A Year and an Ocean of Distance

Ryan sat silently, trying not to pick at his fingernails. It wasn’t quiet, no awkward silence. The radio was on in the car and Brendon was chattering entirely too quickly, which wasn’t anything unusual. Or at least, it hadn’t been a year ago. Ryan didn’t know if it was still considered normal. He let Brendon talk.

When they parked Ryan reached out and took Brendon’s hand almost shyly, leading him silently through the apartment building and up the stairs. Warm, he felt warm. Light, happy. Something soft and gentle to contrast with the hot stickiness of the night and his jacket sleeves scratching on his elbows. He fumbled with the key, unwilling to drop Brendon’s hand. And when the door opened, he found himself pressed against the wall and lips crashing down on his.

It was just like it had been before, as if there hadn’t been a year and an ocean of distance between them. Brendon’s hands were almost rough, touching everything, remembering. Making sure Ryan still felt the same, that he still tasted the same, that he still moaned in the same way. And he felt the same, except for the hair. And he tasted different, but not. He couldn’t tell what the difference was, but he didn’t care because somewhere there was the hint of weed and sweat and sweetness and lyrics that had always been Ryan’s own personal taste. And the moans, just like the last time. Nothing could change that noise. Nothing.

Ryan’s hands were overly quick, too clumsy in their haste, working on Brendon’s belt buckle and then the snap of his jeans. God, he wanted, just this and Brendon inside him and everything he thought he’d never want again. Everything he thought he could forget. And there were the dips in his hipbones, curve of that ass. All the planes of Brendon’s body that he still had memorized, that he could find even with his eyes closed and lips bruised.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll never forget.” Brendon growled. And Ryan thought there may have been an accusation there but then there were teeth on his earlobe and a tongue snaking out to tease the shell. That had always been his weakness and he actually felt his knees threatening to shake.

They stumbled to the bedroom, Brendon with his pants half around the ankles and Ryan’s hip screaming in protest as it collided with the corner. But then they were on the bed and Brendon’s eyes were over-bright, shining with everything Ryan was feeling. Their clothes seemed to fall off like petals from flowers in autumn until they were both completely naked, nothing but skin to separate them. (Not even socks.)

Lube and a condom and Brendon’s fingers twisting inside, his mouth on Ryan’s cock. Just teasing, tongue darting across the slit and lips sucking on the tip. One finger, two. Ryan was sure he was screaming but his ears seemed deaf to everything except Brendon’s breathing and the unknown music echoing around inside his brain.

“Now.” Ryan choked out. “Just. Fucking need you, Bren.” He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt Brendon hastily wipe at his cheeks. And then he felt it, felt everything, every inch. Every single reason he’d been a fool to leave. Every reason he’d fallen in love. Every word he’d ever written and every night he’d spent feeling safe in the arms of someone that could actually understand.

Thrusts like fucking punches to the gut, sharp and quick and repeated and just pulling every breath out of both of them. One of Brendon’s hands threaded in the hair, that long fucking hair. But God, even with that, even with the slightly rounder curves of the face, that was his Ryan. The eyes couldn’t change. Too wide and taking in everything. So fucking alive, like every emotion in the world was contained in those fucking irises.

“Too beautiful.” Brendon whispered, voice soft in complete contrast with his hand and his strokes. He’d forgotten what this felt like, being complete. Nobody ever fit with him the way Ryan had. The angles and curves and the pieces of their bodies fit together like they’d been fucking made for each other, like there’d never been any other way for them to be.

Ryan came then—hard. Desperate, screaming, his head thrown back and the loud animalistic noise just tearing from his throat so hard it actually hurt. And then his hands were up, pulling Brendon’s face to stare at him, kissing him, talking now. It took Brendon a minute to hear what the other boy was saying. “Want you to come in my mouth.” he was repeating, frantically, practically begging.

And then Brendon was pulling out and Ryan felt so empty, so fucking hollow. He was whimpering until he was between Brendon’s legs, mouth full. And it was hasty, no real rhythm, no real effort. It didn’t matter anyway. Only a few minutes and then he felt it, tasted it, tasted Brendon acidic and bitter and fucking so good in his mouth.

And then. Nothing.

Ryan lay his head on Brendon’s stomach, trying to catch his breath. The younger boy brought his hand down to stroke Ryan’s hair. And they were just lying there, breathing, trying to take it all in, trying to keep it all out. What had they done? Had this just happened? Where were they? What year was it? Who were they? Was this real? Had they died and gone to Heaven?

Brendon broke the silence and Ryan wasn’t surprised. Brendon was always the one to break silences, to speak first, to interrupt things. He didn’t like too much quiet, never had. And if it had been a year and a half ago, Ryan might have been annoyed. But it wasn’t a year and a half ago.

“Want to smoke?”

Ryan nodded, head heavy. “Okay.”

They got dressed or, at least, Ryan did, pulling on jeans and a tee shirt from his dresser drawer. Brendon just pulled his underwear back on. Ryan packed the bowl because he remembered that the other boy always liked to watch him, liked to watch his fingers. They sat back against the headboard, too close in the warmness, but not caring. Ryan took the first hit, inhaling deep, exhaling in Brendon’s ear.

The boy laughed, smiling, teeth showing. And then he held his hand out, accepting the pipe, taking Ryan’s lighter. He let his smoke drift along the other’s neck. It was almost romantic. They were almost lovers again, passing back and forth, smoke dancing between them. Ryan was beginning to remember what it felt like to be loved, what it felt like to float into the air and smile at the stars.

And then Brendon started crying.

It took Ryan a moment to realize. First it just sounded like small gasping breaths, then maybe laughter because sometimes laughter and tears sound the same. And then he looked up from the pipe to realize Brendon was staring at him, tears on his cheeks, face screwed up. He was crying.

“What the hell are we doing?”

Ryan almost dropped the pipe, but he didn’t. He put it on the nightstand and then pulled up the hem of his tee shirt, using it to wipe at Brendon’s face. “We’re remembering.” he mumbled in reply.

“Don’t g-give me your c-cryptic bullshit.” Brendon was still crying and Ryan didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so heartbreaking, yet almost beautiful, in his life. “Tell me the truth. W-Why did you call?” He sniffled, pulling his glasses off and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I just.” Ryan twisted his hands in his lap. He could still feel the lightness in him, the effects of the pot, but it always seemed to be like a floating anchor when he was upset. “I just, Jon. Like, he shouldn’t have said that shit.” Ryan was whispering he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. “And . . . and I told him so. And he, he said . . .”

“Oh, God, just fucking crawl back to him and suck his dick already. I mean, seriously, what is this shit? Everyone has to be nice to him except for you? You get to cheat on him and ignore his calls and change your number on him? What the fuck, Ross?”

“. . . he said, well, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to see you.” He flicked his wrist dismissively. “I-I didn’t think you’d take my call, in all honesty.”

“It’s not like Jon was the only one talking shit.” Brendon mumbled, breathing deep, done crying for the moment. “I mean, you weren’t exactly quiet about how fucked up it was that we kept the band.”

“Well, I was pissed, okay?” Ryan snapped, annoyed. “All right? I was mad that you and Spence were staying in it. Like, if I had to change why the fuck couldn’t you change? Why’d you get to stay the same?”

Brendon reached out and slid his hand under the other boy’s chin, lifting his face up. They stared at each other in silence for a moment and then Brendon leaned in and kissed Ryan, softly, lingering for only a moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “You really think I was going to give up the last tie I had to you?”

“You bastard.” Ryan was crying then. And Ryan fucking hated crying. He hated the salty taste of failure and the feeling of the build-up and the disgusting, slimy way his cheeks felt. He hated the pity and the realization that he’d fucked up yet again. And he wanted to scream and to push away when he felt Brendon pulling him in, holding him, arms anchoring him down. He wanted to pull away and to scream that he didn’t fucking need help, didn’t need sympathy. But, God, it felt right, just fucking right sitting there in Brendon’s arms. And it probably would have been perfect if he wasn’t crying. It probably would have been home.

“Are you sorry?” Ryan’s hair tickled Brendon’s lips as he spoke. “Tell me the truth. I really don’t want to waste all this energy if you’re not sorry.”

It was such a Brendon thing to say that Ryan actually choked on a laugh and started to cry harder. He managed a weak nod, bringing his arms up, clinging to the younger boy desperately. “I . . . I never . . . never, Brendon. Never wanted to. Promise. I promise.” And then Ryan was tilting his head back, kissing him through the tears and the cries and the shaking of his jaw.

And Brendon laid him down and kissed him and undressed him again, this time slowly, kisses like promises littered across Ryan’s skin. On his collarbone, his eyes, his wrists, his hipbones. This time he was slow, precise, gentle. They made love, silent except for their breaths and Ryan’s frantic, desperate I love you’s.

“You know,” Brendon said after, “we fit together, like, perfect.” He was holding Ryan, finding rhythm in his pulse. “Seriously. I did, like, research. We’re really rare. Even my parents don’t fit together.”

Ryan tried not to laugh, but failed. “You asked your parents if they fit together?”

“Hush, you.” Brendon said, sticking his tongue out. “You’re ruining my romantic proclamation. I’m trying to say we were meant for each other.”

“Already knew that though.” Ryan reached up, stroking the other boy’s jaw with his fingers.

“Can’t I have my moment?” Brendon whined. “Not fair. You don’t always get to be the big romantic poet. I get to have my turn sometimes, too.”

“Okay, baby. Go ahead.” Ryan chuckled. “Be romantic.”

“No. Too late. You killed the moment.” he said, shaking his head.

Ryan wished they could stay there like that forever, safe, locked away from the world. That they’d never have to answer each other’s questions, never have to talk about what was going to happen. That they could just pick up where they left off, act like that year had never happened.

He knew they couldn’t. He knew eventually they’d have to talk. That they’d probably yell and cry some more and maybe even fight. But he knew, somehow, that it would be okay. He’d known the second Brendon had walked into the restaurant that night and his heart had started beating in a rhythm that seemed so fucking familiar.

He’d said something romantic and stupid to Brendon once, when they had been younger and more smitten and all too willing to ignore each other’s faults for that warm feeling. “You’re a part of me. I feel you inside. I always will.”

“I actually meant something by it though.” Brendon mumbled, sounding tired. “The fitting thing.” His eyes were closed. “Because, like, I know you’re not supposed to marry the guy you fall in love with when you’re seventeen or whatever. But since we’re so special then I think we can. Like, fuck ‘em. We fit together. We belong together, Ry.”

He probably wouldn’t have said it if he weren’t too tired. Maybe he would have, but Ryan doubted it. He watched the younger boy yawn, close his mouth. His eyes opened and dark brown stared into amber.

“You’re not losing me again.” Ryan said suddenly, fierce. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to or promising at that moment, but he knew he meant it. He could feel the way he meant it down to his bones.

Brendon almost smirked and closed his eyes again. “Told you I’d fuck you so hard you couldn’t forget me.”