9 Months Is a Long Time

That night Ryan wakes up in a cold sweat. He can't even remember the dream, but his heart is racing and his hand moves to his stomach. He looks down at where his fingers have ended up, seemingly without his knowledge, and he tries to force the tears back.

"I'm not a horrible person, am I?" Ryan whispers. He's alone, it's dark, and everyone's asleep. Well, he's mostly alone, he supposes. "I guess I am. He hasn't even met you. You don't even having fucking hair yet and he picked you over me."

And he wants to sound angry, but he just sounds bitter and hurt. He's jealous of a fetus. "My life has never been this pathetic." he mumbles, wiping at the tears that have appeared on his cheeks. "Never."

* * *

Ryan was scared. He was seventeen and sitting in his bathroom, trying not to cry. "I can't be pregnant." he told the test, as if it would change the results because he was upset. When the lines remained the same, he threw it in the trash and snuck out the back door and knocked on Spencer's window.

His best friend opened it immediately. "What's up?"

"I need to borrow a hundred dollars." Ryan said point-blank. "I can pay you back next Friday."

"Okay . . . why?" Spencer looked worried and annoyed, as if he wasn't sure which he should be.

"I need to get an abortion." Ryan really hadn't meant for the words to come out as quickly as they did. He hadn't even meant to tell the truth. But suddenly he was staring at the ground, blinking hard, trying not to cry.

Spencer held out his arm and helped Ryan in through the window before walking over to his dresser and returning with a couple of twenties. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Ryan shrugged. "What choice do I have?"

"I'll go with you." Spencer offered. "You don't have to do this alone."

The older boy gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Spence."

* * *

"It sucks, okay? I get that." Will snaps. He's a little drunk and a little pissed and Patrick's a little bit annoyed. "Like, he's always been this way and he's moody and hormonal, but he said yes. And, like, I don't want to fight with him for six months. That's no fun."

"You know what's going to happen." Patrick cautions. "You know it, Will. You're going to get all involved and you won't want to leave and things will get even more fucked up than they already are."

And Will loses it, slams his beer bottle down on the table. "Because you're so experienced with shit like this?" His eyes are dark, narrowed, and challenging. Patrick doesn't take the bait. "Because you've been in this situation before, I forgot. You know, you got some guy that you're crazy about pregnant and then he turned into a raging bitch. Excuse me."

"You're excused." Patrick say dryly. "And the way you're acting, you two are fucking meant for each other. Grow up, Will. You're going to have a kid soon. You can't afford to be a selfish prick."

Will is silent for a moment and Patrick almost regrets his words. "Yeah, well." He takes another drink. "I guess I have six months to get it out of my system."

"Yeah." Patrick agrees quietly. "Six months."

* * *

Ryan is sitting in his chair at his table in the corner of the restaurant, sulking. Will had called, asked to meet him. Ryan hadn't wanted to leave the house, but Will insisted. He feels fat and disgusting and he's wearing a hat and sunglasses to hide his face. He probably looks like a private investigator or some other crap. He's just sick of fighting. He's sick of feeling like shit because he's treating people like shit.

William sits down in the chair across from Ryan, causing the pregnant boy to look up and chance a small smile. "You look ridiculous." Will tells him, trying to keep the statement from sounding too mean, but it's true.

"It's better than looking fat and having people see my face." Ryan mutters. "I already ordered. I'm starving." His voice is soft, almost weak.

"You've barely gained any weight." Will mumbles, ordering a beer when the waitress comes over and opening his menu. They don't talk to each other until after he orders his entree and some calimari as an appetizer. "I'm sick of fighting." he says finally, looking up and being met with Ryan's sunglasses. "Will you please take those off so I can talk to you?"

It actually takes a lot more mental effort than one would think. All Ryan can imagine is the other diners whispering about the fat boy sitting at the table with the beautiful boy in the too-tight shirt. And he knows William only looks even more beautiful than normal in such close proximity to him.

"Thank you." William says when Ryan sets the sunglasses on the table.

"It's not your fault we're fighting," the boy admits softly. "It's mine. I'm just . . . this isn't easy. I feel like a cow squeezed itself into my body and I'm not used to just . . . staying home and lying on my ass."

"You're not making it any easier with the pity party." Will sighs, takes a drink of his beer. "You're beautiful. You're still beautiful. You're still hot. I'd still bend you over the table and fuck you right now."

"You're like Brendon, easily enamoured."

"You're like a girl. You're not happy unless you're pitying yourself."

Ryan sighs, tilting his head down and massaging at his temples. "I'm not doing a very good at the not fighting thing, am I?" he chokes out with a weak laugh.

"Bickering isn't the same as fighting. It's not like I'd want you to kiss my ass for the next six months."

A waitress comes over with Ryan's chicken and William's appetizer. They both thank her and Ryan inhales about half his food in one go before he says anything else. "It's not like you have to move to Chicago, you know."

William gives a sad smile and reaches out to gently run his fingertips across the top of the other boy's hands. "Yeah, Ry, I kind of do." And they both know it's true, so they just nod and eat and make small talk until the checks come.

* * *

It's the first time William's been in Ryan's apartment since he told the boy he wanted the baby. Everything's exactly the same except there's some more groceries in the cupboards and refrigerator. (Not that Will checks, of course. At least, not until Ryan goes to the bathroom. And it's just to make sure at least some of it is healthy. He's just being a good dad, he tells himself.)

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" Ryan tugs the newsboy cap off his head and attempts to smooth down the hair he can't see. He tosses the hat and his jacket on the counter and he looks a lot more relaxed than he did at the restaurant even though William can now see the barely-there curve of the baby bump under his shirt.

Ryan's standing next to the counter, his hand flat against the granite, back to Will. He's biting softly on his bottom lip, obviously thinking. The shirt he's wearing is thin and William can see the lines of his shoulder blades through the fabric. Ryan's always been a beautiful pretty delicate thing, like a doll. Or at least he's looked that way for as long as Will's known him.

It's almost unconscious, the way he steps forwards and slips an arm under Ryan's wrapping it across his chest, pulling him together, back to front, lips finding the skin along the curve of the neck. And Ryan's uncertain, William can tell by the tentative moan that's hardly a noise at all, but he doesn't pull away so that must be a good sign. "This isn't a good idea is it, Will?" the boy whispers.

"Probably not." Then Ryan turns and they're kissing, lips parted and wet and Will can feel the baby bump pressed against his stomach. He's just starting to wonder if he should be disturbed by it when there's a loud crash from behind them and a voice screaming obscenities.

"Sorry, sorry!" Brendon cries, when they both turn to look at him. "I was trying to be quiet, I just . . . God dammit." He sits down on the floor, holding his ankle and looking like he's in at least a small amount of pain.

Ryan lets his arms untangle from William to cross the kitchen and sink to his knees in the living room, next to the younger boy. "What'd you trip over?" he asks, smoothing the hair off Brendon's face.

"Pete left a shoe in the hallway. Fucker." His ankle is already starting to swell, but he moves it when Ryan asks, even if its slowly and he's wincing. "It hurts."

Will brings ice and the two of them help Brendon onto the couch, propping his ankle on a pillow. Ryan gives him the remote and brings him a glass of juice and thinks that it might actually be nice to take care of someone else for a day or a two because then at least the focus is off him and the fetus.
"So you guys made up?" Brendon asks quietly when Will disappears down to the bathroom.

Ryan nods, not sure exactly what to say or what he really thinks of it. It's good, of course, that they're 'good' now. But it's all going to end in the same place whether they're good or not. William's going to leave and Ryan's going to end up back right where he started, only one friend less. And as much as he won't say it, he does feel something for the other boy. He hates it, but he can't ignore it. He can, however, choose not to do anything about it.

Brendon nuzzles his face against the boy's hand. "You should tell him."

Ryan shakes his head as they hear the toilet flush. "Nothing to tell, Bren." There's a somewhat hard look in his eyes, steely, stubborn. But he knows Brendon wouldn't go that far. Or he hopes so, at least.

They leave Brendon on the couch with too many snacks and three cans of soda and make their way back to Ryan's room. The moment's gone and they just settle into the bed, leaning against the headboard, Will's hand lightly resting on Ryan's thigh while the boy flips through channels on the remote. They aren't talking about anything important. They aren't talking. Both of their minds are spinning like Ferris wheels, but they'll keep it quiet. At least for now.

Ryan knows he can't fix this.