Close Your Eyes and I'll Kiss You; Tomorrow I'll Miss You.

Brendon’s hands are fisting in Pete’s hair and his legs are wrapping around his waist and he can’t tell if he’s on the floor or on a bed or if he’s simply floating in midair. The hair is too short and the waist is too thick and the unfamiliarity of it puts a weird feeling in the pit of Brendon’s stomach. He feels hands under his shirt and the fingers aren’t long enough and the nails dig in too hard, but he allows him to remove his shirt and unbutton his pants.

“I’ve only ever done this…with Ryan before,” he says, pushing his hips upward because he likes the way Pete’s hands feel on him. But it only takes a second more until Brendon sits straight up and pushes Pete completely away from him.

“Ryan,” he says, just now realizing what was actually going on.

“Hey, come on, what are you doing?” Pete asks, and then he’s back on top of him, kneeling over him, but Brendon shakes his head, leaning away from Pete.

“Ryan,” he repeats.

“Who’s that?” Pete asks absentmindedly, latching his mouth onto Brendon’s neck. And it feels so good that he forgets, closing his eyes and reveling in the sensations. But he remembers again, and pushes on Pete’s chest to get him away from him.

“He’s my boyfriend,” he answers defensively.

“Yeah, but he’s all the way in Vietnam. You must be lonely without him. And it’s not like he’ll ever find out.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Brendon says, pushing Pete off of him again and standing up. The LSD might be wearing off now because he feels a little bit more steady on his feet, even though the things around him are still swirling and running together, and every step he takes feels like he’s about to fall. And he’s not even sure where he’s going because he’s not sure how he got to where he was and he doesn’t even know how much time has passed or if he’s even in the same house as the party or if the party is still even going on.

He finds the party downstairs. It’s not as crowded as it was earlier which makes the people he’s looking for not as hard to find.

“Victoria, I wanna go home,” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Brendon! Where have you been?! We’ve been looking for you for hours!” she says, then she sees how flustered Brendon is and gives him a concerned look. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I think…I think I just cheated on Ryan.”

~*

“No, no way. He can’t go home, he’s still tripping. There’s no way he can go home like that,” Alex says, sitting in the back of the minibus with Brendon, who has his knees hugged to his chest and is just staring at the back of the seats in front of him.

“But how will his mom react when he’s not home in the morning?” Ryland asks. “And it’s way too late to phone her, and it’ll be even later by the time we even get near a phone.”

“Her reaction to him not being home would be nothing compared to her reaction if she realized that her kid is completely fucked up on LSD, though,” Gabe says.

“He has a point,” Victoria says.

“Gabe’s right, Ryland. So is Alex. There’s no way he can go home like this,” Nate says.

“Okay, okay. Four against one, I get it. I guess he’s coming home with us, then.”

“Brendon, are you okay with that?” Alex asks, placing his hand on Brendon’s arm, causing him to jump slightly and look up at Alex, eyes wide, seeming as though he hadn’t heard a word of the conversation between the other five. And he doesn’t even speak, just looks at Alex, confused.

“Yeah, I think he’s okay with that,” Gabe says, watching them.

~*

Brendon feels sick. Sicker than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He’s almost certain that he’s dying, but Ryland tells him that he’s just dealing with the normal morning-after-dropping-acid feelings. But he feels like everything is in slow motion and every time he tries to walk, he needs to sit down because he feels dizzy and like the floor is moving beneath him.

Victoria tells Brendon that she called his mom early that morning to tell her that he had fallen asleep there on accident and that they’d be driving him home after he woke up. Brendon thanks her repeatedly.

When he finally goes home, he feels a little bit better, but not much. He’s thankful for the fact that his mother was gullible enough to believe that he had just fallen asleep away from, though.

“Your friend that called me seemed very nice,” she says to him.

“Yeah, Victoria? She is pretty nice,” he agrees. She gives him a smile as if she knows something that he doesn’t and he raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Is she pretty?” she asks next, and Brendon fights back the urge to roll his eyes.

“I don’t know, I guess. I wouldn’t really look at her in that way, though, since she’s only my friend,” he tells her.

“Oh. I see,” she says, but she’s still smiling. Brendon still feels sick so he really doesn’t feel like arguing his point, so he just starts to walk upstairs, away from his mom.

“Oh, honey, wait!” she says. “You got a letter in the mail from Ryan.”

His face visibly lights up as he turns around and notices the unopened envelope sitting on the coffee table in the living room and he practically runs to grab it. He’s so excited that it takes him all the way until he gets into his room and starts to tear it open when the guilt comes back to him.

He cheated on Ryan last night.

He almost had sex with another guy and the only excuse he has was the fact that he was on drugs, which isn’t a good excuse at all. It’s the shittiest excuse that he could ever give, he decides.

He sets the letter down on top of his pillow and stares at it, feeling too guilty to even open it. He doesn’t deserve this, he decides. He doesn’t deserve to have such an amazing boyfriend who will take the time while at war to write to him. When he, himself, is the worst boyfriend in the history of the world. He makes the decision that he’ll read it some later when he doesn’t feel so damn guilty.

~*

Brendon,
Things might not ever be the same after the war, but it doesn’t mean that it will all be bad. We’ve lost a close friend to the war, but we’ve also gained several more. I’ll be home soon. And even though I can’t promise that for sure, I hope that by saying it and writing it, it might make it actually happen. It’s a long shot, I know, but worth a try. It’s probably starting to sound old now, but I miss you. I miss you so, so much, baby. I’m just so happy that I have someone like you who I can write home to and that I can trust completely and that I know will be waiting for me when I finally come home. You’re probably thinking that the war is making me go a little bit mental, which might actually be kind of true. But I’m just telling the truth here. That’s really all I can do at this point. It’s really dark and I can hardly see what I’m writing and I don’t really know what else to say, so I’m going to end this now. I’m sorry that this is pretty much all over the place. That’s how my mind has been lately. I love you. Hoping for home soon.

-Ryan

~*

Ryan,...

Brendon can’t think of anything else past that point to write. He feels guiltier than ever. He hates himself, almost. He pushes the paper away from him and promises himself that he’ll write later.

But the same thing happens later.

And the same thing, the time after that.

~*

Ryan is running as fast as he can and Jon is right by his side. He hates shooting his gun because he hates the thought of killing people, but he’s shooting is as much as he can because he’s so scared and he doesn’t know what else to do.

None of the other battles have been this bad.

There are explosions and gun going off in every direction and way too much fire and he knows that he’s never been this scared in his entire life. And he keeps running. He wants to close his eyes and cover his ears and make it all go away, but he can’t and he knows that, so he’s praying to a God that he’s never believed in, praying for it all to stop, praying to let him get out alive, praying, praying, praying.

He keeps looking over to make sure that Jon is right next to him because he’s terrified of being alone now. He needs Jon there to make him feel just a little bit safer. But just a little bit.

But even with all of the noise, Jon’s yell of pain cuts through it all. And Ryan’s heart drops as Jon falls to his knees. His eyes are squeezed shut in agony and Ryan’s eyes go directly towards the growing bloodstain on Jon’s back.

“No. No, no, no,” he yells, grabbing Jon’s arm and trying to help him up. “Come on, come on!”

“Ryan, I can’t-- fuck!” Jon yells out and, shit, he’s crying. Ryan can see his tear cleaning a path down his dirty cheek.

“Come on, come on, you’re gonna be okay, we just have to get out of here!” Ryan practically screams through the noise. Jon shakes his head, breathing heavily, but he gets up on his feet and his face shines with tears and pain and Ryan is dragging him somewhere and Jon just lets him because he doesn’t know what else to do, and Ryan doesn’t know what else to do, but he has to do something, so he’s just doing whatever.

He doesn’t know how he finds it or how he gets there, but he reaches a clearing. A clearing of trees, a clearing of battle, a clearing of the screams and explosions. He lets go of Jon’s arm finally and watches as he crumples to the ground, and he falls down right beside him.

“Jon, come on, come on,” he’s saying, and it’s like the words are just falling out of his mouth and he has no control.

“Ryan, I’m not….” he sounds so weak and it breaks Ryan’s heart.

“You’re not what? You’re not gonna die, okay? You can’t die.”

“I….”

“You can’t die, okay, Jon? You can’t! What about Cassie? You have to go home to Cassie! And the baby! You’re gonna be a dad, Jon! You can’t…you can’t die on me!” Ryan says frantically, and he’s crying even though he’s trying to be strong, but he can’t help it.

“I want…I want you to be the godfather,” Jon gets out through gritted teeth. “When you get out of here, I want you to be the godfather, okay? I already told Cassie, I just…you…. You‘ll make sure my baby knows that I loved it before I ever even met it, okay?”

“Jon, no, no, don’t talk like that. You’re gonna make it!”

“I’m not, Ryan,” he says, shaking his head.

“Stop it, no, don’t talk like that!”

“Tell my mom that I’m sorry and that I loved her.”

“God dammit, Jon! No!” Ryan yells, grasping onto Jon’s shoulder, holding on as tight as he can, trying to hold on to his life, but he knows that he can’t. He knows, but he won’t give up.

“Jon, come on, come on!” he says, but he knows that he’s gone. But he doesn’t know what to do. And he just cries, bent over, hugging Jon’s lifeless body. He can hear the guns and explosions and they keep getting louder, but he doesn’t look up because all he can do is hold on to his friend for as long as he possibly can because he can’t just let go.

~*

Brendon’s can’t figure out how he spent an entire week moping to himself without even contacting Spencer. But for some reason, that’s what happened, and now he’s catching up with him as they walk through the neighbourhood.

“So was that Pete guy there?” Spencer asks, speaking of the party.

“Uh…yeah, but um. I didn’t really see him much,” Brendon lies, still not dealing very well with what happened that night.

“Oh, that’s too bad. He seems pretty cool.”

“Eh, yeah, I guess,” Brendon shrugs, trying not to show much emotion. He still hasn’t gotten around to even starting on a reply to Ryan’s last letter and every day that passes that he doesn’t get it sent out, it makes him feel even more guilty.

They’re only about halfway down the road they live on when they both stop in their tracks. They both see it. The black car and the two men in black suits walking up to the door of the house that Ryan’s dad lives in.

And before he can even think about it, Brendon is sprinting in that direction, tears already in his eyes.