Title Track

My heart is in my throat.

I’m home now, and I don’t have the note.

He still has it.

I’m fucking terrified.

The air feels too thick, tastes too bitter, moves too slowly.

But, there is one thing to ease my fear, if only for a moment.

Ryan.

I can speak to him on a regular basis now, despite how frightening that may seem.

I think I like that.

--

It’s been months since Ryan and I decided to be strangers.

Every so often he’d call and we’d go somewhere mutual, somewhere with other people.

It was awkward, at first. Shaky hellos, relieving goodbyes, but we’re getting over that.

Right now, everything is surreal. We’re underwater, slow motion smiles and slow motion touches.

It feels…

Right.

I’m still worried.

Still worried that he’ll get scared again, that the calls will stop coming, and the number will change, and I’ll have to go back above ground, and live at a normal speed.

It’s one of those nights filled with worry, and I’m compelled to call him. It feels safe to call him. My fingers twist around a stray thread on the hem of my shirt as he speaks, and right now, I’m just listening to him talk, just to hear him talk.

“I wonder how everyone in Vegas is doing,” It’s not really directed towards him, not really directed towards anyone. I just felt the need to say it.

“Haven’t spoken to anyone in Vegas since I-- a long time.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It’s quiet for moment, just the fuzzy breathing from either side of the phone, until, “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s, uh, yeah.”

I nod, because bad habits die hard, and I’m well aware that he can’t see me. “I’ll be over soon.” and I hang up the phone, rushing towards my keys.

I’ve been to Ryan’s place a number of times by now. I rarely get nervous anymore; not at all like the first time.

The first time I got to explore Ryan’s home, we were drunk. Because we both enjoy drinking on a regular and extreme basis.

He called a cab, mumbled and address, and I was too dizzy to notice where we were going.

There were a lot of fumbled steps as we leaned on each other for support, giggling every few feet.

I fell asleep on the couch, and woke up to Ryan vomiting in the kitchen sink. It sounds about right.

Despite the hangover, and the confusion as to where I was, I felt like I used to when I would wake up to Ryan with his coffee and the toaster.

It scared the shit out of me.

Now, I’m pulling into a parking space in front of Ryan’s building, stepping slowly up the steps, twirling my keys on my fingers.

And then I’m at his door. We’re not at the point where I can just walk in, so I settle for knocking lightly, biting my lip, and waiting.

It sounds like he’s tripping over whatever shit is strewn across the floor, cursing as he flings the door open.

“Hey,” He huffs, smiling awkward, pretending he didn’t just fuck his foot up on the table in the hall.

“Hey.” I’m standing, hands tucked into my back pockets, as he moves to let me in.

“So, uh, what’s up? Since, y’know, fifteen minutes ago?”

“‘I want to go to Vegas.”

He stops halfway through shutting the door to look at me. He thinks I’m crazy. I wasn’t really worried about that, but it does add to the nerves.

“Like, when?”

“Like, now.”

“Now? As in right now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

“Um. Would it be too ridiculous for me to ask why?”

“When I left, I left everything really bad. I haven’t spoken to my parents in almost a year.”

“So… we’re going to Vegas?”

“You want to come?”

“Well, it’s not like it was really your fault that you left.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. I’ve got some making up of my own to do.”

We pause, looking at each other, asking the same question through the silence.

“So. Vegas?”

“Yeah.”

--

Five hours later, we’re in a hotel. Not on the strip, because we’re not tourists; just a dirty ten-dollar-a-night kind of place. One room, one bathroom, two beds, one fifteen inch television.

Ryan is the first to walk into the dingy room, throwing a duffle bag full of our clothing onto the nearest bed.

“I’m gonna’ go take a shower, alright?” he asks, pulling off his jacket. I nod, walking to the unoccupied bed, and collapsing on it. “I’ll be out in a few.”

The sun is just peaking through the blinds, bathing the room in a blue light, in stark contrast with the yellow of the lamps.

Five hours is a long drive, and we’re both exhausted.

I crawl under the dirty blankets, peeling off my clothes after I’m covered up to my chin, and kicking them off of the too-tightly tucked bed.

The shower is running loud, and even though my eyes are closed, and my breathing feels easy enough, I can’t sleep.

This is a big leap. We’re back in Vegas. Back home. There are too many memories here for anything to feel completely safe.

I’m trudging through sticky thoughts, trying to wade through the things I need to say, when I feel the bed sink down.

“Bren? You awake?”

I grunt in response, because I’m really too tired to actually try to compose complete sentences.

“There’s some shit all over the sheets on my bed. It’s fucking gross. Do you mind if I sleep with you?”

And fucking shit.

And also, a big heaping plate of holy fucking shit.

“What?” I ask, voice raspy from sleep.

“My bed. It’s all dirty. Can I sleep with you?”

And it shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

Ryan and I slept in the same bed for a year. This shouldn’t bother me at all.

But it really, really does.

“If it’s a problem, I don’t have to; I can sleep on the ground. It’s really no big deal. I just figured I’d ask.”

And yeah, now, I’m awake.

“I… it’s… yeah.” I take a silent deep breath, “Yeah. Sure. It’s fine.”

“Okay. Cool.”

He climbs under the blanket, and I feel so fucking awkward.

“I-- I won’t touch you are anything. It’s not like-- this isn’t--”

“No, no; it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? Because, like I said, I can sleep on the floor, it’s no--”

“No, don’t, uh, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault that we picked the shittiest place ever to spend the night.”

“Morning.”

“What?”

“The sun is coming up; we’re spending the morning.”

“Oh.”

My heart is beating so rapidly; our toes touch, and it feels too close, too planned, even though I know neither of us planned it.

“Sorry.” He says quietly, his knees bumping mine. I nod, pulling myself as far away from Ryan as I can without falling off of the bed.

I feel like my heart rattling against my chest is going to keep the both of us awake until the sun is all the way up.

“Bren,” He says, “calm down. It’s okay. I’m not going to try anything. Lets just get some sleep, okay?”

I nod again, eyes wide open.

“I promise.” He whispers, looking at me like he means it.

Of course he means it.

Fuck, I missed him.

I feel like our chests are touching; weighing each other down with our fears and our wishes and our apologies.

When I check to see if either of us had gotten any closer, there’s nothing but air between us.

--

Everything else seems so insignificant, standing at my parents door with Ryan sitting in the car, watching me with more fear than should be in his eyes.

I wish I knew what was going to happen.

I ring the door bell; once, twice, three times for good measure.

I feel so out of place, standing outside of my parents house, waiting to be let in to my past. There was a time when I didn’t need to ring the doorbell, a time where I was welcomed in with open arms after God knows how long. But it’s been too long, too little contact, for me to just walk in.

My stomach is doing flips, and I look back at the street, and Ryan is still there; I had to be sure he hadn’t left in the enormous amount of time I’ve been standing here.

And then, there’s the click of a lock, and the door is open.

“Brendon?” My dad looks confused, and I can’t blame him. I haven’t actually seen them in years.

“Dad,” I breathe out, and I’m crying, my eyes are watery and red, and fuck, I missed my family.

I can’t see through the salty tears that are flooding my eyes, and I can’t breathe, because I’m so fucking scared that they don’t want me anymore, and I’m falling down, because shit my legs are so wobbly.

But then, there are arms around me; warm and familiar. He’s scooping me up like I’m a little kid again, cradling me, rocking back and forth, because he knows what makes me feel better.

I’m sobbing, big gasping breaths, and he’s shouting back into the house for my mom, who no doubt is just as shocked to see me.

His chest feels like home, even when it’s soaked with tears; he’s shushing me, trying to calm me down, stroking my hair, because fuck, this is my dad.

This is home.

--

My parents and I talked. For a long time. They held me like I was a little kid again, and occasionally one of my siblings would wander down the stairs, shocked to see me on the couch, such a fucking mess.

I told them everything. Everything I’d done, everything that was happening, how Ryan and I were speaking again, how scared I was about everything, and they listened, they sat for hours, listening to me talk about what a wreck I am.

Everything felt right.

And Ryan was still waiting when I came outside.

We’re at some park, next to the high school we went to. Trees are scattered here and there, shading us from the Nevada sun.

“It means a lot,” I breathe out, “that you waited. I mean, while I was with my parents.” We’re looking at each other with soft eyes, “So, um, thanks.”

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. The last thing I wanted was for you to walk outside and me not be there. That wouldn’t do much to help with our whole situation, would it?”

I smile, “Yeah. Probably not.”

Our hips are touching as we both lean against the tree, just sitting together.

I’m watching him. I hope he doesn’t notice, but I can’t stop watching him.

My guts are twisting, and it feels like a sign. Something sent to me from whatever powers that be, that I need to do something. An opportunity is presenting itself, and I’ll be damned if I deny any opportunity.

My fingers graze his cheek, his head turns slowly, and somewhere within that time span, our lips press together. Awkward, and new, and familiar, and strange, and right.

Our space is closing together, and I feel claustrophobic. I pull myself away, watch the opportunity fly off with the wind, and I realize what I just did.

I don’t know what’s happening anymore.