Fic-Post: In Time (Swimming RPS)
Title: In Time
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,509
Summary: @ryanlochte One of my good friends just got engaged. Congrats! When am I gonna find the one?!?! #intime
Disclaimer: nope
Author's Note: twitter-prompted by hit__theroad and icygrace
IN TIME
Watching swimming via livestream was a truly truly weird thing, Michael decides. A truly truly weird thing he probably won’t do again. But it's cold outside and someone had spilled coffee on his warm jacket earlier, leaving behind a pretty impressive stain that was currently attacked by the hotel’s laundry service, so he couldn’t go anywhere. He finds nothing on the TV-channels and when he checks his phone and sees the hashtag #ATTNats, he thinks he may as well.
The sport is just different when you can’t smell the chlorine and don’t get hit by the humidity as soon as you open the door. The cheers were much more subdued, but the music louder than he remembered.
Michael has to admit it’s sort of awesome to see friends and former teammates do so well, but at the same time, he has never felt so alone in his life, watching swim-races on a small laptop-screen in a hotel room in New York City. This is his sport and he has never felt further away from it.
They get to the 200 back and Michael automatically sits up a little straighter, feels his body go a little tense. His eyes skim the faces and he listens to the names being announced.
And suddenly, the race is over and Michael properly realises that Ryan hasn’t even been in the water. He grabs his phone by instinct and he’s already typed out a few words until he realises that he can’t do that anymore.
He thinks back to the last time he was in New York City and how it had turned out to be such a horrible experience that he had actually shuddered when he found out he was going to be in the city again, so soon after. How, just a few blocks down from where he was right now (or up, left or right, Michael seriously can’t figure it out in this damned city), his life went from ‘sorta really okay’ to ‘complete shit and failure’.
*
Him and Ryan had arrived at the Golden Goggles at almost the exact time. Not by choice. Michael was late, because he always was when he was outside of a pool, and he figured that Ryan would get there early, as he always did, because he liked to hang out and talk to people and Michael just didn’t.
But then he saw Ryan and he had his arm around some girl that Michael had never seen before and he felt like he’d been punched in the face. He suddenly couldn’t breathe properly and all he wanted was to get out of there and lock himself up in his hotel room. It took a few words from Megan to change his mind. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone got himself a ‘girlfriend’ to keep up appearances.” and she smiled a warm smile at him and slightly shoved him towards the backstage area to gear up for the walk-out.
Him being one of the first to be backstage meant that he also was the first to see Ryan walk in and he immediately went over and dragged him into a corner, ignoring pleads of “Yo, watch the jacket, man!”
“What the fuck Ryan, who is the girl?”
And Ryan sighed, looking around the room, trying to see a way out that wasn’t blocked by Michael.
“Who is she, Ryan?”
“Rachel.” was all that he offered.
“And who the fuck is Rachel?”
“We’re sorta …” And then he looked Michael in the eyes for the first time. “We’re just going out. I’ve only just met her.”
Michael felt that punch to the face again, only that it was worse this time.
“You fucking know how I feel, Mike.”
“Yeah, but you fucking know that I need time.”
“You’ve had eight years, Mike. How much more fucking time do you need?”
Michael sighed, running his hand through his hair. Ryan looked at him broken and helpless and Michael wanted to take that look away from his face, because it just made everything wrong about everything that he loved.
Ryan sensed he was not going to get an answer. “Like, I know you and Meg are friends, I’m not jealous or whatever. But fuck Mike, what the hell have you got to lose? You’re done. There’s nothing at stake for you here, so why are you so fucking scared? I told you, Mike. I’ve told you that you’re the one for me and I told you that I don’t give a fuck if saying that in public means that I have to sponsor myself for the next four years. What the fuck else do I need to do to just not see you pretend anymore? What do I need to do to make it stop hurting so much?”
Michael swallowed thickly around the lump that sat deep in his throat.
“I can’t deal with this anymore, Mike. I can’t be hurting all the time. You’re not gonna come around and I need to deal with that.”
“So you’re dealing with Rachel?”
“For now I am, yeah.”
“You could’ve told me, you know.”
“And that would’ve helped me how? Would it have made you walk that carpet with me holding your hand?”
Michael didn’t answer and looked at the floor after holding Ryan’s gaze for a moment, not being able to look him in the eyes and see the pain he put in there.
“Figured.”
And Ryan slipped away from in front of Michael and the next thing that registered with him was Allison standing next to him, looking worried and squeezing his arm. He looked across the room and saw Ryan stand there with Cullen and Brendan, both looking about as worried as Allison did. He felt a sting in his eyes and in a moment’s notice, he was turned around and Allison pulled him in a hug and threatened to kill him if he sobbed into her hair and made it turn curly in just one spot.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur and the only thing that really stuck with him was seeing Ryan leave hand in hand with his date. Shortly after, Michael was laying on his hotel bed, his head in Megan’s lap, crying himself to sleep onto her dress.
*
The next few weeks had been going pretty similar to that night, with Thanksgiving being the only exception. He made sure to shower and clean up the apartment, getting rid of empty beer bottles and take out containers. He smiled for family pictures and participated in conversations.
It lasted until he went to get his mother’s jacket out of the closet as she was about to leave and the little box fell into his hand. Michael doesn’t even remember how he got into bed that night.
*
And now he was in New York and Ryan was in Texas. Or so Michael thought. He tried to not keep tabs on him, but they knew the same people and it was difficult. Because most times people forgot and they would mention Ryan’s name and Michael had to try really hard to not break down on the spot.
*
The next day, Michael is sitting in the lounge at the airport, waiting to finally get on the plane to be taken home. Back into his apartment, to Herman, Stella, beer and take-out menus.
He’s about to text his mother to tell her that she can go drop the dogs off at his place, that he’ll be there soon but he gets sidetracked and checks twitter first. He scrolls and scrolls, the words all blurring gray in front of his eyes and then he stops.
ryanlochte One of my good friends just got engaged. Congrats! When am I gonna find the one?!?! #intime
Michael drops his phone. He leaves it discarded on the floor as he rushes over to the airline-desk nearby.
“I need to change my flight.” he says to the woman behind it.
“Mr Phelps, boarding is about to start.”
“I need to change my flight, it’s an emergency.” Because it is. This is his life, ‘emergency’ is putting it lightly.
The woman types on her keyboard. “Where to?”
And Michael realises that he doesn’t even know where to go to. And he only knows one person who can maybe possibly tell him. So he pats his pockets and then remembers that his phone is still laying on the floor by the seat he just occupied. He hits the speed-dial and the two rings it takes for Bob to pick up feel like an eternity.
“Where’s Ryan?” he says before Bob can even get a word in.
“Michael?”
“I don’t have time, Bob. Where is Ryan?”
“I only saw him leave this morning. So I think he should be home. I’m not this baby-“
Michael hangs up, turning back to the woman at the airline desk. “Get me as close as you can to Gainesville.”
She types again and half an hour later, Michael’s flight takes off to Jacksonville.
It’s not a long flight and Michael figures he will be the first to get there. He’s nervous and he checks the time every five minutes and he is just really fucking tempted to just get to the cockpit and ask the pilot to just step on it.
They touch down in Jacksonville and Michael doesn’t stop running between stepping off the plane and getting to the car rental desk, practically throwing his driver’s license and credit card at the guy behind the desk, telling him to give him whatever he has, as long as it’s fast and the tank’s full enough to get him to Gainesville.
He speeds along the familiar route, eyes set firmly on the road, like the tarmac is the black line at the bottom of the pool, like it’s the rope that pulls him to where it is he needs to go.
When he reaches Ryan’s street, it’s the first time that he realises that he is sort of facing the great unkown. He knows what he’s going to say and do, but he doesn’t know how Ryan’s going to react. Him posting a semi-desperate tweet didn’t have to mean anything. Especially not that he was willing to even talk to Michael, let alone consider thinking about what Michael was going to tell him. So he pulls the car over and kills the engine. He reaches for his wallet and turns it around in his hands, trying to visualise the rest of the day in the same manner he used to visualise his races. Try not to think about the best possible outcome and instead imagine the worst. Only that imagining the worst makes his insides churn and he’s been in enough pain already, he really doesn’t want to add more to it.
He snaps back to reality when he hears a car driving past. Michael looks up and sees a taxi stopping outside of the gate to Ryan’s house. It takes a few seconds and the door opens and Ryan’s stepping out, making Michael fall into a shock-like state. Somehow, Ryan doesn’t look the same anymore. He looks pale (at least for his standards) and skinny, his t-shirt not being as tight as it usually is. He’s wearing sunglasses as he’s talking to the cab-driver who helps him get his bags out of the trunk and he doesn’t smile as he shakes the man’s hand. Michael just wants to run over and wrap his arms around Ryan and tell him that everything will be alright, even though he doesn’t know himself if that’s even true.
Michael knows he has to get Ryan’s attention before he goes through the gate. Because Kyle and Devon are probably at home right now and they’re Ryan’s most loyal two-man army. They probably won’t even let him through the door.
He holds onto his wallet as he takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, slamming the door closed a little harder than necessary, making both Ryan and the cab-driver turn around towards him.
Ryan’s whole demeanour changes when he sees Michael. His features harden even more and even from a little further away, Michael can tell that, for a brief moment, Ryan considers just turning back around and going through his gate. But something keeps him rooted on the spot and Michael knows that this something is the part of Ryan he needs to reach in the next few minutes.
Michael walks a few steps towards Ryan, watching as the other man places his bags by the door of the gate, quickly checking if the door to the house remains closed. It does and he walks a few steps towards Michael until the meet in the middle. Ryan takes off his sunglasses and his eyes are red and tired. Not the sparkling blue that Michael is so used to.
“Hi.” he says. He has to start somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan keeps glancing back towards his house. Either to figure out how to escape or to make sure that Kyle and Devon won’t come out, Michael can’t figure out which option it is.
“You missed Thanksgiving.”
“I was in Spain.”
“You said you were gonna come to Baltimore.”
Ryan snorts. “Yeah well, you said you were gonna stop needing time.”
The words sting but Michael knows that he deserves every single one of them. Maybe even more.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Ryan as he opens his wallet and pulls out a piece of paper, frayed at the edges and from where it’s been folded and unfolded many times.
“August, 5th, 2012” Michael starts reading aloud from the paper. “Ryan.”
Ryan waits for Michael to continue, but he looks back up from the paper, not saying a word.
“That’s it, that’s what you came here for? To read my name to me from a fucking piece of paper?”
Michael hands Ryan the paper. “It’s my post-Olympics goal-sheet. I wrote it in the morning after I was done. You were still asleep. We had … uhm … celebrated my last race for most of the night.”
Ryan nods. He remembers it all too well. He had kicked the other guys out of the apartment they shared at the village and then decorated the entire place with candles. He got champagne and strawberries and fulfilled about every chliché of all the chick-flicks in the world. Then he had waited outside the door for Michael to come back. When he did, Ryan blindfolded him and steered him into the room, watching with a smile as Michael took in the scenery Ryan had created. What followed was a night of Ryan showing Michael exactly how proud he was of him. They even got to use the blindfold again.
It’s Ryan’s favourite memory of the Olympics.
He smiles a little - it just comes automatically when he remembers that night - and Michael feels himself one step closer.
“You were, you are just so amazing, and I was laying in bed and watched you sleep and in that moment I was so sure that I never wanted anything more in life, as long as I had you. So I wrote it down. You were my goal for after the Olympics. You are my goal for the rest of my life.”
Ryan looks down at the ground and starts chewing on his bottom lip.
“You say all this now, Mike. You say all these things and then I’m gonna believe you again and end up hurting more than I already do in the end. I’ve been there, Michael. I can’t go back to it.”
Michael takes a deep breath. He looks at Ryan again, staring at the ground, rocking back and forth in his shoes, still chewing his lip. He looks frail and exhausted. Michael wants to take all of this away from him, just make him his Ryan again. And that is all the motivation he needs before he speaks again.
“You don’t have to go back to it.”
Ryan looks up, not daring to look too hopeful, in case the ground gets pulled away from under his feet again.
“That’s why I wanted you around for Thanksgiving.”
Ryan just looks confused.
“I still have the ring at home.”
And then the penny drops and the lightbulb (a whole chandelier, more likely) goes off above his head and Ryan just stares at Michael, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
“I’m done hiding, Ryan. I am so done. I don’t care about the way some people may look at me and I don’t give a shit about what anyone might say. I’m with you, not with any of them. And I know that I was hurting you and I felt so fucking horrible about it every time and right now I can’t even tell you anymore what scared me so much. And you’ve just … you’ve always been so sure and you’ve never been scared and I know that should’ve been enough for me. I know that. I knew it all along.”
“What about the ring-part?” Ryan smiles up at him.
And for the first time in a really long time, Michael smiles as well. “I bought it when I got back from London. But I wanted the moment to be right and I figured Thanksgiving should be it. Because you were so patient with me for eight years and you’ve just been there every day and just … words can’t even describe how grateful I am that you stuck around through the mess that was me. And I thought with our families there, it would’ve been perfect. The start into a new life.”
“And then I screwed everything up. God Mike, I’m so sorry. I had, like, I had no idea. Shit, I feel awful now.”
Michael reaches for Ryan’s hand, the first contact in weeks. All his senses suddenly feel hyper-aware of everything.
“Don’t. I gave you every reason to doubt me. I’m sorry, Ryan. Please, you gotta believe me. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life than not showing how much you mean to me. But I’m done now, I promise.”
Ryan laces his fingers through Michael’s and just holds on tight, like the contact is the only thing to keep him together at the moment.
“I believe you.” he says, quietly. Like he’s testing out the words first, see if they feel right. “I believe you.” he repeats, sure of it now.
And Michael feels like the weight of the world is lifted off his shoulders just from those three words. He doesn’t hesitate for a second and pulls Ryan against his body, wrapping his arms around him tightly, intending to never let go ever again unless he absolutely has to.
Ryan slings his arms around Michael and holds on for dear life. He breathes in Michael’s scent. He tries to hold it back, but he can’t stop his eyes from watering and he sniffles on reflex.
Michael pulls away, cupping Ryan’s face in his hands, looking worried. “What’s wrong?” He wipes his thumbs against wet cheeks.
“Nothing.” Ryan shakes his head, “Just … it’s a bit too much, that’s all. Good too much though, those are good tears.”
And Michael just exhales before he brings his lips down on Ryan’s, kissing him intensely, as if he has to make up for all lost time with just that one kiss. Ryan kisses back with the same intensity and for a moment, they both seem to struggle to even stay upright.
“So … this ring you were talking about …” Ryan says as they’re pulling apart, the fingers of his right hand running in slow patterns on the front of Michael’s t-shirt.
“What about it?”
“Does it come with a question or is it just a ‘Hey dude, here’s something for your collection’-ring?”
Michael laughs, ready to explode in happiness. “It comes with a question.” He whispers into the other man’s ear, feeling him shiver against his body.
And then Michael pulls away, the only contact remaining being their clasped hands, Michael’s post-Olympics goal-sheet tucked in between their fingers. He takes a step back before dropping down on one knee in the middle of a street in Gainesville.
“Would you please give me the chance to be the man worthy of you for the rest of my life and marry me?”
Ryan is about to start crying again because apparently, he’s just a big ol’ sap today, and he can barely manage a “Yes!” and nod of his head before the tears are making their appearance again.
Michael gets back to his feet, enveloping Ryan in a hug again, letting him cry against his shoulder, trying hard - and failing - to keep his own tears at bay.
It may has taken him eight years and the two worst weeks of his life, but as he feels Ryan’s tears soaking his t-shirt, Michael keeps thanking his lucky stars that he was just in time to make everything alright again.
Pairing: Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,509
Summary: @ryanlochte One of my good friends just got engaged. Congrats! When am I gonna find the one?!?! #intime
Disclaimer: nope
Author's Note: twitter-prompted by hit__theroad and icygrace
IN TIME
Watching swimming via livestream was a truly truly weird thing, Michael decides. A truly truly weird thing he probably won’t do again. But it's cold outside and someone had spilled coffee on his warm jacket earlier, leaving behind a pretty impressive stain that was currently attacked by the hotel’s laundry service, so he couldn’t go anywhere. He finds nothing on the TV-channels and when he checks his phone and sees the hashtag #ATTNats, he thinks he may as well.
The sport is just different when you can’t smell the chlorine and don’t get hit by the humidity as soon as you open the door. The cheers were much more subdued, but the music louder than he remembered.
Michael has to admit it’s sort of awesome to see friends and former teammates do so well, but at the same time, he has never felt so alone in his life, watching swim-races on a small laptop-screen in a hotel room in New York City. This is his sport and he has never felt further away from it.
They get to the 200 back and Michael automatically sits up a little straighter, feels his body go a little tense. His eyes skim the faces and he listens to the names being announced.
And suddenly, the race is over and Michael properly realises that Ryan hasn’t even been in the water. He grabs his phone by instinct and he’s already typed out a few words until he realises that he can’t do that anymore.
He thinks back to the last time he was in New York City and how it had turned out to be such a horrible experience that he had actually shuddered when he found out he was going to be in the city again, so soon after. How, just a few blocks down from where he was right now (or up, left or right, Michael seriously can’t figure it out in this damned city), his life went from ‘sorta really okay’ to ‘complete shit and failure’.
*
Him and Ryan had arrived at the Golden Goggles at almost the exact time. Not by choice. Michael was late, because he always was when he was outside of a pool, and he figured that Ryan would get there early, as he always did, because he liked to hang out and talk to people and Michael just didn’t.
But then he saw Ryan and he had his arm around some girl that Michael had never seen before and he felt like he’d been punched in the face. He suddenly couldn’t breathe properly and all he wanted was to get out of there and lock himself up in his hotel room. It took a few words from Megan to change his mind. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone got himself a ‘girlfriend’ to keep up appearances.” and she smiled a warm smile at him and slightly shoved him towards the backstage area to gear up for the walk-out.
Him being one of the first to be backstage meant that he also was the first to see Ryan walk in and he immediately went over and dragged him into a corner, ignoring pleads of “Yo, watch the jacket, man!”
“What the fuck Ryan, who is the girl?”
And Ryan sighed, looking around the room, trying to see a way out that wasn’t blocked by Michael.
“Who is she, Ryan?”
“Rachel.” was all that he offered.
“And who the fuck is Rachel?”
“We’re sorta …” And then he looked Michael in the eyes for the first time. “We’re just going out. I’ve only just met her.”
Michael felt that punch to the face again, only that it was worse this time.
“You fucking know how I feel, Mike.”
“Yeah, but you fucking know that I need time.”
“You’ve had eight years, Mike. How much more fucking time do you need?”
Michael sighed, running his hand through his hair. Ryan looked at him broken and helpless and Michael wanted to take that look away from his face, because it just made everything wrong about everything that he loved.
Ryan sensed he was not going to get an answer. “Like, I know you and Meg are friends, I’m not jealous or whatever. But fuck Mike, what the hell have you got to lose? You’re done. There’s nothing at stake for you here, so why are you so fucking scared? I told you, Mike. I’ve told you that you’re the one for me and I told you that I don’t give a fuck if saying that in public means that I have to sponsor myself for the next four years. What the fuck else do I need to do to just not see you pretend anymore? What do I need to do to make it stop hurting so much?”
Michael swallowed thickly around the lump that sat deep in his throat.
“I can’t deal with this anymore, Mike. I can’t be hurting all the time. You’re not gonna come around and I need to deal with that.”
“So you’re dealing with Rachel?”
“For now I am, yeah.”
“You could’ve told me, you know.”
“And that would’ve helped me how? Would it have made you walk that carpet with me holding your hand?”
Michael didn’t answer and looked at the floor after holding Ryan’s gaze for a moment, not being able to look him in the eyes and see the pain he put in there.
“Figured.”
And Ryan slipped away from in front of Michael and the next thing that registered with him was Allison standing next to him, looking worried and squeezing his arm. He looked across the room and saw Ryan stand there with Cullen and Brendan, both looking about as worried as Allison did. He felt a sting in his eyes and in a moment’s notice, he was turned around and Allison pulled him in a hug and threatened to kill him if he sobbed into her hair and made it turn curly in just one spot.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur and the only thing that really stuck with him was seeing Ryan leave hand in hand with his date. Shortly after, Michael was laying on his hotel bed, his head in Megan’s lap, crying himself to sleep onto her dress.
*
The next few weeks had been going pretty similar to that night, with Thanksgiving being the only exception. He made sure to shower and clean up the apartment, getting rid of empty beer bottles and take out containers. He smiled for family pictures and participated in conversations.
It lasted until he went to get his mother’s jacket out of the closet as she was about to leave and the little box fell into his hand. Michael doesn’t even remember how he got into bed that night.
*
And now he was in New York and Ryan was in Texas. Or so Michael thought. He tried to not keep tabs on him, but they knew the same people and it was difficult. Because most times people forgot and they would mention Ryan’s name and Michael had to try really hard to not break down on the spot.
*
The next day, Michael is sitting in the lounge at the airport, waiting to finally get on the plane to be taken home. Back into his apartment, to Herman, Stella, beer and take-out menus.
He’s about to text his mother to tell her that she can go drop the dogs off at his place, that he’ll be there soon but he gets sidetracked and checks twitter first. He scrolls and scrolls, the words all blurring gray in front of his eyes and then he stops.
ryanlochte One of my good friends just got engaged. Congrats! When am I gonna find the one?!?! #intime
Michael drops his phone. He leaves it discarded on the floor as he rushes over to the airline-desk nearby.
“I need to change my flight.” he says to the woman behind it.
“Mr Phelps, boarding is about to start.”
“I need to change my flight, it’s an emergency.” Because it is. This is his life, ‘emergency’ is putting it lightly.
The woman types on her keyboard. “Where to?”
And Michael realises that he doesn’t even know where to go to. And he only knows one person who can maybe possibly tell him. So he pats his pockets and then remembers that his phone is still laying on the floor by the seat he just occupied. He hits the speed-dial and the two rings it takes for Bob to pick up feel like an eternity.
“Where’s Ryan?” he says before Bob can even get a word in.
“Michael?”
“I don’t have time, Bob. Where is Ryan?”
“I only saw him leave this morning. So I think he should be home. I’m not this baby-“
Michael hangs up, turning back to the woman at the airline desk. “Get me as close as you can to Gainesville.”
She types again and half an hour later, Michael’s flight takes off to Jacksonville.
It’s not a long flight and Michael figures he will be the first to get there. He’s nervous and he checks the time every five minutes and he is just really fucking tempted to just get to the cockpit and ask the pilot to just step on it.
They touch down in Jacksonville and Michael doesn’t stop running between stepping off the plane and getting to the car rental desk, practically throwing his driver’s license and credit card at the guy behind the desk, telling him to give him whatever he has, as long as it’s fast and the tank’s full enough to get him to Gainesville.
He speeds along the familiar route, eyes set firmly on the road, like the tarmac is the black line at the bottom of the pool, like it’s the rope that pulls him to where it is he needs to go.
When he reaches Ryan’s street, it’s the first time that he realises that he is sort of facing the great unkown. He knows what he’s going to say and do, but he doesn’t know how Ryan’s going to react. Him posting a semi-desperate tweet didn’t have to mean anything. Especially not that he was willing to even talk to Michael, let alone consider thinking about what Michael was going to tell him. So he pulls the car over and kills the engine. He reaches for his wallet and turns it around in his hands, trying to visualise the rest of the day in the same manner he used to visualise his races. Try not to think about the best possible outcome and instead imagine the worst. Only that imagining the worst makes his insides churn and he’s been in enough pain already, he really doesn’t want to add more to it.
He snaps back to reality when he hears a car driving past. Michael looks up and sees a taxi stopping outside of the gate to Ryan’s house. It takes a few seconds and the door opens and Ryan’s stepping out, making Michael fall into a shock-like state. Somehow, Ryan doesn’t look the same anymore. He looks pale (at least for his standards) and skinny, his t-shirt not being as tight as it usually is. He’s wearing sunglasses as he’s talking to the cab-driver who helps him get his bags out of the trunk and he doesn’t smile as he shakes the man’s hand. Michael just wants to run over and wrap his arms around Ryan and tell him that everything will be alright, even though he doesn’t know himself if that’s even true.
Michael knows he has to get Ryan’s attention before he goes through the gate. Because Kyle and Devon are probably at home right now and they’re Ryan’s most loyal two-man army. They probably won’t even let him through the door.
He holds onto his wallet as he takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, slamming the door closed a little harder than necessary, making both Ryan and the cab-driver turn around towards him.
Ryan’s whole demeanour changes when he sees Michael. His features harden even more and even from a little further away, Michael can tell that, for a brief moment, Ryan considers just turning back around and going through his gate. But something keeps him rooted on the spot and Michael knows that this something is the part of Ryan he needs to reach in the next few minutes.
Michael walks a few steps towards Ryan, watching as the other man places his bags by the door of the gate, quickly checking if the door to the house remains closed. It does and he walks a few steps towards Michael until the meet in the middle. Ryan takes off his sunglasses and his eyes are red and tired. Not the sparkling blue that Michael is so used to.
“Hi.” he says. He has to start somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan keeps glancing back towards his house. Either to figure out how to escape or to make sure that Kyle and Devon won’t come out, Michael can’t figure out which option it is.
“You missed Thanksgiving.”
“I was in Spain.”
“You said you were gonna come to Baltimore.”
Ryan snorts. “Yeah well, you said you were gonna stop needing time.”
The words sting but Michael knows that he deserves every single one of them. Maybe even more.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at Ryan as he opens his wallet and pulls out a piece of paper, frayed at the edges and from where it’s been folded and unfolded many times.
“August, 5th, 2012” Michael starts reading aloud from the paper. “Ryan.”
Ryan waits for Michael to continue, but he looks back up from the paper, not saying a word.
“That’s it, that’s what you came here for? To read my name to me from a fucking piece of paper?”
Michael hands Ryan the paper. “It’s my post-Olympics goal-sheet. I wrote it in the morning after I was done. You were still asleep. We had … uhm … celebrated my last race for most of the night.”
Ryan nods. He remembers it all too well. He had kicked the other guys out of the apartment they shared at the village and then decorated the entire place with candles. He got champagne and strawberries and fulfilled about every chliché of all the chick-flicks in the world. Then he had waited outside the door for Michael to come back. When he did, Ryan blindfolded him and steered him into the room, watching with a smile as Michael took in the scenery Ryan had created. What followed was a night of Ryan showing Michael exactly how proud he was of him. They even got to use the blindfold again.
It’s Ryan’s favourite memory of the Olympics.
He smiles a little - it just comes automatically when he remembers that night - and Michael feels himself one step closer.
“You were, you are just so amazing, and I was laying in bed and watched you sleep and in that moment I was so sure that I never wanted anything more in life, as long as I had you. So I wrote it down. You were my goal for after the Olympics. You are my goal for the rest of my life.”
Ryan looks down at the ground and starts chewing on his bottom lip.
“You say all this now, Mike. You say all these things and then I’m gonna believe you again and end up hurting more than I already do in the end. I’ve been there, Michael. I can’t go back to it.”
Michael takes a deep breath. He looks at Ryan again, staring at the ground, rocking back and forth in his shoes, still chewing his lip. He looks frail and exhausted. Michael wants to take all of this away from him, just make him his Ryan again. And that is all the motivation he needs before he speaks again.
“You don’t have to go back to it.”
Ryan looks up, not daring to look too hopeful, in case the ground gets pulled away from under his feet again.
“That’s why I wanted you around for Thanksgiving.”
Ryan just looks confused.
“I still have the ring at home.”
And then the penny drops and the lightbulb (a whole chandelier, more likely) goes off above his head and Ryan just stares at Michael, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
“I’m done hiding, Ryan. I am so done. I don’t care about the way some people may look at me and I don’t give a shit about what anyone might say. I’m with you, not with any of them. And I know that I was hurting you and I felt so fucking horrible about it every time and right now I can’t even tell you anymore what scared me so much. And you’ve just … you’ve always been so sure and you’ve never been scared and I know that should’ve been enough for me. I know that. I knew it all along.”
“What about the ring-part?” Ryan smiles up at him.
And for the first time in a really long time, Michael smiles as well. “I bought it when I got back from London. But I wanted the moment to be right and I figured Thanksgiving should be it. Because you were so patient with me for eight years and you’ve just been there every day and just … words can’t even describe how grateful I am that you stuck around through the mess that was me. And I thought with our families there, it would’ve been perfect. The start into a new life.”
“And then I screwed everything up. God Mike, I’m so sorry. I had, like, I had no idea. Shit, I feel awful now.”
Michael reaches for Ryan’s hand, the first contact in weeks. All his senses suddenly feel hyper-aware of everything.
“Don’t. I gave you every reason to doubt me. I’m sorry, Ryan. Please, you gotta believe me. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life than not showing how much you mean to me. But I’m done now, I promise.”
Ryan laces his fingers through Michael’s and just holds on tight, like the contact is the only thing to keep him together at the moment.
“I believe you.” he says, quietly. Like he’s testing out the words first, see if they feel right. “I believe you.” he repeats, sure of it now.
And Michael feels like the weight of the world is lifted off his shoulders just from those three words. He doesn’t hesitate for a second and pulls Ryan against his body, wrapping his arms around him tightly, intending to never let go ever again unless he absolutely has to.
Ryan slings his arms around Michael and holds on for dear life. He breathes in Michael’s scent. He tries to hold it back, but he can’t stop his eyes from watering and he sniffles on reflex.
Michael pulls away, cupping Ryan’s face in his hands, looking worried. “What’s wrong?” He wipes his thumbs against wet cheeks.
“Nothing.” Ryan shakes his head, “Just … it’s a bit too much, that’s all. Good too much though, those are good tears.”
And Michael just exhales before he brings his lips down on Ryan’s, kissing him intensely, as if he has to make up for all lost time with just that one kiss. Ryan kisses back with the same intensity and for a moment, they both seem to struggle to even stay upright.
“So … this ring you were talking about …” Ryan says as they’re pulling apart, the fingers of his right hand running in slow patterns on the front of Michael’s t-shirt.
“What about it?”
“Does it come with a question or is it just a ‘Hey dude, here’s something for your collection’-ring?”
Michael laughs, ready to explode in happiness. “It comes with a question.” He whispers into the other man’s ear, feeling him shiver against his body.
And then Michael pulls away, the only contact remaining being their clasped hands, Michael’s post-Olympics goal-sheet tucked in between their fingers. He takes a step back before dropping down on one knee in the middle of a street in Gainesville.
“Would you please give me the chance to be the man worthy of you for the rest of my life and marry me?”
Ryan is about to start crying again because apparently, he’s just a big ol’ sap today, and he can barely manage a “Yes!” and nod of his head before the tears are making their appearance again.
Michael gets back to his feet, enveloping Ryan in a hug again, letting him cry against his shoulder, trying hard - and failing - to keep his own tears at bay.
It may has taken him eight years and the two worst weeks of his life, but as he feels Ryan’s tears soaking his t-shirt, Michael keeps thanking his lucky stars that he was just in time to make everything alright again.