryan started thinking about how maybe it was a big deal, he might let himself break a little as a consequence.
“And I told you last night, it’s not,” Brendon said straight away, frustration clear in his tone because Ryan was just accepting it or something, like it actually was okay just because the guy was his father. And it really, really wasn’t. “You need to report this so, you need to do that so -”
“So ‘what’?” Ryan interrupted again, his own voice tainted by both anger and sadness. “So my dad gets into trouble and... then what? I get moved away and get to spend the rest of the year with some foster family I don’t even know’ll be any better? And I can’t switch schools, not now. I’d probably have to retake the year or something for fuck’s sake. And then I really fucking don’t want to move away from Spencer, or our church, or y-” Ryan bit the word ‘you’ back as he just about managed to halt his rant and stop his temper from flaring even more while he took a breath in and out to calm himself down. “I can’t,” he ended quietly, almost apologetically. “And it’s a little late for that stuff,” Ryan finished sadly, knowing in himself that he’d never have done it anyway. When he was a bit younger it would never have even crossed his mind to do that, to stand up to his father in that way, and now it really was too late, in all honesty.
“Ry...” Brendon began, but he didn’t even know what he was going to say to that. There wasn’t really anything he could say.
“It’s okay, really it is,” Ryan tried again, summoning a reassuring smile from somewhere in the hope of taking that look away from Brendon’s features.
“I... I wish you didn’t have to deal with this shit,” Brendon said without really thinking, and Ryan could see the honesty on his face and he let himself think maybe, maybe, and then he was saying it, almost unable to stop himself.
“I could just... stay here.” The second Ryan had spoken he knew it was wrong, actually wrong of him to put Brendon in that position, and he’d fucked up. Again.
“Ryan, I -” Brendon said at the same moment Ryan immediately started taking it back.
“Bren, that was... I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry I even said that. It was stupid.”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon responded, his tone shot through with regret. “But we... you can’t, Ry. It’s just -”
“I get it,” Ryan nodded, trying to ignore the sudden ache in his chest and wishing really hard that he’d never let even the possibility enter his mind. It really was stupid to even think about it, because even if Brendon had broken all the rules and said ‘yes’, it would still have put Brendon’s job, which was really his whole life, at risk, and there was no Ryan was going to do that. Brendon was born to help people, and Ryan wanted him to have that, no matter what. “It’s fine, really. I get it,” he repeated, not even really attempting to convince either Brendon or himself at this point.
Almost a minute passed (Ryan knew because he counted the seconds as he pushed the remnants of his last pancake around his plate, unable to do or think anything else at that point) before Ryan decided to speak again.
“So, um, you’ve got my clothes and my cell, right?” Ryan said, his tone almost approaching normal and clearly signalling the end of the previous subjects.
“Yeah,” Brendon nodded, pushing his chair back so he could stand up. He then went through into the living room for a moment before returning with Ryan’s stuff in his hands, the phone sitting on top of Ryan’s washed, dried, and folded clothes. “It was just in the pocket of your jeans. I didn’t realise when I, uh, picked them up,” Brendon just stopped talking as Ryan got up silently and took the small pile from Brendon’s hands and started walking away. He paused just before reaching the kitchen door.
“Thanks,” the word was barely audible, the occurence not exactly helped by the fact that Ryan didn’t even turn around, but Brendon still heard it.
“Sure,” he answered just as quietly, but by the time he had Ryan was already gone, heading for the stairs. Brendon’s next thought after oh, shit was something to do with not looking forward to having to fake the joy of marrying the young couple that afternoon, but by then Brendon wasn’t really listening to himself. After all, listening to himself and being so damn rational was what had made Ryan be like that, and Brendon already knew it was going to take him a long time to forgive himself for it, and maybe even longer for Ryan to forgive him, if ever.
Brendon hadn’t moved from where he’d been stood in the kitchen until he heard Ryan coming back downstairs, when he walked out into the hallways almost tentatively, more than surprised when he saw Ryan greet him with a smile which looked genuine enough.
“Thanks for this, Bren,” he said, eyes right on Brendon’s. Ryan honestly was thankful for Brendon even giving him one night where he’d felt so safe. It seemed strange, but it kind of felt to Ryan like it gave him something to aim for; a time when he’d be able to feel like that every night, once he’d graduated and moved on, gotten out. It was coming someday, Ryan knew.
“You need a place to crash again sometime, you come here, okay?” Brendon told him, voice firm. “It can’t be every night, or even often really,” he went on, guilt creeping into his tone, “but I just don’t want -”
“I’ve got somewhere I can go, Bren. Don’t worry,” Ryan cut in, actually answering honestly. He technically could go to Spencer’s place at times like last night. Ryan just chose not to because for one thing he tried to hide that stuff from his friend as much as possible since he knew how much it upset the younger boy and Ryan was maybe worried Spence might try to hit back at his father some day, which was never going to end well. As well as that, Ryan might have spent the majority of his life hanging out with Spencer, but when it came to things like staying over and spending extended periods at his house, Ryan just felt, despite Spencer’s mom always being so great to him, that he was imposing himself on the family, intruding where he shouldn’t; where he didn’t fit. So really, Ryan wasn’t lying to Brendon, but he already knew he probably wouldn’t go to Spencer’s house when things got bad at his, just like he knew he wouldn’t be coming back to Brendon’s house like that again. He shouldn’t be there; he didn’t fit.
Ryan knew that now. And it wasn’t Brendon’s fault; it was just the way things were. And he didn’t want Brendon to feel guilty for it when he didn’t need to.
“But if you need...” Brendon trailed off; realising there was no point in saying the same things over again. It wouldn’t make any difference, and Brendon didn’t know what could, what could convince Ryan and break through the apathy Brendon could see somewhere behind the relaxed expression he didn’t quite buy.
Not allowing himself time to think, Brendon stepped forward a little and pulled Ryan into a hug, wrapping his arms around the boy’s skinny frame. He hadn’t even tried to hug Ryan the night before, so Brendon didn’t know what the hell he was doing just then, but he just knew he wanted to, and he knew that way it might just get through to Ryan that he still cared, but the younger male just couldn’t stay there permanently, he just... couldn’t.
Pulling back just slightly and turning his neck a little, Brendon sighed as he felt Ryan’s body relax a little against his before pressing his lips ever so gently to the top of Ryan’s head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and slowly breathing in and out one more time before stepping back from Ryan, their eyes locking immediately.
“I know,” Ryan replied, Brendon more reading his lips than hearing him barely say the words.
Then Ryan was gone, leaving Brendon alone as he just stood at the door watching Ryan walk away up the road without looking back and wondered why the hell doing the right thing had to feel so fucking wrong, because Brendon really wasn’t sure any decision had felt quite so wrong in his entire life.