secret love, and the fastest way to loneliness. [5/?]
TITLE: secret love, and the fastest way to loneliness.
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: Ranges from PG13 to R/NC17 eventually. It'll be marked when it gets higher...
POV: Third, omniscient.
PAIRING: Eventually Ryan/Brendon...who else? I like my comfort zone, thank you.
SUMMARY: AU, in which Ryan is half in denial and picks up transgendered hookers, and Brendon is a not-so-much transgendered whore.
DISCLAIMER: Oh please, honey.
A/N: Title credit to This Providence ♥ Chapter title goes to Madina Lake. That's all.
He threw a stapler at a co-worker. At an ugly, blond, annoying co-worker. He spilled coffee all over his pants. Burnt, disgusting coffee. He got a paper cut on his thumb, and the blood smeared into the ink, and it stung for hours. He chewed the end off a pencil, and his mouth tasted like dust for the rest of the afternoon, and he’s pretty sure he has splinters in his tongue.
And at the end of the day, he quit. He doesn’t know exactly what made him do it, but he walked up to the boss, told him to go fuck himself, and quit. Not even two weeks notice. Just, you’ll never see me again, asshole. Have a nice life.
He went to the drug store on the way home, and he bought a box of hair dye and an eyeliner pencil. He went home and found a stack of quarters and did a load of laundry. He picked up and took out the garbage in his apartment and washed dishes, and even remembered to put them away.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe I need a fresh start.
He dyed his hair black, put on his jeans and his eyeliner, and walked to the coffee shop down the street, latte and a carrot muffin, please. And the girl behind the faux granite counter just smiled at him and put his change in the cash register, handing him his order, to go.
He knows he’s going to regret this in a few days, not having money to pay his rent or his bills, fielding phone calls and door knocks from the landlord and waking up in an apartment that’s ten degrees too cold.
But he feels, he feels just a little bit more of himself, just a little bit less of a clone, just a little bit less of a robot.
And for tonight, he thinks, sitting on the steps to his building, tonight, that’s enough.
----------
He stands on the sidewalk, leaning against a light pole, bulb casting harsh off-white rays on his face. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, and he watches through his bangs for a customer, for anyone, for that boy to come driving down the street.
He decided last night at 3 a.m. that if he ever came by, he would introduce himself. Not as a whore, not because he wanted the kid’s money or because he wanted to fuck him (at least not under these circumstances), but because he wanted to know him, wanted to know his name, to do more than smile at him in the hallway on his way out.
He was just standing there, smoking and waiting, watching Starr slide into a car, when the boy came walking down the sidewalk.
At least, he thought it was the boy...only, he looked, well, different. His hair was darker, and his eyes were outlined in kohl, and God, he looked good in those jeans. Really, really good. So alright, Brendon, smile and say hello. It’s not hard.
But then, oh, he’s going to know you’re a whore, and he’ll never want to see you again. Great. Fucking great.
But then, the boy is stopping in front of him, God knows why, and it’s too late to run and hide, sipping from a coffee cup with his hair landing in his eyes. He extends one long, white hand, and he says,
“I’m Ryan,” flicks his hair out of face, “and you live across the hall from me.”
Brendon sticks out the hand that’s not holding the cigarette and nods.
“I’m Brendon, and yeah, I do.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking the boy -Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, he’ll have to get used to knowing his name- up and down.
“So, uh,” Ryan says, sipping his coffee. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Uh, I’m...” Brendon starts. “I’m, er...working.”
Ryan looks confused for a second, face twisting, and then a little light dawns behind his eyes, and he looks Brendon up and down critically, biting his lip.
“Oh,” he says. “I...oh. So that’s where I’ve seen you before, here, when...oh, God.” He blows a stand of hair off his forehead and throws his empty coffee cup in the trash can. “I’m here,” he says, shifting his weight and pulling out a cigarette. “I’m here to prove to myself that I don’t need this.”
Brendon nods, as if he understands, and maybe he does. He pulls out his lighter and flicks it, sparks in the dark, and lights Ryan’s cigarette. Ryan nods, smiling, sucks in a mouthful of smoke.
“Thanks,” he says, exhaling, and Brendon shrugs.
“Yeah, sure.”
And just then, Candy walks by, heels and perfume, and winks at them.
“Oh, sweetie, are you picking up a real boy this time?” and smiles at Ryan and nods knowingly at Brendon, walking off with a wave of her manicured nails. Ryan’s face flushes, pink rushing up his neck into his cheeks, and he takes a drag off his cigarette and coughs, flicking ashes into the wind.
“I’m not,” he starts, and Brendon waves his hand dismissively.
“I know,” he says, kicking at a rock. “I know.”
“How much...how much longer are you working?” Ryan says, and Brendon shrugs.
“I don’t know, until someone stops, I guess, until I’ve made enough.”
Ryan takes another drag and nods, hair flying in the wind, and Brendon is almost breathless.
“Well, what if...would you like to go for coffee, or for a walk?” He looks up at Brendon. “I’ll pay you, just the same, so if anyone asks...”
Brendon shakes his head, throwing his cigarette down and squashing it with his shoe.
“No, I need to get the hell out of here, anyways. This...this....you don’t have to pay me, I...really need to get out of here, anyways.” And the words are ringing in his head, I really need to get out of here, and he knows it, knows that there are only so many pieces of him that he can let go of before it kills him, knows he needs to be somewhere, anywhere, but here, doing this.
Ryan shakes his head and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.
“No, no, you probably have to report to someone, and if this were any other night I’d be spending the money anyways.” He smiles ruefully, chuckling bitterly and looks up at the sky, rubbing his elbow. “Although, I did quit my job today, so I don’t know how many more times I’ll be able to afford coming out here.”
Brendon laughs and starts walking along the sidewalk with him, feet falling into step, hands close to brushing, heads down to block the wind.
“That’s probably for the best, not being able to come out here,” Brendon says, glancing sideways at the light shining off Ryan’s hair, and Ryan nods.
“Yeah, probably.”
And they keep on walking, footsteps echoing and sneaking glances, cigarette smoke and idle conversation.
A/N version 2.0: Seriously, guys (are there boys here? haha)/girls/etc., can I post like four parts in one day? *sigh* I hate being so far ahead of myself, it screws me up royally.
Part Six.
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: Ranges from PG13 to R/NC17 eventually. It'll be marked when it gets higher...
POV: Third, omniscient.
PAIRING: Eventually Ryan/Brendon...who else? I like my comfort zone, thank you.
SUMMARY: AU, in which Ryan is half in denial and picks up transgendered hookers, and Brendon is a not-so-much transgendered whore.
DISCLAIMER: Oh please, honey.
A/N: Title credit to This Providence ♥ Chapter title goes to Madina Lake. That's all.
He threw a stapler at a co-worker. At an ugly, blond, annoying co-worker. He spilled coffee all over his pants. Burnt, disgusting coffee. He got a paper cut on his thumb, and the blood smeared into the ink, and it stung for hours. He chewed the end off a pencil, and his mouth tasted like dust for the rest of the afternoon, and he’s pretty sure he has splinters in his tongue.
And at the end of the day, he quit. He doesn’t know exactly what made him do it, but he walked up to the boss, told him to go fuck himself, and quit. Not even two weeks notice. Just, you’ll never see me again, asshole. Have a nice life.
He went to the drug store on the way home, and he bought a box of hair dye and an eyeliner pencil. He went home and found a stack of quarters and did a load of laundry. He picked up and took out the garbage in his apartment and washed dishes, and even remembered to put them away.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe I need a fresh start.
He dyed his hair black, put on his jeans and his eyeliner, and walked to the coffee shop down the street, latte and a carrot muffin, please. And the girl behind the faux granite counter just smiled at him and put his change in the cash register, handing him his order, to go.
He knows he’s going to regret this in a few days, not having money to pay his rent or his bills, fielding phone calls and door knocks from the landlord and waking up in an apartment that’s ten degrees too cold.
But he feels, he feels just a little bit more of himself, just a little bit less of a clone, just a little bit less of a robot.
And for tonight, he thinks, sitting on the steps to his building, tonight, that’s enough.
----------
He stands on the sidewalk, leaning against a light pole, bulb casting harsh off-white rays on his face. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, and he watches through his bangs for a customer, for anyone, for that boy to come driving down the street.
He decided last night at 3 a.m. that if he ever came by, he would introduce himself. Not as a whore, not because he wanted the kid’s money or because he wanted to fuck him (at least not under these circumstances), but because he wanted to know him, wanted to know his name, to do more than smile at him in the hallway on his way out.
He was just standing there, smoking and waiting, watching Starr slide into a car, when the boy came walking down the sidewalk.
At least, he thought it was the boy...only, he looked, well, different. His hair was darker, and his eyes were outlined in kohl, and God, he looked good in those jeans. Really, really good. So alright, Brendon, smile and say hello. It’s not hard.
But then, oh, he’s going to know you’re a whore, and he’ll never want to see you again. Great. Fucking great.
But then, the boy is stopping in front of him, God knows why, and it’s too late to run and hide, sipping from a coffee cup with his hair landing in his eyes. He extends one long, white hand, and he says,
“I’m Ryan,” flicks his hair out of face, “and you live across the hall from me.”
Brendon sticks out the hand that’s not holding the cigarette and nods.
“I’m Brendon, and yeah, I do.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking the boy -Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, he’ll have to get used to knowing his name- up and down.
“So, uh,” Ryan says, sipping his coffee. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Uh, I’m...” Brendon starts. “I’m, er...working.”
Ryan looks confused for a second, face twisting, and then a little light dawns behind his eyes, and he looks Brendon up and down critically, biting his lip.
“Oh,” he says. “I...oh. So that’s where I’ve seen you before, here, when...oh, God.” He blows a stand of hair off his forehead and throws his empty coffee cup in the trash can. “I’m here,” he says, shifting his weight and pulling out a cigarette. “I’m here to prove to myself that I don’t need this.”
Brendon nods, as if he understands, and maybe he does. He pulls out his lighter and flicks it, sparks in the dark, and lights Ryan’s cigarette. Ryan nods, smiling, sucks in a mouthful of smoke.
“Thanks,” he says, exhaling, and Brendon shrugs.
“Yeah, sure.”
And just then, Candy walks by, heels and perfume, and winks at them.
“Oh, sweetie, are you picking up a real boy this time?” and smiles at Ryan and nods knowingly at Brendon, walking off with a wave of her manicured nails. Ryan’s face flushes, pink rushing up his neck into his cheeks, and he takes a drag off his cigarette and coughs, flicking ashes into the wind.
“I’m not,” he starts, and Brendon waves his hand dismissively.
“I know,” he says, kicking at a rock. “I know.”
“How much...how much longer are you working?” Ryan says, and Brendon shrugs.
“I don’t know, until someone stops, I guess, until I’ve made enough.”
Ryan takes another drag and nods, hair flying in the wind, and Brendon is almost breathless.
“Well, what if...would you like to go for coffee, or for a walk?” He looks up at Brendon. “I’ll pay you, just the same, so if anyone asks...”
Brendon shakes his head, throwing his cigarette down and squashing it with his shoe.
“No, I need to get the hell out of here, anyways. This...this....you don’t have to pay me, I...really need to get out of here, anyways.” And the words are ringing in his head, I really need to get out of here, and he knows it, knows that there are only so many pieces of him that he can let go of before it kills him, knows he needs to be somewhere, anywhere, but here, doing this.
Ryan shakes his head and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.
“No, no, you probably have to report to someone, and if this were any other night I’d be spending the money anyways.” He smiles ruefully, chuckling bitterly and looks up at the sky, rubbing his elbow. “Although, I did quit my job today, so I don’t know how many more times I’ll be able to afford coming out here.”
Brendon laughs and starts walking along the sidewalk with him, feet falling into step, hands close to brushing, heads down to block the wind.
“That’s probably for the best, not being able to come out here,” Brendon says, glancing sideways at the light shining off Ryan’s hair, and Ryan nods.
“Yeah, probably.”
And they keep on walking, footsteps echoing and sneaking glances, cigarette smoke and idle conversation.
A/N version 2.0: Seriously, guys (are there boys here? haha)/girls/etc., can I post like four parts in one day? *sigh* I hate being so far ahead of myself, it screws me up royally.
Part Six.