All The Words We've Had To Say [s/a]
Title: All The Words We've Had To Say
Author: my_obsession_xx
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Maybe he was really the crazy one.
Disclaimer: i don't own anything except the plot. D: title and cut belong to 'the benjamin gate'~
Dedication:: selectivelyurie BECAUSE I LOVE HER<3 and she's been waiting for this for like, three weeks. ♥ i hope you don't die too much D: ilysm bb! :3
Author Notes: memories/past events are the italics sections~ more notes at the bottom. :3
“Come on, Ryan!” Brendon laughed as he turned around in circles out in the pouring rain. His bright smile contrasted brightly against the dark clouds in the sky and brought light to his beautiful brown eyes. His black hair stuck to his forehead from the falling water, and his once red shirt had turned a dark maroon along with his jeans, which had turned to a deep navy blue, as both forms of clothing clung to the younger boy’s curvy frame. Ryan only chuckled before he shook his head while he leaned against the door frame of the house as he watched the other boy out in the yard.
“You’re crazy, Urie.” He smiled; spoke loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain, before he crossed his arms. His eyes traveled to the streams of water that flowed down the streets, along with the buckets of water that fell from the roof, as he concentrated on the constant beating of the rain on every surface it touched.
“I beg to differ.” Brendon grinned before he held his arms out and stuck out his tongue, searching for a raindrop or two that would graciously fall into his open mouth.
“Says the one who’s outside in the pouring rain with no shoes on,” the older boy retorted with the lightness still in his voice before he stood up straight and made his way to the patio, his feet tapped lightly on the slightly moistened wood.
“You’ve never experienced life if you’ve never done this,” the younger boy still smiled as he spoke the rejoinder before he walked back toward the porch where Ryan had moved to stand under the slanted roof. “C’mon,” he held his hand out while the rain still poured down on him. He was soaked, freezing, the concrete chilly beneath his feet with each step. “Take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain,” he sung lightly, softly, while his smile never faltered.
Ryan hesitated before he took Brendon’s cold, wet hand, but the smile had never left his lips as he did, and stepped out into the rain.
The first crash of the water on his skin felt like he was stepping into a cold shower; it soaked through his clothes, practically oozing into his skin. His clothes clung to his body much like Brendon’s, and it only made each movement harder to make. The concrete felt rough and icy under his feet, textured and uneven, unlike the smooth wood flooring of the patio. But Brendon’s lips were warm against his, even when the other boy’s freezing fingers ran through his hair and pulled him close.
Maybe he was really the crazy one.
--
Ryan stands a few feet away as he watches the younger boy sleep while the rain gently hits the windows. It’s relatively light outside as the sun is trying, so, so desperately, to come through the haze, but it’s not working; the clouds aren’t letting up so the city is left in semi-darkness, the rain falling continuously from the clouds.
The boy’s breath is steady, continuous and on a rhythm as he sleeps; his pink lips are parted slightly and the sheets drape gracefully over his naked, curved hips, exposing his un-clothed frame from the waist up.
The older boy can’t believe, that for the past three years, Brendon has been his; all his, and no one else’s. Ryan was the one he woke up to every morning; Ryan was the one who he got gifts for (and from) every holiday; Ryan who cuddled up with him every night under the covers, whispering quiet promises and secrets with hushed giggles and soft touches.
He doesn’t understand why he started sinking more and more into himself, away from the angelic boy before him. He doesn’t get it; Brendon loves him, truly, deeply loves him, like he’s been telling him every day for the past three years. So… why doesn’t that make Ryan any happier?
Why, after everything he’s tried, has this aching feeling in his heart never stopped? He runs his graceful fingers through his hair; frustrated, sad, confused. There’s hurt in his eyes, more than in his heart, because he knows what he’s going to do. He knows it will break Brendon to pieces and he won’t be there to pick them back up.
--
“Shit,” Ryan cursed and looked up at the graying clouds above in the sky above the park. “I knew we should’ve brought an umbrella or something,” he cursed before the hand intertwined with his gave a gentle squeeze and broke him from his thoughts.
“Don’t worry, Ry.” Brendon smiled as his brown eyes searched the clouds before they met with Ryan’s. “It’s only rain; it could be worse.” A small genuine smile played across the younger boy’s features.
“Yeah, but it looks like it’s going to pour any minute and--” Ryan had spoken too soon. The rain began to fall, spaced out at first before it was falling at a steady pace. Brendon just laughed before he led both of them over to a large tree with huge, overhanging branches that protected them from the rainwater.
“It’s only a little water,” the younger boy laughed as he shook the said liquid from his hair with the hand that wasn’t attached to Ryan’s. “It’s not a big deal.”
Ryan crinkled up his nose and a pout formed on his lips. He didn’t hate the rain; in fact, he loved when it rained because it gave him inspiration. Most of the lyrics he had written were all written on rainy days; it was his reflection starter. But that wasn’t always a good thing.
“I just don’t like being outside in it,” he mumbled as he watched drops of rain fall from the wet branches onto the soil below. The constant hum of the rain hitting the pavement ran through his ears when he felt Brendon shrug beside him.
“It’s just one of those things you’ve got to accept, y’know? Like…” the younger boy trailed off for a moment, but Ryan didn’t interrupt; the sound of Brendon’s voice mixed with the rain made him feel safe, wanted, not alone… “It’s bound to happen; it’s just a matter of when. It takes the pressure from the water and the willingness of the cloud to allow the rain to push though it; they both have to give in and take from one another, work together…. Kind of like us.”
Ryan looked at Brendon who had a shy smile on his soft features. And Ryan couldn’t help his own smile that formed across his lips before he brought both of their smiles together.
--
Ryan sighs and moves to walk out of the room and down to meet his fate; it’s inevitable now, he has to do it. He can’t keep torturing himself like this, torturing Brendon like this. His hand gently rests on the doorframe before taking another step, going to head out of the room, but he’s stopped.
“Baby?” Brendon mumbles, voice a bit raspy, coated with hours of sleep as he rolls to face the other boy in the room. His chocolate eyes take a moment to blink and focus on Ryan in the doorway, still a bit half-lidded from slumber.
“Hey B,” the older boy smiles, his voice soft and gentle as he makes his way back over to the bed, crouching down next to the mattress. He runs his slender fingers through the younger boy’s hair and Brendon nuzzles into his hand like a kitten; Ryan swears he can actually hear him purring.
“It’s like, seven in the morning…What’re you doing?” his voice is light and still dazed from dreaming, like a small child, confused and questioning; always wanting answers.
“Nothing, B, just gonna go take a shower.” The guitarist replies lightly, fingers idly playing with the other’s hair while his mind wanders. The younger one giggles.
“Why would you do that when you’re just gonna get back into bed with me and get dirty anyway?” the singer pulls Ryan’s face towards his, placing a gentle kiss on Ryan’s lips before rubbing their noses together.
Ryan’s stomach turns and his smile drops a bit. He’s lucky Brendon’s eyes are closed for the moment because he would have been able to see though his moment of weakness; he always did. Always.
“As much as I would love to, baby, I have to get ready; I have that meeting to go to today.” Ryan sighs; he has to get away, he has to just do it. He can’t wait any longer.
“What meeting?” Brendon frowns; “I don’t remember a meeting…” the expression on his face clearly shows sadness and confusion as his newly awakened brain tries to remember.
“I told you about it last week,” Ryan chuckles, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You were watching Aladdin with Jon over the phone when I told you; I didn’t expect you to remember,” he spoke lightly, half-heartedly, but honestly, and Brendon smiles sleepily.
“Yeah, that would make sense… You sure you don’t have time?” he pouts, eyes pleading. Ryan knew he had to get out of there. Fast. Before his whole plan fell to pieces.
“Sorry, Bren.” he sighs before his mind gets the best of him and he attaches their lips in desperation; his truest of hearts taking over him, trying to stop him from this crazy mental state he’s in. It’s no use, though. The decision has been made; Ryan’s heart can’t take it anymore.
He pulls Brendon close, biting the other boy’s lower lip to ask for entry, who complies rather quickly for someone who had just woken up. He slips his tongue inside, and Brendon’s grip on the back of his neck becomes tighter, as if he knows.
Ryan’s eyes are clenched shut as he crawls atop the younger boy, straddling his hips, his spider like fingers ghosting over Brendon’s skin, painting the all too familiar picture in his mind with his hands. He can feel the brown eyed boy’s crotch harden beneath him, only a few layers of fabric between them both. Brendon moans beneath him as Ryan shifts his hips ever-so-slightly, causing the friction to build.
“I love you,” he whispers, trailing kisses along the younger boy’s lips, jaw, and neck. “I love you…”
Brendon’s arms wrap around him and hold him close, slight whimpers escaping his lips as his face nuzzles in Ryan’s neck.
“I love you, too,” Ryan can hear the smile in the other boy’s voice and his throat almost closes; he swallows hard, bringing his face back up, reattaching their lips again; harsh, yet passionate, his stomach somersaulting over and over.
“I really have to go,” he whispers as he rests his forehead against Brendon’s who’s idly tracing small circles on the exposed skin of Ryan’s hip between his shirt and boxers. The younger pouts, Ryan can feel it, but nods anyway.
“Fine, but you so owe me for this later.” He chuckles and Ryan dejectedly smiles as he leans back, sitting up.
“We’ll see.” There’s sorrow in his voice, and he’s sure Brendon can sense it; feel it and know it. But Ryan knows he won’t say anything; he always gives Ryan his space, knows he needs it.
“Tease.” Brendon chuckles before sitting up underneath and giving him a peck to the lips. “Go ahead; I’ll be here when you get home.” He smiles and Ryan’s heart breaks into pieces before he nods and stands, disentangling himself from the cream coloured sheets, heading down the hallway into the bathroom.
--
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryan shouted, making himself prominently heard, even over the pounding rain. He was fuming, livid, and if he was sure he wouldn’t have broken his hand, he would have already punched the tour bus.
“Ryan, calm the fuck down.” Brendon snapped, arms crossed over his chest, not bothered by the raindrops that soaked into his skin. His eyes were harsh, but there was something behind them that Ryan couldn’t quite place. “Nothing happened.”
The guitarist laughed angrily, disbelieving, and he ignored the rain that fell; he hardly even noticed it.
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure when you take a hormonal, crazed fan girl back to the tour bus alone for an hour, stuff happens.” The older boy retorted, cheeks flushed with the anger that spilled from every pore on his body. “What kind of fucking reputation do you want us to have?” he yelled, hands balled into fists at his sides. Brendon didn’t move or retaliate; he just stared.
“Are you willing to risk the band for a free fuck?” Ryan kept going, the words spilled out of him like the rain fell; harsh, constant, never breaking. “Is that really what you want to do? Ruin all that we’ve fucking done because you can’t keep it in your pants? Seriously, Urie, what the hell? What were you thinking? What- ”
“Nothing. Happened.” Brendon spoke sternly, loud and unyielding as he cut Ryan’s rant short. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
Ryan stopped, breath ridged and body stiff.
“Seriously, Ryan, I don’t get why you don’t trust me. I’m not a baby; I can make my own fucking decisions by myself.” His voice was broken, something shattered, hurt and mangled. “I wouldn’t do something so stupid. I’m not that much of a fuck up, Ry. But you don’t see that; you just see the fucked up Mormon kid who finally broke free of the reigns so he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants now that he’s a rock star. You never actually think that I might actually care about this. Probably more than you… and maybe even more about you.”
Ryan stood and stared; his eyes pierced into Brendon’s in response to his outburst, but they only softened from surprise.
“I…” Ryan started, at loss for words; Brendon’s outburst had momentarily stunned him. His brain tried to process everything; what had happened, trying to decipher it all.
“No, you didn’t think, did you? You just assumed. All you do is fucking assume. All the fucking god damn time. You just put people into categories; arranging them so you can figure them out so you can put up the right wall; you never let anyone in, so no one can know you. Not even Spencer fucking knows you.” Brendon’s body shook with anger, but it could have been the coldness of the rain; Ryan couldn’t tell.
“You’re doing that right now!” Ryan shouted, angered that Brendon had actually noticed. “You’re the one who’s assuming about everything. You just let the people in who match this façade you put up; this happy, bubbly bundle of shit.” He growled, fed up with Brendon’s antics. “That’s all you ever fucking do.” He thought, if he played it off like it wasn’t true, that Brendon would believe it. But if he had noticed it in the first place, then there was only a slim chance.
“I’m not assuming anything, Ross! I know.” The understanding of Brendon’s tone sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine. Fuck. “Don’t start rebounding on me now. Don’t try to fucking cover it up.” Ryan hadn’t realized that Brendon had gotten closer, now not even a mere foot away from him compared to the previous four.
“Shut the fuck up, Urie, I don’t need your shit.” He spat as he tried to hold up the crumbling wall that was falling apart all around him with the rainfall.
“Let me help you, Ryan,” Brendon’s voice had become lower, shaken and concerned while pleading; begging to help, to care for him. Tentative hands took a gentle hold of Ryan’s face as thumbs brushed away the tears that Ryan didn’t even know he had been crying, they mixed so well with the rain. Brown had met hazel, staring, understanding and taking chances before Brendon’s lips gently met his own. “Let me help you.”
So he did.
--
Ryan’s hand shakes as he closes the door behind him, releasing the sigh he’s been holding in his lungs once the soft click of the door closing sounds in his ears. Leaning against the wall, he runs his fingers through his hair, staring at the white linoleum tiles under his feet.
The glow from the light overheard makes each movement reflect in shadows on the adjacent walls and floor. His hands are trembling as they grasp the granite counter top, his heartbeat racing as he stares at himself in the mirror above the sink; disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes. It’s was a wonder he hasn’t done this already.
Brendon. Brendon is the only reason, but it was all becoming too much to handle. He can’t take it anymore, the sense of knowing he wasn’t good enough, that he isn’t worth it, the heavy feeling on his heart in his chest constricting him harder and harder with each passing second. He doesn’t want to hurt Brendon. Really, he doesn’t. But it’s the only way to rid himself of the secluded way he fell into. The only way to allow Brendon to be with someone he deserved.
Breaking from his thoughts, he turns to the tub, switching the faucet to warm and letting it fill with water. In the meantime, while he waits, he opens the mirrored cabinet over the sink, breaking his staring contest with the reflection of the man he had become.
Taking the pills from the far end of the cabinet, Ryan swallows before he places them on the counter top. The pills inside rock against the plastic, and the faint clicking came to his ears over the sound of the bathwater. He never liked taking his antidepressants. He felt numb when he took them; more numb than he already was. So he saved them. Saved them for a moment like this.
Getting on one knee he then opens up the wooden cabinet below the sink and reaches his long arm all the way back, slender fingers reaching out to grab the glass bottle all the way in the far corner, taking hold of it before he brings it up and rests it on the counter next to the pills.
Ryan stands up and stares at the glass bottle, at the clear liquid inside; the same liquid that had ultimately killed his father over time. And now it was taking a part in killing him, too. He couldn’t help bit chuckle out loud at the sickening thought.
The bottle is already half empty, or half full; Ryan doesn’t dwell too much on it. He had taken it from the liquor cabinet and stored it in the bathroom the month before to prepare. And now it’s time.
His hands shake as he opens the bottle, untwisting the blue cap. The liquid sloshes in its glass container as Ryan brings it shakily to his lips, the smell stinging his nose, burning his eyes.
The first sip burns; he wasn’t one for drinking straight vodka, or vodka at all for that matter; it was never his favorite, but Brendon liked to mix it with his Red Bull from time to time. Ryan pushes that thought to the back of his mind, drowning the translucent liquid, each agonizing sip burning his throat raw, until there were only a few sips left; until he had to hold onto the counter top to keep himself steady. Everything had blurred edges, but he couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the tears forming in his eyes.
Either way he couldn’t stop. He’s started, and he’s going to finish; that stubborn quality always got the best of him. Too bad he isn’t about to break the habit.
He untwists the cap on the pill bottle and dumps a handful into his palm and brings it to his mouth. He puts them inside, grabs the vodka bottle, and drowns the pills with the last few gulps of the jug; his throat muscles clenching against the tablets as they slide down his esophagus.
--
Ryan had fallen asleep quickly that night; the rain always made him fall asleep fast, unlike the usual routine of staring at the ceiling for hours before drifting off. The constant pound of it on the falling water put him at ease like nothing else; it calmed him, brought his brain to a more transfixed state of mind.
But that night his phone rang, waking him up from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and blinked them a few times as he looked at the clock on his bed-side table before ran his long fingers through his hair and sighed; three thirty one AM. He tried to get his pupils to adjust from the blinding light of his cell phone screen before he put the phone to his ear and closed his eyes.
“Hello?” his voice was scratched, complete with hoarseness from his previously-sleeping vocal chords.
“H-hey Ry…” the voice on the other end of the phone spoke; it was child-like, unsure and scared, but filled with curiosity and questions. “I really hope I didn’t like, wake you up or anything…” Brendon’s voice made Ryan’s lips turn up into a smile, even when waking him up at three thirty in the morning. It was one of those many redeeming qualities the younger boy seemed to have.
“It’s okay, B,” he yawned before he rolled over and snuggled back into his blankets with the phone tucked in-between his ear and pillow. “You need anything, babe?” he asked quietly
“Well, I…” the younger boy trailed off and Ryan’s brow furrowed; he pictured the boy’s pout then and there, he could hear it in his voice. Something was wrong. “I mean… I just… I dunno.” Brendon sighed from the other line and Ryan’s stomach turned.
“What is it, Bren?” he asked as he opened his eyes and bit his lip. His hands fiddled nervously with the bottom of his t-shirt as he waited. “Tell me…”
Brendon sighed again and the guitarist could hear the ruffled sound of bed sheets.
“I just… miss everything,” the other boy confessed and the knot in Ryan’s stomach loosened a little. “Being on tour with you guys, and being with you every night…” Ryan’s lips twitched slightly into a smile at the last five words. “But I mean, we used to call each other, like, all the time and stuff and…” the younger boy paused again and Ryan knew he was trying to figure out his words; he could picture the way Brendon bit his lip and played with his hands. “We never talk on the phone anymore like we used to before we went to bed and I miss hearing your voice and just… Fuck, Ry, I miss you. ”
Ryan swallowed as he let out a shaky breathed and closed his eyes. His fist clenched the sheets as his stomach turned and dropped as he listened to the other boy on the phone. Because he knew how that was, but he was obviously too stubborn to say it himself.
“And just, Jesus, Ryan, I don’t know how much longer I can-” Brendon didn’t finish his sentence. He never got the chance because he heard Ryan’s sobs echo through the phone and into his ear.
“No, Bren, please, I…” The older boy’s body shook as he sobbed quietly, “Don’t say it, just don’t say it, I love you, please don’t do this to me, don’t-”
“I don’t know how much longer I can live without you.” Brendon finished before he swallowed, heart broken by the sound of his boyfriend’s cries, desperate to get out his words before his heart had broken any more than it already had.
Ryan stopped briefly; held his breath for a moment before it came out in short, ragged breaths.
“W-what?” he asked, nose stuffed and eyes red, lower lip jutted out slightly.
“Ryan, I… I love you.”
--
He breaks the newly empty vodka bottle on the counter, hoping that the running bath water will muffle the sound enough to not cause suspicion from the other boy down the hall. His stomach turns as he thinks, taking a rather large piece of the newly broken glass between his slender fingers, swallowing hard as he stares at it with fixation in his hazel eyes.
His stomach flips again as he hold his breath in anticipation before he drags the sharp edge of the pointed glass along the pad of his fingertip, curving it at the top and pointing it at the bottom on both sides. The newly formed wound glistens red and Ryan’s lips twitch into a smile at the heart-shaped cut oozing blood from his index finger. He lets it drip for a while, lets the blood flow out and congregate for a moment before he presses it against the mirror above the sink, leaving the shape of the heart behind, letting it dry; to leave a mark, to leave something behind. He does this a few more times, leaving a series of small, smudged, red, dripping hearts on the surface before he takes the glass to his arm.
He trails it down the underside of his forearm, and he can feel his own pulse pumping through the vein near the surface; the bright, pale blue colour contrasting with the crimson blood on his alabaster skin. He can see, as well as feel, the little fragments of glass sticking into his flesh, breaking free from the bigger piece being dragged along.
He stops for a moment and makes his way over to the bathtub that is now almost full of water. He turns off the faucet before he steps into the porcelain tub, still fully clothed and not bothering to take off the garments that adorn his body. The water is hot on his skin, almost comforting against the cold weather outside. But it only makes the cuts sting more, but Ryan doesn’t care as he sits back in the water, resting his head on the wall of the tub.
The blood from his arm mixes with the water around him, red clouds floating throughout the liquid, and Ryan is momentarily transfixed before he starts cutting his skin underwater, loving the way the cloud of crimson floats up immediately, sometimes in little ribbon-like strands, under the surface. He brings the glass down to his thigh, cutting little jagged strips in his flesh carelessly, Adams apple moving with each heavy swallow.
He sinks down, fully submerging himself into the warm water of the tub, letting the glass slip from his delicate fingers. His lungs burn and his head starts to feel dizzy. He thinks it’s from the lack of blood, or maybe because he’s not letting any air get into his lungs, or maybe, just maybe, the pills have started to digest with the alcohol. He can’t be sure.
But what he is sure about, as he now lies there, the sound of his heart pumping thrumming in his ears, is that he loves Brendon. He loves the way Brendon’s fingers trace circles on his hand when they watch movies, the way he seems to morph right into Ryan’s body when they cuddle. He loves the way his eyes show every emotion, like wearing his heart on his sleeve, and the way they shine when he gets excited. He loves the way Brendon walks, tilting his hips with every step, the way he moans when Ryan finds that spot inside him, the bruises left on his own neck from those wonderful lips.
Ryan doesn’t want to hurt him, he doesn’t. Because Brendon being hurt is one of the worst things that could ever happen on Earth. The boy’s stomach turns at the thought, because he knows. He knows he’ll be the cause of it, knows he’ll cause Brendon pain. Knows that he’s been the happiest he has ever been when he’s with Brendon. Because Brendon was the only one who saw the walls and broke them all down.
And that’s when it happens, the sudden realization hitting him like an eighteen wheeler truck going ninety-five miles an hour. He pushes himself up the best he can, coughing the water out of his burning lungs. His arms feel like goo, wobbly and unsteady as he grabs hold of the side of the tub, trying to pull himself out.
Blood from his arms drips down the white porcelain tub mixed with water as it trails down, pooling on the linoleum floor. He tries to pull himself out, but he can’t; his arms are too weak, his muscles shot. But he tries, tries over and over, even while he keeps coughing, choking, water splashing over the walls of the tub at each movement.
He finally gets out, only to land in a wet, crumbled heap on the bathroom floor. Pieces of glass from the broken bottle pierce his skin in random places, making him wince. The pink tinted water on the floor starts to get redder and redder by the second as Ryan tries to crawl his way to the door, but his body is too weak to move. He can only lie on the floor, staring at the wooden door with half-lidded hazel eyes, arm reached out in waiting; waiting for Brendon to save him before it’s too late.
I don’t want to die.
--
Brendon sits up in the bed, flipping open the small velvet box in his hands over and over. The click click click sound as the box opens and closes is the only sound in the room, aside from the rain still continuing to tap on the windows and his soft breathing. He sighs and leans his head back against the headboard, staring at the shiny golden band in the box before he shuts it and closes his eyes.
Today, of all days, Ryan would have a meeting. The day before their anniversary and Brendon was left in the house, alone. Were morning cuddles too much to ask for? He doesn’t think so.
Putting the box back in the drawer in the bedside table, he throws off the sheets and picks up his boxers from the floor and puts them on. He stretches with arms above his head as he leans back, tightening his stomach muscles, before he rubs his eyes, and looks out the window.
It’s raining harder now, the puttering of the rain on the windows getting harder with each gust of wind, rustling the trees. Brendon pouts, thinking of how it rained last year on their anniversary, killing Brendon’s chalk proposal that he had spent hours on. But this year will be different, because he isn't going to chicken out this year. He is going to get on one knee and recite the words he's been practicing for a month and a half. He is.
Sighing and pouting his lips, he thinks of how Ryan is actually driving out in this weather. But then it occurs to him that he hadn’t heard the front door close when he left… Oh well, he probably didn’t hear it over the rain.
He makes his way to the hallway, planning on brushing his teeth and washing his face and maybe even a shower before he gets dressed and makes breakfast. He may even plan out their dinner, because they’ve been having takeout for the last week because they’re so lazy. He smiled at the thought, running his fingers through his hair.
However, as he walks down the hall, he notices something. The door to the bathroom is still closed, light shining through the space underneath. But that’s not all he notices. There’s water pooling beneath the door, making its way to the carpet. This is odd, because Ryan has this weird OCD thing that makes him make sure that there are no traces of water on the floor after a shower that he always yells at Brendon for. But besides that, Brendon would have just assumed Ryan was in a rush and had to leave early to get to his meeting on time. But there’s something about it that catches his eye.
The fact that it’s red.
Stomach dropping, Brendon knocks on the door, his mouth going dry.
“Ryan?” he asks, and his head spins, hoping he’s just imagining it all, listening and praying for an answer.
He doesn’t get one.
Frantically he tries the door handle, but it’s locked. He shakes it, using both hands to try and get the door open, his stomach turning with his mind on one thing; get inside, get inside, get inside.
“Ryan, open the door!” he yells, voice shaking and throat almost closing. There’s no response from the other end, but Brendon can still see the water slowly pooling on the carpet, stained red. “Ryan, please!” he twists the handle again, hands shaking; trying to push the door open, but it’s not working, not budging. He can feel the tears forming behind his eyes because they’re stinging, burning, worried. He feels hopeless, worthless, because he needs to get inside. He needs to see what’s wrong.
With a sudden burst of frustration and panic, Brendon’s foot comes in contact with the door. He wishes he was wearing shoes, because now his foot is sore, but he doesn’t have time, and he doesn’t care. He keeps kicking, praying with each little crack he hears that he can make it in. He keeps kicking, over and over, until finally the door gives way, crashing back into the wall, leaving the boy’s eyes to scan over the scene in the bathroom.
He sees Ryan’s body, sprawled out awkwardly on the water covered floor, wet, covered in blood, arm reaching towards the door. He sees the broken bottle, the red water in the tub, the hearts on the glass.
His throat closes as he rushes over, gathering the older boy in his arms. His body is cold, but it’s still radiating some heat.
“Ryan, no, please no,” Brendon sobs, not paying attention as the glass digs into his knees, water soaking him. He doesn’t care; all of his attention is on the boy in his arms. “Don’t do this to me, Ry, please. I need you, I…” The singer taps the other’s face as he talks, trying to get some sort of movement, any sign of life. Ryan’s blood is on his body, but he doesn’t pay attention, he just wants to make sure he’s alive.
Ryan’s tired eyes flicker open and meet Brendon’s. His eyes are scared and hurt and Brendon feels Ryan’s palm grab a hold of his shoulder as he pulls him close.
“I’m sorry,” he speaks, voice hoarse from coughing the water out of his lungs. His eyes start watering, lower lip trembling as he grips onto Brendon’s shoulder. “I don’t want to die, B. I don’t want to die…”
Brendon sobs, his lips pulling into a small smile, shaking his head; Ryan’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he got to him in time. He kisses Ryan’s lips and holds the trembling boy close, ignoring everything else around him except for the boy in his arms.
“You’re safe, Ryan, you’re safe, I’ll help you.” He whispers, running his fingers through the older boy’s hair, but Ryan shakes his head and pulls back.
“The pills, Brendon, the pills, I…” the tears are flowing from his eyes, fingers shaking frantically as they trace Brendon’s cheek. “It can’t be stopped.” The fear in Ryan’s wide eyes makes Brendon’s stomach drop and his own eyes widen. “The alcohol, it’s gonna kill me Bren, I’m gonna die.” Ryan’s voice is shaking, along with his whole body as he clings to the singer, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to die, Bren. I don’t…”
Brendon’s heart nearly stops, he can practically feel it shattering, but he knows it doesn’t because he can hear it in his ears. He can feel his world crashing around him as he stares into those big, hazel eyes.
“I’m not going to let you,” Brendon whispers, swallowing hard, and Ryan looks up at him in confusion. The singer maneuvers the other boy to rest his back against the tub and get up, reluctantly letting go, before he heads over to the cabinet, trying not to stare at the blood covered glass.
He tears through the bottles, pushing some aside, letting most of them fall onto the counters and into the sink. He can feel Ryan’s eyes on him, but Brendon continues to look, until he finds it, taking a hold of the small bottle before heading back to Ryan.
“You need to take this,” Brendon says, voice stern in a desperate way, but still trembling. “It’s the only way, Ryan.” He uncaps the bottle, and puts it in front of Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan stares at the brown bottle labeled “Ipecac Syrup” before his eyes wander up to meet Brendon’s again. He nods and puts his trembling hand onto Brendon’s as the other boy tips the bottle gently towards the guitarist’s mouth. He swallows the liquid until Brendon pulls the bottle away and heads back to the sink. He watches as Brendon rinses out the water glass that he left there the night before, and fills it with water before bringing it back to him.
“Drink.” He says simply, and Ryan does. He grips the cup as best he can with his shaking hands, but manages to drink all of the water in the glass. When he’s done, he hands it back to Brendon who fills it up again, coaxing him to drink four and half glasses of it before Ryan’s had enough.
Brendon puts the glass on the counter; it’s been roughly ten minutes since the first the medicine, so there is ten to fifteen minutes to wait before anything is final. The younger boy sits next to Ryan, cradling the still shaking boy in his arms, whispering soft promises and reassurances. His thumbs rub small circles on the other boy’s arms, kissing the now subsiding cuts and scrapes as the rain pounds on the roof and windows.
Five minutes passed, seven, nine… Nothing happens. Brendon gets steadily worried with each passing second, never letting go of the smaller boy in his arms. Eleven, thirteen, seventeen, twenty… He can’t bear to think about what is going to happen; he just wants Ryan to be okay. He doesn’t care about why Ryan did it, what made him try to do this to himself, or at least he didn’t care at the moment. All he cares about at that point in time is Ryan being safe, healthy, and alive.
And then it happens; he feels Ryan tense up in his arms before detaching himself from his grasp and crawling the small distance to the toilet. The older boy grips the porcelain tub and Brendon crawls next to him, rubbing the others back gently. He feels Ryan’s muscles tense up again as the contents spill from his mouth and into the toilet, the plink, plink, plink of the undigested pills hitting the bottom of the bowl.
Brendon runs his fingers soothingly through Ryan’s hair, telling him what a good job he’s doing, how it’s all going to be okay. It happens three, four, five times until Ryan is only dry heaving, spitting out stomach acid and nothing more.
The older boy clings to Brendon when it’s over, sobbing, tears falling from his eyes, nails digging into the singer’s skin.
“I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry, B, I am so fucking stupid,” he wails, and Brendon just shushes him, kissing the top of his head and tracing circles on his back.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Brendon coos, tears falling from his own eyes, “I’ve got you.”
---
OMG SARAH ILY I HOPE YOU DIDN'T DIE D::::
but yeah, idk wtf made me write this. it just kinda... happened.
and i'm going to write the 'chalk' reference story later 8D
after i work on a few more things haha xD
i had planned the ending completely different before,
but then i ended up changing it,
so i hope you like it ^^;
songs listened to while writing:
you found me - the fray
what hurts the most - cascada
last night on earth - delta goodrem
lift me up - the benjamin gate
raindrops (remix) - stunt
haha idk~ just figured i'd share. xD
comments would be lovely C:
<3
Author: my_obsession_xx
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Maybe he was really the crazy one.
Disclaimer: i don't own anything except the plot. D: title and cut belong to 'the benjamin gate'~
Dedication:: selectivelyurie BECAUSE I LOVE HER<3 and she's been waiting for this for like, three weeks. ♥ i hope you don't die too much D: ilysm bb! :3
Author Notes: memories/past events are the italics sections~ more notes at the bottom. :3
“Come on, Ryan!” Brendon laughed as he turned around in circles out in the pouring rain. His bright smile contrasted brightly against the dark clouds in the sky and brought light to his beautiful brown eyes. His black hair stuck to his forehead from the falling water, and his once red shirt had turned a dark maroon along with his jeans, which had turned to a deep navy blue, as both forms of clothing clung to the younger boy’s curvy frame. Ryan only chuckled before he shook his head while he leaned against the door frame of the house as he watched the other boy out in the yard.
“You’re crazy, Urie.” He smiled; spoke loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain, before he crossed his arms. His eyes traveled to the streams of water that flowed down the streets, along with the buckets of water that fell from the roof, as he concentrated on the constant beating of the rain on every surface it touched.
“I beg to differ.” Brendon grinned before he held his arms out and stuck out his tongue, searching for a raindrop or two that would graciously fall into his open mouth.
“Says the one who’s outside in the pouring rain with no shoes on,” the older boy retorted with the lightness still in his voice before he stood up straight and made his way to the patio, his feet tapped lightly on the slightly moistened wood.
“You’ve never experienced life if you’ve never done this,” the younger boy still smiled as he spoke the rejoinder before he walked back toward the porch where Ryan had moved to stand under the slanted roof. “C’mon,” he held his hand out while the rain still poured down on him. He was soaked, freezing, the concrete chilly beneath his feet with each step. “Take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain,” he sung lightly, softly, while his smile never faltered.
Ryan hesitated before he took Brendon’s cold, wet hand, but the smile had never left his lips as he did, and stepped out into the rain.
The first crash of the water on his skin felt like he was stepping into a cold shower; it soaked through his clothes, practically oozing into his skin. His clothes clung to his body much like Brendon’s, and it only made each movement harder to make. The concrete felt rough and icy under his feet, textured and uneven, unlike the smooth wood flooring of the patio. But Brendon’s lips were warm against his, even when the other boy’s freezing fingers ran through his hair and pulled him close.
Maybe he was really the crazy one.
--
Ryan stands a few feet away as he watches the younger boy sleep while the rain gently hits the windows. It’s relatively light outside as the sun is trying, so, so desperately, to come through the haze, but it’s not working; the clouds aren’t letting up so the city is left in semi-darkness, the rain falling continuously from the clouds.
The boy’s breath is steady, continuous and on a rhythm as he sleeps; his pink lips are parted slightly and the sheets drape gracefully over his naked, curved hips, exposing his un-clothed frame from the waist up.
The older boy can’t believe, that for the past three years, Brendon has been his; all his, and no one else’s. Ryan was the one he woke up to every morning; Ryan was the one who he got gifts for (and from) every holiday; Ryan who cuddled up with him every night under the covers, whispering quiet promises and secrets with hushed giggles and soft touches.
He doesn’t understand why he started sinking more and more into himself, away from the angelic boy before him. He doesn’t get it; Brendon loves him, truly, deeply loves him, like he’s been telling him every day for the past three years. So… why doesn’t that make Ryan any happier?
Why, after everything he’s tried, has this aching feeling in his heart never stopped? He runs his graceful fingers through his hair; frustrated, sad, confused. There’s hurt in his eyes, more than in his heart, because he knows what he’s going to do. He knows it will break Brendon to pieces and he won’t be there to pick them back up.
--
“Shit,” Ryan cursed and looked up at the graying clouds above in the sky above the park. “I knew we should’ve brought an umbrella or something,” he cursed before the hand intertwined with his gave a gentle squeeze and broke him from his thoughts.
“Don’t worry, Ry.” Brendon smiled as his brown eyes searched the clouds before they met with Ryan’s. “It’s only rain; it could be worse.” A small genuine smile played across the younger boy’s features.
“Yeah, but it looks like it’s going to pour any minute and--” Ryan had spoken too soon. The rain began to fall, spaced out at first before it was falling at a steady pace. Brendon just laughed before he led both of them over to a large tree with huge, overhanging branches that protected them from the rainwater.
“It’s only a little water,” the younger boy laughed as he shook the said liquid from his hair with the hand that wasn’t attached to Ryan’s. “It’s not a big deal.”
Ryan crinkled up his nose and a pout formed on his lips. He didn’t hate the rain; in fact, he loved when it rained because it gave him inspiration. Most of the lyrics he had written were all written on rainy days; it was his reflection starter. But that wasn’t always a good thing.
“I just don’t like being outside in it,” he mumbled as he watched drops of rain fall from the wet branches onto the soil below. The constant hum of the rain hitting the pavement ran through his ears when he felt Brendon shrug beside him.
“It’s just one of those things you’ve got to accept, y’know? Like…” the younger boy trailed off for a moment, but Ryan didn’t interrupt; the sound of Brendon’s voice mixed with the rain made him feel safe, wanted, not alone… “It’s bound to happen; it’s just a matter of when. It takes the pressure from the water and the willingness of the cloud to allow the rain to push though it; they both have to give in and take from one another, work together…. Kind of like us.”
Ryan looked at Brendon who had a shy smile on his soft features. And Ryan couldn’t help his own smile that formed across his lips before he brought both of their smiles together.
--
Ryan sighs and moves to walk out of the room and down to meet his fate; it’s inevitable now, he has to do it. He can’t keep torturing himself like this, torturing Brendon like this. His hand gently rests on the doorframe before taking another step, going to head out of the room, but he’s stopped.
“Baby?” Brendon mumbles, voice a bit raspy, coated with hours of sleep as he rolls to face the other boy in the room. His chocolate eyes take a moment to blink and focus on Ryan in the doorway, still a bit half-lidded from slumber.
“Hey B,” the older boy smiles, his voice soft and gentle as he makes his way back over to the bed, crouching down next to the mattress. He runs his slender fingers through the younger boy’s hair and Brendon nuzzles into his hand like a kitten; Ryan swears he can actually hear him purring.
“It’s like, seven in the morning…What’re you doing?” his voice is light and still dazed from dreaming, like a small child, confused and questioning; always wanting answers.
“Nothing, B, just gonna go take a shower.” The guitarist replies lightly, fingers idly playing with the other’s hair while his mind wanders. The younger one giggles.
“Why would you do that when you’re just gonna get back into bed with me and get dirty anyway?” the singer pulls Ryan’s face towards his, placing a gentle kiss on Ryan’s lips before rubbing their noses together.
Ryan’s stomach turns and his smile drops a bit. He’s lucky Brendon’s eyes are closed for the moment because he would have been able to see though his moment of weakness; he always did. Always.
“As much as I would love to, baby, I have to get ready; I have that meeting to go to today.” Ryan sighs; he has to get away, he has to just do it. He can’t wait any longer.
“What meeting?” Brendon frowns; “I don’t remember a meeting…” the expression on his face clearly shows sadness and confusion as his newly awakened brain tries to remember.
“I told you about it last week,” Ryan chuckles, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You were watching Aladdin with Jon over the phone when I told you; I didn’t expect you to remember,” he spoke lightly, half-heartedly, but honestly, and Brendon smiles sleepily.
“Yeah, that would make sense… You sure you don’t have time?” he pouts, eyes pleading. Ryan knew he had to get out of there. Fast. Before his whole plan fell to pieces.
“Sorry, Bren.” he sighs before his mind gets the best of him and he attaches their lips in desperation; his truest of hearts taking over him, trying to stop him from this crazy mental state he’s in. It’s no use, though. The decision has been made; Ryan’s heart can’t take it anymore.
He pulls Brendon close, biting the other boy’s lower lip to ask for entry, who complies rather quickly for someone who had just woken up. He slips his tongue inside, and Brendon’s grip on the back of his neck becomes tighter, as if he knows.
Ryan’s eyes are clenched shut as he crawls atop the younger boy, straddling his hips, his spider like fingers ghosting over Brendon’s skin, painting the all too familiar picture in his mind with his hands. He can feel the brown eyed boy’s crotch harden beneath him, only a few layers of fabric between them both. Brendon moans beneath him as Ryan shifts his hips ever-so-slightly, causing the friction to build.
“I love you,” he whispers, trailing kisses along the younger boy’s lips, jaw, and neck. “I love you…”
Brendon’s arms wrap around him and hold him close, slight whimpers escaping his lips as his face nuzzles in Ryan’s neck.
“I love you, too,” Ryan can hear the smile in the other boy’s voice and his throat almost closes; he swallows hard, bringing his face back up, reattaching their lips again; harsh, yet passionate, his stomach somersaulting over and over.
“I really have to go,” he whispers as he rests his forehead against Brendon’s who’s idly tracing small circles on the exposed skin of Ryan’s hip between his shirt and boxers. The younger pouts, Ryan can feel it, but nods anyway.
“Fine, but you so owe me for this later.” He chuckles and Ryan dejectedly smiles as he leans back, sitting up.
“We’ll see.” There’s sorrow in his voice, and he’s sure Brendon can sense it; feel it and know it. But Ryan knows he won’t say anything; he always gives Ryan his space, knows he needs it.
“Tease.” Brendon chuckles before sitting up underneath and giving him a peck to the lips. “Go ahead; I’ll be here when you get home.” He smiles and Ryan’s heart breaks into pieces before he nods and stands, disentangling himself from the cream coloured sheets, heading down the hallway into the bathroom.
--
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryan shouted, making himself prominently heard, even over the pounding rain. He was fuming, livid, and if he was sure he wouldn’t have broken his hand, he would have already punched the tour bus.
“Ryan, calm the fuck down.” Brendon snapped, arms crossed over his chest, not bothered by the raindrops that soaked into his skin. His eyes were harsh, but there was something behind them that Ryan couldn’t quite place. “Nothing happened.”
The guitarist laughed angrily, disbelieving, and he ignored the rain that fell; he hardly even noticed it.
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure when you take a hormonal, crazed fan girl back to the tour bus alone for an hour, stuff happens.” The older boy retorted, cheeks flushed with the anger that spilled from every pore on his body. “What kind of fucking reputation do you want us to have?” he yelled, hands balled into fists at his sides. Brendon didn’t move or retaliate; he just stared.
“Are you willing to risk the band for a free fuck?” Ryan kept going, the words spilled out of him like the rain fell; harsh, constant, never breaking. “Is that really what you want to do? Ruin all that we’ve fucking done because you can’t keep it in your pants? Seriously, Urie, what the hell? What were you thinking? What- ”
“Nothing. Happened.” Brendon spoke sternly, loud and unyielding as he cut Ryan’s rant short. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
Ryan stopped, breath ridged and body stiff.
“Seriously, Ryan, I don’t get why you don’t trust me. I’m not a baby; I can make my own fucking decisions by myself.” His voice was broken, something shattered, hurt and mangled. “I wouldn’t do something so stupid. I’m not that much of a fuck up, Ry. But you don’t see that; you just see the fucked up Mormon kid who finally broke free of the reigns so he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants now that he’s a rock star. You never actually think that I might actually care about this. Probably more than you… and maybe even more about you.”
Ryan stood and stared; his eyes pierced into Brendon’s in response to his outburst, but they only softened from surprise.
“I…” Ryan started, at loss for words; Brendon’s outburst had momentarily stunned him. His brain tried to process everything; what had happened, trying to decipher it all.
“No, you didn’t think, did you? You just assumed. All you do is fucking assume. All the fucking god damn time. You just put people into categories; arranging them so you can figure them out so you can put up the right wall; you never let anyone in, so no one can know you. Not even Spencer fucking knows you.” Brendon’s body shook with anger, but it could have been the coldness of the rain; Ryan couldn’t tell.
“You’re doing that right now!” Ryan shouted, angered that Brendon had actually noticed. “You’re the one who’s assuming about everything. You just let the people in who match this façade you put up; this happy, bubbly bundle of shit.” He growled, fed up with Brendon’s antics. “That’s all you ever fucking do.” He thought, if he played it off like it wasn’t true, that Brendon would believe it. But if he had noticed it in the first place, then there was only a slim chance.
“I’m not assuming anything, Ross! I know.” The understanding of Brendon’s tone sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine. Fuck. “Don’t start rebounding on me now. Don’t try to fucking cover it up.” Ryan hadn’t realized that Brendon had gotten closer, now not even a mere foot away from him compared to the previous four.
“Shut the fuck up, Urie, I don’t need your shit.” He spat as he tried to hold up the crumbling wall that was falling apart all around him with the rainfall.
“Let me help you, Ryan,” Brendon’s voice had become lower, shaken and concerned while pleading; begging to help, to care for him. Tentative hands took a gentle hold of Ryan’s face as thumbs brushed away the tears that Ryan didn’t even know he had been crying, they mixed so well with the rain. Brown had met hazel, staring, understanding and taking chances before Brendon’s lips gently met his own. “Let me help you.”
So he did.
--
Ryan’s hand shakes as he closes the door behind him, releasing the sigh he’s been holding in his lungs once the soft click of the door closing sounds in his ears. Leaning against the wall, he runs his fingers through his hair, staring at the white linoleum tiles under his feet.
The glow from the light overheard makes each movement reflect in shadows on the adjacent walls and floor. His hands are trembling as they grasp the granite counter top, his heartbeat racing as he stares at himself in the mirror above the sink; disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes. It’s was a wonder he hasn’t done this already.
Brendon. Brendon is the only reason, but it was all becoming too much to handle. He can’t take it anymore, the sense of knowing he wasn’t good enough, that he isn’t worth it, the heavy feeling on his heart in his chest constricting him harder and harder with each passing second. He doesn’t want to hurt Brendon. Really, he doesn’t. But it’s the only way to rid himself of the secluded way he fell into. The only way to allow Brendon to be with someone he deserved.
Breaking from his thoughts, he turns to the tub, switching the faucet to warm and letting it fill with water. In the meantime, while he waits, he opens the mirrored cabinet over the sink, breaking his staring contest with the reflection of the man he had become.
Taking the pills from the far end of the cabinet, Ryan swallows before he places them on the counter top. The pills inside rock against the plastic, and the faint clicking came to his ears over the sound of the bathwater. He never liked taking his antidepressants. He felt numb when he took them; more numb than he already was. So he saved them. Saved them for a moment like this.
Getting on one knee he then opens up the wooden cabinet below the sink and reaches his long arm all the way back, slender fingers reaching out to grab the glass bottle all the way in the far corner, taking hold of it before he brings it up and rests it on the counter next to the pills.
Ryan stands up and stares at the glass bottle, at the clear liquid inside; the same liquid that had ultimately killed his father over time. And now it was taking a part in killing him, too. He couldn’t help bit chuckle out loud at the sickening thought.
The bottle is already half empty, or half full; Ryan doesn’t dwell too much on it. He had taken it from the liquor cabinet and stored it in the bathroom the month before to prepare. And now it’s time.
His hands shake as he opens the bottle, untwisting the blue cap. The liquid sloshes in its glass container as Ryan brings it shakily to his lips, the smell stinging his nose, burning his eyes.
The first sip burns; he wasn’t one for drinking straight vodka, or vodka at all for that matter; it was never his favorite, but Brendon liked to mix it with his Red Bull from time to time. Ryan pushes that thought to the back of his mind, drowning the translucent liquid, each agonizing sip burning his throat raw, until there were only a few sips left; until he had to hold onto the counter top to keep himself steady. Everything had blurred edges, but he couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the tears forming in his eyes.
Either way he couldn’t stop. He’s started, and he’s going to finish; that stubborn quality always got the best of him. Too bad he isn’t about to break the habit.
He untwists the cap on the pill bottle and dumps a handful into his palm and brings it to his mouth. He puts them inside, grabs the vodka bottle, and drowns the pills with the last few gulps of the jug; his throat muscles clenching against the tablets as they slide down his esophagus.
--
Ryan had fallen asleep quickly that night; the rain always made him fall asleep fast, unlike the usual routine of staring at the ceiling for hours before drifting off. The constant pound of it on the falling water put him at ease like nothing else; it calmed him, brought his brain to a more transfixed state of mind.
But that night his phone rang, waking him up from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and blinked them a few times as he looked at the clock on his bed-side table before ran his long fingers through his hair and sighed; three thirty one AM. He tried to get his pupils to adjust from the blinding light of his cell phone screen before he put the phone to his ear and closed his eyes.
“Hello?” his voice was scratched, complete with hoarseness from his previously-sleeping vocal chords.
“H-hey Ry…” the voice on the other end of the phone spoke; it was child-like, unsure and scared, but filled with curiosity and questions. “I really hope I didn’t like, wake you up or anything…” Brendon’s voice made Ryan’s lips turn up into a smile, even when waking him up at three thirty in the morning. It was one of those many redeeming qualities the younger boy seemed to have.
“It’s okay, B,” he yawned before he rolled over and snuggled back into his blankets with the phone tucked in-between his ear and pillow. “You need anything, babe?” he asked quietly
“Well, I…” the younger boy trailed off and Ryan’s brow furrowed; he pictured the boy’s pout then and there, he could hear it in his voice. Something was wrong. “I mean… I just… I dunno.” Brendon sighed from the other line and Ryan’s stomach turned.
“What is it, Bren?” he asked as he opened his eyes and bit his lip. His hands fiddled nervously with the bottom of his t-shirt as he waited. “Tell me…”
Brendon sighed again and the guitarist could hear the ruffled sound of bed sheets.
“I just… miss everything,” the other boy confessed and the knot in Ryan’s stomach loosened a little. “Being on tour with you guys, and being with you every night…” Ryan’s lips twitched slightly into a smile at the last five words. “But I mean, we used to call each other, like, all the time and stuff and…” the younger boy paused again and Ryan knew he was trying to figure out his words; he could picture the way Brendon bit his lip and played with his hands. “We never talk on the phone anymore like we used to before we went to bed and I miss hearing your voice and just… Fuck, Ry, I miss you. ”
Ryan swallowed as he let out a shaky breathed and closed his eyes. His fist clenched the sheets as his stomach turned and dropped as he listened to the other boy on the phone. Because he knew how that was, but he was obviously too stubborn to say it himself.
“And just, Jesus, Ryan, I don’t know how much longer I can-” Brendon didn’t finish his sentence. He never got the chance because he heard Ryan’s sobs echo through the phone and into his ear.
“No, Bren, please, I…” The older boy’s body shook as he sobbed quietly, “Don’t say it, just don’t say it, I love you, please don’t do this to me, don’t-”
“I don’t know how much longer I can live without you.” Brendon finished before he swallowed, heart broken by the sound of his boyfriend’s cries, desperate to get out his words before his heart had broken any more than it already had.
Ryan stopped briefly; held his breath for a moment before it came out in short, ragged breaths.
“W-what?” he asked, nose stuffed and eyes red, lower lip jutted out slightly.
“Ryan, I… I love you.”
--
He breaks the newly empty vodka bottle on the counter, hoping that the running bath water will muffle the sound enough to not cause suspicion from the other boy down the hall. His stomach turns as he thinks, taking a rather large piece of the newly broken glass between his slender fingers, swallowing hard as he stares at it with fixation in his hazel eyes.
His stomach flips again as he hold his breath in anticipation before he drags the sharp edge of the pointed glass along the pad of his fingertip, curving it at the top and pointing it at the bottom on both sides. The newly formed wound glistens red and Ryan’s lips twitch into a smile at the heart-shaped cut oozing blood from his index finger. He lets it drip for a while, lets the blood flow out and congregate for a moment before he presses it against the mirror above the sink, leaving the shape of the heart behind, letting it dry; to leave a mark, to leave something behind. He does this a few more times, leaving a series of small, smudged, red, dripping hearts on the surface before he takes the glass to his arm.
He trails it down the underside of his forearm, and he can feel his own pulse pumping through the vein near the surface; the bright, pale blue colour contrasting with the crimson blood on his alabaster skin. He can see, as well as feel, the little fragments of glass sticking into his flesh, breaking free from the bigger piece being dragged along.
He stops for a moment and makes his way over to the bathtub that is now almost full of water. He turns off the faucet before he steps into the porcelain tub, still fully clothed and not bothering to take off the garments that adorn his body. The water is hot on his skin, almost comforting against the cold weather outside. But it only makes the cuts sting more, but Ryan doesn’t care as he sits back in the water, resting his head on the wall of the tub.
The blood from his arm mixes with the water around him, red clouds floating throughout the liquid, and Ryan is momentarily transfixed before he starts cutting his skin underwater, loving the way the cloud of crimson floats up immediately, sometimes in little ribbon-like strands, under the surface. He brings the glass down to his thigh, cutting little jagged strips in his flesh carelessly, Adams apple moving with each heavy swallow.
He sinks down, fully submerging himself into the warm water of the tub, letting the glass slip from his delicate fingers. His lungs burn and his head starts to feel dizzy. He thinks it’s from the lack of blood, or maybe because he’s not letting any air get into his lungs, or maybe, just maybe, the pills have started to digest with the alcohol. He can’t be sure.
But what he is sure about, as he now lies there, the sound of his heart pumping thrumming in his ears, is that he loves Brendon. He loves the way Brendon’s fingers trace circles on his hand when they watch movies, the way he seems to morph right into Ryan’s body when they cuddle. He loves the way his eyes show every emotion, like wearing his heart on his sleeve, and the way they shine when he gets excited. He loves the way Brendon walks, tilting his hips with every step, the way he moans when Ryan finds that spot inside him, the bruises left on his own neck from those wonderful lips.
Ryan doesn’t want to hurt him, he doesn’t. Because Brendon being hurt is one of the worst things that could ever happen on Earth. The boy’s stomach turns at the thought, because he knows. He knows he’ll be the cause of it, knows he’ll cause Brendon pain. Knows that he’s been the happiest he has ever been when he’s with Brendon. Because Brendon was the only one who saw the walls and broke them all down.
And that’s when it happens, the sudden realization hitting him like an eighteen wheeler truck going ninety-five miles an hour. He pushes himself up the best he can, coughing the water out of his burning lungs. His arms feel like goo, wobbly and unsteady as he grabs hold of the side of the tub, trying to pull himself out.
Blood from his arms drips down the white porcelain tub mixed with water as it trails down, pooling on the linoleum floor. He tries to pull himself out, but he can’t; his arms are too weak, his muscles shot. But he tries, tries over and over, even while he keeps coughing, choking, water splashing over the walls of the tub at each movement.
He finally gets out, only to land in a wet, crumbled heap on the bathroom floor. Pieces of glass from the broken bottle pierce his skin in random places, making him wince. The pink tinted water on the floor starts to get redder and redder by the second as Ryan tries to crawl his way to the door, but his body is too weak to move. He can only lie on the floor, staring at the wooden door with half-lidded hazel eyes, arm reached out in waiting; waiting for Brendon to save him before it’s too late.
I don’t want to die.
--
Brendon sits up in the bed, flipping open the small velvet box in his hands over and over. The click click click sound as the box opens and closes is the only sound in the room, aside from the rain still continuing to tap on the windows and his soft breathing. He sighs and leans his head back against the headboard, staring at the shiny golden band in the box before he shuts it and closes his eyes.
Today, of all days, Ryan would have a meeting. The day before their anniversary and Brendon was left in the house, alone. Were morning cuddles too much to ask for? He doesn’t think so.
Putting the box back in the drawer in the bedside table, he throws off the sheets and picks up his boxers from the floor and puts them on. He stretches with arms above his head as he leans back, tightening his stomach muscles, before he rubs his eyes, and looks out the window.
It’s raining harder now, the puttering of the rain on the windows getting harder with each gust of wind, rustling the trees. Brendon pouts, thinking of how it rained last year on their anniversary, killing Brendon’s chalk proposal that he had spent hours on. But this year will be different, because he isn't going to chicken out this year. He is going to get on one knee and recite the words he's been practicing for a month and a half. He is.
Sighing and pouting his lips, he thinks of how Ryan is actually driving out in this weather. But then it occurs to him that he hadn’t heard the front door close when he left… Oh well, he probably didn’t hear it over the rain.
He makes his way to the hallway, planning on brushing his teeth and washing his face and maybe even a shower before he gets dressed and makes breakfast. He may even plan out their dinner, because they’ve been having takeout for the last week because they’re so lazy. He smiled at the thought, running his fingers through his hair.
However, as he walks down the hall, he notices something. The door to the bathroom is still closed, light shining through the space underneath. But that’s not all he notices. There’s water pooling beneath the door, making its way to the carpet. This is odd, because Ryan has this weird OCD thing that makes him make sure that there are no traces of water on the floor after a shower that he always yells at Brendon for. But besides that, Brendon would have just assumed Ryan was in a rush and had to leave early to get to his meeting on time. But there’s something about it that catches his eye.
The fact that it’s red.
Stomach dropping, Brendon knocks on the door, his mouth going dry.
“Ryan?” he asks, and his head spins, hoping he’s just imagining it all, listening and praying for an answer.
He doesn’t get one.
Frantically he tries the door handle, but it’s locked. He shakes it, using both hands to try and get the door open, his stomach turning with his mind on one thing; get inside, get inside, get inside.
“Ryan, open the door!” he yells, voice shaking and throat almost closing. There’s no response from the other end, but Brendon can still see the water slowly pooling on the carpet, stained red. “Ryan, please!” he twists the handle again, hands shaking; trying to push the door open, but it’s not working, not budging. He can feel the tears forming behind his eyes because they’re stinging, burning, worried. He feels hopeless, worthless, because he needs to get inside. He needs to see what’s wrong.
With a sudden burst of frustration and panic, Brendon’s foot comes in contact with the door. He wishes he was wearing shoes, because now his foot is sore, but he doesn’t have time, and he doesn’t care. He keeps kicking, praying with each little crack he hears that he can make it in. He keeps kicking, over and over, until finally the door gives way, crashing back into the wall, leaving the boy’s eyes to scan over the scene in the bathroom.
He sees Ryan’s body, sprawled out awkwardly on the water covered floor, wet, covered in blood, arm reaching towards the door. He sees the broken bottle, the red water in the tub, the hearts on the glass.
His throat closes as he rushes over, gathering the older boy in his arms. His body is cold, but it’s still radiating some heat.
“Ryan, no, please no,” Brendon sobs, not paying attention as the glass digs into his knees, water soaking him. He doesn’t care; all of his attention is on the boy in his arms. “Don’t do this to me, Ry, please. I need you, I…” The singer taps the other’s face as he talks, trying to get some sort of movement, any sign of life. Ryan’s blood is on his body, but he doesn’t pay attention, he just wants to make sure he’s alive.
Ryan’s tired eyes flicker open and meet Brendon’s. His eyes are scared and hurt and Brendon feels Ryan’s palm grab a hold of his shoulder as he pulls him close.
“I’m sorry,” he speaks, voice hoarse from coughing the water out of his lungs. His eyes start watering, lower lip trembling as he grips onto Brendon’s shoulder. “I don’t want to die, B. I don’t want to die…”
Brendon sobs, his lips pulling into a small smile, shaking his head; Ryan’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he got to him in time. He kisses Ryan’s lips and holds the trembling boy close, ignoring everything else around him except for the boy in his arms.
“You’re safe, Ryan, you’re safe, I’ll help you.” He whispers, running his fingers through the older boy’s hair, but Ryan shakes his head and pulls back.
“The pills, Brendon, the pills, I…” the tears are flowing from his eyes, fingers shaking frantically as they trace Brendon’s cheek. “It can’t be stopped.” The fear in Ryan’s wide eyes makes Brendon’s stomach drop and his own eyes widen. “The alcohol, it’s gonna kill me Bren, I’m gonna die.” Ryan’s voice is shaking, along with his whole body as he clings to the singer, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to die, Bren. I don’t…”
Brendon’s heart nearly stops, he can practically feel it shattering, but he knows it doesn’t because he can hear it in his ears. He can feel his world crashing around him as he stares into those big, hazel eyes.
“I’m not going to let you,” Brendon whispers, swallowing hard, and Ryan looks up at him in confusion. The singer maneuvers the other boy to rest his back against the tub and get up, reluctantly letting go, before he heads over to the cabinet, trying not to stare at the blood covered glass.
He tears through the bottles, pushing some aside, letting most of them fall onto the counters and into the sink. He can feel Ryan’s eyes on him, but Brendon continues to look, until he finds it, taking a hold of the small bottle before heading back to Ryan.
“You need to take this,” Brendon says, voice stern in a desperate way, but still trembling. “It’s the only way, Ryan.” He uncaps the bottle, and puts it in front of Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan stares at the brown bottle labeled “Ipecac Syrup” before his eyes wander up to meet Brendon’s again. He nods and puts his trembling hand onto Brendon’s as the other boy tips the bottle gently towards the guitarist’s mouth. He swallows the liquid until Brendon pulls the bottle away and heads back to the sink. He watches as Brendon rinses out the water glass that he left there the night before, and fills it with water before bringing it back to him.
“Drink.” He says simply, and Ryan does. He grips the cup as best he can with his shaking hands, but manages to drink all of the water in the glass. When he’s done, he hands it back to Brendon who fills it up again, coaxing him to drink four and half glasses of it before Ryan’s had enough.
Brendon puts the glass on the counter; it’s been roughly ten minutes since the first the medicine, so there is ten to fifteen minutes to wait before anything is final. The younger boy sits next to Ryan, cradling the still shaking boy in his arms, whispering soft promises and reassurances. His thumbs rub small circles on the other boy’s arms, kissing the now subsiding cuts and scrapes as the rain pounds on the roof and windows.
Five minutes passed, seven, nine… Nothing happens. Brendon gets steadily worried with each passing second, never letting go of the smaller boy in his arms. Eleven, thirteen, seventeen, twenty… He can’t bear to think about what is going to happen; he just wants Ryan to be okay. He doesn’t care about why Ryan did it, what made him try to do this to himself, or at least he didn’t care at the moment. All he cares about at that point in time is Ryan being safe, healthy, and alive.
And then it happens; he feels Ryan tense up in his arms before detaching himself from his grasp and crawling the small distance to the toilet. The older boy grips the porcelain tub and Brendon crawls next to him, rubbing the others back gently. He feels Ryan’s muscles tense up again as the contents spill from his mouth and into the toilet, the plink, plink, plink of the undigested pills hitting the bottom of the bowl.
Brendon runs his fingers soothingly through Ryan’s hair, telling him what a good job he’s doing, how it’s all going to be okay. It happens three, four, five times until Ryan is only dry heaving, spitting out stomach acid and nothing more.
The older boy clings to Brendon when it’s over, sobbing, tears falling from his eyes, nails digging into the singer’s skin.
“I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry, B, I am so fucking stupid,” he wails, and Brendon just shushes him, kissing the top of his head and tracing circles on his back.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Brendon coos, tears falling from his own eyes, “I’ve got you.”
---
OMG SARAH ILY I HOPE YOU DIDN'T DIE D::::
but yeah, idk wtf made me write this. it just kinda... happened.
and i'm going to write the 'chalk' reference story later 8D
after i work on a few more things haha xD
i had planned the ending completely different before,
but then i ended up changing it,
so i hope you like it ^^;
songs listened to while writing:
you found me - the fray
what hurts the most - cascada
last night on earth - delta goodrem
lift me up - the benjamin gate
raindrops (remix) - stunt
haha idk~ just figured i'd share. xD
comments would be lovely C:
<3