& We Die of Broken Things Like Hearts.
falling back is hard to do.
(i’m dying not to hurt you.)
The end of the tour was in a month and Ryan was impatient. It should have been either of the others that was in his shoes. They were all looking forward to family and sleeping in comfortable beds and Spencer & Jon both wanted to see their girlfriends. But it was Ryan who was the most excited to sleep in Pete’s guestroom and stay up until all hours of the night talking about words and parties and images. And Brendon was biting his fingernails to the quick, thinking he knew all too well how this was going to end.
“He’s on my free pass list.” Ryan pointed out whenever his boyfriend brought it up.
“Yeah, but a free pass list is like once or once in awhile. Not multiple times a day for six weeks.” And Brendon tugged at his hair miserably because how on earth could he compete with Pete fucking Wentz? Pete who, in high school, had only had Gerard Way to compete with for number one dream fuck in Ryan’s scene-riddled head. And now Gerard Way was replaced by William Beckett and Pete was way at number one and probably then some.
“So define once in awhile.”
“Maybe you should just dump me and be done with it.” the younger boy mumbled, staring at his hands.
And Ryan flew at him, screaming with this loud awful animal noise and clawing at his arms with fingernails and then biting his shoulder entirely too hard. And Brendon couldn’t even tell what his boyfriend was saying between the screams and his own gasping breaths that weren’t drawing enough air into his lungs. And then Ryan was stumbling out of the tour bus in tears. He didn’t come back until sound check. Brendon’s shoulder bled a little bit.
They didn’t talk about the episode, but Ryan gently kissed all the scratches and Brendon’s shoulder when he climbed into his bunk that night. Brendon wanted to ask Spencer if it had ever happened before, but he didn’t think he could stomach the answer either way.
The compromise they reached in the next few weeks via text messages was that Ryan could sleep with Pete once a week. Brendon didn’t know why he bothered. The promise would be broken and he’d forgive Ryan anyway and then he’d probably just cry a little bit and call his mom and watch some Disney movies in a fort made out of blankets and couch cushions.
Ryan came home to Vegas for a week when tour ended. He went to Spencer’s house and let Ginger fuss over him and how skinny he was and how proud she was of “her boys” and he had to turn his head so she couldn’t see that his eyes were suddenly shining. Then he’d gone to Brendon’s so Grace could privately interrogate him on her son’s drinking and partying and he’s not doing drugs, is he?
Ryan stayed at Brendon’s, in a guest room. It was just too crowded at Spencer’s and Grace insisted. And then she impressed upon the both of them that “this is a Christian household” and she expected them to respect her house rules. But Ryan had a car anyway.
He tried to stay in the guestroom as much as possible when Brendon’s family was home so he could have time with them, but someone would always come upstairs to drag him out. And he never articulated how much it meant to him that they would include him and he never once heard a lecture on the sin of homosexual deviancy.
The night before he was supposed to fly to L.A., Brendon dragged him out to the garage and fucked him so hard against the wall that Ryan was sure he’d have bruises on his hips in the morning. Brendon cried afterward and Ryan held him and promised that everything was going to be okay.
“I love you, so don’t leave me, okay?”
“I’m never going to leave you.”
“Not even for Pete?”
“Pete has Patrick.”
It was the wrong answer, but Brendon seemed to feel better after Ryan said it anyway. They went to bed in their separate rooms, but the younger snuck into the guest room after his parents had gone to sleep, to hold Ryan and make sure he still had the planes of his body memorized. At five they woke up and showered and then Brendon drove Ryan to the airport. In three hours, he touched down at LAX and Pete was waiting at the gate in shades and a Clandestine hoodie.
Ryan still had the scent of Brendon’s tears on his fingertips.
(i do believe in all the things you see.)
After three days of nonstop, senseless fucking Ryan ended up in the guest bathroom with the shower running, sitting on the floor, sobbing. His wrists ached from Pete’s weight on them and his toes hurt from curling and his throat hurt from fighting the tears for three days straight. There was a knock on the door and Ryan’s breath hitched in his throat.
“I’m ordering Chinese, Ross. What do you want?”
“S-Sesame chicken.” he managed to choke out.
“. . . you okay?”
“Fine.”
They both knew he was lying, but Pete understood the importance of secrets and saying things at the right time and, sometimes, not saying them at all. He wouldn’t make Ryan talk. The younger boy wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Brendon would make him talk.
That night they swam in the pool under the cover of darkness. And that was the prelude. Or maybe the prelude was earlier when Ryan got a package from Brendon and there was an Alice in Wonderland DVD in it and he and Pete watched it while they drank tea from coffee mugs.
“What do you think Alice would be like if she were real and, like, here?” Pete asked from across the pool. He was trying to catch Ryan and dunk him and probably tug his boxers off (Ryan forgot to bring swim trunks) and the boy had successfully evaded him thus far.
“I don’t know.” Ryan said, knowing Pete was trying to throw off his concentration to catch him. And also because an answer like that needed proper thought. “What do you think?”
“Total drug-addicted scene queen street chic.” the man returned immediately. Ryan knew he’d been thinking about it since the movie started or finished or somewhere in the middle.
“I don’t want Alice to be on drugs.”
Pete caught him then, but he didn’t dunk him. His arms were tight around Ryan’s waist and his eyes were serious and over-bright and Ryan felt . . . happy, maybe? “I think that if anyone could save Alice from drugs, it’s you.”
Ryan kissed him. And then he started to cry. Pete held him in the water under the stars and stroked his wet hair. They didn’t fuck that night, but they both slept in Pete’s bed.
The end of the tour was in a month and Ryan was impatient. It should have been either of the others that was in his shoes. They were all looking forward to family and sleeping in comfortable beds and Spencer & Jon both wanted to see their girlfriends. But it was Ryan who was the most excited to sleep in Pete’s guestroom and stay up until all hours of the night talking about words and parties and images. And Brendon was biting his fingernails to the quick, thinking he knew all too well how this was going to end.
“He’s on my free pass list.” Ryan pointed out whenever his boyfriend brought it up.
“Yeah, but a free pass list is like once or once in awhile. Not multiple times a day for six weeks.” And Brendon tugged at his hair miserably because how on earth could he compete with Pete fucking Wentz? Pete who, in high school, had only had Gerard Way to compete with for number one dream fuck in Ryan’s scene-riddled head. And now Gerard Way was replaced by William Beckett and Pete was way at number one and probably then some.
“So define once in awhile.”
“Maybe you should just dump me and be done with it.” the younger boy mumbled, staring at his hands.
And Ryan flew at him, screaming with this loud awful animal noise and clawing at his arms with fingernails and then biting his shoulder entirely too hard. And Brendon couldn’t even tell what his boyfriend was saying between the screams and his own gasping breaths that weren’t drawing enough air into his lungs. And then Ryan was stumbling out of the tour bus in tears. He didn’t come back until sound check. Brendon’s shoulder bled a little bit.
They didn’t talk about the episode, but Ryan gently kissed all the scratches and Brendon’s shoulder when he climbed into his bunk that night. Brendon wanted to ask Spencer if it had ever happened before, but he didn’t think he could stomach the answer either way.
The compromise they reached in the next few weeks via text messages was that Ryan could sleep with Pete once a week. Brendon didn’t know why he bothered. The promise would be broken and he’d forgive Ryan anyway and then he’d probably just cry a little bit and call his mom and watch some Disney movies in a fort made out of blankets and couch cushions.
Ryan came home to Vegas for a week when tour ended. He went to Spencer’s house and let Ginger fuss over him and how skinny he was and how proud she was of “her boys” and he had to turn his head so she couldn’t see that his eyes were suddenly shining. Then he’d gone to Brendon’s so Grace could privately interrogate him on her son’s drinking and partying and he’s not doing drugs, is he?
Ryan stayed at Brendon’s, in a guest room. It was just too crowded at Spencer’s and Grace insisted. And then she impressed upon the both of them that “this is a Christian household” and she expected them to respect her house rules. But Ryan had a car anyway.
He tried to stay in the guestroom as much as possible when Brendon’s family was home so he could have time with them, but someone would always come upstairs to drag him out. And he never articulated how much it meant to him that they would include him and he never once heard a lecture on the sin of homosexual deviancy.
The night before he was supposed to fly to L.A., Brendon dragged him out to the garage and fucked him so hard against the wall that Ryan was sure he’d have bruises on his hips in the morning. Brendon cried afterward and Ryan held him and promised that everything was going to be okay.
“I love you, so don’t leave me, okay?”
“I’m never going to leave you.”
“Not even for Pete?”
“Pete has Patrick.”
It was the wrong answer, but Brendon seemed to feel better after Ryan said it anyway. They went to bed in their separate rooms, but the younger snuck into the guest room after his parents had gone to sleep, to hold Ryan and make sure he still had the planes of his body memorized. At five they woke up and showered and then Brendon drove Ryan to the airport. In three hours, he touched down at LAX and Pete was waiting at the gate in shades and a Clandestine hoodie.
Ryan still had the scent of Brendon’s tears on his fingertips.
(i do believe in all the things you see.)
After three days of nonstop, senseless fucking Ryan ended up in the guest bathroom with the shower running, sitting on the floor, sobbing. His wrists ached from Pete’s weight on them and his toes hurt from curling and his throat hurt from fighting the tears for three days straight. There was a knock on the door and Ryan’s breath hitched in his throat.
“I’m ordering Chinese, Ross. What do you want?”
“S-Sesame chicken.” he managed to choke out.
“. . . you okay?”
“Fine.”
They both knew he was lying, but Pete understood the importance of secrets and saying things at the right time and, sometimes, not saying them at all. He wouldn’t make Ryan talk. The younger boy wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Brendon would make him talk.
That night they swam in the pool under the cover of darkness. And that was the prelude. Or maybe the prelude was earlier when Ryan got a package from Brendon and there was an Alice in Wonderland DVD in it and he and Pete watched it while they drank tea from coffee mugs.
“What do you think Alice would be like if she were real and, like, here?” Pete asked from across the pool. He was trying to catch Ryan and dunk him and probably tug his boxers off (Ryan forgot to bring swim trunks) and the boy had successfully evaded him thus far.
“I don’t know.” Ryan said, knowing Pete was trying to throw off his concentration to catch him. And also because an answer like that needed proper thought. “What do you think?”
“Total drug-addicted scene queen street chic.” the man returned immediately. Ryan knew he’d been thinking about it since the movie started or finished or somewhere in the middle.
“I don’t want Alice to be on drugs.”
Pete caught him then, but he didn’t dunk him. His arms were tight around Ryan’s waist and his eyes were serious and over-bright and Ryan felt . . . happy, maybe? “I think that if anyone could save Alice from drugs, it’s you.”
Ryan kissed him. And then he started to cry. Pete held him in the water under the stars and stroked his wet hair. They didn’t fuck that night, but they both slept in Pete’s bed.