FicWad

A/N I hate life because my other computer totally broke and I had a 5k chapter written. So here’s this crap that nobody’s reading anymore. Kay.
-

The loud music blasts in Ryan’s ear, multiple people rubbing up against him having no real care or particular passion towards it. He’s drunk, much more drunk than he has ever been in his life and he hasn’t come to regret it yet. Something jabs at his arm and he just assumes someone accidentally scratched him, adrenaline not letting him process pain.

He doesn’t care. He hasn’t talked to Brendon since yesterday and school is over. He doesn’t.

Spencer’s around the corner, talking to some girl about how weird the sky looks at night around here, only somewhat sober. He’d be driving tonight. The drink in his hand is beer but it’s almost black and Ryan doesn’t like that kind. Beer initially grosses him out, but he just drinks it to get drunk and feel numb and to just not care. Ryan forgets if he did any drugs like a line or something but he definitely feels a bit of a buzz. His eyes are closed.

“Ryan,” the voice from the weird accent guy calls, “Hey,” an arm drags him out of the group of people.

Ryan blinks hard and looks at Alex with dead eyes, making the long haired guy stiffen. “You… don’t usually do this, and you’re hurt?” Alex touches the red scratches on his arm.

Ryan doesn’t answer. He just stands there, realizing how much of a challenge it has became after all the drinks. “I think I should take you home,” Alex says, grabbing Ryan’s wrist gently and watching his steps.

Spencer sees Ryan and Alex leaving, making eye contact with Alex’s innocent face. He nods once.

“Ryan,” A voice sounds from over his shoulder. “Hey,” Brendon looks at him with wide eyes, the corner of his mouth turned down. “Alex, I can handle it from here.” He sounds rather forceful.

“I wasn’t going to- I mean, listen, I am just taking him home.”

“I can handle it from here,” Brendon repeats, “if that’s okay with you, Ryan.”

Ryan is just looking at Brendon tiredly, helplessly, like the adrenaline just drained from his system.

Brendon’s hand takes Ryan’s instead of grabbing his wrist like Turner did. He’s more gentle and more careful, plus his hands are soft.

Ryan feels like he’s going to throw up soon but he’ll try to hold it because throwing up in a car isn’t classy. Not that getting piss drunk is either, but it’s the principle of the thing. Brendon’s just silent, one hand on the wheel and head resting on the back of the seat as he drives. He looks exhausted, not like he was at a party, and once they get to Ryan’s empty house he drags the older boy to the bathroom and watches him empty his stomach.

Surely that wakes him up a bit, the sound and smell in the room is hard to miss. He scoots closer to Ryan and places a hand on his back, rubbing his fingers on it cautiously. Brendon just swallows hard and holds his breath.

After Ryan is done, they wander up to Ryan’s room and Brendon gets him a glass of water (which Ryan gulps down). He was somewhat dehydrated, feeling limp and exhausted.

He’s defeated again. Ryan can never win, he can never admit to not needing him. He was perfectly fine until he came along.

The dark room gives Ryan the confidence to take off his shirt and jeans and crawl into bed, resting on his side with one eye peaking out, looking. Mad sounds ring in Brendon’s ear. They're telling him to get closer, to lie down. Brendon remains in the doorway, avoiding eye contact.

He can’t tell him anything. He won’t remember it in the morning anyway, apologies are useless. Being in Ryan’s room is useless until the silent ripping whisper comes from Ryan.

“Don’t go,” Not pleading, not demanding. A statement that is just there wandering in empty space. But it convinces Brendon.

“Okay,” Brendon clicks the door shut behind him and walks up the bed, seeing the shadow of Ryan.

Ryan’s hand reaches out to him. “You don’t have to be scared to be around me anymore.” He yawns.

Brendon nods once and takes off his pants, left in his shirt and boxers. The tight v-neck is uncomfortable, gripping his small frame.

“You can barrow one of my old shirts,”

Taking off his shirt, Ryan notices the small curves of Brendon’s torso (which has cuts on it) and hips and Christ, he needs to calm down. Why can’t he be too tired to care? Either way Brendon comes lying on the right side of the bed, crawling under the covers and lying on his stomach, and when he turns his head Ryan’s asleep. Ryan’s face is dark with his body illuminated by the light from the moon.

--

Ryan’s eyes feel cemented closed once he wakes, deciding to just keep them closed. They flick open when he feels a hand on his bare side, an arm wrapped carefully around him. The soft but callused hands he’s already somewhat familiar with.

Brendon is laying on his side, rather close to him. Last night. He went to a party. That’s basically all Ryan remembers in his throbbing head. His mouth tastes horrible. However, he’s somehow comfortable where he is, half hard but not annoyingly so, sliding under the covers more. Whatever happened led to this, so everything must be forgiven.

Two battered boys lying in bed together. The hand resting on one of Ryan’s mostly faded bruises. He’s almost back to normal, sadly Brendon isn’t serving the similar fate. He knows what’s under the shirt, fresh and deep because Brendon thinks he deserves them. He doesn’t. To Ryan, Brendon doesn’t even deserve him.

He closes his eyes once again, feeling the relief from his eyelids. Brendon stirs a bit, pulling away from Ryan and opening his eyes slowly. Both of them are unaware each other are awake until Brendon sits up. Ryan notices then, looking at the younger boy with slight confusion, just sliding his hand on top of his. Brendon flinches under the touch, then accepts it.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan apologizes. Because goddamn, he always has to apologize to him. He always does something wrong.

“No, just forget it.” Brendon murmurs, as they caress each other’s hands. Rather than just holding hands, their finger tips just trace fingers lightly, something that’s odd to Ryan. The action is so careless, but it feels like they’re mutually forgiving each other by each trace.

“Okay,” Ryan whispers, taking in a bit of breath before shifting closer. Brendon is warm, soft, comfortable. His hair is shaggy and tussled, in such a way that Ryan wants to run his hands through it.

Brendon could say the same thing, Ryan having curls that he didn’t know as well before. The hairs curl around his ears and his forehead, almost mop-like. He wishes Ryan was like this more often, completely relaxed and just breathing. The room is still, both of them not talking, just being. “So, question.” A sudden thought has occurred to Ryan, thinking about when he first heard Brendon’s name.

“Hm?”

“Did you and Shane do stuff at that party that got busted?”

Brendon swallows, “Um, yeah.”

“And you were still with Alex then, weren’t you?” Ryan asks, mind spinning.

“No, I wasn’t. I won’t cheat on anyone. Ryan really, stop worrying.”

Ryan huffs, “Don’t tell me that… don’t tell me to not worry. That’s really stupid.”

Brendon backs off. It’s his only choice- both of them are on thin ice. “Fine, yeah. Just- don’t accuse me when I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Brendon really wishes the silence would have lasted. Instead, they decide to move on. Brendon is the first to get out of bed, slipping on his jeans from last night and calling his mom telling her everything is fine. Ryan takes longer, severely hung over. He grabs himself a Tylenol and orange juice once more alert, watching Brendon search for something to eat in the cabinets. The kitchen is severely under stocked, the only main foods are take out and pasta.

“We’re going to buy you real food today.” Brendon decides. “Get some nutrition and meat on those bones.”

Ryan wants to make a foul comment about how Brendon just can’t accept Ryan, but he just takes another sip. “Christ, do you even eat at all?”

Ryan thinks for a moment, yes, he does. Only when he’s around Brendon though, or when he‘s at school. He never bothers to shop for food when at home, so nights when he’s home alone he just forgets to eat. It’s weird that he has to remind himself that oh- eating is something someone does more than once a day- and pop tarts aren’t that filling. He still gets about a thousand calories in by eating lunch.

“Skin and bone, Ross, skin and bone.”

-

It takes both of the boys to shower and be fully ready to leave the house. Brendon is still wearing one of Ryan’s t-shirts, and it feels oddly couple-y and just weird.

Once they drive down to the store, Brendon starts a monologue on all the things he needs and how Ryan is using his own credit card. “So you’ll need fruits and vegetables of course, and you have to eat them before they go bad. I’m not big on meat or on cooking it, as you know, so don‘t expect me to encourage anything there. If you want to eat it, you cook it. We can get you your pasta, grains, and all that stuff. Oh, protein shakes are great too. My mom makes me drink one every morning.”

“Are you trying to make me fat?” Ryan jokes, watching him grab a cart and heading over to the vegetable section.

“I don’t want you to disappear on me! Plus, don’t expect to grow much with your diet.”

“I’m already six-foot.” Ryan lifts his chin, and glares down at Brendon.

“I like my men tall.” Brendon snorts, grabbing a bag and putting sting beans in them. “You can cut these up and put salad dressing on them, then put them in the fridge. They’re great.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and tries to avoid noticing the prices. String beans, bananas, oranges (the weird small ones), and lettuce all go in the cart. Next is bread, crackers, cheese, and various things to make different meals. The worst part is that Ryan will actually have to cook all of it.

“Can we get some of these?” Ryan grabs a box of pop tarts, feeling silly for asking because it is his own money he’s spending.

“Of course not,” Brendon orders, grabbing the box from him. “We’ll get you some whole wheat waffles and you can put peanut butter or Nutella on them. I do this because I care about you.”

“You’re so sweet,” Ryan nudges him, rolling his eyes. Brendon gives a peck on his cheek. It was an honest gesture, but Ryan returns it with a quick kiss on the lips. He missed them.

Nobody has every really cared about him like this before, other than Spencer and his family inviting him over for dinner occasionally. Spencer. Ugh, he wants to talk to Spencer.

“Thanks, Brendon.” Ryan finally says while checking out, walking next to Brendon who’s rolling the cart.

“You’re welcome, for forcing you to spend a hundred bucks on food you most likely will be too lazy to prepare.” Brendon’s probably right.

They load the car and head back, putting the food in the correct places. Brendon leaves out the string beans, as well as onions, chickpeas, and some other type of beans. Ryan groans. “You’ll like it, trust me.” Brendon cracks a half-smile while handing him kitchen scissors, “Make yourself useful and cut off the end of the string beans.”

Ryan listens. He grabs a handful and starts cutting at them, glancing at Brendon organizing the shelves.

“Now what,” Ryan says, showing Brendon.
“Drain these beans in the sink, use a colander.”

“A what?”

“Christ,” Brendon looks around the kitchen, finding the bowl with holes. Ryan makes an “o” with his lips.

“Why aren’t you helping me?” Ryan asks while watching a tan liquid fall out of the chickpeas. He really isn’t used to manual labor.

“You’ll need to know how to do this by yourself. Okay, now just put all the string beans in there, and all the kidney beans in there too.” Kidney beans. Right.

Brendon cuts the onion. He does tear up, and Ryan teases him, asking what insult the onion said to him. The last few days have been a blur, and Ryan doesn’t want to believe anything happened. His headache is still there.

They end up mixing all the vegetables together and putting on the salad dressing. Ryan wants to eat it the way it is, but Brendon takes it and puts it in the fridge. Since they have to wait, Ryan grabs Brendon’s wrist and pulls him down on the couch. The only thing that’s on TV during the day is a soap opera with terrible acting, the characters freaking out over someone getting hospitalized.

“Damn,” Brendon says under his breath, “this show makes me wish I was at school.” He turns it off, Ryan’s expression falling. “Oh god, please don’t tell me you wanted to see the ending.” Ryan pouts. “Fuck, okay I’ll tell you. The girl is in a coma, ‘kay? So she stays in it for like, a year. In that time that guy who loves her kills himself.”

Ryan slaps his arm jokingly, “Ruined it! You ruined it.”

“I keep up with this stuff, trust me. I have sisters.”

“Well still,” Ryan huffs, frowning at the black screen. “I’m bored.”

Brendon sits up, placing a hand behind Ryan’s neck and resting it there. Shivers go down Ryan’s spine unintentionally, the back of his neck has always been sensitive. The older boy turns, leaning in to press his head into the side of Brendon’s neck, feeling the warmth of him. Brendon kisses the side of his head, his soft hair against his lips, wanting to take in everything he’s missed for the past days. Ryan returns the kisses, but on his neck, making Brendon make soft surprised noises from his throat.

They don’t want to say anything. They don’t want to risk ruining the moment, making careful gestures until their lips meet. Ryan’s lips are moist from licking them so much, and Brendon kisses them tenderly, leaving brief kisses as he wraps a hand around Ryan‘s side. Not flinching when Brendon touches him feels refreshing, like he’s feeling like he’ll heal. Brendon keeps kissing him, lightly fondling with the thin fabric of Ryan’s shirt. “Can I?” Brendon whispers against his lips. Ryan nods, nose brushing with his. Ryan’s skin is a golden tan, which wasn’t expected. Apparently he tans easily, but only when he actually spends time outside. He kisses his collar bone, letting his teeth brush against it occasionally. Even though he knows Ryan is perfectly capable of handling Brendon, he wants to be gentle. Ryan makes a satisfied murmur, almost.

“Brendon,” voice low, skeptical, “can I?” He pulls away looking at his shirt that is tight around him. Brendon swallows.

He doesn’t want him to have to deal with someone who looks like this. It’s unfair. He gets a beautiful boy, and well, Ryan gets this. A guy with stupid hair, a stupid face and a messed up body. “I think the salad is about done now,” Brendon says.

“C’mon, Bren, I’ve seen it before. And I’m not exactly a catch either.”

Brendon avoids eye contact, hands quivering slightly. “I don’t want to force you to,”

“You’re guilting me into it, basically.”

Ryan continues to look down at Brendon, “I will never judge you on your appearance, but if it’s any consolation I think you’re gorgeous with or without little red demons on you.”

Little red demons.

“Do you have any ‘little red demons’?” Brendon mutters.

“No,” Ryan reaches for Brendon’s hand. “I always thought my dad beat me up enough, if anything I look for mental distractions rather than physical.”

“Is that why you don’t eat? To keep your mind focused on something?”

“No. It’s why I read. Follow me.” Ryan keeps his hand, walking through the house to a room where Brendon has never been. Watching Ryan walk in front of him, Brendon realizes one thing: Ryan walks with conviction, confidence, insight. Something he has never noticed. It’s different.

The room Ryan takes him into is a large study with tons of books. They all have scratched and rough looking covers, showing their age. “How old are these?”

“Some books my dad bought in the seventies. They smell vile.” Ryan grins, “I used to spend a lot of time in here, but I don’t during the school year. I’d just grab a book and leave.

“This is a room I think my dad forget even exists, so I’d come in here in the summer and just hide all day hoping he wouldn’t come in.” Ryan grabs a book from one of the shelves, handing it to Brendon.

“Smell it.” Ryan orders, motioning down to the book. Of course Brendon listens, coughing after the takes a deep breath in.

“Oh my God,” Brendon gives the book back to Ryan, “that was mean.”

“I warned you.”

Brendon looks around more, at all the titles. A lot are classics, but some are books about gardening and birds. “Your father likes birds?”

“He did,” Oh. “We used have a lot of birds outside our house. He used to fill the bird feeders and bird baths to attract them.” Ryan sits on the big red chair in the corner of the room. He’s still shirtless, now feeling slightly uncomfortable. Brendon sits on the couch. “Can you tell me something?”

Brendon leans his head inward. “Why did you chose cutting yourself as a distraction?” Ryan really doesn’t want to pry, but he has to know. First of all, it’s not even fair how Brendon knows Ryan‘s whole life and he‘s left clueless. Second of all, the only way to get him to stop is to realize what’s causing it. It takes baby steps to get him to the point where he tells Ryan everything.

The fact that the only reason Ryan gave him the time of day before to hide his secrets sounds completely insane. It’s not about this now.

“I, um, was desperate when I first started,” Brendon breathes, “and then I just kept doing it. I liked the pain, I guess.” Brendon’s voice is quiet, making Ryan have to pay close attention. “Ryan, this creeps me out. Can we stop playing therapist?”

“You’re trying to ignore it, and it has became so clear to me. You can trust me, okay?”

“You can trust me too, but you don’t.”

Ryan stares at Brendon blankly. “I d-don’t want to die. I- I just want to remember I’m alive, ‘cause I don’t feel like it sometimes.”

I just want to feel alive. The words echo in Ryan’s head.

“So here,” Brendon reaches his back to take off his shirt, revealing all his scars and fresh cuts. Some are new, as in less than twenty-four hours. His side is practically destroyed. “This isn’t your fault,” He says, walking over to Ryan.

Ryan stands, not saying a word. His fingers ghost over the scars as he bites his lower lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood. He doesn’t know what to do.

He’s known Brendon for two months. Just his presence alone made him feel more at ease. He always looked at Ryan like he’s worth something. The kid always saved his ass and was there when he needed him, but Ryan was barely ever there when Brendon needed him. He couldn’t tell Brendon was hurt in the first place. Ryan should have been able to.

“Brendon,” Ryan is shaking, breath staggering and he can’t help but thing oh crap, not here, because he really can’t afford to make this about himself. The younger boy just pulls him into an embrace, skin against skin and Ryan can feel ever curve of Brendon’s body and his soft skin which is perfect to him.

“Breathe,” Brendon whispers in his ear, Ryan’s heartbeat finding its pace again.