Strictly Under the Influence
Shocking, I Know
Ryan groans and presses his hands to his head when he wakes up the next day. “Oh, my God,” he says, aloud, “I can't remember anything.” Everything hurts. His head, his arms, his legs. Everything. He stumbles out of bed and to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind himself, Ryan turns the light on, and then almost immediately after, he shuts it off, because it hurts his head.
When he gets out, the first thing he does is go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. “Afternoon,” Brendon says from the couch.
“Eh,” Ryan groans back in acknowledgement to Brendon's greeting. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and rummages on top of it for Tylenol.
Afterwards, Ryan drags himself to the living room to take a seat next to Brendon, who says, “You have any plans today?”
“Nursing my hangover,” Ryan replies glumly. He asks, “What happened last night?”
Ryan's afraid he may have done something he would regret, like maybe something with Brendon, or worse, a stranger, but he isn't sure how he even got home.
In the midst of his thoughts, Ryan still caught Brendon's grin before he answers with a, “I'm not sure you want to know.”
“Did I hook up with anyone?”
Brendon shakes his head, the same grin still plastered to his full lips. “Just flirted with anyone and everyone,” he tells Ryan. Groaning, Ryan buries his head in his hands.
_
On the way to the mall, Ryan stares out the passenger-side, random and occasionally dangerous thoughts cross his mind. Still not believing everything that went down with Jac, thoughts of suicide often cross his mind. Paired with the stress of three jobs and nostalgia for a mother he's never really known, is enough to send him into a light depression. He doesn't tell Brendon. He doesn't tell Spencer. Ryan knows they won't understand.
Ryan fiddles absentmindedly with his new cell phone he bought since he's dwindled on his drinking habits. Flipping it open, then back shut, a few times, he looses interest and stuffs it back in his pocket. Ryan considers lighting a cigarette, but knows Brendon's trying to quit, so quickly shoves that to the back of his mind.
Turning his gaze back to the flat landscape rolling by, Ryan contemplates his chances of actually succeeding if he attempted suicide. Then, he wonders how many people would actually miss him.
“We're here,” Brendon says, interrupting Ryan's unhealthy thoughts. He looks over to Brendon, then to the mall on the outside of Brendon's truck.
“Oh,” Ryan replies quietly and unbuckles his seatbelt.
Upon entering the Vegas mall, Ryan peers around at the random people. People whose lives don't interact with his own on a daily basis. People who could care less if he dropped off the face of the Earth at that very moment in time and space.
Ryan sighs and turns his attention back to keeping his balance and not falling on his face. He looks back up to Brendon, who's looking around at the different stores and different people, and says, “Where should we go first?”
He watches as Brendon shrugs and turns his gaze to him. “I need new jeans-so I guess we're off to American Apparel,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his older, worn out jeans.
Ryan doesn't argue. He doesn't say much of anything on the way to the store. He just sort of watches Brendon out of the corner of his eye. Following the younger boy's gaze, Ryan finds himself looking at some guy's butt. “Brendon,” he says, genuinely shocked.
Brendon snaps his attention from his wandering mind to Ryan. “What?”
“You were checking him out,” He says incredulously.
Nodding, Brendon rolls his eyes, “Uh, yeah? Does it matter?”
Ryan rolls his shoulders and thinks about it. Does it matter? It shouldn't, not to Ryan, at least. He shouldn't care who Brendon does or doesn't look at. Guy or girl.
Brendon cracks a small grin. “Ryan,” he says quietly as they slip into the store, “are you sure you're not gay?” And then Ryan ponders the thought for a while. Is he gay? Is he physically attracted to guys? No, he's not. He can't be gay. But he's attracted to Brendon.
Is there something wrong with Ryan? He doesn't know and his head starts to hurt.
_
There's a small chapel-type thing down the street from where Ryan lives now where he used to go when his mom was around, or so his dad had said. He's sitting in the pews one Sunday morning trying to straighten his thoughts out. He stands when he's supposed to and sits when he's supposed to, but his thoughts are elsewhere.
Church is like a practiced morning routine for Ryan. From when he was fourteen up until he was eighteen, he'd gone to church to escape the havoc at his own home. Every Sunday morning. Sunday night, and Wednesday evening. He was in the chapel or the belfry, praying for something better than what he was given.
And now that it's here, he isn't sure what to do with it. He thinks Brendon is a wonderful friend and he deserves someone who can be just what he's looking for. And Ryan thinks he just isn't it for Brendon.
Ryan's not even gay. But he likes Brendon. Sort of. He sighs and takes the small offering bowl being passed around and puts a few spare one's in it, then passes it to a small girl standing at the end of his otherwise empty pew. She has long, dark brown hair, and big, almond shaped blue eyes. She reminds Ryan of Brendon, and he thinks she'll be lucky when she gets older.
The preacher says one last closing prayer, and then dismisses everyone to have a great Sunday. Ryan quickly and quietly slips out while everyone is giving their usual “hello”s and “how's the family”s and goes to get in his truck/SUV/car-type thing.
When Ryan gets home, he's got a lot of abstract thoughts running through his mind, most of which, are about Brendon, and some sentences he's sure he's going to tell him. But, when Ryan opens the door, and Brendon's sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal in midbite, Ryan just melts and sits beside him.
Brendon just blinks and smiles at him, and then Ryan's thoughts are even more jumbled up. He sighs, takes Brendon's bowl, and sits it down on the table. “Brendon,” he starts.
Ryan can tell Brendon's starting to get confused by the look on his face. His brows are scrunched together and he's staring at Ryan like he's trying to figure something out that no one else knows. “Brendon,” he says again, “I'm just going to say it.” Ryan takes in a deep breath and says, “I'mnotgaybutilikeyouandiwasjealousatthemalltheotherdayandidon'tknowhowyou'lltakeitbu-”
Brendon closes the distance between the two of them and meets Ryan by a hand on his thigh and a kiss on his lips. “You've always talked too much,” Brendon mumbles into his lips.
Ryan sighs, thankful Brendon didn't reject him, and places a shaky hand over Brendon's. “I'm new to this,” he whispers, “to being gay, and liking a guy.”
Brendon smiles and places a small kiss on the tip of Ryan's nose. “It's okay,” he says, “I'm here for you.”
_
Brendon's elated. He could never ever be happier in his life. Or so he thinks. Ryan's confessed he has a thing for Brendon and now they're sort of hooking up, so to speak.
Ryan's back is pressed against the kitchen counter one afternoon with his lips joined to Brendon's in a passionate kiss. Brendon takes one of his free hands and moves it from the counter to Ryan's side. He audibly gasps and looks down to where Brendon's hand is. Then back up to Brendon, himself, and meets him back in a kiss.
The front door shuts and Spencer comes in, but Brendon barely realizes this. “Hey, guys, I we-whoa. Okay, Brendon, Ryan. Save it for later?”
Brendon jumps back and rubs his neck nervously. “Sorry, Spence,” he says, “Got carried away.” Stealing a glance at Ryan, Brendon sees his cheeks are flushed as he turns to grab a glass and fill it with water.
“I'll say,” the blonde scoffs. He rolls his eyes and sits to big brown, paper bags on the counter. He clears his throat and says, “But, as I was saying, I went to the grocery store and picked up a few things.”
Brendon nods, not exactly caring that his roommate went to the store to get groceries, while Spencer continues, “I invited someone over for dinner tonight, so I'm making something not so meat-less.”
His interest perking up when the youngest of the house says he met a girl, Brendon grabs a soda out of the fridge and asks, “Who's the lucky lady?” When Brendon's head comes out of the fridge he looks around for Ryan, to be only be met with Spencer's flushed cheeks. He wonders where his new attraction wandered off to.
When he gets out, the first thing he does is go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. “Afternoon,” Brendon says from the couch.
“Eh,” Ryan groans back in acknowledgement to Brendon's greeting. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and rummages on top of it for Tylenol.
Afterwards, Ryan drags himself to the living room to take a seat next to Brendon, who says, “You have any plans today?”
“Nursing my hangover,” Ryan replies glumly. He asks, “What happened last night?”
Ryan's afraid he may have done something he would regret, like maybe something with Brendon, or worse, a stranger, but he isn't sure how he even got home.
In the midst of his thoughts, Ryan still caught Brendon's grin before he answers with a, “I'm not sure you want to know.”
“Did I hook up with anyone?”
Brendon shakes his head, the same grin still plastered to his full lips. “Just flirted with anyone and everyone,” he tells Ryan. Groaning, Ryan buries his head in his hands.
_
On the way to the mall, Ryan stares out the passenger-side, random and occasionally dangerous thoughts cross his mind. Still not believing everything that went down with Jac, thoughts of suicide often cross his mind. Paired with the stress of three jobs and nostalgia for a mother he's never really known, is enough to send him into a light depression. He doesn't tell Brendon. He doesn't tell Spencer. Ryan knows they won't understand.
Ryan fiddles absentmindedly with his new cell phone he bought since he's dwindled on his drinking habits. Flipping it open, then back shut, a few times, he looses interest and stuffs it back in his pocket. Ryan considers lighting a cigarette, but knows Brendon's trying to quit, so quickly shoves that to the back of his mind.
Turning his gaze back to the flat landscape rolling by, Ryan contemplates his chances of actually succeeding if he attempted suicide. Then, he wonders how many people would actually miss him.
“We're here,” Brendon says, interrupting Ryan's unhealthy thoughts. He looks over to Brendon, then to the mall on the outside of Brendon's truck.
“Oh,” Ryan replies quietly and unbuckles his seatbelt.
Upon entering the Vegas mall, Ryan peers around at the random people. People whose lives don't interact with his own on a daily basis. People who could care less if he dropped off the face of the Earth at that very moment in time and space.
Ryan sighs and turns his attention back to keeping his balance and not falling on his face. He looks back up to Brendon, who's looking around at the different stores and different people, and says, “Where should we go first?”
He watches as Brendon shrugs and turns his gaze to him. “I need new jeans-so I guess we're off to American Apparel,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his older, worn out jeans.
Ryan doesn't argue. He doesn't say much of anything on the way to the store. He just sort of watches Brendon out of the corner of his eye. Following the younger boy's gaze, Ryan finds himself looking at some guy's butt. “Brendon,” he says, genuinely shocked.
Brendon snaps his attention from his wandering mind to Ryan. “What?”
“You were checking him out,” He says incredulously.
Nodding, Brendon rolls his eyes, “Uh, yeah? Does it matter?”
Ryan rolls his shoulders and thinks about it. Does it matter? It shouldn't, not to Ryan, at least. He shouldn't care who Brendon does or doesn't look at. Guy or girl.
Brendon cracks a small grin. “Ryan,” he says quietly as they slip into the store, “are you sure you're not gay?” And then Ryan ponders the thought for a while. Is he gay? Is he physically attracted to guys? No, he's not. He can't be gay. But he's attracted to Brendon.
Is there something wrong with Ryan? He doesn't know and his head starts to hurt.
_
There's a small chapel-type thing down the street from where Ryan lives now where he used to go when his mom was around, or so his dad had said. He's sitting in the pews one Sunday morning trying to straighten his thoughts out. He stands when he's supposed to and sits when he's supposed to, but his thoughts are elsewhere.
Church is like a practiced morning routine for Ryan. From when he was fourteen up until he was eighteen, he'd gone to church to escape the havoc at his own home. Every Sunday morning. Sunday night, and Wednesday evening. He was in the chapel or the belfry, praying for something better than what he was given.
And now that it's here, he isn't sure what to do with it. He thinks Brendon is a wonderful friend and he deserves someone who can be just what he's looking for. And Ryan thinks he just isn't it for Brendon.
Ryan's not even gay. But he likes Brendon. Sort of. He sighs and takes the small offering bowl being passed around and puts a few spare one's in it, then passes it to a small girl standing at the end of his otherwise empty pew. She has long, dark brown hair, and big, almond shaped blue eyes. She reminds Ryan of Brendon, and he thinks she'll be lucky when she gets older.
The preacher says one last closing prayer, and then dismisses everyone to have a great Sunday. Ryan quickly and quietly slips out while everyone is giving their usual “hello”s and “how's the family”s and goes to get in his truck/SUV/car-type thing.
When Ryan gets home, he's got a lot of abstract thoughts running through his mind, most of which, are about Brendon, and some sentences he's sure he's going to tell him. But, when Ryan opens the door, and Brendon's sitting on the couch eating a bowl of cereal in midbite, Ryan just melts and sits beside him.
Brendon just blinks and smiles at him, and then Ryan's thoughts are even more jumbled up. He sighs, takes Brendon's bowl, and sits it down on the table. “Brendon,” he starts.
Ryan can tell Brendon's starting to get confused by the look on his face. His brows are scrunched together and he's staring at Ryan like he's trying to figure something out that no one else knows. “Brendon,” he says again, “I'm just going to say it.” Ryan takes in a deep breath and says, “I'mnotgaybutilikeyouandiwasjealousatthemalltheotherdayandidon'tknowhowyou'lltakeitbu-”
Brendon closes the distance between the two of them and meets Ryan by a hand on his thigh and a kiss on his lips. “You've always talked too much,” Brendon mumbles into his lips.
Ryan sighs, thankful Brendon didn't reject him, and places a shaky hand over Brendon's. “I'm new to this,” he whispers, “to being gay, and liking a guy.”
Brendon smiles and places a small kiss on the tip of Ryan's nose. “It's okay,” he says, “I'm here for you.”
_
Brendon's elated. He could never ever be happier in his life. Or so he thinks. Ryan's confessed he has a thing for Brendon and now they're sort of hooking up, so to speak.
Ryan's back is pressed against the kitchen counter one afternoon with his lips joined to Brendon's in a passionate kiss. Brendon takes one of his free hands and moves it from the counter to Ryan's side. He audibly gasps and looks down to where Brendon's hand is. Then back up to Brendon, himself, and meets him back in a kiss.
The front door shuts and Spencer comes in, but Brendon barely realizes this. “Hey, guys, I we-whoa. Okay, Brendon, Ryan. Save it for later?”
Brendon jumps back and rubs his neck nervously. “Sorry, Spence,” he says, “Got carried away.” Stealing a glance at Ryan, Brendon sees his cheeks are flushed as he turns to grab a glass and fill it with water.
“I'll say,” the blonde scoffs. He rolls his eyes and sits to big brown, paper bags on the counter. He clears his throat and says, “But, as I was saying, I went to the grocery store and picked up a few things.”
Brendon nods, not exactly caring that his roommate went to the store to get groceries, while Spencer continues, “I invited someone over for dinner tonight, so I'm making something not so meat-less.”
His interest perking up when the youngest of the house says he met a girl, Brendon grabs a soda out of the fridge and asks, “Who's the lucky lady?” When Brendon's head comes out of the fridge he looks around for Ryan, to be only be met with Spencer's flushed cheeks. He wonders where his new attraction wandered off to.