Title Track

Ryan and I both bring a few bottles of beer outside. I know I’ll need them to calm myself down; when I texted Spencer to tell him where I was, I had been shaking.

“So,” Ryan says quietly. So. “Have you… thought at all? I mean, about us?”

“There is no us.” I reply quickly. He nods.

“I really am sorry.”

“Bullshit.”

“Brendon, please, just give me a chance to speak.”

“Fine. Talk.”

“I miss you.”

And it sounds like he’s waiting for a response.

“I’m not going to beat a dead horse, Ryan. You were the one who left, not me.”

“I know, Brendon. But shit, Brendon, I’m an idiot.”

“I’m aware.” I say, opening a bottle and drinking about half of it.

“I’m confused. I don’t know what to do.”

“About what? I haven’t said shit to you. If anyone should be confused, it’s me.”

“It’s just-- fuck, Brendon, I don’t even know what to say,” He says, sounding distressed. He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes, and he may be crying.

“Don’t do this, Ryan. Don’t act like this hurts you more than it does me. Because that’s bullshit, and you know it.” I finish off my bottle and open a new one.

“I never said that, Brendon! I’ve just-- I’ve got so much I want to say to you, and I want you to get how sorry I am, and I’ve got no clue how to do it, and fuck, Brendon, I think I still--”

“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it. It’s too late for this shit. Or too early. Now is not the fucking time.” I’m on to a third bottle, and sobriety has been gone since the bar.

“That’s not fair, Brendon.”

“Life isn’t fair, Ryan.”

I don’t know how many beers Ryan has gone through, but I’m out, and every thing is looking fuzzy around the edges.

“I fucked up, Brendon.”

“Are we seriously talking about this again? Seriously?”

“I fell in love after I left you.”

“Great. Awesome. Hope that works out for you.”

“But, it doesn’t feel the same. I talked to him yesterday. About… what happened with us.”

“I’m sure he was enthused.”

“I asked him how he would feel if he were you.”

“And?”

“He said he’d understand.”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.

“Sounds like he loves you a lot.”

“He called me a runner. He said that I leave the people I love, and that I’ll leave him, like I left you.”

“And you disagreed?”

“I didn’t like it. I didn’t disagree, but… He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t believe in me like you did.”

“I was young. We all do dumb things when we’re young.”

He chuckles at my sarcasm, and it kind of pisses me off, because it was supposed to be offensive.

“I love you, Brendon.”

And that’s all he says. He just stares at me, at his bottle, at the sky.

“It’s too late, Ryan.”

It’s too quiet, and we’re too close, and I feel like a dick.

I feel like a dick. Which is ridiculous. Because he’s the one whose seeking forgiveness.

“I know.” He says quietly. “I just figured you should be in the loop.”

I look down at the bottles littering the ground around me.

“Maybe,” I take a deep breath in, “we could talk. More.” he looks up at me, eyes hopeful, and my stomach turns.

“Yeah. That would-- that would be great.”

I nod, making my move to get up, but he grabs my hand.

“Could you just, like, sit with me for a while? I don’t want to go back in there and deal with Z.”

I watch him for a moment, searching his features before I sit back down and watch the passing cars on the street beside us.

It is the most frightening thing I have ever done.