Everything You Touch
and then you bring me home.
Ryan pressed his face into Brendon's neck. "Do you remember that time you decided we should skinny dip in Pete's pool? Do you remember how amazing that sex was?"
He felt an ache, dull in the pit of his stomach. Nostalgia was such a dangerous thing, leaching onto memories like they were going to save you, like remember that there used to be good times would make all the bad ones disappear. It never did. It just reminded you how things were never going to be as good as they were once.
"I remember that time you wanted to do it in front of the balcony window with the drapes open."
"Not right in front," Ryan whispered, blushing, pushing his face harder into Brendon's chest, as if that would somehow make him invisible. "Shit was easier then," he whispered a few moments later.
"Everything's easy when there aren't any responsibilities," Brendon mumbled. "No accountability."
"So we have responsibilities now?" Ryan asked, voice dry. "When did that happen?"
Brendon contemplated for a moment, his eyes closed, fingers playing on Ryan's sides. "It happened when we got serious and started to fix every crack we noticed. So . . . right around the time you started screwing Pete again." It was said so blandly, so matter-of-fact, like the betrayal was nothing more than a routine fixture.
Ryan's insides squirmed. He'd created that routine. "So fixing cracks makes more happen?" he asked finally.
"Go to sleep, Ry," Brendon murmured, brushing his lips against the boy's forehead. "We can't change anything."
"Can't even try?" Ryan whispered, voice straining.
Brendon's fingers wrapped around his boyfriend's wrist, squeezing hard enough to earn a sharp gasp. "You destroy everything you touch, Ry. It's a genetic anomaly, not something you can change. Now go to sleep."
"Everything I touch?"
Brendon sighed, feeling bad about his sense of wording. "You make it sparkle first though, baby," he tried, voice soft and affectionate. "Always sparkling."
He felt an ache, dull in the pit of his stomach. Nostalgia was such a dangerous thing, leaching onto memories like they were going to save you, like remember that there used to be good times would make all the bad ones disappear. It never did. It just reminded you how things were never going to be as good as they were once.
"I remember that time you wanted to do it in front of the balcony window with the drapes open."
"Not right in front," Ryan whispered, blushing, pushing his face harder into Brendon's chest, as if that would somehow make him invisible. "Shit was easier then," he whispered a few moments later.
"Everything's easy when there aren't any responsibilities," Brendon mumbled. "No accountability."
"So we have responsibilities now?" Ryan asked, voice dry. "When did that happen?"
Brendon contemplated for a moment, his eyes closed, fingers playing on Ryan's sides. "It happened when we got serious and started to fix every crack we noticed. So . . . right around the time you started screwing Pete again." It was said so blandly, so matter-of-fact, like the betrayal was nothing more than a routine fixture.
Ryan's insides squirmed. He'd created that routine. "So fixing cracks makes more happen?" he asked finally.
"Go to sleep, Ry," Brendon murmured, brushing his lips against the boy's forehead. "We can't change anything."
"Can't even try?" Ryan whispered, voice straining.
Brendon's fingers wrapped around his boyfriend's wrist, squeezing hard enough to earn a sharp gasp. "You destroy everything you touch, Ry. It's a genetic anomaly, not something you can change. Now go to sleep."
"Everything I touch?"
Brendon sighed, feeling bad about his sense of wording. "You make it sparkle first though, baby," he tried, voice soft and affectionate. "Always sparkling."