white on white (a better view) [ryan/spencer] - 1/2
white on white (a better view)
~11,500 words // r (language) // ryan/spencer
[A/N: This was originally written for bandom_hc, but it needed so much work that I promptly put it away for nearly a month until announcements were made for bandombigbang. When they stated that they were doing two waves, I figured it was time to take this out, dust it off and give it a second chance. (I'm sure it still needs a lot of work. *sigh* ) Hearty thanks to stele3 and ruintooeasy for their initial beta and giving me a new, better direction.]
[Prompt: bandom_hc 2009 - I think someone should write something where Ryan Ross becomes a fallen angel. Um. (Ramblings about this: He was so used to this life of being invisible and immortal, you guys, and now he when he runs into walls, he doesn't pass through them anymore! ): It hurts running into walls, ok? Also, he has to walk to get to places, his pretty wings are gone and he has this phantom pain that sometimes convinces him his wings are still there and then he tries to fly and he can't! Taxis are weird and so is the El thing. ): He's lost and confused and everything aches, his head hurts, the world is too loud! And temperature! He couldn't sense that before! And, ugh, he is lonely. He misses his angel friends (Greta Salpeter! and Patrick Stump(h)! and Alex Suarez! Um.) He's really lucky though that some guy stops and helps him stand up. (The guy says, "Geez, man, you're bleeding. Come on, get up, I'll get you to a hospital.") In the end, though, this Spencer guy brings him home because when Ryan gets near the hospital he can still feel all the souls that are departing (peacefully and otherwise) and his chest never constricted when he had to lead them away. He doesn't know why it hurts now. He just can't go there and when Spencer sees his scared face, he brings him home instead. AND THEN SPENCER MAKES IT ALL BETTER. THE END. (fallen angel!au) ]
[Beta(s): angelgazing, rossetti]
[Warning(s): minor character death]
~*~
~*~
Are you sure about this?
There's so much smoke, he can't see. It curls around him, thick, clawing into his lungs every time he gasps for air.
He needs to know.
There are shouts, loud voices, but they sound far away. His vision blurs, eyes stinging from the smoke. He stumbles into a wall and it hurts. His whole body aches, he notes absently, and every time he moves his arms, searing pain blazes downs his back. It makes his breath catch.
Ryan-
You'll see, Ryan, you will.
"Hello?" He whips around, wincing. "Hello, is anyone there?"
No one answers.
~*~
[trouble acting normal]
People are everywhere. The noise beats at him, the press of bodies around him making it harder to breathe. That feels strange, too, pulling deep gulps of air. The expansion of his chest. It's foreign, unfamiliar.
Someone slams into his shoulder, sending him spinning into a nearby wall. His back hits hard and the pain is excruciating. He cries out, stumbling into a nearby alley. Keeping a hand on the brick pricklystrangeagainsthisskin for balance, he moves further down the alley. The noise lessens and his breath comes easier.
"Fuckin' Pete."
A big black bag lands at his feet and he looks up, startled. Clear blue eyes meet his and widen in surprise.
"Hey, dude. Sorry?" The blue eyes look over him and without knowing why, he pulls his shoulders back--painpainpain--and stands taller.
"Man, you -- uh, you can't." Digging into his pockets, the stranger mutters something he doesn't catch, then, "Shit. I don't have any cash on me." Looking back up, he says, "Look, I'm sorry, but you can't hang around here. Somebody'll call the cops. If you go down a couple of blocks, there's a shelter. They might be able to help you out, get you a place to stay."
They stare at each other and he wants to say something - can feel the words on the back of his tongue - opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. The stranger frowns at him and muttering a soft geez, Spencer, get a grip, turns to head back inside.
He mouths the name. Spencer.
He starts forward as Spencer's hand turns on the doorknob--don'tleavedon'tleave--tripping on the forgotten sack of trash at his feet.
His palms hit the ground first, knees following a second later. A startled gasp escapes and another flash of pain rushes across ribs. Crying out, he curls into himself.
"Shit-" Spencer's on his knees a second later, hand hesitant on his shoulder, "-you okay?" His breath hitches again in pain. "Shitshitshit," and after a moment's hesitation, "Hold on. Just--stay here, okay? I'll-I'll be right back. Okay?" Spencer doesn't move until he nods his head.
Where else would I go? He stays silent.
Spencer disappears back into the building and he doesn't move, keeps his breathing shallow. It hurts less that way.
After what seems like forever, Spencer reappears, the white apron he'd been wearing replaced by a dark grey coat. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulders, Spencer helps him stand. Spencer mutters under his breath again and he catches a few words, idiot and eyes. He loses the rest when Spencer's arm slides around his back, fingers curving around his ribs. Warmth seeps through the material of his shirt and he lets himself lean into it, just a little.
"Come on, come on. Let's go before Pete gets the bright idea to come check on me. Shit," Spencer repeats for the millionth time. "Shit, you're skinny. There's nothing to you." Spencer turns them around, towards the street and he recoils, stepping back. Too much- he opens his mouth, but Spencer's already moving them, turning them the other way with a quick, "Okay, okay, we'll go this way."
Spencer's arm around him is firm but not too tight. They move slowly and after a few minutes his legs no longer shake. His steps become more sure. His palms sting a little, he notes vaguely. His body feels cold on the side opposite Spencer. The pressure of Spencer's hand against him, each point of contact, is sharp in his mind. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear the sensation away.
"Hey-"
He turns toward the sound, meets blueblueskyblue eyes. They remind him of something, but the memory eludes him. The frustration must show on his face because Spencer's voice softens, "It's okay man, we'll get you some help. It'll be okay, promise. They'll fix you right up."
Nodding, he tucks his chin down, watching his feet as they shuffle forward. After a moment, Spencer breaks the silence. "You don't talk much; I get that. But, uh, you gotta name? I'd like to know who I'm helping." He can tell without looking that Spencer is smiling. He resolutely keeps his head down, doesn't think he wants to know what that looks like. Not yet.
He opens his mouth to answer, but there's nothing there. Not until-
Ryan
-whispers through his mind.
It feels right.
His voice is low and rough when he answers.
*
"So you don't remember anything? How you got hurt, nothing at all?"
Spencer asks for the third time and Ryan shakes his head in response, not trusting his voice and still trying not to breathe too deeply. He knows Spencer wants to ask more questions, but the sharp flash of pain that shoots through his head every time he tries to remember what happened makes him grateful for his restraint. For the last block or so, a dull ache has settled in his chest. His shoulder blades itchache with each beat of his heart and it's unsettling. Ryan isn't sure what to make of it.
They walk on in silence until Spencer mutters, "Almost there," under his breath. Then louder, "It's about two more blocks until we get to the hosp-fuck-" Ryan drops to his knees, the pain is so sharp. It tears through his chest and he can't breathe from the sudden force of it.
"Shitfuck-" Spencer's still got an arm around him, awkwardly trying to pull him back up. "What the hell, Ryan? What's wrong?" There's an edge of panic to his words and Ryan wants to say I don't know, but he can't speak through clenched teeth. It feels like his heart's in a vice, the pain bleeding out his back, down his shoulder blades.
Spencer manages to get Ryan's feet under him, "Shit. Let's just. Fuck. The hospital's up ahead, let's-" They take a few steps forward and the Ryan can't stop the cry from escaping. The pain increases with each step and he finally manages to grit out, "-no, no further." He looks at Spencer then. He stares back. Spencer must see something since after a second--can'tbreathepainhurryhurry--he's nodding and pulling them back the way they'd come. Ryan breathes easier with each step, the pain lessening to a dull ache after a couple of blocks.
Another couple of blocks and Spencer slows to a halt. Ryan can feel his stare, but it's not until Spencer sighs, deep and frustrated, that he looks up.
"So, I guess hospitals are out then."
**
There's a sign in front of the elevator that reads Out of Order - Please Use Stairs. Spencer curses again.
*
"Hey, Mrs. G, how you doing today?"
Mrs. G is ancient, barely five foot tall with a lined and weathered face. Ryan leans against the wall, watching as Spencer unlocks his apartment. He hears her voice, but doesn't really listen to the answer. An ache has settled into his chest, similar to earlier but nowhere near as intense. Just a murmur that paces with the beat of his heart.
Ryan stares at the lines on her face and thinks of trees. The big ones. Redwood floats through his mind, along with an image of towering solitude, solid against the wind. He wonders briefly how he knows this when he can barely even remember his own name.
Mrs. G glances over towards Ryan and their eyes meet. It's not until Spencer softly asks, "You okay?" that he realizes he's been rubbing his finger tips over his heart. Ryan drops his hand, nodding. He tears his gaze away from Mrs. G and a moment later she shuffles toward her own apartment, the ache fading as she moves away. Spencer gets his door open and Ryan follows him inside, focusing on the weight of Spencer's arm around his back. He does his best not to wonder what that means.
**
He wakes, gasping for air, with a hand grasping after fading laughter, rich and warm. Instead there's nothing but the lining of the couch under his palm. He remembers Spencer helping him down onto the sofa after they'd made it inside. Apparently he'd fallen asleep.
Still trying to catch his breath, he's startled by a new voice shouting, "What the hell were you thinking? Jesus, Spence, you don't have a clue who he is! He could be some crazy serial killer-"
"Don't be so fuckin' dramatic, Brendon." Spencer. Ryan's heartbeat settles back into a steadier rhythm. "And keep your voice down, he's still sleeping." He listens to the shuffle of feet, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "And besides, he barely remembers his own name, what are the odds that he even knows what a serial killer is let alone how to be one."
Ryan rises from the couch, taking an unsteady step. The couch is soft under his fingertips and he rubs his fingertips across it, distracted by the sensation. When something slams down onto the counter, he takes another step toward the noise.
"That is so not the point here, dumbass. He's a total stranger, Spence. What the hell?" A few more steps, more sure this time.
The light from the kitchen falls across the floor and Ryan wiggles his toes, inching forward. He leans against the wall.
"I-I don't know, okay? There's just. Just something. I don't know!"
"This isn't like you, Spence. You don't-"
"I know, Brendon, don't you think I know that? Fuck."
Ryan curls around the door frame. The overhead light blinds him for a second and he speaks before he's blinked his vision clear.
"Hey."
*
Brendon sits on the opposite end of the couch, ridiculously intent on not looking at Ryan. Ryan knows he's staring, but he can't seem to make himself stop. Brendon finally glances over, a quick little movement of his head, before looking back to the clock on the wall. He sighs deeply, shoulders slumping. He stares at his hands for a moment before checking the time again.
It's been 23 minutes--minutessecondshoursdays, he knows these words--since Spencer left to go back to work, leaving Ryan in Brendon's care.
Brendon glances at the clock again. Another sigh.
At 26 minutes, Brendon explodes, "What?! What are you staring at? Why are you staring? Fuck! Do I have something on my face, what?"
"You just. You remind me of something." A flash of golden curl. A honey-smooth song. "Someone."
"Who?"
"I-" He tries to grab on to the images flashing in his head, but they disappear and the pull of skin on his brow distracts him. It's odd, tight. He runs his fingers over the wrinkled skin, smoothing it out and finally mumbles a soft, "I can't remember."
They both sit there in silence.
*
"Look," Brendon states abruptly, startling the quiet air around them, "Spencer's not usually prone to charity cases-" He pauses, frowns, "Okay, that's a big fat lie. Spencer's kind of ridiculous when it comes to lost puppies and and kittens and hell, a goat that one time, but shit, he's never brought a-" he flails his arms around a bit, "-an actual person home before. I'm sure you're a good guy-" his expression belies his belief, "-but it's a little worrisome, okay?"
Ryan doesn't know how to respond. It's not like he can remember what he's like, who he's supposed to be. All he feels is lost, and he just stares hopelessly at Brendon.
Brendon huffs out a gust sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, just. Don't worry about it, okay? If anyone can figure this shit out, it's Spence." He picks up something off the table in front of them and hits a button. "Let's just watch some TV, okay?"
The bright splash of sudden sound startles Ryan, drawing his attention away from Brendon. He turns his head.
*
"Seriously, dude, move back away from tv." Ryan shifts back a little, continuing to watch the movement in front of him. He hears Brendon sigh, then, "You're going to ruin your eyesight-shit." The tone of that last word makes Ryan look over his shoulder. Brendon's staring up at the ceiling and Ryan follows his gaze. "I'm turning into my mother--what are you staring at?"
Ryan drags his gaze back down, but before he can respond Brendon waves a hand, "Never mind. I probably don't want to know." He switches the channel and Ryan turns back to the television. A second later, he unconsciously scoots closer again.
Behind him Brendon sighs again, loudly, but doesn't say anything else.
**
Spencer flips the light on and Ryan blinks at the sudden brightness, stumbling back against him just a little. He catches the movement from the corner of his eyes and looks up.
Spencer is staring back at him and next to him stands a thin, long-limbed stranger. Startled, Ryan realizes that he's looking at himself. Like the TV earlier, it's fascinating. He waves his hand and watches as the person in the mirror does the same. Reaching out, he rests his fingertips against the mirror. It's cool under his fingers.
Spencer shifts next to him and Ryan meets his gaze in the mirror. Under this lighting, their color is even more pronounced. Almost too bright for the small area. He draws his fingers over to Spencer's reflection, to his eyes.
"Mine are brown."
Spencer's gaze is intense, but his voice is casual when he responds with, "I'd say hazel, if we want to split hairs." He shakes his head when Ryan opens his mouth to ask, and settles against the door frame. "So you didn't remember what you look like, huh?"
Ryan searches the mirror for any memory, any spark of recognition. Nothing comes. Spencer settles a hand on his shoulder and says softly, "We'll figure it out."
Ryan continues to stare at his reflection. There are so many differences between him and Spencer. Broad versus skinny, blue versus brown. Their hair is similar in color, but where Spencer's is shiny and sleek, his own curls around his ears, messy. He reaches up to tug a piece straight, but the instant he lets go, it curls back up. Spencer laughs at the frown on his face and Ryan likes that, the way Spencer's face lights up.
He tries a smile of his own.
~*~
[a wire in the circus]
"Spencer."
"Yeah, Ry?" Spencer doesn't look away from the game. Brendon crows when he runs Spencer's car off the road.
"I need a towel."
"They're in the hall clos-Jesus Christ, Ryan!"
"What?" Brendon turns at Spencer's exclamation, eyes widening. His gaze drops and he coughs out a choked, "Holy shit, Ryan, where've you been hiding that thing?"
"Brendon." Before Ryan can answer, Spencer scrambles off the couch and grabs his arm, pulling him back into the hall and away from the living room. Spencer's hand nearly wraps the entire way around his arm, Ryan notes. His fingers slide over Ryan's shower-slick skin.
"I'm just saying-" Brendon's voice holds laughter.
"Keep it to yourself!" Spencer throws over his shoulder. Even in the dimly lit hallway, Ryan can see the redness of Spencer's face. He tugs a towel out of the closet, wrapping it quickly around Ryan's waist. Spencer mutters, "Let's get you some pants, Jesus."
"But, Spence, he's hung like a-"
Ryan watches Spencer's face turn even more red and before Brendon can finish, Spencer hisses, "Brendon."
Laughter follows them into the bedroom.
**
"We need to get you some more clothes." Spencer's eyeing the t-shirt Ryan's currently wearing. Ryan frowns. He likes this shirt, it's soft and comfortable. He says so.
"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you've been wearing the same underwear for a week now." Spencer makes a face - Ryan copies it but it feels strange with his skin - and continues, "And that's just kinda gross, man."
"Underwear?"
Spencer runs a hand over his face and Ryan tilts his head, curious. Spencer looks up and sighs. "Right. Shopping tomorrow."
*
The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches. After several weeks of sharing the same space, Ryan is fairly sure that he's being laughed at. Spencer is trying hard to contain it, but Ryan can tell.
"Is it wrong?" He fiddles with the tassels on the scarf. They're soft and silky to the touch, which he likes. The cream color matches the stripes in his pants.
"It's just-" Spencer bites his lip, "-that shirt should not work. At all." An eyebrow arches. "And yet you manage to pull it off." He shifts the pile of clothes from one arm to the other and pushes Ryan's hands away from where they're still playing with the ends of the scarf. He smiles, "Also, you dress like my grandad. But again, it works for you."
*
"Aaand of course you like that hat."
Ryan turns away from the mirror, grinning, and runs a finger along the brim. Spencer just sighs and tugs it off his head, adding it to growing pile of items on the counter.
Spencer grins at him and Ryan feels his cheeks stretch as his smile widens.
**
It's funny what he remembers and what he doesn't.
He knows his name. He knows what clothes are. For the most part, he knows what things are called. Chair. Table. Street. Room.
Mostly what he doesn't remember, however, are how things feel. The stretch of skin across his face when he smiles. The texture of fabrics/walls/skin under his fingers. The fall of the water down his back in the shower.
And food.
He doesn't remember food and on one hand it makes him sad, but on the other hand, learning it all again is amazing.
Likes:
- the smoothness of pudding
- the crunch of a pickle
- the swish of Jell-O through his teeth (Brendon showed him that one.)
- the richness of milk
Dislikes:
- the squishiness of tomatoes
- the slimy pop of squash seeds
- silverware
Really, anything he can eat without using utensils is a favorite. Spencer makes barbecue one night and the slip-slide of sauce over his fingers intrigues him. Spencer laughs so hard at the surprise on his face when a drumstick flies out his hands and halfway across the floor that Ryan ends up laughing too.
And ice cream. Biting cold sweetness that melts on his tongue.
He could eat ice cream every day.
*
"Nuh-uh," Spencer slaps his hand, "they have to cool first." Ryan takes a moment to study the sting fading over his knuckles and then files it away. He settles back against the counter instead and watches Spencer move around the kitchen.
Over the weeks, they've developed a pattern. Spencer cooks, Ryan watches, and sooner or later Brendon comes over to eat the leftovers. Usually while Spencer's at work. Ryan hasn't been able to say no to the pathetic looks, and he suspects Brendon knows this. Either way, Spencer doesn't seem to mind.
Across the kitchen, Spencer pulls out a cutting board and begins slicing vegetables, his movements quick and clean. The smell of chocolate lingers in the air and Ryan's stomach gurgles. He slides a hand toward the cookies again and Spencer mutters, "You can wait ten more minutes, Ry. Seriously."
Ryan sighs, tucking his hands around his middle and goes back to watching Spencer.
**
About a month after Spencer finds him, Jon comes home from tour.
Brendon spends more time at Spencer's apartment than he does at his own and it's no different today. He's merciless in trying to get Ryan to play a video game, leaning over the back of the couch and interrupting his reading every minute or so. The door slams open and Brendon hollers over his shoulder, "It's about time you got home, Spence. Reader McReaderson here won't play with me!" He pokes Ryan in the neck again and Ryan actually considers biting his finger.
Before he can act on the thought, Brendon lets out a startled, "Hey-!" that makes Ryan turn around. A stranger has arms around Brendon's stomach, lifting him off the ground. Ryan watches Brendon flail around for a second before looking over their shoulders. Spencer's standing in the hallway, a small smile on his face as he watches. Not a stranger then.
"How's my favorite spaz?" The voice is low with a bit of a lisp and Ryan sees recognition hit Brendon, sees the instant he figures out who's got a hold of him. Brendon's face is always animated, expressions changing quickly and often with his moods. Now Ryan watches surprise flow into excitement, a broad grin spreading across Brendon's face. He struggles in earnest and finally the stranger puts him down.
"Jon Walker! You're home! I thought you guys weren't supposed to be back until Wednesday!" Brendon flings his arms around Jon's neck before he can answer, throwing Spencer a narrow-eyed glare. "You wanker, you totally knew about this. I forgive you though-" Spencer rolls his eyes, "-since you brought me JWalk."
Ryan's turned so much to watch the proceedings that his book loses purchase, sliding to the floor. He scrambles to catch it but fumbles and misses. It makes a quiet thump as it hits the carpet. Picking it up and carefully straightening a bent page he looks up to find everyone's attention on him.
Jon clears his throat and steps forward. His arm stays around Brendon and his smile is warm as he says, "So, I guess you must be Ryan."
~*~
[through the door]
After nearly six weeks, Spencer's exhausted every resource trying to find out anything about Ryan. Without a last name or any form of identification, it's been an impossible task. He mentions going downtown to USCIS office, but he's reluctant and both Brendon and Jon immediately veto the idea.
They go to Pete instead.
**
"So."
Ryan looks up from the book splayed across his lap, over the back of the couch where Spencer's standing. There's a silver chain wrapped through his fingers. Spencer's fingers are turning something over and over, but before Ryan can ask what it is, Spencer tosses it down into his lap. It lands across his book with a little thud.
He likes the way the metal slides through his fingers as he lifts it up. A small key dangles at the end. He looks back at Spencer, who shrugs like it's no big deal. "You probably won't need it, but just in case." Spencer leans over the couch and pulls the chain back out of his hands. Ryan makes a small noise of protest, but Spencer loops it around his neck. There's a brief touch of Spencer's fingers against the back of his neck that makes something turn in his stomach. "I put it on a chain because I figured it wouldn't be as easy to lose as everything else." Ryan makes another disgruntled noise. It's not his fault that he forgets where he puts things. Just last week, they'd finally found the scissors.
"That's seriously depressing. I don't know why you're even reading it." Spencer's moves around the couch, sitting down next to Ryan. He frowns at the book in Ryan's lap. Les Miserables runs along the top of the page. "Come to think of it, I'm not even sure why I have it in the first place."
"I'm glad you like it, though." Spencer smirks at him, "Even if it is the most depressing book ever." He laughs at the disgruntled look on Ryan’s face.
**
There's a park not far from Spencer's apartment. It's small, tucked in behind a line of trees that blocks the traffic noise. Ryan's mostly gotten used to abruptness of being outside but there's always a sigh of relief ready when he sits on the lone bench.
Foot traffic is rare during mid-morning, making it his favorite time to visit. The air is crisp and Ryan breathes deep, can feel the expansion in his chest. It's still a disconcerting sensation, but one he likes. Taking another breath, he can feel the coolness of the spare key against his skin and he reaches up to pull the chain out from under his--Spencer's--shirt. He's busy contemplating the smoothness of its sides, running a finger over the jagged edge of the neck, when two white paws appear on his knee.
Startled, the key falls from his fingers and bumps back against his shirt. Ryan looks down to find a small dog, eyes bright and focused. A small pink tongue is hanging out the side of her mouth and it looks like she's smiling at him. Ryan reaches down to run a hand over the top of her head and she yips at him. A second later, she tries to scramble up onto the bench and Ryan helps. The hair on her belly is soft and smooth. She moves in quick, close enough to lay a long wet stripe under his chin and Ryan is startled at the sound of laughter that tumbles out of him.
"Hey," he says softly. She responds with another slobbery kiss and he can feel the stretch of a smile on his face. He ignores the crinkling sensation at the corner of his eyes for scratching behind one of her softsmooth ears.
A familiar ache spreads through his chest and the smile slides off his face. Mrs. G sits slowly and from the corner of his eye, he watches a gnarled, stiff hand grip the back of the bench. It's shaking and so is Ryan. He doesn't look up.
"I see you've met Hobo." Although her body is weak Mrs. G's voice is not. Strong and steady, she continues as though Ryan had responded. "She's a handful, I'll tell you. Don't know what my grandson was thinking." There's affection, Ryan can hear, for both her grandson and the dog in that statement. He finally looks up.
There's something knowing in her eyes that throws Ryan and he works hard not to drop his gaze, to not push the dog away and run back to the apartment. He watches as she stares at him, sees it when her eyes catch the key on the chain around his neck. He should have tucked it back in (Spencer warned him), but it's too late now.
"Oh, child," she says quietly, looking back up. "You are a long way from home, aren't you?" Ryan swallows hard. He can't seem to make his voice work. Hobo whines in his lap.
Mrs. G just smiles at him with kind eyes and turns her attention out into the park. "Such a lovely little corner, isn't it? I do love bringing her out here." There's a pause, then, "It's getting a little too much, though, for me to handle walking this far. It'd be nice if I had someone that could bring her to play for a little every day. It's important for a puppy." Ryan can see the small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.
For a moment, the ache in his chest eases.
*
Ryan's learned to mostly ignore the faint ache that's always present. There are times when it gets a little overwhelming - the second (and last) time Spencer tried to take him to the hospital, for example - but it's become familiar, a part of him. Like breathing, it's not longer something that startles him very often.
There's one day, however, when he gets to Mrs. G's door and the pain hits him so hard that it feels like his heartbeat stutters. He barely makes it back to the apartment, staggering down the hallway into Spencer's bedroom. The shades are drawn and the room is dark, cool. He collapses into the corner between one wall and the dresser, curling his knees to his chest. Tries to catch his breath.
He's lost track of the time, but after a while he becomes aware of noises in the apartment. Someone's singing and it jolts Ryan out of his stupor. The song is unfamiliar, but the voice isn't. Uncurling, Ryan stumbles to his feet.
He finds Brendon in the kitchen, unpacking some groceries. He's singing as he slides items across the counter, into cabinets. Turning he sees Ryan and winks.
Brendon continues to sing, sliding into Ryan's space. A second later, he's twirling Ryan around the kitchen. Ryan's not hearing the words, but he's feeling the sound. The way Brendon's voice wraps around each letter, how it dips and flows. The way it makes the ache in Ryan's chest ease.
They stop and Ryan reaches up, placing his fingers across Brendon's mouth, like he could just transfer whatever it is that's making him breathe easier skin to skin. His mouth is rough and smooth at the same time.
At the touch, Brendon stills. Ryan can still feel the leftover hum from his last tune, can feel the way the hand on the small of his back tenses. He looks up. Brendon's eyes darken and Ryan watches, fascinated.
The door slams and Spencer's voice calls out, "Urie, how many times do I have to tell you to put your damned shoes on the rack?"
Brendon blinks and the look is gone. He pulls away from Ryan and shouts over his shoulder, "I brought you groceries, Smith, I can put my shoes anywhere I want."
Spencer steps into the kitchen with an exasperated, "Asshole. Maybe when you quit eating all our food, you'll have something to bargain with."
Our food. The words are warm in his head and the ache in his chest settles back to normal.
**
Although he's known him the shortest, Jon may be his favorite out of all Spencer's friends that he's met so far. Where Spencer makes his stomach hum and Brendon's presence makes the nerves sing through his fingertips, with Jon around things just. They slow down. Ryan can sprawl along the sofa while Jon sits on the floor with his back to the couch, cats curling around him. He can do that and just feel-
Quiet.
*
"Okay, put this finger here-" Ryan feels the sting of the wire under his finger. Jon places another finger, "-and this one here. Now strum over these four stings." Ryan does so. His fingers feel clumsy, and he watches Jon's hands. "Good. Now switch back to the first one I showed you, and strum all the way down." Jon counts off a beat and after a few minutes, Ryan feels surer, his fingers switching between chords more smoothly. He grins at Jon, the stretch of skin across his cheeks less foreign than it's ever been.
Jon's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles back and Ryan breathes, easy.
~*~
part two
~11,500 words // r (language) // ryan/spencer
[A/N: This was originally written for bandom_hc, but it needed so much work that I promptly put it away for nearly a month until announcements were made for bandombigbang. When they stated that they were doing two waves, I figured it was time to take this out, dust it off and give it a second chance. (I'm sure it still needs a lot of work. *sigh* ) Hearty thanks to stele3 and ruintooeasy for their initial beta and giving me a new, better direction.]
[Prompt: bandom_hc 2009 - I think someone should write something where Ryan Ross becomes a fallen angel. Um. (Ramblings about this: He was so used to this life of being invisible and immortal, you guys, and now he when he runs into walls, he doesn't pass through them anymore! ): It hurts running into walls, ok? Also, he has to walk to get to places, his pretty wings are gone and he has this phantom pain that sometimes convinces him his wings are still there and then he tries to fly and he can't! Taxis are weird and so is the El thing. ): He's lost and confused and everything aches, his head hurts, the world is too loud! And temperature! He couldn't sense that before! And, ugh, he is lonely. He misses his angel friends (Greta Salpeter! and Patrick Stump(h)! and Alex Suarez! Um.) He's really lucky though that some guy stops and helps him stand up. (The guy says, "Geez, man, you're bleeding. Come on, get up, I'll get you to a hospital.") In the end, though, this Spencer guy brings him home because when Ryan gets near the hospital he can still feel all the souls that are departing (peacefully and otherwise) and his chest never constricted when he had to lead them away. He doesn't know why it hurts now. He just can't go there and when Spencer sees his scared face, he brings him home instead. AND THEN SPENCER MAKES IT ALL BETTER. THE END. (fallen angel!au) ]
[Beta(s): angelgazing, rossetti]
[Warning(s): minor character death]
~*~
~*~
Are you sure about this?
There's so much smoke, he can't see. It curls around him, thick, clawing into his lungs every time he gasps for air.
He needs to know.
There are shouts, loud voices, but they sound far away. His vision blurs, eyes stinging from the smoke. He stumbles into a wall and it hurts. His whole body aches, he notes absently, and every time he moves his arms, searing pain blazes downs his back. It makes his breath catch.
Ryan-
You'll see, Ryan, you will.
"Hello?" He whips around, wincing. "Hello, is anyone there?"
No one answers.
~*~
[trouble acting normal]
People are everywhere. The noise beats at him, the press of bodies around him making it harder to breathe. That feels strange, too, pulling deep gulps of air. The expansion of his chest. It's foreign, unfamiliar.
Someone slams into his shoulder, sending him spinning into a nearby wall. His back hits hard and the pain is excruciating. He cries out, stumbling into a nearby alley. Keeping a hand on the brick pricklystrangeagainsthisskin for balance, he moves further down the alley. The noise lessens and his breath comes easier.
"Fuckin' Pete."
A big black bag lands at his feet and he looks up, startled. Clear blue eyes meet his and widen in surprise.
"Hey, dude. Sorry?" The blue eyes look over him and without knowing why, he pulls his shoulders back--painpainpain--and stands taller.
"Man, you -- uh, you can't." Digging into his pockets, the stranger mutters something he doesn't catch, then, "Shit. I don't have any cash on me." Looking back up, he says, "Look, I'm sorry, but you can't hang around here. Somebody'll call the cops. If you go down a couple of blocks, there's a shelter. They might be able to help you out, get you a place to stay."
They stare at each other and he wants to say something - can feel the words on the back of his tongue - opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. The stranger frowns at him and muttering a soft geez, Spencer, get a grip, turns to head back inside.
He mouths the name. Spencer.
He starts forward as Spencer's hand turns on the doorknob--don'tleavedon'tleave--tripping on the forgotten sack of trash at his feet.
His palms hit the ground first, knees following a second later. A startled gasp escapes and another flash of pain rushes across ribs. Crying out, he curls into himself.
"Shit-" Spencer's on his knees a second later, hand hesitant on his shoulder, "-you okay?" His breath hitches again in pain. "Shitshitshit," and after a moment's hesitation, "Hold on. Just--stay here, okay? I'll-I'll be right back. Okay?" Spencer doesn't move until he nods his head.
Where else would I go? He stays silent.
Spencer disappears back into the building and he doesn't move, keeps his breathing shallow. It hurts less that way.
After what seems like forever, Spencer reappears, the white apron he'd been wearing replaced by a dark grey coat. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulders, Spencer helps him stand. Spencer mutters under his breath again and he catches a few words, idiot and eyes. He loses the rest when Spencer's arm slides around his back, fingers curving around his ribs. Warmth seeps through the material of his shirt and he lets himself lean into it, just a little.
"Come on, come on. Let's go before Pete gets the bright idea to come check on me. Shit," Spencer repeats for the millionth time. "Shit, you're skinny. There's nothing to you." Spencer turns them around, towards the street and he recoils, stepping back. Too much- he opens his mouth, but Spencer's already moving them, turning them the other way with a quick, "Okay, okay, we'll go this way."
Spencer's arm around him is firm but not too tight. They move slowly and after a few minutes his legs no longer shake. His steps become more sure. His palms sting a little, he notes vaguely. His body feels cold on the side opposite Spencer. The pressure of Spencer's hand against him, each point of contact, is sharp in his mind. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear the sensation away.
"Hey-"
He turns toward the sound, meets blueblueskyblue eyes. They remind him of something, but the memory eludes him. The frustration must show on his face because Spencer's voice softens, "It's okay man, we'll get you some help. It'll be okay, promise. They'll fix you right up."
Nodding, he tucks his chin down, watching his feet as they shuffle forward. After a moment, Spencer breaks the silence. "You don't talk much; I get that. But, uh, you gotta name? I'd like to know who I'm helping." He can tell without looking that Spencer is smiling. He resolutely keeps his head down, doesn't think he wants to know what that looks like. Not yet.
He opens his mouth to answer, but there's nothing there. Not until-
Ryan
-whispers through his mind.
It feels right.
His voice is low and rough when he answers.
*
"So you don't remember anything? How you got hurt, nothing at all?"
Spencer asks for the third time and Ryan shakes his head in response, not trusting his voice and still trying not to breathe too deeply. He knows Spencer wants to ask more questions, but the sharp flash of pain that shoots through his head every time he tries to remember what happened makes him grateful for his restraint. For the last block or so, a dull ache has settled in his chest. His shoulder blades itchache with each beat of his heart and it's unsettling. Ryan isn't sure what to make of it.
They walk on in silence until Spencer mutters, "Almost there," under his breath. Then louder, "It's about two more blocks until we get to the hosp-fuck-" Ryan drops to his knees, the pain is so sharp. It tears through his chest and he can't breathe from the sudden force of it.
"Shitfuck-" Spencer's still got an arm around him, awkwardly trying to pull him back up. "What the hell, Ryan? What's wrong?" There's an edge of panic to his words and Ryan wants to say I don't know, but he can't speak through clenched teeth. It feels like his heart's in a vice, the pain bleeding out his back, down his shoulder blades.
Spencer manages to get Ryan's feet under him, "Shit. Let's just. Fuck. The hospital's up ahead, let's-" They take a few steps forward and the Ryan can't stop the cry from escaping. The pain increases with each step and he finally manages to grit out, "-no, no further." He looks at Spencer then. He stares back. Spencer must see something since after a second--can'tbreathepainhurryhurry--he's nodding and pulling them back the way they'd come. Ryan breathes easier with each step, the pain lessening to a dull ache after a couple of blocks.
Another couple of blocks and Spencer slows to a halt. Ryan can feel his stare, but it's not until Spencer sighs, deep and frustrated, that he looks up.
"So, I guess hospitals are out then."
**
There's a sign in front of the elevator that reads Out of Order - Please Use Stairs. Spencer curses again.
*
"Hey, Mrs. G, how you doing today?"
Mrs. G is ancient, barely five foot tall with a lined and weathered face. Ryan leans against the wall, watching as Spencer unlocks his apartment. He hears her voice, but doesn't really listen to the answer. An ache has settled into his chest, similar to earlier but nowhere near as intense. Just a murmur that paces with the beat of his heart.
Ryan stares at the lines on her face and thinks of trees. The big ones. Redwood floats through his mind, along with an image of towering solitude, solid against the wind. He wonders briefly how he knows this when he can barely even remember his own name.
Mrs. G glances over towards Ryan and their eyes meet. It's not until Spencer softly asks, "You okay?" that he realizes he's been rubbing his finger tips over his heart. Ryan drops his hand, nodding. He tears his gaze away from Mrs. G and a moment later she shuffles toward her own apartment, the ache fading as she moves away. Spencer gets his door open and Ryan follows him inside, focusing on the weight of Spencer's arm around his back. He does his best not to wonder what that means.
**
He wakes, gasping for air, with a hand grasping after fading laughter, rich and warm. Instead there's nothing but the lining of the couch under his palm. He remembers Spencer helping him down onto the sofa after they'd made it inside. Apparently he'd fallen asleep.
Still trying to catch his breath, he's startled by a new voice shouting, "What the hell were you thinking? Jesus, Spence, you don't have a clue who he is! He could be some crazy serial killer-"
"Don't be so fuckin' dramatic, Brendon." Spencer. Ryan's heartbeat settles back into a steadier rhythm. "And keep your voice down, he's still sleeping." He listens to the shuffle of feet, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "And besides, he barely remembers his own name, what are the odds that he even knows what a serial killer is let alone how to be one."
Ryan rises from the couch, taking an unsteady step. The couch is soft under his fingertips and he rubs his fingertips across it, distracted by the sensation. When something slams down onto the counter, he takes another step toward the noise.
"That is so not the point here, dumbass. He's a total stranger, Spence. What the hell?" A few more steps, more sure this time.
The light from the kitchen falls across the floor and Ryan wiggles his toes, inching forward. He leans against the wall.
"I-I don't know, okay? There's just. Just something. I don't know!"
"This isn't like you, Spence. You don't-"
"I know, Brendon, don't you think I know that? Fuck."
Ryan curls around the door frame. The overhead light blinds him for a second and he speaks before he's blinked his vision clear.
"Hey."
*
Brendon sits on the opposite end of the couch, ridiculously intent on not looking at Ryan. Ryan knows he's staring, but he can't seem to make himself stop. Brendon finally glances over, a quick little movement of his head, before looking back to the clock on the wall. He sighs deeply, shoulders slumping. He stares at his hands for a moment before checking the time again.
It's been 23 minutes--minutessecondshoursdays, he knows these words--since Spencer left to go back to work, leaving Ryan in Brendon's care.
Brendon glances at the clock again. Another sigh.
At 26 minutes, Brendon explodes, "What?! What are you staring at? Why are you staring? Fuck! Do I have something on my face, what?"
"You just. You remind me of something." A flash of golden curl. A honey-smooth song. "Someone."
"Who?"
"I-" He tries to grab on to the images flashing in his head, but they disappear and the pull of skin on his brow distracts him. It's odd, tight. He runs his fingers over the wrinkled skin, smoothing it out and finally mumbles a soft, "I can't remember."
They both sit there in silence.
*
"Look," Brendon states abruptly, startling the quiet air around them, "Spencer's not usually prone to charity cases-" He pauses, frowns, "Okay, that's a big fat lie. Spencer's kind of ridiculous when it comes to lost puppies and and kittens and hell, a goat that one time, but shit, he's never brought a-" he flails his arms around a bit, "-an actual person home before. I'm sure you're a good guy-" his expression belies his belief, "-but it's a little worrisome, okay?"
Ryan doesn't know how to respond. It's not like he can remember what he's like, who he's supposed to be. All he feels is lost, and he just stares hopelessly at Brendon.
Brendon huffs out a gust sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, just. Don't worry about it, okay? If anyone can figure this shit out, it's Spence." He picks up something off the table in front of them and hits a button. "Let's just watch some TV, okay?"
The bright splash of sudden sound startles Ryan, drawing his attention away from Brendon. He turns his head.
*
"Seriously, dude, move back away from tv." Ryan shifts back a little, continuing to watch the movement in front of him. He hears Brendon sigh, then, "You're going to ruin your eyesight-shit." The tone of that last word makes Ryan look over his shoulder. Brendon's staring up at the ceiling and Ryan follows his gaze. "I'm turning into my mother--what are you staring at?"
Ryan drags his gaze back down, but before he can respond Brendon waves a hand, "Never mind. I probably don't want to know." He switches the channel and Ryan turns back to the television. A second later, he unconsciously scoots closer again.
Behind him Brendon sighs again, loudly, but doesn't say anything else.
**
Spencer flips the light on and Ryan blinks at the sudden brightness, stumbling back against him just a little. He catches the movement from the corner of his eyes and looks up.
Spencer is staring back at him and next to him stands a thin, long-limbed stranger. Startled, Ryan realizes that he's looking at himself. Like the TV earlier, it's fascinating. He waves his hand and watches as the person in the mirror does the same. Reaching out, he rests his fingertips against the mirror. It's cool under his fingers.
Spencer shifts next to him and Ryan meets his gaze in the mirror. Under this lighting, their color is even more pronounced. Almost too bright for the small area. He draws his fingers over to Spencer's reflection, to his eyes.
"Mine are brown."
Spencer's gaze is intense, but his voice is casual when he responds with, "I'd say hazel, if we want to split hairs." He shakes his head when Ryan opens his mouth to ask, and settles against the door frame. "So you didn't remember what you look like, huh?"
Ryan searches the mirror for any memory, any spark of recognition. Nothing comes. Spencer settles a hand on his shoulder and says softly, "We'll figure it out."
Ryan continues to stare at his reflection. There are so many differences between him and Spencer. Broad versus skinny, blue versus brown. Their hair is similar in color, but where Spencer's is shiny and sleek, his own curls around his ears, messy. He reaches up to tug a piece straight, but the instant he lets go, it curls back up. Spencer laughs at the frown on his face and Ryan likes that, the way Spencer's face lights up.
He tries a smile of his own.
~*~
[a wire in the circus]
"Spencer."
"Yeah, Ry?" Spencer doesn't look away from the game. Brendon crows when he runs Spencer's car off the road.
"I need a towel."
"They're in the hall clos-Jesus Christ, Ryan!"
"What?" Brendon turns at Spencer's exclamation, eyes widening. His gaze drops and he coughs out a choked, "Holy shit, Ryan, where've you been hiding that thing?"
"Brendon." Before Ryan can answer, Spencer scrambles off the couch and grabs his arm, pulling him back into the hall and away from the living room. Spencer's hand nearly wraps the entire way around his arm, Ryan notes. His fingers slide over Ryan's shower-slick skin.
"I'm just saying-" Brendon's voice holds laughter.
"Keep it to yourself!" Spencer throws over his shoulder. Even in the dimly lit hallway, Ryan can see the redness of Spencer's face. He tugs a towel out of the closet, wrapping it quickly around Ryan's waist. Spencer mutters, "Let's get you some pants, Jesus."
"But, Spence, he's hung like a-"
Ryan watches Spencer's face turn even more red and before Brendon can finish, Spencer hisses, "Brendon."
Laughter follows them into the bedroom.
**
"We need to get you some more clothes." Spencer's eyeing the t-shirt Ryan's currently wearing. Ryan frowns. He likes this shirt, it's soft and comfortable. He says so.
"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you've been wearing the same underwear for a week now." Spencer makes a face - Ryan copies it but it feels strange with his skin - and continues, "And that's just kinda gross, man."
"Underwear?"
Spencer runs a hand over his face and Ryan tilts his head, curious. Spencer looks up and sighs. "Right. Shopping tomorrow."
*
The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches. After several weeks of sharing the same space, Ryan is fairly sure that he's being laughed at. Spencer is trying hard to contain it, but Ryan can tell.
"Is it wrong?" He fiddles with the tassels on the scarf. They're soft and silky to the touch, which he likes. The cream color matches the stripes in his pants.
"It's just-" Spencer bites his lip, "-that shirt should not work. At all." An eyebrow arches. "And yet you manage to pull it off." He shifts the pile of clothes from one arm to the other and pushes Ryan's hands away from where they're still playing with the ends of the scarf. He smiles, "Also, you dress like my grandad. But again, it works for you."
*
"Aaand of course you like that hat."
Ryan turns away from the mirror, grinning, and runs a finger along the brim. Spencer just sighs and tugs it off his head, adding it to growing pile of items on the counter.
Spencer grins at him and Ryan feels his cheeks stretch as his smile widens.
**
It's funny what he remembers and what he doesn't.
He knows his name. He knows what clothes are. For the most part, he knows what things are called. Chair. Table. Street. Room.
Mostly what he doesn't remember, however, are how things feel. The stretch of skin across his face when he smiles. The texture of fabrics/walls/skin under his fingers. The fall of the water down his back in the shower.
And food.
He doesn't remember food and on one hand it makes him sad, but on the other hand, learning it all again is amazing.
Likes:
- the smoothness of pudding
- the crunch of a pickle
- the swish of Jell-O through his teeth (Brendon showed him that one.)
- the richness of milk
Dislikes:
- the squishiness of tomatoes
- the slimy pop of squash seeds
- silverware
Really, anything he can eat without using utensils is a favorite. Spencer makes barbecue one night and the slip-slide of sauce over his fingers intrigues him. Spencer laughs so hard at the surprise on his face when a drumstick flies out his hands and halfway across the floor that Ryan ends up laughing too.
And ice cream. Biting cold sweetness that melts on his tongue.
He could eat ice cream every day.
*
"Nuh-uh," Spencer slaps his hand, "they have to cool first." Ryan takes a moment to study the sting fading over his knuckles and then files it away. He settles back against the counter instead and watches Spencer move around the kitchen.
Over the weeks, they've developed a pattern. Spencer cooks, Ryan watches, and sooner or later Brendon comes over to eat the leftovers. Usually while Spencer's at work. Ryan hasn't been able to say no to the pathetic looks, and he suspects Brendon knows this. Either way, Spencer doesn't seem to mind.
Across the kitchen, Spencer pulls out a cutting board and begins slicing vegetables, his movements quick and clean. The smell of chocolate lingers in the air and Ryan's stomach gurgles. He slides a hand toward the cookies again and Spencer mutters, "You can wait ten more minutes, Ry. Seriously."
Ryan sighs, tucking his hands around his middle and goes back to watching Spencer.
**
About a month after Spencer finds him, Jon comes home from tour.
Brendon spends more time at Spencer's apartment than he does at his own and it's no different today. He's merciless in trying to get Ryan to play a video game, leaning over the back of the couch and interrupting his reading every minute or so. The door slams open and Brendon hollers over his shoulder, "It's about time you got home, Spence. Reader McReaderson here won't play with me!" He pokes Ryan in the neck again and Ryan actually considers biting his finger.
Before he can act on the thought, Brendon lets out a startled, "Hey-!" that makes Ryan turn around. A stranger has arms around Brendon's stomach, lifting him off the ground. Ryan watches Brendon flail around for a second before looking over their shoulders. Spencer's standing in the hallway, a small smile on his face as he watches. Not a stranger then.
"How's my favorite spaz?" The voice is low with a bit of a lisp and Ryan sees recognition hit Brendon, sees the instant he figures out who's got a hold of him. Brendon's face is always animated, expressions changing quickly and often with his moods. Now Ryan watches surprise flow into excitement, a broad grin spreading across Brendon's face. He struggles in earnest and finally the stranger puts him down.
"Jon Walker! You're home! I thought you guys weren't supposed to be back until Wednesday!" Brendon flings his arms around Jon's neck before he can answer, throwing Spencer a narrow-eyed glare. "You wanker, you totally knew about this. I forgive you though-" Spencer rolls his eyes, "-since you brought me JWalk."
Ryan's turned so much to watch the proceedings that his book loses purchase, sliding to the floor. He scrambles to catch it but fumbles and misses. It makes a quiet thump as it hits the carpet. Picking it up and carefully straightening a bent page he looks up to find everyone's attention on him.
Jon clears his throat and steps forward. His arm stays around Brendon and his smile is warm as he says, "So, I guess you must be Ryan."
~*~
[through the door]
After nearly six weeks, Spencer's exhausted every resource trying to find out anything about Ryan. Without a last name or any form of identification, it's been an impossible task. He mentions going downtown to USCIS office, but he's reluctant and both Brendon and Jon immediately veto the idea.
They go to Pete instead.
**
"So."
Ryan looks up from the book splayed across his lap, over the back of the couch where Spencer's standing. There's a silver chain wrapped through his fingers. Spencer's fingers are turning something over and over, but before Ryan can ask what it is, Spencer tosses it down into his lap. It lands across his book with a little thud.
He likes the way the metal slides through his fingers as he lifts it up. A small key dangles at the end. He looks back at Spencer, who shrugs like it's no big deal. "You probably won't need it, but just in case." Spencer leans over the couch and pulls the chain back out of his hands. Ryan makes a small noise of protest, but Spencer loops it around his neck. There's a brief touch of Spencer's fingers against the back of his neck that makes something turn in his stomach. "I put it on a chain because I figured it wouldn't be as easy to lose as everything else." Ryan makes another disgruntled noise. It's not his fault that he forgets where he puts things. Just last week, they'd finally found the scissors.
"That's seriously depressing. I don't know why you're even reading it." Spencer's moves around the couch, sitting down next to Ryan. He frowns at the book in Ryan's lap. Les Miserables runs along the top of the page. "Come to think of it, I'm not even sure why I have it in the first place."
"I'm glad you like it, though." Spencer smirks at him, "Even if it is the most depressing book ever." He laughs at the disgruntled look on Ryan’s face.
**
There's a park not far from Spencer's apartment. It's small, tucked in behind a line of trees that blocks the traffic noise. Ryan's mostly gotten used to abruptness of being outside but there's always a sigh of relief ready when he sits on the lone bench.
Foot traffic is rare during mid-morning, making it his favorite time to visit. The air is crisp and Ryan breathes deep, can feel the expansion in his chest. It's still a disconcerting sensation, but one he likes. Taking another breath, he can feel the coolness of the spare key against his skin and he reaches up to pull the chain out from under his--Spencer's--shirt. He's busy contemplating the smoothness of its sides, running a finger over the jagged edge of the neck, when two white paws appear on his knee.
Startled, the key falls from his fingers and bumps back against his shirt. Ryan looks down to find a small dog, eyes bright and focused. A small pink tongue is hanging out the side of her mouth and it looks like she's smiling at him. Ryan reaches down to run a hand over the top of her head and she yips at him. A second later, she tries to scramble up onto the bench and Ryan helps. The hair on her belly is soft and smooth. She moves in quick, close enough to lay a long wet stripe under his chin and Ryan is startled at the sound of laughter that tumbles out of him.
"Hey," he says softly. She responds with another slobbery kiss and he can feel the stretch of a smile on his face. He ignores the crinkling sensation at the corner of his eyes for scratching behind one of her softsmooth ears.
A familiar ache spreads through his chest and the smile slides off his face. Mrs. G sits slowly and from the corner of his eye, he watches a gnarled, stiff hand grip the back of the bench. It's shaking and so is Ryan. He doesn't look up.
"I see you've met Hobo." Although her body is weak Mrs. G's voice is not. Strong and steady, she continues as though Ryan had responded. "She's a handful, I'll tell you. Don't know what my grandson was thinking." There's affection, Ryan can hear, for both her grandson and the dog in that statement. He finally looks up.
There's something knowing in her eyes that throws Ryan and he works hard not to drop his gaze, to not push the dog away and run back to the apartment. He watches as she stares at him, sees it when her eyes catch the key on the chain around his neck. He should have tucked it back in (Spencer warned him), but it's too late now.
"Oh, child," she says quietly, looking back up. "You are a long way from home, aren't you?" Ryan swallows hard. He can't seem to make his voice work. Hobo whines in his lap.
Mrs. G just smiles at him with kind eyes and turns her attention out into the park. "Such a lovely little corner, isn't it? I do love bringing her out here." There's a pause, then, "It's getting a little too much, though, for me to handle walking this far. It'd be nice if I had someone that could bring her to play for a little every day. It's important for a puppy." Ryan can see the small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.
For a moment, the ache in his chest eases.
*
Ryan's learned to mostly ignore the faint ache that's always present. There are times when it gets a little overwhelming - the second (and last) time Spencer tried to take him to the hospital, for example - but it's become familiar, a part of him. Like breathing, it's not longer something that startles him very often.
There's one day, however, when he gets to Mrs. G's door and the pain hits him so hard that it feels like his heartbeat stutters. He barely makes it back to the apartment, staggering down the hallway into Spencer's bedroom. The shades are drawn and the room is dark, cool. He collapses into the corner between one wall and the dresser, curling his knees to his chest. Tries to catch his breath.
He's lost track of the time, but after a while he becomes aware of noises in the apartment. Someone's singing and it jolts Ryan out of his stupor. The song is unfamiliar, but the voice isn't. Uncurling, Ryan stumbles to his feet.
He finds Brendon in the kitchen, unpacking some groceries. He's singing as he slides items across the counter, into cabinets. Turning he sees Ryan and winks.
Brendon continues to sing, sliding into Ryan's space. A second later, he's twirling Ryan around the kitchen. Ryan's not hearing the words, but he's feeling the sound. The way Brendon's voice wraps around each letter, how it dips and flows. The way it makes the ache in Ryan's chest ease.
They stop and Ryan reaches up, placing his fingers across Brendon's mouth, like he could just transfer whatever it is that's making him breathe easier skin to skin. His mouth is rough and smooth at the same time.
At the touch, Brendon stills. Ryan can still feel the leftover hum from his last tune, can feel the way the hand on the small of his back tenses. He looks up. Brendon's eyes darken and Ryan watches, fascinated.
The door slams and Spencer's voice calls out, "Urie, how many times do I have to tell you to put your damned shoes on the rack?"
Brendon blinks and the look is gone. He pulls away from Ryan and shouts over his shoulder, "I brought you groceries, Smith, I can put my shoes anywhere I want."
Spencer steps into the kitchen with an exasperated, "Asshole. Maybe when you quit eating all our food, you'll have something to bargain with."
Our food. The words are warm in his head and the ache in his chest settles back to normal.
**
Although he's known him the shortest, Jon may be his favorite out of all Spencer's friends that he's met so far. Where Spencer makes his stomach hum and Brendon's presence makes the nerves sing through his fingertips, with Jon around things just. They slow down. Ryan can sprawl along the sofa while Jon sits on the floor with his back to the couch, cats curling around him. He can do that and just feel-
Quiet.
*
"Okay, put this finger here-" Ryan feels the sting of the wire under his finger. Jon places another finger, "-and this one here. Now strum over these four stings." Ryan does so. His fingers feel clumsy, and he watches Jon's hands. "Good. Now switch back to the first one I showed you, and strum all the way down." Jon counts off a beat and after a few minutes, Ryan feels surer, his fingers switching between chords more smoothly. He grins at Jon, the stretch of skin across his cheeks less foreign than it's ever been.
Jon's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles back and Ryan breathes, easy.
~*~
part two