Hallelujah (just off the key of reason) [11]
Title: Hallelujah (just off the key of reason) [11]
Author: minus_four
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: Priestfic AU. Brendon's a few years older than Ryan. His first thought was something about how cute Brendon looked when he was excited. His second was something about how his plan was definitely screwed.
Disclaimer: Not even close to real. I think that's apparent from the subject matter lol
Author's Notes: Here's some stuff for you guys to take note of. First off, there's a couple of people coming into this chapter. I figure I've already messed with timelines and stuff enough that a bit more won't hurt ;) Anyone who reads my Gabe/William, The World Has It's Shine (something to hold onto) fic will definitely recognise one of them (my AUs are melting together in an AU-AU-ish way lol). The second thing is that I'd like to post prequel before the next chapter and that might take a little while, jsyk. <3!
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“Dude.”
Ryan finished his sentence before looking up from the textbook he’d been reading. Or, more accurately, trying to read. Usually he and Spencer wouldn’t be studying on a Saturday night but he had a major test in Biology on Monday and Spence was some kind of freak who actually got what the hell was going on with shit like osmosis. So there Ryan was on Spencer’s bed, half lying-half sitting curled up about halfway down, with his book sitting in front of him and Spencer sitting up against the headboard in front of him, his feet within poking distance for when Ryan needed him to explain what the fuck the book was talking about. He’d actually read the same page at least a dozen times by now, just trying to get the words, or at the very least maybe half of them, or a vague summary of what they meant perhaps, to sink into his brain. It wasn’t working.
Some nights Ryan just couldn’t concentrate, usually when he was a little tense, or jittery, or most technically nervous because… well, it was Saturday night, which meant his dad had the day off tomorrow, which meant… yeah. Most of the time he’d come crashing in once the local bar had shut and then stumble towards the nearest source of enough alcohol to finish the job. It was the word most that got Ryan a little apprehensive. Then adding in the whole oh-yay-it’s-Sunday-I-have-to-deal-with-seeing-Brendon-again feeling didn’t exactly help with that either.
“Yeah?” Ryan said once he’d looked up to meet Spencer’s eyes, wincing inwardly when he recognized the look of concern he found in them.
“You ready to tell me what the hell is up with you yet?” Spencer’s tone wasn’t accusing or angry at all, just a little tired if anything. He was used to having to ask the question, and usually draw the answer out gradually from Ryan, but sometimes he just wished Ryan would talk to him. Even Spencer had pretty rarely ever seen Ryan completely unguarded.
They were best friends, though even that didn’t exactly cover the connection they had, and Spencer never doubted that for a second, or the fact that Ryan cared, but there was still a filter which was always there between what Ryan was thinking and what he said. It was like Ryan felt as though he had to protect Spencer from something, from himself. As difficult as it could be to deal with, though, it was nothing Spencer wouldn’t deal with for the rest of his life because… because Ryan was Ryan. That was all there was to it.
“I’m fine,” Ryan protested half heartedly, knowing that Spencer would see right through it anyway. He took about five seconds of Spencer’s eyes on his before he spoke again. “Spence -”
“Ry,” Spencer sighed, putting his own book to the side. Even if someone didn’t know Ryan as well as he did, they’d still be able to figure out that something wasn’t right with him. When Ryan chose to move, and really, he spent a lot of his time being still, whether he was thinking or reading or playing his guitar, it was usually purposeful. The whole evening Ryan had been jiggling his leg, like he was buzzing with energy or something that he didn’t know what to do with. “Dude,” Spencer repeated simply, nodding his head towards Ryan’s left leg which was still bouncing up and down slightly on the bed, his toes tapping away at nothing but thin air. When Ryan’s gaze followed Spencer’s and he noticed what he was doing Ryan stopped immediately, repositioning himself and curling up a little tighter before looking back to his book, which clearly meant he wasn’t feeling in a sharing kind of mood. Not that Ryan spontaneously felt like that too often, so Spencer wasn’t what you’d call surprised. Breathing out another small sigh, Spencer paused before speaking softly into the silence. “Is it to do with Brendon?”
Ryan stared at the same word for almost a minute before letting out a deep breath. It wasn’t as though he’d lied to Spencer about it, but he definitely hadn’t told him everything when it came to the Brendon situation. He’d talked about Brendon to him, but left out the whole having a crush on a priest and the whole stupid mess which it had lead to subsequently. It was just embarrassing and complicated, and Ryan had been trying to forget the whole thing, really, so he hadn’t really felt like talking about it. He should’ve known Spencer would just know though.
“How did you…?” Ryan breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe. I guess.”
“Well, that’s clear,” Spencer dryly, but with an obvious note of sympathy in his voice.
“Nothing about this is clear,” Ryan groaned, running the palm of his hand over his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Now, tell me. How did you actually come to this conclusion? I‘m just curious as to whether I‘m just that obvious or you‘ve actually managed to bore right through into my mind with that glare of yours,” Ryan finished, really only half joking as he looked at Spencer questioningly.
“He shows up and you start mentioning him a lot,” Spencer explained, shrugging. “You can’t stop smiling when you talk about him and he takes on a date…” Ryan opened his mouth to protest at that but shut it again when Spencer raised an eyebrow at him. “Then all of a sudden you stop talking about him, never mention him actually and get even quieter than usual. It kind of seems pretty simple from my side of it,” Ryan let out a humorless breath of laughter but still exchanged a small smile with Spencer before he spoke again, more quietly now and without the note of humor which his last sentence had been tainted with. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ryan’s answer was simple, even though the situation was anything but.
“A priest.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re seventeen.”
“Yeah.”
“I see…” Spencer sighed. “That does make things kinda difficult.”
“It’s not even what makes it so complicated though,” Ryan pushed himself up and sat cross legged right in front of Spencer, the younger boy just staying quiet after having had so many years of learning that once Ryan started talking it was better to just let him keep going. “I mean, I am seventeen but that also means I’m gonna be eighteen soon enough. And Brendon is a priest, but we’re not Catholic. The situation’s still not exactly easy when it comes to that stuff in the Church, but… he’s gay, Spence,” Ryan told him and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “But he’s doesn’t want a relationship,” Ryan was almost reminding himself at that point because even he, with all the time he’d spent pulling apart to situation to try and figure out the why, kept forgetting that little piece of information. “It’s the almost that kills me, Spence,” Ryan went on, Spencer just listening with that kind of quiet patience he’d perfected just for times like this, when everything would just spill out of Ryan before he could really think about it. “If it was clear cut, would never happen in a million years, then I think I’d be able to get over it easier,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it away from his face. “But he’s just so…” Ryan let out a heavy breath of frustration before finishing up laughing quietly and shaking his head as Spencer thought for a moment before speaking.
“You are so screwed, man.” It wasn’t Spencer being mean, or teasing Ryan. It was just the truth.
“Pretty much,” Ryan laughed again, because despite how fucked up it all was, even he could see the ridiculousness of the situation and, as usual, talking things out with Spencer had helped if only for the fact that no matter what he told his best friend it never changed anything. Spencer just gave him his ‘Everything Will Be Okay’ smile and just as he always did, even on the shittiest of days, Ryan kind of believed it.
The two of them went back to their respective half assed attempts at studying for a little while, until Ryan twisted around to look at the clock on the wall behind them.
“I should go.” Ryan noticed, but didn’t react to the small sigh which he caught Spencer breathing out at his words. They’d had the conversation more times than Ryan could count so Spencer didn’t bother actually saying anything, just gave Ryan a look which made it clear what he thought about Ryan using the word ‘should’.
“You can - You could just… stay here,” Spencer decided to at least try, despite the fact that he knew how the next five minutes was going to go, and Ryan’s mind suddenly flashed back to when he’d said those words to Brendon instead, and it took him a good couple of seconds to pull himself back into the present.
“Spence…” Ryan said quietly, the rest passing silently between them, his eyes on Spencer’s saying I’m sorry, and his hand reaching forward to rest on Spencer’s bent knee saying It’s okay, even though they both knew it wasn’t.
Five minutes later Ryan was gone.
Apart from the little Spencer-induced slip into BrendonBrendonBrendonBrendon, Ryan thought he’d been doing a pretty good job at avoiding Brendon and all reference to him. He’d even deleted all of the texts from Brendon on his phone and any emails using the school computers on the first Monday after he and Brendon had semi-talked through the situation and Ryan had come to the conclusion that he just… couldn’t. So he hadn’t. It had been the only way Ryan was able to keep himself from going insane over the situation.
It hurt Ryan’s brain (not to mention anywhere else it hurt) to think about it, because, as he’d tried to explain to Spencer, it just almost seemed like such a non situation, like it should have been simple. Priest: No. It really should have been simple, Ryan knew rationally, but it just wasn’t. It never had been. All the so called simple elements; mainly Brendon’s job and Ryan’s age being the key factors there, were somehow skewed by the whole other thing, the part Ryan couldn’t even define, couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he knew it had something to do with the aching want that rose in his chest every time he thought about Brendon.
His attraction to Brendon had, initially, been largely physical. Hell, pretty much his first thought about the priest had been what a great ass he had, and maybe Ryan would have chalked it all up to teenage hormones and shit if it wasn’t for the usually annoying tendency he had to pick apart his thoughts and feelings until they at least made a little more sense to him.
It hadn’t worked particularly well with the Brendon situation though, because all Ryan had been able to figure out was that it was… it was Brendon, which didn’t really help at all. Ryan had been willing himself to just get the fuck over it for weeks now. It hadn’t happened yet, though, and it didn’t look like it was going to go away any time soon.
That was why Ryan had just decided to try and forget the whole thing, forget Brendon and his smile and how he’d been able to make life seem less shit even on the worst of days, forget how he’d actually seemed to care, really care about Ryan, forget how safe he’d felt curled up in Brendon’s bed and definitely forget how, when Brendon had hugged him by his front door, Ryan had maybe wanted to curl up in his arms instead and never leave. Ryan had willed himself to somehow forget all of that, to just Not Think About It. Ever. It wasn’t that great of a plan, Ryan knew, but it was all he had at that point. Nothing had changed, and nothing was going to.
But yeah, all in all Ryan thought he’d been doing a decent job at avoiding all thoughts of Brendon. Of course, it just figured that something was going to go wrong with this plan at some point. Along with what Ryan referred to in his head as The Underwear Incident, if it wasn’t for his agreeing with the whole God probably having better things to do than get involved with the everyday stuff in people’s lives, Ryan might have thought that someone up there was having a laugh at his expense.
See, Ryan had even been doing okay with keeping his plan together during the service on Sunday, falling back into his previous method of not looking at Brendon at all and kind of just pretending that he wasn’t there, because Ryan knew that if he looked at Brendon his mind would automatically be filled with thoughts and questions and memories and Ryan couldn’t, so he didn’t.
When the service was over Father David had put out a call for volunteers to help paint inside their church hall/community centre building that afternoon, since the kitchen had been redone and they ‘might as well give the rest a lick of paint too’. Ryan could have seen that one coming, because if there was anything a church community liked, it was a project. Most of these never materialized, because they needed to have at least a dozen meetings about said project in which people who, given their average age and frailty which was just a fact of the church congregation, wouldn’t even be taking part in said project if it required labor of any kind. Really, the meetings were just an excuse for the ‘project committee members’ to sit around drinking coffee and talking about things which weren’t even related to the project, most likely the people who weren’t there. Ryan knew this because he’d made the mistake of going to one once, and seriously? It was worse than high school for all the bitching and rumor spreading which took place.
Thankfully, though, Father David had apparently chosen to bypass the whole pointless meetings phase and go right into the actual project, meaning there was actually a chance in hell that it would actually happen. Ryan, as usual, had volunteered right away. It wasn’t as though he was dying to get home, and he actually liked helping out his church and more so Father David, grateful for all the support he’d given him since he was a kid.
Ryan didn’t realize his mistake, though, until the priest had told them that anyone who wanted to help out should meet over in the hall in about an hour, where the ‘Church hall project manager’ would be waiting for his helpers. Ryan guessed a split second before Father David gestured to his right, to where Brendon was sitting, the proud smile on his face because of his new title, Ryan knew. His first thought was something about how cute Brendon looked when he was excited. His second was something about how his plan was definitely screwed.
As it turned out, Brendon’s ’team’ wasn’t exactly flush with volunteers. Ryan wasn’t surprised though, given the times he and Brendon had spent clearing the churchyard or reorganizing the chairs and stuff. There were a few more people than just the two of them though, and Ryan was thankful for that. Some of the more able older men had come, as well as a couple of people who were some of the closest to Ryan’s age in the church, though neither had been coming particularly long.
William was pretty quiet and kept to himself much of the time, maybe because he was almost embarrassed about the amount of noise his two year old son made even when he was preoccupied in the toy corner, despite the fact that Ryan, along with Father David and Brendon, had repeatedly told him that no cared, or that no one should care, even if a few of the old ladies made various shushing noises and muttered to each other. After William had once even left the service because it made him so uncomfortable, Ryan made sure to sit closer to the two of them so he was able to either reassure William or go and distract Riley if the toddler got a little excited. He still usually left pretty quickly after the service ended, though, so Ryan hadn’t gotten to know him too well yet. It looked like he’d found someone to watch Riley for him, though, so Ryan thought maybe he’d be able to talk to William while they worked on the painting.
The other guy Ryan just barely knew at all, since he’d been going to St Anthony’s for only a couple of weeks now, and Ryan wasn’t there for the first one. He’d talked to Jon that day, though, the conversation drifting, as it often did with Ryan, towards the subject of music, and it was pretty awesome to find out that he played, too. It was kind of hard to tell with the beard, but Ryan would have guessed that Jon was closer to Brendon’s age than his own. Jon didn’t seem to care though, and had actually suggested that they get together and jam some time. He was also into photography, Ryan found out, and Father David had asked him to kind of document the project so they could put up a display in church. Although it would be nice to have that up as a reminder of community and everything in the church, Ryan knew it was also Father David’s way of making sure Jon felt welcome in the church, because he was just awesome like that.
Once Brendon had explained to everyone what they were going to do and who was going where, they all separated into their own little teams with their own areas to work in. The way Brendon had said “And… that leaves you in the kitchen with me, Ryan,” had sounded casual enough, but Ryan suspected otherwise because - come on, a decision had to have been made there. Ryan just didn’t know why, not when things were obviously going to be more than a little awkward between them.
Brendon had spent most of the hour everyone else spent going home to get changed into more suitable clothing for painting prepping the different rooms, taping off edges and setting out the right color paint along with trays and brushes and everything, so it all was all there ready when they went in.
Ryan had still managed to avoid Brendon fairly well even standing a foot away from him, just nodding in agreement when Brendon suggested that they start with the open space of wall near the door before moving on to the more fiddly work of painting around cabinets and such. They’d been working in silence for about five minutes before Brendon finally spoke.
“Are we not gonna… talk?” Out of the corner of his eye Ryan saw Brendon sit back on his heels. Both of them were on their knees working on the lower half of the wall.
“Talk about what?” Ryan asked quietly, not looking at Brendon and concentrating on the part of the wall he was painting. The kitchen used to be white, or maybe cream, but over the years it had deteriorated to a dirty kind of greyish color, which would be disgusting anywhere, but particularly a kitchen in Ryan’s opinion. Ryan couldn’t wait to see how much better it was going to look once they’d finished painting it the bright, sunny yellow Brendon had chosen for it.
“I don’t know, but - like, you know,” Brendon sighed, “you’re supposed to talk while you do stuff like paint. It’s just the way things are,” he said matter of factly, watching Ryan paint of the same patch of wall again before he actually turned to look at Brendon, just the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Like on a road trip?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face as he remembered.
“Exactly!” Brendon exclaimed, waving his paintbrush excitedly and causing droplets of the yellow paint to flick onto Ryan’s green v neck t shirt. “Oops.”
“It’s not like I’m wearing my best shirt or anything,” Ryan breathed out a laugh, shaking his head in the same long suffering putting-up-with-Brendon’s-ridiculousness way Brendon had seen dozens of times before now.
“And speaking of clothes…” Brendon started, his eyes flicking downward for a second. Ryan’s jeans weren’t the type he usually wore. They were baggy, and more stereotypically ‘male’. “Those jeans are… different. To what I’ve seen you wear before, I mean.” Ryan rolled his eyes in anticipation of what was coming next before speaking in a dry, monotone voice when Brendon paused.
“Go on, you can say it.”
“They almost make you look like a boy,” Brendon grinned but the expression vanished from his features as he bit his lip, frowning worriedly. “Wow, that sounded a lot more inappropriate out loud than it did in my head.”
“Yeah, ’cause everything between us up till now has been so appropriate,” Ryan said, his voice filled with sarcasm as he smirked at the other man. Brendon suddenly snorted out a laugh and all at once it felt to Ryan as though he’d just let out a breath he hadn’t even really known he’d been holding. His chest had had this… this weight on it for weeks, now, because Ryan had just been so painfully aware of his feelings, or trying not to feel, but just then… it was like things weren’t as fucked anymore, or maybe they were never as bad as they’d seemed to Ryan, or at least they didn’t have to be as hard, and Ryan had suddenly realized it.
“I assume they’re not your best jeans, either,” Brendon continued conversationally after that moment impossibly filled with Ryan’s thoughts had passed by.
“That would be a no,” Ryan laughed, glancing down at the already paint splattered denim and getting some more on his brush from the tray set down on the floor between himself and Brendon. Halfway through lifting it to the wall, though, Ryan froze.
“They look good on you though,” Brendon said, yet again failing with the whole brain-thinking-doing thing which most people seemed to manage with just fine. And… fuck. Talk about inappropriate for goodness sake. Good job, Bren, he chastised himself inwardly. “I mean, for old jeans,” Brendon cleared his throat and focused back on the job in hand. Maybe the whole not-talking thing would have been a better idea.
“I guess I shouldn’t have designated them as jeans I could mess up then,” Ryan surprised Brendon by carrying on with the conversation, because if he could let go weeks of angsting like that, one more moment wasn’t really going to make a difference.
“Little late now,” Brendon pointed out, gesturing at the splodges of yellow which were dotted all over the denim of Ryan’s jeans. “Wow, you paint messy, Ry.”
“Yeah, well,” Ryan shot back. “I’m only a volunteer; I’m not ‘project manager’ or anything.” Ryan made air quotes, gripping his brush awkwardly for a second or two before shifting it back into his grip properly, a smirk on his face.
“But seriously, Ry,” Brendon went on, pointing at various paint splattered parts of Ryan’s body on both his jeans and t shirt. “You’ve got it here. Here…” he pointed before frowning and leaning a little closer to Ryan’s face. “You’ve even got some…” Ryan was frowning too now, because he hadn’t seen any paint on his face when he’d gone to the bathroom a few minutes ago, and -
While Ryan was still mid-thought Brendon’s other hand flew up to Ryan’s face, smearing his paint covered thumb across Ryan’s right cheek.
Ryan let out a small noise of shock before a grin spread across his face that he just couldn’t suppress when Brendon was looking at him like that, his face lit up with laughter and triumph.
“But you’re all asymmetrical now,” Brendon hummed in thought before cupping his free, and relatively clean, hand under Ryan’s right cheek, then lifted his other hand once more, definitely slow enough for Ryan to move away if he wanted to, and carefully smeared a mirror image stripe of yellow paint across Ryan’s left cheek to match the other one.
In the whole four seconds or so that Brendon was touching him Ryan’s mind managed to flash through all the moments he’s tried so hard to forget lately: That first handshake of greeting the day he’d met Brendon, Brendon’s hand over his when they’d been watching that stupid zombie movie, their fingers brushing when Brendon took the ice cream tub from his when they were sitting in his garden, Brendon cradling his injured thumb the night before the ordination, Brendon’s fingers stroking gently across cheekbone and over bruised skin the night of the kiss, that hug the morning after; the last time he’d even been near enough to actually touch Brendon or vice versa. Until now, that is.
Ryan swallowed hard as Brendon let him go and lowered his hand again before shaking out of that dangerous mindset he’d fallen back into so damn easily.
“You know what this is?” Ryan said, gesturing toward his face.
“What?” Brendon asked cautiously, a smile on his face none the less.
“War paint,” Ryan grinned, dipping his fingers in the paint tray and smearing bright yellow stripes right down Brendon’s forearm.
“And that’s body art, is it?” Brendon laughed, flicked his own fingers purposefully at Ryan shirt, taking the opportunity when Ryan glanced down to pinch his finger and thumb in Ryan’s hair and pulling them down, streaking the yellow paint down Ryan’s bangs. “Well then, those are highlights I guess,” Brendon grinned, dodging Ryan’s hand as the younger male reached for his face and laughing.
Letting out a ‘humph’ of annoyance, Ryan grabbed his paintbrush again and went for Brendon’s chest with it, splodging dots across Brendon’s t shirt with the corner, moving it around so Brendon couldn’t grab it from him.
“Hey - just - Ryan,” Brendon whined, fumbling and getting paint on Ryan’s hands as he tried to grasp them in his just to keep them still. “Stop it, I’m old,” Brendon laughed, yelling a triumphant “Ha!” when Ryan was probably trying to decide whether it was worth a good eye roll and was distracted enough for Brendon to close his fingers firmly around both of Ryan’s wrists.
“Bren!” Ryan yelled, laughing as he feebly tried to pull away from Brendon’s grasp and utterly failed. For a few seconds the two of them just stayed stock still, staring at each other while their breathing slowly steadied. Then Brendon swallowed audibly and quickly uncurled his fingers from around Ryan’s wrists. “Aha!” Ryan exclaimed, breaking whatever moment they’d just had, because they couldn’t have it, flicking his brush at Brendon.
“My eyes! My eyes!” Brendon bent forward suddenly, his fingers and palms rubbing alternately over his closed eyes. Ryan just breathed out a laugh at Brendon’s dramatics, used to overreactions and games from the priest. It was the next thing Brendon said, though, that shocked Ryan into actually taking notice. “Shit” Brendon hissed, and a cold tightness took hold of Ryan’s chest.
“Bren,” Ryan tugged at the sleeve of Brendon’s t shirt. “Brendon, let me see. Fuck, Bren -” Ryan was interrupted by a low laughing noise which slowly rose to a kind of childish giggle. “You…” Ryan waited to make sure, waited until Brendon sat up again before punching Brendon on the arm as hard he could (which, admittedly, was not that hard). “You ass, Bren!” Ryan sounded as pissed as he could when Brendon was still giggling at him like that, lowering his hands to reveal splatters of paint across his face and in his hair, even dotting his eyelashes, but definitely not in his eyes. “Fucker,” Ryan said jokingly as Brendon’s laughter began to infect him too.
Brendon was so preoccupied with laughing, and how great it was to see Ryan laugh, that when Ryan decided to shove him he was too slow to catch himself properly, the priest losing his balance and only regaining it once he’d already toppled sideways, his arm flailing out to find somewhere to support his body, his hand naturally finding its way to the nearby paint tray on the floor. Brendon gave Ryan a look as he raised his eyes from his hand which was palm down in the paint.
“You started it,” Ryan shrugged.
“Very mature, Ry,” Brendon said teasingly, letting the worst of the paint drip from his hand as he held it over the tray.
“Coming from the priest who started the paint fight,” Ryan said slowly, finding one of the rags and holding it out for Brendon to take.
Brendon just shook his head as he pushed himself upright with his other hand and shifted forwards and a little to the left on his knees before reaching up and planting his hand right in the middle of the wall. It had been a particularly shitty part and the yellow paint was going to stand out brilliantly against the grey, Ryan thought. He didn’t know yet, though, because Brendon hadn’t taken his hand away yet.
“You do it now,” Brendon said, turning to look at Ryan before nodding towards the paint tray. “Leave your mark next to mine.”
Ryan paused for a second before he found himself nodding too, shifting across to where Brendon was and bringing the paint tray with him so he could carefully cover the palm side of his hand with paint. Gently shaking off the excess paint, Ryan slowly lifted his hand and pressed it to the wall next to Brendon’s, the tips of their thumbs touching. Given that they were only going to paint over it anyway, the whole thing seemed a little pointless to Ryan until he realized something. It was about the moment, and although Ryan wasn’t sure whether it had been for Brendon or himself, he still took a moment or two to smile at what it symbolized: Reconnection.
One week later Ryan was stood in front of the display board with Jon, setting out some photos he’d developed of the painting process. There were before and after shots, as well as several ‘action’ shots of various places getting painted and candid shots of everyone sitting around having a coffee break together.
“These are great, Jon,” Ryan said, smiling at one particular photo of Brendon, who was then covered pretty much head to foot in various sized paint splatters or varying colors, looking right at the camera and grinning happily as he pointed at one of the finished walls.
“I can give you copies if you want,” Jon offered, moving a couple of the photos around and trying out different ones in different places on the board.
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” Ryan answered gratefully, turning his head to see Jon looking at him now instead of the board, a smile on his face but looking almost… nervous?
“I’ve already got one for you, but it’s not up there,” Jon explained as he saw Ryan open his mouth to ask the question. “Here.” Jon handed Ryan a piece of red backing card which had the words ‘Hard at work’ written on the side which was facing upwards, the small phrase punctuated with a smiley face.
Ryan flipped over the card and immediately recognized the scene which the photo had captured, the memory bringing an even bigger smile than before to Ryan’s face.
“You’re pretty sneaky, Jon Walker,” Ryan said, raising his eyes quickly to make sure Jon had heard the affectionate note to his words and seeing the older man just shrug, a quietly satisfied grin on his own face, before Ryan looked back at the picture again.
The captured moment in question was himself and Brendon, as seen from the kitchen doorway which was behind Brendon at that time. Brendon’s hands were closed around Ryan’s wrists and Ryan was laughing, a huge grin across his face as he and Brendon looked at each other, both oblivious to Jon’s presence at the half open doorway.
“We were just…” Ryan trailed off mid-explanation as Jon just shook his head, shrugging again.
“Hey, I just take pictures,” Jon said simply, giving Ryan’s shoulder a friendly tap with his hand before smiling again as he wandered off to find some coffee.
And what a picture, Ryan thought to himself, his gaze dropping back down to the photo in question. It was filled with a number of things which jumped out at Ryan; Brendon’s skin on his, a kind of closeness between the two of them, and he looked… happy, Ryan landed on the simple word at being the best description of his expression. It was also everything that he and Brendon couldn’t have, that they wouldn’t have, Ryan reminded himself sadly, still staring down at the picture in his hands.
The thing about moments was, Ryan realized, was that they always passed.
***A/N: lol the notes in my fic scribblings for the painting part said 'Flaily Painty slap fight' which perhaps filled me with enough joy to make this chapter so long :)
And what do we think of Jon's random appearance? \o/ or /o\? I likes it anyway, and is my fic :P
<3 to all
Author: minus_four
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: Priestfic AU. Brendon's a few years older than Ryan. His first thought was something about how cute Brendon looked when he was excited. His second was something about how his plan was definitely screwed.
Disclaimer: Not even close to real. I think that's apparent from the subject matter lol
Author's Notes: Here's some stuff for you guys to take note of. First off, there's a couple of people coming into this chapter. I figure I've already messed with timelines and stuff enough that a bit more won't hurt ;) Anyone who reads my Gabe/William, The World Has It's Shine (something to hold onto) fic will definitely recognise one of them (my AUs are melting together in an AU-AU-ish way lol). The second thing is that I'd like to post prequel before the next chapter and that might take a little while, jsyk. <3!
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“Dude.”
Ryan finished his sentence before looking up from the textbook he’d been reading. Or, more accurately, trying to read. Usually he and Spencer wouldn’t be studying on a Saturday night but he had a major test in Biology on Monday and Spence was some kind of freak who actually got what the hell was going on with shit like osmosis. So there Ryan was on Spencer’s bed, half lying-half sitting curled up about halfway down, with his book sitting in front of him and Spencer sitting up against the headboard in front of him, his feet within poking distance for when Ryan needed him to explain what the fuck the book was talking about. He’d actually read the same page at least a dozen times by now, just trying to get the words, or at the very least maybe half of them, or a vague summary of what they meant perhaps, to sink into his brain. It wasn’t working.
Some nights Ryan just couldn’t concentrate, usually when he was a little tense, or jittery, or most technically nervous because… well, it was Saturday night, which meant his dad had the day off tomorrow, which meant… yeah. Most of the time he’d come crashing in once the local bar had shut and then stumble towards the nearest source of enough alcohol to finish the job. It was the word most that got Ryan a little apprehensive. Then adding in the whole oh-yay-it’s-Sunday-I-have-to-deal-with-seeing-Brendon-again feeling didn’t exactly help with that either.
“Yeah?” Ryan said once he’d looked up to meet Spencer’s eyes, wincing inwardly when he recognized the look of concern he found in them.
“You ready to tell me what the hell is up with you yet?” Spencer’s tone wasn’t accusing or angry at all, just a little tired if anything. He was used to having to ask the question, and usually draw the answer out gradually from Ryan, but sometimes he just wished Ryan would talk to him. Even Spencer had pretty rarely ever seen Ryan completely unguarded.
They were best friends, though even that didn’t exactly cover the connection they had, and Spencer never doubted that for a second, or the fact that Ryan cared, but there was still a filter which was always there between what Ryan was thinking and what he said. It was like Ryan felt as though he had to protect Spencer from something, from himself. As difficult as it could be to deal with, though, it was nothing Spencer wouldn’t deal with for the rest of his life because… because Ryan was Ryan. That was all there was to it.
“I’m fine,” Ryan protested half heartedly, knowing that Spencer would see right through it anyway. He took about five seconds of Spencer’s eyes on his before he spoke again. “Spence -”
“Ry,” Spencer sighed, putting his own book to the side. Even if someone didn’t know Ryan as well as he did, they’d still be able to figure out that something wasn’t right with him. When Ryan chose to move, and really, he spent a lot of his time being still, whether he was thinking or reading or playing his guitar, it was usually purposeful. The whole evening Ryan had been jiggling his leg, like he was buzzing with energy or something that he didn’t know what to do with. “Dude,” Spencer repeated simply, nodding his head towards Ryan’s left leg which was still bouncing up and down slightly on the bed, his toes tapping away at nothing but thin air. When Ryan’s gaze followed Spencer’s and he noticed what he was doing Ryan stopped immediately, repositioning himself and curling up a little tighter before looking back to his book, which clearly meant he wasn’t feeling in a sharing kind of mood. Not that Ryan spontaneously felt like that too often, so Spencer wasn’t what you’d call surprised. Breathing out another small sigh, Spencer paused before speaking softly into the silence. “Is it to do with Brendon?”
Ryan stared at the same word for almost a minute before letting out a deep breath. It wasn’t as though he’d lied to Spencer about it, but he definitely hadn’t told him everything when it came to the Brendon situation. He’d talked about Brendon to him, but left out the whole having a crush on a priest and the whole stupid mess which it had lead to subsequently. It was just embarrassing and complicated, and Ryan had been trying to forget the whole thing, really, so he hadn’t really felt like talking about it. He should’ve known Spencer would just know though.
“How did you…?” Ryan breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe. I guess.”
“Well, that’s clear,” Spencer dryly, but with an obvious note of sympathy in his voice.
“Nothing about this is clear,” Ryan groaned, running the palm of his hand over his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Now, tell me. How did you actually come to this conclusion? I‘m just curious as to whether I‘m just that obvious or you‘ve actually managed to bore right through into my mind with that glare of yours,” Ryan finished, really only half joking as he looked at Spencer questioningly.
“He shows up and you start mentioning him a lot,” Spencer explained, shrugging. “You can’t stop smiling when you talk about him and he takes on a date…” Ryan opened his mouth to protest at that but shut it again when Spencer raised an eyebrow at him. “Then all of a sudden you stop talking about him, never mention him actually and get even quieter than usual. It kind of seems pretty simple from my side of it,” Ryan let out a humorless breath of laughter but still exchanged a small smile with Spencer before he spoke again, more quietly now and without the note of humor which his last sentence had been tainted with. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ryan’s answer was simple, even though the situation was anything but.
“A priest.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re seventeen.”
“Yeah.”
“I see…” Spencer sighed. “That does make things kinda difficult.”
“It’s not even what makes it so complicated though,” Ryan pushed himself up and sat cross legged right in front of Spencer, the younger boy just staying quiet after having had so many years of learning that once Ryan started talking it was better to just let him keep going. “I mean, I am seventeen but that also means I’m gonna be eighteen soon enough. And Brendon is a priest, but we’re not Catholic. The situation’s still not exactly easy when it comes to that stuff in the Church, but… he’s gay, Spence,” Ryan told him and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “But he’s doesn’t want a relationship,” Ryan was almost reminding himself at that point because even he, with all the time he’d spent pulling apart to situation to try and figure out the why, kept forgetting that little piece of information. “It’s the almost that kills me, Spence,” Ryan went on, Spencer just listening with that kind of quiet patience he’d perfected just for times like this, when everything would just spill out of Ryan before he could really think about it. “If it was clear cut, would never happen in a million years, then I think I’d be able to get over it easier,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and pushing it away from his face. “But he’s just so…” Ryan let out a heavy breath of frustration before finishing up laughing quietly and shaking his head as Spencer thought for a moment before speaking.
“You are so screwed, man.” It wasn’t Spencer being mean, or teasing Ryan. It was just the truth.
“Pretty much,” Ryan laughed again, because despite how fucked up it all was, even he could see the ridiculousness of the situation and, as usual, talking things out with Spencer had helped if only for the fact that no matter what he told his best friend it never changed anything. Spencer just gave him his ‘Everything Will Be Okay’ smile and just as he always did, even on the shittiest of days, Ryan kind of believed it.
The two of them went back to their respective half assed attempts at studying for a little while, until Ryan twisted around to look at the clock on the wall behind them.
“I should go.” Ryan noticed, but didn’t react to the small sigh which he caught Spencer breathing out at his words. They’d had the conversation more times than Ryan could count so Spencer didn’t bother actually saying anything, just gave Ryan a look which made it clear what he thought about Ryan using the word ‘should’.
“You can - You could just… stay here,” Spencer decided to at least try, despite the fact that he knew how the next five minutes was going to go, and Ryan’s mind suddenly flashed back to when he’d said those words to Brendon instead, and it took him a good couple of seconds to pull himself back into the present.
“Spence…” Ryan said quietly, the rest passing silently between them, his eyes on Spencer’s saying I’m sorry, and his hand reaching forward to rest on Spencer’s bent knee saying It’s okay, even though they both knew it wasn’t.
Five minutes later Ryan was gone.
Apart from the little Spencer-induced slip into BrendonBrendonBrendonBrendon, Ryan thought he’d been doing a pretty good job at avoiding Brendon and all reference to him. He’d even deleted all of the texts from Brendon on his phone and any emails using the school computers on the first Monday after he and Brendon had semi-talked through the situation and Ryan had come to the conclusion that he just… couldn’t. So he hadn’t. It had been the only way Ryan was able to keep himself from going insane over the situation.
It hurt Ryan’s brain (not to mention anywhere else it hurt) to think about it, because, as he’d tried to explain to Spencer, it just almost seemed like such a non situation, like it should have been simple. Priest: No. It really should have been simple, Ryan knew rationally, but it just wasn’t. It never had been. All the so called simple elements; mainly Brendon’s job and Ryan’s age being the key factors there, were somehow skewed by the whole other thing, the part Ryan couldn’t even define, couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he knew it had something to do with the aching want that rose in his chest every time he thought about Brendon.
His attraction to Brendon had, initially, been largely physical. Hell, pretty much his first thought about the priest had been what a great ass he had, and maybe Ryan would have chalked it all up to teenage hormones and shit if it wasn’t for the usually annoying tendency he had to pick apart his thoughts and feelings until they at least made a little more sense to him.
It hadn’t worked particularly well with the Brendon situation though, because all Ryan had been able to figure out was that it was… it was Brendon, which didn’t really help at all. Ryan had been willing himself to just get the fuck over it for weeks now. It hadn’t happened yet, though, and it didn’t look like it was going to go away any time soon.
That was why Ryan had just decided to try and forget the whole thing, forget Brendon and his smile and how he’d been able to make life seem less shit even on the worst of days, forget how he’d actually seemed to care, really care about Ryan, forget how safe he’d felt curled up in Brendon’s bed and definitely forget how, when Brendon had hugged him by his front door, Ryan had maybe wanted to curl up in his arms instead and never leave. Ryan had willed himself to somehow forget all of that, to just Not Think About It. Ever. It wasn’t that great of a plan, Ryan knew, but it was all he had at that point. Nothing had changed, and nothing was going to.
But yeah, all in all Ryan thought he’d been doing a decent job at avoiding all thoughts of Brendon. Of course, it just figured that something was going to go wrong with this plan at some point. Along with what Ryan referred to in his head as The Underwear Incident, if it wasn’t for his agreeing with the whole God probably having better things to do than get involved with the everyday stuff in people’s lives, Ryan might have thought that someone up there was having a laugh at his expense.
See, Ryan had even been doing okay with keeping his plan together during the service on Sunday, falling back into his previous method of not looking at Brendon at all and kind of just pretending that he wasn’t there, because Ryan knew that if he looked at Brendon his mind would automatically be filled with thoughts and questions and memories and Ryan couldn’t, so he didn’t.
When the service was over Father David had put out a call for volunteers to help paint inside their church hall/community centre building that afternoon, since the kitchen had been redone and they ‘might as well give the rest a lick of paint too’. Ryan could have seen that one coming, because if there was anything a church community liked, it was a project. Most of these never materialized, because they needed to have at least a dozen meetings about said project in which people who, given their average age and frailty which was just a fact of the church congregation, wouldn’t even be taking part in said project if it required labor of any kind. Really, the meetings were just an excuse for the ‘project committee members’ to sit around drinking coffee and talking about things which weren’t even related to the project, most likely the people who weren’t there. Ryan knew this because he’d made the mistake of going to one once, and seriously? It was worse than high school for all the bitching and rumor spreading which took place.
Thankfully, though, Father David had apparently chosen to bypass the whole pointless meetings phase and go right into the actual project, meaning there was actually a chance in hell that it would actually happen. Ryan, as usual, had volunteered right away. It wasn’t as though he was dying to get home, and he actually liked helping out his church and more so Father David, grateful for all the support he’d given him since he was a kid.
Ryan didn’t realize his mistake, though, until the priest had told them that anyone who wanted to help out should meet over in the hall in about an hour, where the ‘Church hall project manager’ would be waiting for his helpers. Ryan guessed a split second before Father David gestured to his right, to where Brendon was sitting, the proud smile on his face because of his new title, Ryan knew. His first thought was something about how cute Brendon looked when he was excited. His second was something about how his plan was definitely screwed.
As it turned out, Brendon’s ’team’ wasn’t exactly flush with volunteers. Ryan wasn’t surprised though, given the times he and Brendon had spent clearing the churchyard or reorganizing the chairs and stuff. There were a few more people than just the two of them though, and Ryan was thankful for that. Some of the more able older men had come, as well as a couple of people who were some of the closest to Ryan’s age in the church, though neither had been coming particularly long.
William was pretty quiet and kept to himself much of the time, maybe because he was almost embarrassed about the amount of noise his two year old son made even when he was preoccupied in the toy corner, despite the fact that Ryan, along with Father David and Brendon, had repeatedly told him that no cared, or that no one should care, even if a few of the old ladies made various shushing noises and muttered to each other. After William had once even left the service because it made him so uncomfortable, Ryan made sure to sit closer to the two of them so he was able to either reassure William or go and distract Riley if the toddler got a little excited. He still usually left pretty quickly after the service ended, though, so Ryan hadn’t gotten to know him too well yet. It looked like he’d found someone to watch Riley for him, though, so Ryan thought maybe he’d be able to talk to William while they worked on the painting.
The other guy Ryan just barely knew at all, since he’d been going to St Anthony’s for only a couple of weeks now, and Ryan wasn’t there for the first one. He’d talked to Jon that day, though, the conversation drifting, as it often did with Ryan, towards the subject of music, and it was pretty awesome to find out that he played, too. It was kind of hard to tell with the beard, but Ryan would have guessed that Jon was closer to Brendon’s age than his own. Jon didn’t seem to care though, and had actually suggested that they get together and jam some time. He was also into photography, Ryan found out, and Father David had asked him to kind of document the project so they could put up a display in church. Although it would be nice to have that up as a reminder of community and everything in the church, Ryan knew it was also Father David’s way of making sure Jon felt welcome in the church, because he was just awesome like that.
Once Brendon had explained to everyone what they were going to do and who was going where, they all separated into their own little teams with their own areas to work in. The way Brendon had said “And… that leaves you in the kitchen with me, Ryan,” had sounded casual enough, but Ryan suspected otherwise because - come on, a decision had to have been made there. Ryan just didn’t know why, not when things were obviously going to be more than a little awkward between them.
Brendon had spent most of the hour everyone else spent going home to get changed into more suitable clothing for painting prepping the different rooms, taping off edges and setting out the right color paint along with trays and brushes and everything, so it all was all there ready when they went in.
Ryan had still managed to avoid Brendon fairly well even standing a foot away from him, just nodding in agreement when Brendon suggested that they start with the open space of wall near the door before moving on to the more fiddly work of painting around cabinets and such. They’d been working in silence for about five minutes before Brendon finally spoke.
“Are we not gonna… talk?” Out of the corner of his eye Ryan saw Brendon sit back on his heels. Both of them were on their knees working on the lower half of the wall.
“Talk about what?” Ryan asked quietly, not looking at Brendon and concentrating on the part of the wall he was painting. The kitchen used to be white, or maybe cream, but over the years it had deteriorated to a dirty kind of greyish color, which would be disgusting anywhere, but particularly a kitchen in Ryan’s opinion. Ryan couldn’t wait to see how much better it was going to look once they’d finished painting it the bright, sunny yellow Brendon had chosen for it.
“I don’t know, but - like, you know,” Brendon sighed, “you’re supposed to talk while you do stuff like paint. It’s just the way things are,” he said matter of factly, watching Ryan paint of the same patch of wall again before he actually turned to look at Brendon, just the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Like on a road trip?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face as he remembered.
“Exactly!” Brendon exclaimed, waving his paintbrush excitedly and causing droplets of the yellow paint to flick onto Ryan’s green v neck t shirt. “Oops.”
“It’s not like I’m wearing my best shirt or anything,” Ryan breathed out a laugh, shaking his head in the same long suffering putting-up-with-Brendon’s-ridiculousness way Brendon had seen dozens of times before now.
“And speaking of clothes…” Brendon started, his eyes flicking downward for a second. Ryan’s jeans weren’t the type he usually wore. They were baggy, and more stereotypically ‘male’. “Those jeans are… different. To what I’ve seen you wear before, I mean.” Ryan rolled his eyes in anticipation of what was coming next before speaking in a dry, monotone voice when Brendon paused.
“Go on, you can say it.”
“They almost make you look like a boy,” Brendon grinned but the expression vanished from his features as he bit his lip, frowning worriedly. “Wow, that sounded a lot more inappropriate out loud than it did in my head.”
“Yeah, ’cause everything between us up till now has been so appropriate,” Ryan said, his voice filled with sarcasm as he smirked at the other man. Brendon suddenly snorted out a laugh and all at once it felt to Ryan as though he’d just let out a breath he hadn’t even really known he’d been holding. His chest had had this… this weight on it for weeks, now, because Ryan had just been so painfully aware of his feelings, or trying not to feel, but just then… it was like things weren’t as fucked anymore, or maybe they were never as bad as they’d seemed to Ryan, or at least they didn’t have to be as hard, and Ryan had suddenly realized it.
“I assume they’re not your best jeans, either,” Brendon continued conversationally after that moment impossibly filled with Ryan’s thoughts had passed by.
“That would be a no,” Ryan laughed, glancing down at the already paint splattered denim and getting some more on his brush from the tray set down on the floor between himself and Brendon. Halfway through lifting it to the wall, though, Ryan froze.
“They look good on you though,” Brendon said, yet again failing with the whole brain-thinking-doing thing which most people seemed to manage with just fine. And… fuck. Talk about inappropriate for goodness sake. Good job, Bren, he chastised himself inwardly. “I mean, for old jeans,” Brendon cleared his throat and focused back on the job in hand. Maybe the whole not-talking thing would have been a better idea.
“I guess I shouldn’t have designated them as jeans I could mess up then,” Ryan surprised Brendon by carrying on with the conversation, because if he could let go weeks of angsting like that, one more moment wasn’t really going to make a difference.
“Little late now,” Brendon pointed out, gesturing at the splodges of yellow which were dotted all over the denim of Ryan’s jeans. “Wow, you paint messy, Ry.”
“Yeah, well,” Ryan shot back. “I’m only a volunteer; I’m not ‘project manager’ or anything.” Ryan made air quotes, gripping his brush awkwardly for a second or two before shifting it back into his grip properly, a smirk on his face.
“But seriously, Ry,” Brendon went on, pointing at various paint splattered parts of Ryan’s body on both his jeans and t shirt. “You’ve got it here. Here…” he pointed before frowning and leaning a little closer to Ryan’s face. “You’ve even got some…” Ryan was frowning too now, because he hadn’t seen any paint on his face when he’d gone to the bathroom a few minutes ago, and -
While Ryan was still mid-thought Brendon’s other hand flew up to Ryan’s face, smearing his paint covered thumb across Ryan’s right cheek.
Ryan let out a small noise of shock before a grin spread across his face that he just couldn’t suppress when Brendon was looking at him like that, his face lit up with laughter and triumph.
“But you’re all asymmetrical now,” Brendon hummed in thought before cupping his free, and relatively clean, hand under Ryan’s right cheek, then lifted his other hand once more, definitely slow enough for Ryan to move away if he wanted to, and carefully smeared a mirror image stripe of yellow paint across Ryan’s left cheek to match the other one.
In the whole four seconds or so that Brendon was touching him Ryan’s mind managed to flash through all the moments he’s tried so hard to forget lately: That first handshake of greeting the day he’d met Brendon, Brendon’s hand over his when they’d been watching that stupid zombie movie, their fingers brushing when Brendon took the ice cream tub from his when they were sitting in his garden, Brendon cradling his injured thumb the night before the ordination, Brendon’s fingers stroking gently across cheekbone and over bruised skin the night of the kiss, that hug the morning after; the last time he’d even been near enough to actually touch Brendon or vice versa. Until now, that is.
Ryan swallowed hard as Brendon let him go and lowered his hand again before shaking out of that dangerous mindset he’d fallen back into so damn easily.
“You know what this is?” Ryan said, gesturing toward his face.
“What?” Brendon asked cautiously, a smile on his face none the less.
“War paint,” Ryan grinned, dipping his fingers in the paint tray and smearing bright yellow stripes right down Brendon’s forearm.
“And that’s body art, is it?” Brendon laughed, flicked his own fingers purposefully at Ryan shirt, taking the opportunity when Ryan glanced down to pinch his finger and thumb in Ryan’s hair and pulling them down, streaking the yellow paint down Ryan’s bangs. “Well then, those are highlights I guess,” Brendon grinned, dodging Ryan’s hand as the younger male reached for his face and laughing.
Letting out a ‘humph’ of annoyance, Ryan grabbed his paintbrush again and went for Brendon’s chest with it, splodging dots across Brendon’s t shirt with the corner, moving it around so Brendon couldn’t grab it from him.
“Hey - just - Ryan,” Brendon whined, fumbling and getting paint on Ryan’s hands as he tried to grasp them in his just to keep them still. “Stop it, I’m old,” Brendon laughed, yelling a triumphant “Ha!” when Ryan was probably trying to decide whether it was worth a good eye roll and was distracted enough for Brendon to close his fingers firmly around both of Ryan’s wrists.
“Bren!” Ryan yelled, laughing as he feebly tried to pull away from Brendon’s grasp and utterly failed. For a few seconds the two of them just stayed stock still, staring at each other while their breathing slowly steadied. Then Brendon swallowed audibly and quickly uncurled his fingers from around Ryan’s wrists. “Aha!” Ryan exclaimed, breaking whatever moment they’d just had, because they couldn’t have it, flicking his brush at Brendon.
“My eyes! My eyes!” Brendon bent forward suddenly, his fingers and palms rubbing alternately over his closed eyes. Ryan just breathed out a laugh at Brendon’s dramatics, used to overreactions and games from the priest. It was the next thing Brendon said, though, that shocked Ryan into actually taking notice. “Shit” Brendon hissed, and a cold tightness took hold of Ryan’s chest.
“Bren,” Ryan tugged at the sleeve of Brendon’s t shirt. “Brendon, let me see. Fuck, Bren -” Ryan was interrupted by a low laughing noise which slowly rose to a kind of childish giggle. “You…” Ryan waited to make sure, waited until Brendon sat up again before punching Brendon on the arm as hard he could (which, admittedly, was not that hard). “You ass, Bren!” Ryan sounded as pissed as he could when Brendon was still giggling at him like that, lowering his hands to reveal splatters of paint across his face and in his hair, even dotting his eyelashes, but definitely not in his eyes. “Fucker,” Ryan said jokingly as Brendon’s laughter began to infect him too.
Brendon was so preoccupied with laughing, and how great it was to see Ryan laugh, that when Ryan decided to shove him he was too slow to catch himself properly, the priest losing his balance and only regaining it once he’d already toppled sideways, his arm flailing out to find somewhere to support his body, his hand naturally finding its way to the nearby paint tray on the floor. Brendon gave Ryan a look as he raised his eyes from his hand which was palm down in the paint.
“You started it,” Ryan shrugged.
“Very mature, Ry,” Brendon said teasingly, letting the worst of the paint drip from his hand as he held it over the tray.
“Coming from the priest who started the paint fight,” Ryan said slowly, finding one of the rags and holding it out for Brendon to take.
Brendon just shook his head as he pushed himself upright with his other hand and shifted forwards and a little to the left on his knees before reaching up and planting his hand right in the middle of the wall. It had been a particularly shitty part and the yellow paint was going to stand out brilliantly against the grey, Ryan thought. He didn’t know yet, though, because Brendon hadn’t taken his hand away yet.
“You do it now,” Brendon said, turning to look at Ryan before nodding towards the paint tray. “Leave your mark next to mine.”
Ryan paused for a second before he found himself nodding too, shifting across to where Brendon was and bringing the paint tray with him so he could carefully cover the palm side of his hand with paint. Gently shaking off the excess paint, Ryan slowly lifted his hand and pressed it to the wall next to Brendon’s, the tips of their thumbs touching. Given that they were only going to paint over it anyway, the whole thing seemed a little pointless to Ryan until he realized something. It was about the moment, and although Ryan wasn’t sure whether it had been for Brendon or himself, he still took a moment or two to smile at what it symbolized: Reconnection.
One week later Ryan was stood in front of the display board with Jon, setting out some photos he’d developed of the painting process. There were before and after shots, as well as several ‘action’ shots of various places getting painted and candid shots of everyone sitting around having a coffee break together.
“These are great, Jon,” Ryan said, smiling at one particular photo of Brendon, who was then covered pretty much head to foot in various sized paint splatters or varying colors, looking right at the camera and grinning happily as he pointed at one of the finished walls.
“I can give you copies if you want,” Jon offered, moving a couple of the photos around and trying out different ones in different places on the board.
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” Ryan answered gratefully, turning his head to see Jon looking at him now instead of the board, a smile on his face but looking almost… nervous?
“I’ve already got one for you, but it’s not up there,” Jon explained as he saw Ryan open his mouth to ask the question. “Here.” Jon handed Ryan a piece of red backing card which had the words ‘Hard at work’ written on the side which was facing upwards, the small phrase punctuated with a smiley face.
Ryan flipped over the card and immediately recognized the scene which the photo had captured, the memory bringing an even bigger smile than before to Ryan’s face.
“You’re pretty sneaky, Jon Walker,” Ryan said, raising his eyes quickly to make sure Jon had heard the affectionate note to his words and seeing the older man just shrug, a quietly satisfied grin on his own face, before Ryan looked back at the picture again.
The captured moment in question was himself and Brendon, as seen from the kitchen doorway which was behind Brendon at that time. Brendon’s hands were closed around Ryan’s wrists and Ryan was laughing, a huge grin across his face as he and Brendon looked at each other, both oblivious to Jon’s presence at the half open doorway.
“We were just…” Ryan trailed off mid-explanation as Jon just shook his head, shrugging again.
“Hey, I just take pictures,” Jon said simply, giving Ryan’s shoulder a friendly tap with his hand before smiling again as he wandered off to find some coffee.
And what a picture, Ryan thought to himself, his gaze dropping back down to the photo in question. It was filled with a number of things which jumped out at Ryan; Brendon’s skin on his, a kind of closeness between the two of them, and he looked… happy, Ryan landed on the simple word at being the best description of his expression. It was also everything that he and Brendon couldn’t have, that they wouldn’t have, Ryan reminded himself sadly, still staring down at the picture in his hands.
The thing about moments was, Ryan realized, was that they always passed.
***A/N: lol the notes in my fic scribblings for the painting part said 'Flaily Painty slap fight' which perhaps filled me with enough joy to make this chapter so long :)
And what do we think of Jon's random appearance? \o/ or /o\? I likes it anyway, and is my fic :P
<3 to all