Desperate. Desperate thoughts. Desperate hands. Anything to stop the blood, to make the other okay. .Brendon/Ryan. .Rated R for some language.
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Clammy hands trembled. A bead of sweat trickled slowly from his forehead, down his cheek. His finger slowly released the trigger, the black metal suddenly cold as ice in his thin hands. Mouth slack open, trembles racking his frail body, thoughts incomprehensible, disbelief, body frozen from the sin he had committed just moments ago. Numb – his skin, entire body, felt numb, detached from reality, and he felt as if he had just died. But he wasn’t the one dying – no, it was the other boy lying on the floor, body sprawled out as if he was Jesus Christ, blood oozing from his faintly moving stomach. Reality came crashing down; a sob choked in his throat. What has he done?
The weapon clacking to the floor, Ryan dropped to his knees as tears fell uncontrollably, vision blurring as he crawled to the other with shaky arms.
“B-B-Brendon!! D-Do-Don’t g-g-g-go…!” (If Brendon was okay, he’d give that contagious smile and wrap his arms around him, then whisper in his ear that he would never leave.)
Desperate. Desperate thoughts. Desperate hands. Anything to stop the blood, to make the other okay. Irregular breaths. He knew he was hyperventilating between his pitiful sobs, but Ryan didn’t care – his frail hands clawed out to his lover, sliding in the pool of blood that was slowly forming, tainting the pale skin crimson. Cupping Brendon’s cheeks, blood smeared on the sheet-white skin as he stared desperately at his empty brown eyes, wishing more than anything for his chocolate sunshine orbs.
(If Brendon was okay, he’d gently hold his hand and wipe away his tears, then tell him to stop crying and that everything’ll be okay, because all they need is love.)
(Too bad that Ryan had just butchered their love.)
His face flushed with his erratic breathing, tear-stained cheeks a healthy pink shade. Heartbeats raced faster than the uneven breaths, and Ryan realised he suddenly felt very alive. However, he wanted anything but feeling alive. He didn’t want his aching heart to feel like it was going to rip itself out, or how his hands burned from where he previously handled a black death, because that meant he was going to be alive while Brendon was going to be dead.
The sin was setting his hands on fire, scarring a permanent image—
(If Brendon was okay—)
(he would tell him how soft his hands were—)
the resonating thunder—
(and how much he loved them—)
(and how pure they were.)
It was his entire fault. As he sat beside Brendon, whose breaths were becoming more and more shallow, begging him not to leave and spewing desperate apologies that were slurred together into nonsense by his sobs, Ryan realised, it was his entire fault. He’d accept Brendon back; forgive Brendon for his ruthless hands, his unappeasable anger, because he’d take it all back if Brendon could be okay. In that moment, more than anything, all he wanted is for Brendon to be okay, where he could apologize for that one time he strayed, where he tainted their relationship, where he fucked up Brendon, all because of him.
It was all… His fault.
(If he weren’t such a whore, then Brendon would be okay.)
It’s in that moment. It’s in that moment when you hear how the sonic boom echoes in your ear and the bullet makes contact, it’s in that moment that you realise you’re going to die. That’s the moment when you wish that you had more time to tell the people you love how much you really love them, more time to beg forgiveness for your sins. You wish you had more time to do everything you hadn’t done in life, to kiss your lover goodbye. It’s in that moment, when your entire life flashes in your eyes, that you wish you had more time. You don’t want time to live, you don’t want time to die, you just want fucking time.
Brendon wanted that more than anything. In this moment, with Ryan blubbering above him, he wanted time.
But he knew this was coming. He dreaded it, anticipated when Ryan would finally commit, and he got it, accepted it with falling arms. The bullet pierces his stomach, and as he falls to the ground, he thinks, I deserved this. Now Ryan’s safe from me.
The light was now becoming brighter, faint wailings still resounding in his ear. He wanted to hold him and apologize for all he did to this beautiful boy. This beautiful, broken, bruised boy. Relief was flooding his cloudy mind – Ryan was safe now. Safe from him. Safe from the monster inside him.
He had tortured Ryan so much. So, so much. He fluctuated between himself, between the person he once was and the monster that arose from his darkness, transforming him into a twisted being, a distorted pandemonium. He had taken his flawless angel and ripped his wings away, chaining him to Hell’s insanity. But now, Ryan was safe from him.
And yet… Ryan was still chained to him. Still crying pathetically for him, Brendon noticed, Ryan still wasn’t free; he was right beside him. Then he realised, he hadn’t freed himself from Brendon – Ryan had freed Brendon from his pandemonium. Ryan was still trapped.
However, he suddenly stopped sobbing, and Brendon watched a light flicker in those broken lakewater eyes – an idea. Turning around. Gaze landing on the omnipotent black death a few feet away. Scenarios reeled in his mind.
No, no, no.
Brendon suddenly wanted to scream at him – no, don’t do it – as the frail boy reached for the weapon. However, another half of him didn’t want to stop him, because Brendon knows, if he does this, then they’ll be together, in an eternity just for them.
Handling the shiny death, Brendon watched his angel hold the nose against his hair that covered his right eye. A few moments of silence pass, and Brendon observes him – moonlight shining on Ryan from a window, highlighting the bruises that decorated his body, and Brendon notices that, despite his broken body, he’s still the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. A bittersweet smile graces Ryan’s lips; just for him, Brendon. The last thing Brendon remembers is the tearing sound of love notes thundering in the room and crimson splattering on his angels’ hair. He falls back, landing perfectly next to him. Both close their eyes at the same time.
(The light was bright. Feeling a familiar, soft hand in his, Brendon smiled and reached out. The light and him, that’s all he needed. He was okay.)
My first story ever. This occurred to me when I was supposed to be writing my AP World History essay, and wouldn't leave me alone. I have absolutely no self-confidence, so I think it sucks. Hopefully y'all will like it. Technically, this is going to be a oneshot, but because I developed their whole pasts and stuff, but wasn't able to reveal them in here, if I get reviews from enough people encouraging me to turn it into a story, I might. So, review, tell me if it's good or not, and tell me if I should turn this into a story!