Heartbeat

“You know,” Brendon had said to Ryan once, “we’re all dying, really. The minute we’re born, we’re dying. I’m just doing it faster than you.”

Ryan fell in love with Brendon before he knew the younger boy was dying. He didn’t say anything, but Brendon picked up on it. When Ryan kissed him, Brendon kissed back. Then the next day, Brendon didn’t show up for band practice.

That was the day Ryan found out Brendon was dying.

He dialed Brendon’s cell phone number, breath hitching slightly when his mother Grace answered. “Hello?” she asked, voice tight.

“Is Brendon there?” Ryan asked quietly, terrified of the answer.

“Brendon’s--”

“Is that Ryan?” a voice in the background interrupted, loud. “I want to talk to him. Give me the--”

“Brendon, you need to--”

“Give me the damn phone.” Ryan heard a shaky breath and then Brendon’s voice directly in his ear. “Sorry about practice.” the boy said. “I’m in the hospital. You should come see me, bring me McDonalds. I’m starving.”

“Are . . . are you okay?” Ryan asked. “What happened?”

“It’s just my heart.” Brendon said dismissively. “It happens. Can you bring me McDonalds?”

Ryan could hear Grace’s voice in the background, but he couldn’t make out the words. “I, uh, sure. What hospital?”

Ryan walked in the front doors of the hospital, a McDonalds bag in his messenger bag. “I’m looking for Brendon Urie’s room.” he told the receptionist, trying to ignore the smell and sounds of the building. He hated hospitals.

“Are you family?” the receptionist asked with a kind smile.

Ryan shook his head. “He asked me to come. Brendon asked me to come.”

She looked down for a moment and then back up, still smiling. “He’s in room one sixty-two. Go down this hallway and take a right.” She pointed then lowered her head once more.

Ryan’s feet felt heavy on the hard floor. Nobody paid attention to him walking through the halls; he may as well have been a ghost. He was used to it, though. He didn’t expect any different. The door to Brendon’s room was open. A nurse was writing a few things in a clipboard; his parents weren’t there.

“Ry!” Brendon cried, loudly enough to make the woman in the room jump and set her jaw before continuing to scribble numbers down.

“Hey.” Ryan answered awkwardly, sitting down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs next to Brendon’s bed. “Where’s your mom?”

“They’re in the cafeteria, getting coffee and talking to my doctor.” Brendon said. He sounded the way he normally did. His surroundings and whatever had brought him here hadn’t made a difference in his demeanor, Ryan noticed. He was still confused.

“Are they talking about your heart?”

“They’re probably talking about handcuffing me to the bed and hiring someone to record my bowel movements.” Brendon said, rolling his eyes. High heels clicked on the floor and the nurse left the room. “Did you bring me McDonalds?” the boy asked the second she was gone.

Ryan pulled the paper bag out and handed it to his friend, watching Brendon inhale the Big Mac and fries. “I think hospital food is made to kill you faster.” he said between bites. “Which doesn’t make sense because they make more money off of you if you’re alive, but maybe they’re just sick of seeing me here.”

Ryan was silent for a moment. “What happened?”

“I fainted last night.” Brendon said, tossing the Big Mac box toward the trash can and starting in on the fries. “I have a heart problem. It happens sometimes.”

“It’s not serious though, right?”

Brendon shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by serious, I guess. My parents think it’s the end of the world.”

“Did you skip your medication? Is that why you fainted?” Ryan asked. He was prying; he didn’t care.

“No. I never skip my meds. It was probably pot or beer or something. I went to a few parties this week.” Brendon looked at Ryan, his expression serious. “It’s not a big deal. It happens. I’m fine.”

“Brendon!” Grace Urie’s not so dulcet tones sounded in the room. “You shouldn’t be eating that.” She snatched the box of french fries from his hand, tossing it in the trash can. “Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?”

“The heart already attacked, Mom.” Brendon said dryly. “I’m good for another month. And I’m fucking hungry.”

“You told the nurse you didn’t want your supper.”

“I didn’t. It’s nasty. You try eating it.” The boy looked at Ryan, rolling his eyes. ‘Save me.’ he mouthed.

“This isn’t funny, Brendon.” his mother said, voice trembling. “You have to take care of yourself. You won’t live to see twenty-five if you keep this up.”

“You’re--”

But Ryan interrupted. “Is it that bad?” he asked, eyes widened slightly.

“No.” Brendon said, glaring at him. “It is not that bad. She’s over exaggerating. Don’t worry about it.”

Grace spoke directly to Ryan, ignoring her son. “He was born with a heart condition. He probably won’t live . . . past . . . past thirty.” The last word was a whisper as her eyes filled with tears and she started to cry softly.

Ryan turned to look at Brendon. The younger boy’s jaw was set. “Bren?”

“It is not a big deal.” the boy snapped. “We’re all dying. We all die. The second you’re born it’s a guarantee that you’re going to croak.” He looked at his mother. “And if you think keeping me locked in some box is going to stop it from happening, you’re seriously fucked.”

Ryan didn’t hear much of the following argument. He left before Brendon’s mother finished her rebuttal sentence. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he ran through the hallway and outside, gulping frantically for air. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening.

But it was, he knew it was. Ryan sank onto the grass against the building, crying, ignoring the sounds around him. His sobs quieted eventually, though the tears kept running. He took a walk. He had left his bag in Brendon’s hospital room; his car keys were in it. So he walked. He walked until the tears stopped and the reality sunk in and he had gathered up a small reserve of courage. Just enough to walk into Brendon’s room and get his bag.

Just enough to kiss the boy he loved (who was not so conveniently dying) before he went home and tried to study for his algebra test.

Visiting hours were over when Ryan went back in, but no one said anything. “Forget something?” Brendon asked, his eyes flicking to the boy and then back to the television screen.

Ryan nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Bren . . .”

“She scared you off, didn’t she?” For the first time since Ryan had made his phone call, Brendon sounded vulnerable.

“Are you dying?” Ryan whispered.

“Same as you.” Brendon turned off the television and shrugged. “But not really. I’m not dying. My heart just probably won’t make it past thirty is all. It’s not like cancer.” Slowly, tentatively, he reached out and squeezed Ryan’s hand. “I understand if you want to leave. I won’t be angry.”

Ryan didn’t say anything. There was a choice, but at the same time there really wasn’t. Either way he got hurt. And only one way did he get what he want. His leaving wouldn’t change the reason Brendon was in the hospital bed. “I’m not going anywhere.” Ryan said, voice shaking slightly as he leaned in to brush his lips against Brendon’s.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” Brendon murmured when they broke apart. “Can you pick me up for practice?”

“You don’t--”

“I’m fine.” Brendon kissed him again. “I’m not going to break, Ryan. Don’t strangle me, okay?” His voice was softer than it had been earlier.

“Don’t die on me.” Ryan whispered, his voice cracking.

Brendon pulled Ryan to his chest, kissing the top of his head. “Can you spend the night? Betty’s the nurse; she likes me. She’ll let you.”

“What about your parents?” Ryan sat up, wiping at his cheeks with the heel of his hand.

“You’ll be gone for school before they get here.” Brendon smiled. “Please?”

Ryan nodded, kicking his shoes off and climbing into the bed, pulling the blanket up. “You shouldn’t be too hard on your parents, Bren. They’re just worried about you.”

“If they were consistent, I probably wouldn’t be.” Brendon turned the television back on. “Half the time they’re terrified that if I piss standing up I’ll go into cardiac arrest. The other half they won’t even admit to my mortality and keep babbling about veterinary school and preparing for my future.”

“If it were me,” Ryan whispered, “I’d be terrified.”

“I’m going to die younger than I’d like, sure.” Brendon turned to look at him. “But I’m not going to spend my life dying. It’s a waste. I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re so brave.”

“Not really.” Brendon grinned. “Just stubborn.”