9 Months Is a Long Time

“I want a beer.” Will whines. He’s in Patrick’s apartment, letting himself be harassed on the other end of a camera. Patrick doesn’t consider himself to be a photographer, but enough people like his work that he does a project here or there. He mainly runs websites for work, including one for the Suits. He decided last week they needed new pictures and Will eventually dragged himself over, not at all thrilled.

“If you’ll do the shot right.” Patrick says through gritted teeth, “we’ll be done.”

Will rolls his eyes, huffs, and fixes his eyes directly on the lens, twisting his hips and lifting his middle finger like he had been asked to do for the past thirty minutes.

“Was that so hard?” Patrick sighs and puts the camera down. “Now you can have a beer, dickhead.”

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Will calls from the kitchen.

“Do I have a choice?” Patrick yells back, logging onto his laptop and checking his email.

Long legs appear in the doorway. “Does anyone like coming to my shows?” He’s either fake angry or fake pouting. He’s doing such a bad job that Patrick can’t tell.

“After the first ten shows, I think the fun starts to wear off.” he answers, trying not to lie and not to tell the truth either.

“Ryan’s coming.” It’s almost off-handed, almost casual. Almost.

“I think we agreed you weren’t going to fuck around with him anymore.” Patrick doesn’t look up from the screen, eyebrows furrowing in concentration at an especially technical email.

Will takes a drink. “No. You decided I should and I said yes so you’d go to the bar with me.” He leans against the doorframe. “I mean, why shouldn’t we fool around? He’s just pregnant. If he doesn’t care why should I?”

“Just pregnant.” Patrick finally lifts his eyes, voice soft. “Of course. How stupid of me.” suddenly his expression hardens. “Just pregnant? And he’s also just a pornstar. And he also just made it perfectly clear he’s not interested.” He pushes his computer to the side, seething.

William’s hand is a fist. “You just don’t like him.” His voice should be loud, angry to match his expression. But it’s nearly a whisper.

“You’re just an idiot.” Patrick rolls his eyes and gets up, going outside to get some air.

Will stays against the doorframe. It’s all true and that’s what pisses him off the most. Ryan sleeps around, even off-set. He hasn’t had a steady boyfriend in the year and a half that Will’s known him. And the only thing the pregnancy seems to have changed is the fact that Ryan doesn’t want anyone to see him naked as anything other than a size two. And Will knows that Ryan has been continuing to fool around with Brendon and flirt with boys online. He’s considering pregnancy porn and talking to Gabe on an almost daily basis. Ryan’s a whore and Will knows all the rules in the game. It’s just that he doesn’t care.

And he shouldn’t care about Ryan. He’s not even sure he does. But he wants Ryan to come to his show, wants Ryan to come home with him, wants to fuck him so hard he can’t walk the next day. Maybe it’s a crush, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s just the fact that he can’t have Ryan. But Will knows exactly what he wants.

*

“Brendon!?” Ryan yells. “Oh, fuck.” He’s bent over the edge of the bed, hands braced on the edge of the trashcan, his mouth bitter from the taste of bile when his roommate comes running in.

“Shit, dude. Again?” Brendon asks. He’s not angry or exasperated. It’s almost a sense of awe that a person could vomit so much and not collapse or pass out. He hurries out of the room and comes back with a glass of water and a washcloth. “Morning sickness? It’s like, five.”

“You’re five.” Ryan mutters in weak response, letting Brendon tip water into his mouth. He is miserable. His jeans don’t fit, his forty dollar lunch tasted as awful coming up as it did going down, and Brendon is giving him that pitying look he detests. The silver lining should be missing Will’s show, but even that thought isn’t helping him. He’d been looking forward to potential flirting with boys in beer goggles.

“Text Will.” he tells Brendon. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

“They shouldn’t call it morning sickness.” the younger boy mutters as he fishes in his pocket for his phone. “Pretty misleading.”

“I don’t think it’s morning sickness.” Ryan says, groaning. “Just a bug. I mean, I didn’t start puking until yesterday. And morning sickness doesn’t go past first trimester anyway.”

Brendon shakes his head. “Just stops for most people. My mom had it with me for, like, six months.”

“Of course she did.” Eye roll, snort, falling back onto the mattress. “You’re crazy.”

“Nice. See if I make you anymore smoothies.” But it’s half-hearted. Brendon picks up his phone and texts Will.

‘Ryan’s sick. He can’t come. Sorry.’

‘Sick how?’

‘Flu maybe. He’s blowing chunks like a chubby chaser.’

‘Tell him I’ll be over tonight.’

Ryan looks confused when Brendon relays the message. “Why?”

The younger boy shrugs. “To see if you’re okay, I guess.”

“He likes you.” Pete’s voice says suddenly from the doorway. It’s a ‘duh’ sort of tone, as if they were children or Patrick inquiring about some sexual slang term he found online.

“You’re an idiot.” Ryan’s return is without hesitation.

“Fine. Don’t believe me.”

“I won’t. Now get out of my room.”

It’s Pete’s turn to roll his eyes and sigh. “I’m going out. Text if you need anything.”

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.” Ryan snaps, yanking the sheets viciously over his head.

Pete doesn’t take the bait, just shoots Brendon with an annoyed look and disappears down the hallway. “He’s gone, Ry.”

“Good. Now go find me some jeans to wear that hide my massive ass.”

*

“Ryan’s blowing me off.” It’s an hour before the show starts and Will is locked in a bathroom stall with his cell pressed to his ear.

“’Hi, Patrick. How are you?’” Patrick mimics in falsetto. “’I’m great, Will. Is there anything I can help you with?’” His voice returns to normal. “I highly doubt he’s blowing you off.”

“He made Brendon text me.” Will says, as if that statement is completely synonymous with Ryan is blowing me off.

“Mhm.” Patrick sounds bored. “And what did Brendon say?”

“That Ryan’s blowing chunks like a chubby chaser.”

“I’m offended.” the boy on the other line says dryly. “And I don’t get blown that often, by the way.”

“I think you’re missing the point.” Will is kicking his foot against the toilet, grimacing, wincing when he accidentally kicks too hard.

“If Ryan didn’t want to come, he’d tell you. God, Will, get a grip. This isn’t middle school and he’s not your fucking boyfriend. Quit looking for codes to break.”

The call is disconnected as Will punches the metal door, letting out a scream as pain shoots up his knuckles. Fuck people, fuck Patrick, fuck cell phones, fuck Ryan. That last one doesn’t sound so bad though.

Will’s phone buzzes from a received text and he hits the button to read it. ‘Sorry. But I don’t think he’s blowing you off. You really need to chill.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Go see him after. You know I’m right.’

‘Go watch anime porn and fist yourself.’

*

Ryan had fallen asleep in the only pair of jeans he had agreed looked halfway decent on him, even though Brendon said his ass wasn’t huge and that Will wouldn’t care what jeans he was wearing.

Will knocks on the door around midnight and Brendon answers it. His books and laptop are on the table. “Homework?” the older boy asks.

“Yeah, go fuck yourself. He’s in his room.” The boy flicks his wrist in that direction and goes back to his research paper.

Will’s always been impressed by Ryan’s 3000 square foot apartment. The walls are always perfect white, which is a feat considering the parties that usually occur. Paintings and prints from random galleries around the city hang, framed, on the walls. Brendon’s room is the only one without framed pictures. He’s got posters of boys in various states of undress covering nearly every inch of the walls. Ryan’s room is so different, in contrast.

Will pushes the door open. Ryan’s sheets are red, his Queen bed frame made out of mahogany wood. The walls are cream and there are three 8x10 pictures on the wall. One is a group shot of everyone at some party that happened the year before. Another is Ryan’s first promo shot with his production company. And the last is of Marilyn Monroe.

Ryan himself is sleeping in the bed, tight blue jeans hugging his ass and a white t-shirt that clings perfectly to his back and the bump that is becoming more prominent around his abdomen. There are cans of 7Up and packages of crackers on the nightstand. He wasn’t lying about being sick or he’s doing a damn good job of covering it up. But Will’s seen Ryan’s movies and he knows he’s not that good of an actor.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, lightly running his hand down the other boy’s back. “Ry?” he whispers.

The boy stirs, making noises in the back of his throat. “Who’s there?” His voice is sleepy, tired, and it’s probably the most adorable thing Will’s ever heard in his life.

“It’s me.”

Ryan sits bolt upright, eyes wide, and then he winces. “Fuck.” He brings a hand up to his head. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost twelve. I had to stay after and load up. You know.” He shrugs. “You feeling any better?”

“Bit, yeah.” Ryan finally meets his eyes. “I look like shit.”

“No.” A breathy laugh, quick squeeze of the shoulder. “No, you definitely don’t.”

“I’m going to start meeting with adoptive parents next month.” The younger boy sounds sort of resigned when he says it. “Do you want to be there when I do?”

Will hesitates. It’s the first time this has been brought up with Ryan since the initial telling. They’ve just been avoiding the subject, trying to act like Ryan isn’t gaining weight for any particular reason. And he won’t acknowledge to anyone that Patrick’s suggestions have been echoing back and forth inside his head. Go with it, agree, resign yourself just like Ryan.

“Do you want me to?”

“Up to you.” He shrugs, gives a soft smile. “Thanks for coming over. But I’m going to go back to bed now.”

“’Night.” Will leans in, brushes his lips softly against Ryan’s cheek. “Call me. We’ll hang out.”

He leaves the room, walks slowly down the hallway. Brendon is still at the table and he looks up when he heard the footsteps. “He okay?”

Will nods.

“You okay?”

The only answer is the front door clicking shut.