secret love, and the fastest way to loneliness. [6/?]
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 Goodbye Tomorrow, pre-Travis. That's all.
So this is how he ends up sitting across from Brendon in a little café, eating cheesecake off a shared plate and drinking tea. They’re talking about everything and nothing, how much they like Palahniuk and cheesy romantic comedies and conversations like this.
When Brendon brings up music, he feels his eyes light up, feels his heart jump, because God, he used to live for music, used to breathe it.
“I used to write,” he says, picking at his fingers. “used to write, lyrics, stories, poetry. I still have a guitar, I just never play.”
Brendon nods, sipping his tea, and taps his fingers on the table.
“Why’d you stop?”
Ryan rolls it around in his head for a second, chewing at his cuticle, and shrugs.
“I stopped feeling. It’s hard to make art about nothing, because eventually nothing is just…”
He trails off, motions with his hand and looks away, and Brendon nods again, rubs at the headache forming behind his eyes, and smiles a little.
“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, I know how that is.”
And for the first time in what seems like forever, maybe Ryan doesn’t feel so alone.
----------
He loves the way Ryan’s eyes light up, the way he looks like a kid on Christmas, when he brings up music. It reminds him of when he loved it, when all he did was go to shows and play in his parent’s garage, before life caught up to him.
He’s not really surprised when Ryan says he used to write, used to play guitar, because he looks like an artist, a thinker, a dreamer.
He’s not really surprised when Ryan says used to, and he’s not really surprised when he asks Ryan why, and he just shrugs and says,
“I stopped feeling,” and then something about how you can’t make art about nothing, and it just hits him, square in the chest, how that’s exactly what’s inside of him, nothing, and he says,
“Yeah, yeah, I know how that is.”
And when Ryan smiles at him and takes a bite of cheesecake, maybe he feels a little less alone.
----------
He walks Brendon back down the road, and he feels like an asshole, leaving him standing there in the dark. But Brendon insists he has to, at least for another hour or two, and Ryan knows he can’t stand with him, can’t make people think he’s a customer.
He shoves some money into Brendon’s palm, folding his fingers over it, and shakes his head when Brendon tries to protest.
“I took up your time, take the money,” he says, and Brendon sighs and looks down at it, green and flat in his hand, and doesn’t try to hand it back.
“You bought me cheesecake,” he says lamely, and Ryan shakes his head, pushing the money further into Brendon’s hand. He looks down at Ryan’s hand folded over his and sighs. “Okay.”
“Good boy,” Ryan says with a smile, pulling his hands away and scratching at his arm. “I’ll see you around.” And he turns and walks off, and Brendon watches his back until he disappears into the dark, around the corner, and then looks back down at the money in his hand.
“Good boy,” he mutters, shoving the money in his pocket as a car pulls up along the curb. He glances back down the street in the direction that Ryan went before opening the door. “Yeah, see you around,” he says to himself, to Ryan two blocks away, as he slides into the seat.
“Who you talkin’ to, boy?” the john says, sharp, and Brendon shakes his head.
“No one, sir. No one.”
“Sir?” the man snorts. “Glad you respect my authority.”
Brendon digs his nails into his palm to keep from slapping the guy across the mouth, because they both know he’s no better than Brendon, no better than a whore.
It’s going to be a long night.
----------
Ryan walks home in the dark, with his arms wrapped around his waist, thinking about what an asshole he must be to leave Brendon standing there in the dark, about how shitty it must be for Brendon to be…to be, well, he might as well just say it, a whore.
He’s not like any other whore Ryan’s ever met, though he usually meets them in his car under somewhat different circumstances, granted. Usually, they aren’t the cute boy who lives across the hall, someone who Ryan would want to see again for anything other than blowjobs and denial. Usually, they aren’t someone Ryan would want to know, someone who Ryan feels bad about when he leaves them on the sidewalk in the cold.
----------
Brendon stumbles out of the john’s car, arms wrapped around his waist, thinking about how bad he really needs to quit this, really needs to stop doing this to himself. He thinks about Ryan’s receding back earlier, and he can’t understand why Ryan even wanted to be around him earlier, why Ryan wants to hang out with a whore.
Brendon thinks about what Candy said, so deep in his fucking closet…, and he wonders why, wonders why Ryan’s so guarded, why he hides from himself with hookers and God knows what else. Usually, johns like that, regulars, aren’t those cute guys across the hall, someone who Brendon would be vaguely interested in knowing. Usually, they aren’t someone Brendon would think about for more than two seconds, someone who Brendon would miss five seconds after they left.
But he guesses there’s always a first time for everything.
Part Seven.
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 Goodbye Tomorrow, pre-Travis. That's all.
So this is how he ends up sitting across from Brendon in a little café, eating cheesecake off a shared plate and drinking tea. They’re talking about everything and nothing, how much they like Palahniuk and cheesy romantic comedies and conversations like this.
When Brendon brings up music, he feels his eyes light up, feels his heart jump, because God, he used to live for music, used to breathe it.
“I used to write,” he says, picking at his fingers. “used to write, lyrics, stories, poetry. I still have a guitar, I just never play.”
Brendon nods, sipping his tea, and taps his fingers on the table.
“Why’d you stop?”
Ryan rolls it around in his head for a second, chewing at his cuticle, and shrugs.
“I stopped feeling. It’s hard to make art about nothing, because eventually nothing is just…”
He trails off, motions with his hand and looks away, and Brendon nods again, rubs at the headache forming behind his eyes, and smiles a little.
“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, I know how that is.”
And for the first time in what seems like forever, maybe Ryan doesn’t feel so alone.
----------
He loves the way Ryan’s eyes light up, the way he looks like a kid on Christmas, when he brings up music. It reminds him of when he loved it, when all he did was go to shows and play in his parent’s garage, before life caught up to him.
He’s not really surprised when Ryan says he used to write, used to play guitar, because he looks like an artist, a thinker, a dreamer.
He’s not really surprised when Ryan says used to, and he’s not really surprised when he asks Ryan why, and he just shrugs and says,
“I stopped feeling,” and then something about how you can’t make art about nothing, and it just hits him, square in the chest, how that’s exactly what’s inside of him, nothing, and he says,
“Yeah, yeah, I know how that is.”
And when Ryan smiles at him and takes a bite of cheesecake, maybe he feels a little less alone.
----------
He walks Brendon back down the road, and he feels like an asshole, leaving him standing there in the dark. But Brendon insists he has to, at least for another hour or two, and Ryan knows he can’t stand with him, can’t make people think he’s a customer.
He shoves some money into Brendon’s palm, folding his fingers over it, and shakes his head when Brendon tries to protest.
“I took up your time, take the money,” he says, and Brendon sighs and looks down at it, green and flat in his hand, and doesn’t try to hand it back.
“You bought me cheesecake,” he says lamely, and Ryan shakes his head, pushing the money further into Brendon’s hand. He looks down at Ryan’s hand folded over his and sighs. “Okay.”
“Good boy,” Ryan says with a smile, pulling his hands away and scratching at his arm. “I’ll see you around.” And he turns and walks off, and Brendon watches his back until he disappears into the dark, around the corner, and then looks back down at the money in his hand.
“Good boy,” he mutters, shoving the money in his pocket as a car pulls up along the curb. He glances back down the street in the direction that Ryan went before opening the door. “Yeah, see you around,” he says to himself, to Ryan two blocks away, as he slides into the seat.
“Who you talkin’ to, boy?” the john says, sharp, and Brendon shakes his head.
“No one, sir. No one.”
“Sir?” the man snorts. “Glad you respect my authority.”
Brendon digs his nails into his palm to keep from slapping the guy across the mouth, because they both know he’s no better than Brendon, no better than a whore.
It’s going to be a long night.
----------
Ryan walks home in the dark, with his arms wrapped around his waist, thinking about what an asshole he must be to leave Brendon standing there in the dark, about how shitty it must be for Brendon to be…to be, well, he might as well just say it, a whore.
He’s not like any other whore Ryan’s ever met, though he usually meets them in his car under somewhat different circumstances, granted. Usually, they aren’t the cute boy who lives across the hall, someone who Ryan would want to see again for anything other than blowjobs and denial. Usually, they aren’t someone Ryan would want to know, someone who Ryan feels bad about when he leaves them on the sidewalk in the cold.
----------
Brendon stumbles out of the john’s car, arms wrapped around his waist, thinking about how bad he really needs to quit this, really needs to stop doing this to himself. He thinks about Ryan’s receding back earlier, and he can’t understand why Ryan even wanted to be around him earlier, why Ryan wants to hang out with a whore.
Brendon thinks about what Candy said, so deep in his fucking closet…, and he wonders why, wonders why Ryan’s so guarded, why he hides from himself with hookers and God knows what else. Usually, johns like that, regulars, aren’t those cute guys across the hall, someone who Brendon would be vaguely interested in knowing. Usually, they aren’t someone Brendon would think about for more than two seconds, someone who Brendon would miss five seconds after they left.
But he guesses there’s always a first time for everything.
Part Seven.