900 Thousand Times I Would...

Ryan stumbled in at four in the morning, half dead and dying. Somehow, he had driven home drunk without killing himself (though he had swerved too close to trees several times). He had forgotten about everything but Pete, which just seemed to be such a terrible punishment. Pete's face just kept appearing in his mind, taunting and cruel. It wasn't fair to have to endure this for much longer. What he needed was sleep.

He had driven all over the place for hours, not knowing where he was going, but just driving anywhere and everywhere. Finally, he had seen a little run down bar on the road and decided to stop in. One drink led to another and another until he could barely remember his name. But still there, in the forefront of his mind the entire time, was Pete. He did everything to try to stop thinking about him and the heartbreak, but he couldn't.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, where he looked at his reflection. His eyes were swollen from crying, and his face was all red and blotchy. His hair was a complete matted brown mess, and his clothes were rumpled beyond compare. He looked like a bum, to be honest; a lonely, dying, piss drunk bum.

Shuffling into his room, he pulled off all of his clothes except his boxers. He looked at his bed, which was mostly covered in darkness. It looked so appealing right then. He threw himself onto it, hearing a squeak of the bed springs.

He tried to get comfortable, but he couldn't. His bed was a lot lumpier than he remembered...

"Uh... get offff," a groggy voice mumbled. Apparently it wasn't the mattress squeaking.

Ryan blinked. What the hell? He got off of his bed, looking at it suspiciously. Slowly, a head emerged. At first glance, his brain told him it was Pete, but on further observation, he realized it was Brendon.

"Ryan?! Oh my gosh, you're okay!" he exclaimed, scrambling from the bed and throwing his arms around his friend, feeling his bare shoulder blades under his fingers.

Ryan was stiff in Brendon's embrace; the alcohol had made his reflexes very rigid, but he managed to wrap his arms around him as well and rest his weight on him.

Brendon pulled away slightly and began kissing all over his face; his forehead, his cheeks, his jawline. Even once extremely lightly on his lips. "Please, don't ever do that to me again! I thought something happened to you," he cried, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

"Sorry," Ryan croaked, his throat dry from all of the alcohol consumed.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here now, I love you, are you okay?" Brendon questioned quickly. He still really couldn't see him in the dark room.

"I'm okay. Just wanna sleep," Ryan slurred.

More tears flowed as Brendon realized he was drunk. "All right, baby, all right, come on, let's go to bed," he said, helping Ryan over to the bed.

Ryan got underneath the covers with him, his face rested immediately in the comfortable crook of Brendon's neck. "I hate him," he mumbled. "I hope he fucking dies."

"Shh, shh, don't say that. Pete loves you, that's all. People do stupid shit when it comes to that. He told me to tell you he's sorry," Brendon explained.

"Still hope he dies. He broke my heart," Ryan stated.

"Shh, no you don't. Go to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning," Brendon told him.

Ryan sighed and buried further into Brendon's warm body. "'Night."

"Good night, Ryan."

Ryan drifted off to sleep, finally getting Pete out of his mind and replacing the image with Brendon.

* * * *

Ryan woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life. His hair was sticking to his forehead and drool had accumulated in the corner of his mouth. Sexy.

Brendon was still next to him, clutching him to his chest tightly. Ryan snuggled further into his embrace, his headache magically being put in the back of his mind. Nothing mattered right now except that Brendon was taking care of him again.

The night previous was fuzzy; he only remembered coming home and Brendon being all worried. That was fine with him, he really didn't want to remember anything else. He wanted to forget about Pete and move on. And it was at that moment he made his decision; he was going to move on. The night before had made him realize that no matter what he did, he and Pete could never be together. So what was the point on being hung up on it? He needed someone who loved him, someone he could be happy with.

He felt Brendon beginning to stir, and he looked up at his face. "Hey," he said.

Bren looked down at him and smiled. "Hey. You feel okay?"

"My head just hurts a little. But I'm okay," Ryan replied.

Brendon smoothed down Ryan's hair. "Good. I'm starving. Let's go eat," he suggested.

"All right," Ryan agreed, standing up. His head pounded and the room spun slightly as he put his hand to his forehead.

"I'll get you some Tylenol," Brendon told him, standing up as well and going into the bathroom. He came back a minute later with two extra strength tablet and a glass of water.

Ryan took them and downed the pills. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"No problem. Let's get you some nasty Rice Crispies," Brendon smiled.

Ryan nodded, following him into the kitchen where Spencer and Jon were seated, eating their own cereal already.

"Oh, look, the beast returned," Spencer observed.

"Ya," Ryan muttered, grabbing his Rice Crispies and pouring himself a bowl.

"Where'd you go, dude?" Jon questioned.

"I don't know. Nowhere in particular," Ryan replied sitting down on a stool and beginning to eat.

"Dude, you almost gave Brendon a heart attack," Spencer told him.

"Did not," Brendon denied, sitting down next to Ryan with his Froot Loops.

"Did so!" Spencer argued.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Shut the fuck up my head is going to explode!" Ryan yelled.

The both quieted down after that and Ryan massaged his temples. It was going to be a long day.