Sick Boy

True to his promise, Ryan did not get drunk the next night or the night after. Meh. Gerard was right. It was fun while it lasted, but everything was bound to catch up in a matter of hours. That night with Brendon and Spencer, Ryan had gotten wasted. Wasted to the point that Spencer nearly wouldn’t let him in the car. But at least he wasn’t alone, because Brendon was just as bad as him.

“Have fun?” Gerard asked when Spencer dragged his best friend in by the collar.

“Me? Oh fuck no. Now hurry and get him to a toilet. He’ll be pissed if he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that he vomited on his own floor.” Well of course he would. Dear god, Spencer, wouldn’t you? Well…your mother would be at least. And your sisters. And your dogs. But Ryan—they’re hardly even here—oh shut up. You’re just jealous ‘cause your girlfriend lives too far away.

Gerard had been kind that night, but in a standoffish way. It was understandable. He was mostly pissed of at Ryan in general. The boy was perfect but something about his perfection wasn’t working right! Sick Boy The nickname now fit. Ryan was sick. Well he had always been sick, but it had been a different kind of sick. Something that could be treated with drugs, therapy and lived with. This was different. It wasn’t alcoholism. Not really. But—the boy was drunk or hung over all the time. He was a toilet bowl groupie, intent on familiarizing himself with the porcelain bowl.

“Good morning,” Ryan smiled to Gerard on the first hangover-free day—two days after Ryan’s last escapade around his hometown with his two best friends. The day before he left. Before Gerard left. Their last chance to make up and out. Not that they were fighting—but there was a tension.

“Good morning Sick Boy,” Gerard smiled back in reply to Ryan. It was near ten, but thin white sheets and a thicker blue quilt still covered Gerard and Ryan up past their chests. It was nice—lying in bed with the person you dreamt about the night before. Uninterrupted, they could do this for hours. They did—when they had the time. But time keeps going and refuses to let us go and so Ryan and Gerard were still bound to that standard. Time.

“How’re you?” Odd. Not to wake up with a headache. You ought to try sobriety more often, Sick Boy. Works for Gerard. But Gerard’s insain. Or sain. Either way, the man spells four letter words wrong. Don’t take all your advice from him. He’s close to perfect but he’s not there. He’s closer than you are though. Yet again, that doesn’t say much.

“Mmm,” Gerard muttered, putting his hand against the side of Ryan’s cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

“That doesn’t answer my question—but thanks anyways.”

“It’s true.”

“Oh?”

Gerard felt Ryan’s cheek crease against his hand as he smiled. This was a nice Ryan to have. He was the perfect version—the impeccably stunning, wonderful version of Ryan. The sober version.

“What do you want to do today?” Gerard asked, trying to make Ryan’s drinking of late go away forever. Forever. Meaning he never drank again. Shut up, Gerard. That’s you. Not Ryan. It wouldn’t kill you to let him live his life. God.

“I dunno.” Ryan bit his lip. Infer it, boy. You’re a writer—you know…allude to the topic.

The word hung thick in the air. Sex. S-E-X. It would have been nice. But it could wait. Gerard wasn’t ready to completely forgive Ryan just yet. Ryan knew his desires were bound to be ignored for at least another day. It was just to obvious.

“Ungh,” Gerard whined when he understood what Ryan wanted, “No. Not today.”

This caused Ryan to pout. But it was as he imagined. Predictable Gerard—perfectly predictable. And that was how he liked it.

“Sorry—I’ll make you waffles?” Gerard offered.

“Okay. Good enough.”

Gerard got out of the bed and laughed, “They’ll make you orgasm—don’t you worry.”

Oh fuck Gerard, you insensitive little bitch. Ryan tried to contain his annoyance. It wasn’t really the sex he wanted—it was the admittance of love and forgiveness. It was a peace offering. Ryan had extended his and he waited patiently for Gerard’s. Waffles—no. Definitely not. Oh Gee. You just…oh my. You’re clueless.

But it was plain to see, yet hard to say, that Gerard was not going to forgive Ryan anytime soon. So Ryan shut up, sucked it in and ate his waffles.

**

In the end, Gerard and Ryan decided to just go out. To hang out, to do what most normal people do together. Live. They were just gonna go downtown, tourist watch, maybe get some food and shop. Which had virtually been Ryan’s live before Gerard—before Pete Wentz. Except somewhere in there had been woven sanity, girls, parents, alcoholism and the promise never to drink. Ever.

Yeah. Like that had lasted. You fucker Ryan. You complete and utter bastard.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Gerard muttered, not looking up.

Ryan looked hopeful for a moment. Forgiveness? Sex? Fun? Fuck?

“No Ryan. I’m still pissed at you.”

“Why?” Ryan whined. Acting gay and sex-addicted was sort of fun. You ought to try it more Ry, you ought to just have fun with it! Because we all know you love it. And you’re probably just in this relationship for the sex. Well that’s not true. Let’s not go to far.

“Ry—you got drunk three nights in a row. I never get to see you and when I do—all you want to do is get drunk? I mean—Ry, I miss you!”

Ryan bit his lip. Gerard was right. You’re an asshole Ryan. “Fine. Sorry.”

Gerard sighed. Ryan was now sad. You’re an asshole Gerard. “I didn’t mean that like…I mean, whatever. I—I’m just gonna take a quick shower and we’ll go? Okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want a shower afterwards?”

“No. I took one last night.” A frown. Well…okay, no make up sex.