Keeping Quiet

Ryan likes when Brendon's voice cracks, but he never says this.

When Brendon's fingers trace the piano keys like they're the glass separating a child from an aquarium of sea worlds, his joints bend and brush against every key and every time, Ryan thinks it's perfect. Sometimes Brendon's nails chip when he hits the F sharp, sometimes Brendon bites his lip when he hits the B flat. In minor, Brendon's eyes are round like a Bassett Hound's. In major, they're like doorknobs left hanging on open doors. And his voice, sometimes it falters, sometimes it carries a tune like a bird carries a wheelbarrow. And sometimes Ryan can tell that Brendon is singing for him and only for him. Ryan appreciates this but never mentions it in passing conversation.

Ryan thinks Brendon was dropped on his head as a child, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Brendon has these fits. See, he goes into fits of giggles or fits of push ups or fits of handjobs or fits of philisophical theories. (One time Brendon told Ryan that if the world were upside down, we wouldn't know it because we're all being pushed up and together and maybe that's why everyone's always fucking-- to keep the gravity together. And Ryan doesn't think this makes sense, but it did make him think about things.) Ryan tries to act surprised when Brendon pushes him against walls, against amps, against store windows. Tries to act surprised when Brendon chews through his third pair of iPod headphones, but Ryan never bursts into laughter or pries his eyes wide open in shock. Ryan just keeps quiet and silently adores him.

Ryan often wonders why Brendon ran away from home, but he never asks about it.

When Brendon's lying in his bed, bunk, floor, barstool, Ryan notices the leftover religion in his eyes and wonders where the rest of it went. Ryan sees the way Brendon's arms sometimes hang like stained glass over a church and he wants to ask if he does that on purpose or by habit, because Ryan knows he just stared at the painted windows while the priest went on and on about God and why He hid from His mistakes. Sometimes, in hotel rooms, Brendon pulls out the Bible and tears out a page, the page that says, "Thy word is a lamp to my feet, And a light to my path," because for Brendon, that path was not light but fire and he did not follow, he ran away. Ryan lets him rip the page out, lets him add his own small Post-It, lets him write, "The light to my path was not Thy word, it was Ryan's," because Ryan can't say shit to that besides I love you.

Ryan sometimes thinks back to the day they met, but he never says that out loud.

Ryan notices Brendon's lips first, his eyes second and his hands fifth. Third is his smile, and Ryan remembers telling him that his teeth belong in a clam. Brendon laughs at this, loud and meaning it, and that's the fourth thing Ryan notices. Sixth is Brendon's missing left shoe, but Ryan never asks because he's too busy staring at his own feet, blushing and thinking of something to say before Brendon loses interest. Then the eigth thing he notices is Brendon's neck, gentle and kissable and flawless, when he turns to the side to point out a Wendy's. The seventh thing is Brendon's voice, asking him if he wants to get a bite to eat and yeah, Ryan is kind of hungry all of a sudden.

Ryan looks up to Brendon, but he never mentions it.

When Ryan sees Brendon, he thinks it's like staring into the sun. It blinds him, but then he focuses and oh, it's Brendon. The Patron Saint of Beauty and Infinity and Lucky Underwear. Ryan stares up at him, Brendon standing and flailing his body and Guitar Hero controller around like he's in a beehive, and Ryan thinks yep, this is mine. Brendon's mine and what makes me so special? But then Brendon will get a high score, throw his controller at Zach, plop down on the couch next to Ryan and say, "That one was for you, baby." And Ryan thinks that maybe having moments like this makes him special, even if only for a little bit.

Ryan kind of sort of really wants to ask Brendon to marry him, except he never does it.

Except for this one day, everyone's running around on some rooftop in Seattle because, hey tour is over and we can do whatever the fuck we want, and Ryan is not paying attention. Brendon jumps on his back, saying something about how everyone's doing body shots and he feels extra naughty, but not as naughty as that one time you and i-- and Ryan cuts him off right there, throws him off his back and lets him fall to the ground. Brendon is pouting, pouting, but Ryan sits down next to him, almost on top of him. He can hear Brendon's heart beating loud and proud from where he's sitting, and Ryan's smile is wild. He says, "Okay, listen. You're fucking beautiful." And Brendon, he nods. "Yeah, you know it's true. Blah blah. I love you and this," Ryan looks over at his friends running and jumping and screaming, "This is what I want forever." Brendon's mouth has turned upward and his eyes look like two long lost lovers, and Ryan wants to remember this. "I never tell you shit. But I like that you don't make me. So, just--" Ryan kisses him, hands on Brendon's cheeks and neck and in his hair. "Just fuck it all." Ryan takes a small black box out of his pocket and throws it in Brendon's lap. "You're gonna marry me."

And he does.