Conversations on a Thursday Afternoon
but if the world were ending
_______Clouds are marching along,
_______Singing a song, just like they do.
Brendon and Ryan were lying on the grass. Brendon was on his back and Ryan was on his stomach, legs in the air, sucking on the pipe. It was a Thursday, if he was remembering correctly and there was nothing in the world for them to do. So they weren't doing anything, just breathing, inhaling, enjoying each other and the drug coursing through their bloodstreams.
"That cloud looks like a rabbit." Brendon laughed, then put his hand over his mouth, worried about how loud he was, if the neighbors would hear.
"Sometimes Dylan looks like a rabbit." Ryan supplied, passing the pipe back to his boyfriend.
Brendon quirked an eyebrow, a silent laugh forming on his lips. "You're a rabbit."
"With a waistcoat and a pocket-watch." Ryan flipped onto his back, staring up at the clouds as well now, breathing in deep and listening to all the sounds around him that were so much louder than normal. Brendon's voice was quieter than the background noise now. Ryan could hardly hear him and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was probably just some babble about Alice in Wonderland anyway.
Sometimes statements are statements, not conversations, he mused to himself, feeling superior in the knowledge that he understood this and Brendon didn't. Ryan never meant to be a narcissist; it just came naturally. But even with his--as he felt--vastly superior understanding of conversation, Ryan still could be startled enough to yelp when he felt two fingers pinching the skin on his arm.
"Hey, asshole. Listen to me." Brendon laughed, overloud, this time not covering his mouth. He handed the pipe back. "I was asking if you were hungry. We should order food. I'm starving."
"You're high. Of course you're starving." Ryan rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning forward, back curving, and he flicked the lighter and took another hit. He could hear something from down the block, maybe. It was a single high-pitched note, possibly a child screaming because an adult took away their toy for hitting a sibling. But then it was gone and if Ryan closed his eyes, he swore he could hear someone sniffling.
Oh, wait. That was Brendon. Ryan opened his eyes and turned his head to see his boyfriend with eyes streaming, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his thin hoodie. "Christ, sorry," the boy apologized. "Fucking smoke and wind and shit."
"Chinese sounds good," Ryan told him with a soft smile. "Or pizza, actually. Pizza, yeah. Pepperoni?" He looked and sounded excited in spite of himself and Brendon grinned, happy to see Ryan visibly happy even if it was because of the munchies.
"Pizza, yeah, I'll call. Finish that and come in, okay?"
"And breadsticks, too, Bren."
_______And if the birds are just hollow words,
_______Flying along, singing a song,
_______What would they do?
They ate the pizza sprawled out on the couch, Ryan's legs in Brendon's lap. The dogs were whining, standing on their hind legs, paws against the couch, batting their eyes at Brendon (it seemed) until he gave in and fed them bits of breadstick.
Ryan was smiling openly, which was pretty except when he forgot he had pizza in his mouth and Brendon could see half-chewed food behind his teeth. But still, Ryan was smiling. Not that his boyfriend was depressed or anything of the nature, but smiling wasn't his preference or his way of showing anything. Now, sex, on the other hand, or any removal of clothes would certainly fit that niche.
"We could go to a movie or something tonight." Brendon offered up the idea as he reached for the box of cinnamon sticks on the coffee table. "Otherwise we're just going to sit around and smoke through the rest of my weed."
"I have more at my place. I'll get you back." Ryan said with a slight eye roll.
The younger boy sighed heavily, refraining from shaking his head. For being so damn perceptive with a pen, Ryan really didn't catch the heavy hints. Or else he just didn't pay attention to them. It's not like Ryan made it a secret that he thought he was so much smarter than Brendon in pretty much every way except vocal and instrumental talent. "I just meant it might not hurt to get out of the house and do something."
"I don't want to do anything." Ryan protested. "I just want to hang out with you. We never get any time like this, Bren. It's always someone else. We have that party tomorrow and . . . I just want to be with you without people. Is that so bad?"
There was no response for a moment. Brendon was trying to handle his shock at the fact that Ryan had actually said something, actually said something he meant. Ryan had actually articulated his words without resorting to pen and paper. It wasn't normal. In fact, he was ninety percent sure it was the pot.
"Yeah." Brendon sounded out of breath and he couldn't cover it. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just. We'll stay. Definitely."
"Don't sound so fucking shocked when I have good points."
"Don't sound like such a jackass."
Ryan leaned in and kissed him, and since they both tasted like pepperoni it didn't bother either of them.
_______But if the world were ending,
_______Would you kiss me?
_______Or just leave me?
The dogs were running around the backyard. It was officially night time, but the light went out later in California it seemed. The sun had been gone for at least half an hour, but the sky still had light blues and pinks in it. Ryan was sitting on the kitchen table, his fingers breaking up the nuggets into smaller pieces so they could have another bowl. Brendon was standing just outside the sliding glass door.
"Do you ever feel like you know what's going to happen, Ry?" he asked, turning and looking back inside.
"What do you think's going to happen?"
Brendon didn't want to answer. But at the same time he did because he wanted the response, wanted to be told he was an idiot, a worrier. "You're gonna leave me."
Ryan looked up at him with a soft smile. "Baby, that's never going to happen."
"Promise?"
The boy nodded. "This is ready. Got your lighter? I don't know where I put mine." His eyes skated across the room as if the red Bic would suddenly appear.
And Brendon didn't mean to be paranoid when Ryan offered him greens, but it certainly seemed like a peace offering and an apology for a lie. But if it was, even Ryan didn't realize it at the time.
_______Singing a song, just like they do.
Brendon and Ryan were lying on the grass. Brendon was on his back and Ryan was on his stomach, legs in the air, sucking on the pipe. It was a Thursday, if he was remembering correctly and there was nothing in the world for them to do. So they weren't doing anything, just breathing, inhaling, enjoying each other and the drug coursing through their bloodstreams.
"That cloud looks like a rabbit." Brendon laughed, then put his hand over his mouth, worried about how loud he was, if the neighbors would hear.
"Sometimes Dylan looks like a rabbit." Ryan supplied, passing the pipe back to his boyfriend.
Brendon quirked an eyebrow, a silent laugh forming on his lips. "You're a rabbit."
"With a waistcoat and a pocket-watch." Ryan flipped onto his back, staring up at the clouds as well now, breathing in deep and listening to all the sounds around him that were so much louder than normal. Brendon's voice was quieter than the background noise now. Ryan could hardly hear him and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was probably just some babble about Alice in Wonderland anyway.
Sometimes statements are statements, not conversations, he mused to himself, feeling superior in the knowledge that he understood this and Brendon didn't. Ryan never meant to be a narcissist; it just came naturally. But even with his--as he felt--vastly superior understanding of conversation, Ryan still could be startled enough to yelp when he felt two fingers pinching the skin on his arm.
"Hey, asshole. Listen to me." Brendon laughed, overloud, this time not covering his mouth. He handed the pipe back. "I was asking if you were hungry. We should order food. I'm starving."
"You're high. Of course you're starving." Ryan rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning forward, back curving, and he flicked the lighter and took another hit. He could hear something from down the block, maybe. It was a single high-pitched note, possibly a child screaming because an adult took away their toy for hitting a sibling. But then it was gone and if Ryan closed his eyes, he swore he could hear someone sniffling.
Oh, wait. That was Brendon. Ryan opened his eyes and turned his head to see his boyfriend with eyes streaming, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his thin hoodie. "Christ, sorry," the boy apologized. "Fucking smoke and wind and shit."
"Chinese sounds good," Ryan told him with a soft smile. "Or pizza, actually. Pizza, yeah. Pepperoni?" He looked and sounded excited in spite of himself and Brendon grinned, happy to see Ryan visibly happy even if it was because of the munchies.
"Pizza, yeah, I'll call. Finish that and come in, okay?"
"And breadsticks, too, Bren."
_______And if the birds are just hollow words,
_______Flying along, singing a song,
_______What would they do?
They ate the pizza sprawled out on the couch, Ryan's legs in Brendon's lap. The dogs were whining, standing on their hind legs, paws against the couch, batting their eyes at Brendon (it seemed) until he gave in and fed them bits of breadstick.
Ryan was smiling openly, which was pretty except when he forgot he had pizza in his mouth and Brendon could see half-chewed food behind his teeth. But still, Ryan was smiling. Not that his boyfriend was depressed or anything of the nature, but smiling wasn't his preference or his way of showing anything. Now, sex, on the other hand, or any removal of clothes would certainly fit that niche.
"We could go to a movie or something tonight." Brendon offered up the idea as he reached for the box of cinnamon sticks on the coffee table. "Otherwise we're just going to sit around and smoke through the rest of my weed."
"I have more at my place. I'll get you back." Ryan said with a slight eye roll.
The younger boy sighed heavily, refraining from shaking his head. For being so damn perceptive with a pen, Ryan really didn't catch the heavy hints. Or else he just didn't pay attention to them. It's not like Ryan made it a secret that he thought he was so much smarter than Brendon in pretty much every way except vocal and instrumental talent. "I just meant it might not hurt to get out of the house and do something."
"I don't want to do anything." Ryan protested. "I just want to hang out with you. We never get any time like this, Bren. It's always someone else. We have that party tomorrow and . . . I just want to be with you without people. Is that so bad?"
There was no response for a moment. Brendon was trying to handle his shock at the fact that Ryan had actually said something, actually said something he meant. Ryan had actually articulated his words without resorting to pen and paper. It wasn't normal. In fact, he was ninety percent sure it was the pot.
"Yeah." Brendon sounded out of breath and he couldn't cover it. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just. We'll stay. Definitely."
"Don't sound so fucking shocked when I have good points."
"Don't sound like such a jackass."
Ryan leaned in and kissed him, and since they both tasted like pepperoni it didn't bother either of them.
_______But if the world were ending,
_______Would you kiss me?
_______Or just leave me?
The dogs were running around the backyard. It was officially night time, but the light went out later in California it seemed. The sun had been gone for at least half an hour, but the sky still had light blues and pinks in it. Ryan was sitting on the kitchen table, his fingers breaking up the nuggets into smaller pieces so they could have another bowl. Brendon was standing just outside the sliding glass door.
"Do you ever feel like you know what's going to happen, Ry?" he asked, turning and looking back inside.
"What do you think's going to happen?"
Brendon didn't want to answer. But at the same time he did because he wanted the response, wanted to be told he was an idiot, a worrier. "You're gonna leave me."
Ryan looked up at him with a soft smile. "Baby, that's never going to happen."
"Promise?"
The boy nodded. "This is ready. Got your lighter? I don't know where I put mine." His eyes skated across the room as if the red Bic would suddenly appear.
And Brendon didn't mean to be paranoid when Ryan offered him greens, but it certainly seemed like a peace offering and an apology for a lie. But if it was, even Ryan didn't realize it at the time.