As the Clock Strikes

As the bluebird flies and the clock strikes nine
We will find, we will find, it is time, it is time.
As the blackbird cries and the clock strikes nine
We will find, we will find, it is time, it is time
To die, to die.

Ryan’s hands are placed quite exactly, which Brendon knows isn’t grammatically correct, but he’s not speaking aloud so he knows it doesn’t really matter. Ryan’s hands are on the window, placed so the tips of the thumbs and the tips of the index fingers are together, the remaining fingers all leaning toward the others but not touching. There is a triangle shape formed in the negative space between his meeting fingers. Brendon knows there’s a reason for Ryan’s hands to be placed quite exactly, but he knows he’s not supposed to ask. He wouldn’t understand anyway and Ryan would just get frustrated.

So he sits down on the couch and doesn’t say anything, holding his own hands out in front of him, fingers all splayed out as far as they will go. What does Ryan see in the things everyone else takes for granted? And why doesn’t he talk to Brendon anymore?

As the mockingbird flew and the clock strikes two,
You will find there is nothing, there is nothing
To tie him to you.

Ryan is in the kitchen now, arranging the magnets on the refrigerator quite exactly. All lined up, touching and in perfect ninety degree angles, all flowing by height and width in a perfect pattern. His forehead is slightly wrinkled and his eyes are slightly narrowed. Brendon sighs and steps behind him, wrapping his arms gently around Ryan’s waist. I love you. But he doesn’t say it. Ryan can’t stand to hear voices lately. No radio, no television, no ringtones with words. No ringtones at all, actually.

Brendon hears Ryan’s reply without hearing the words. It echoes in his head, rattling off the sides of his skull. Go away, go away, you don’t understand. And he doesn’t. But maybe he could if Ryan tried.

As the clock strikes three, we all agree
There is nothing for it at all.

Now Ryan is straightening up and leaning back against Brendon, his hands over the other boy’s. His eyes are closed and he is breathing deeply. Then he is spinning and they are kissing, Brendon’s hands in Ryan’s hair and Ryan’s under Brendon’s shirt. There is panting and a strangled sort of sound in Ryan’s throat as they fall to the floor, touching and kissing and breathing. The sounds are so loud in the quiet apartment. Brendon is afraid he might go deaf for a moment, with his heart beating in his ears and Ryan’s breath hard against his skin.

As the nightingale sings of war and the clock strikes four,
We wait for the sounds of bombs and fall to the floor.
As the crow circles above and the clock strikes five,
We are crying and holding and praying to fly,
Far far away from here.

Now they are naked and flesh is shimmering. Ryan is making noises in the back of his throat and rolling onto his back, fingers threading Brendon’s hair which is damp from sweat. And they are one, Brendon inside, cursing out loud. A voice finally, a voice finally in the apartment. Brendon is cursing and Ryan is breathing too heavily, eyes wide and staring into Brendon, fingers in hair and heels in back. Then Ryan is crying and Brendon is crying and it’s way too fast and neither one of them cares.

As the robin sings and the clock strikes six,
The war is naught and we are conflict,
And there is nowhere to go and nowhere to run.

Now Ryan is biting and there is blood and Brendon is screaming. And they are hitting, hitting, fighting. Eyes are flashing and teeth are bared and they are animals, roaring and battling. And Ryan screams with his climax and Brendon’s eyes close to the image of Ryan’s fingers placed quite exactly in that triangle on the window.

As the clock strikes one, we are done, we are done.
There is nowhere to go and nowhere to hide,
We battle our monsters deep inside.
You stumble through the darkness but can’t find a door,
I am blinded by the light and there is no more.