The Killing Kind

Brendon remembers the exact moment when he fell in love with Ryan. He was fresh out of high school, in the middle of touring for the first album, living in close proximity with the guitarist every day, seeing him at his worst and his best, and Ryan had walked onto the bus wearing a simple shirt and jeans, smelling beautifully of girl’s deodorant and soap and something quite distinctly him. He’d smiled at Brendon as he did so and left again, and before Brendon could even think of what was happening, butterflies had erupted in the pit of his stomach, his palms were sweaty and he was breathless, speechless, motionless and every other less in the dictionary. He knew what it meant. He had a crush.

It wasn’t too bad, really. He would learn to get over it. It would disappear into the confines of his mind eventually, and he and Ryan would go back to just being best friends. There was something about Ryan, though – and he wasn’t sure what it was or how it worked or even why it worked on him – that seemed to make everyone, man or woman, feel completely lame in comparison. Ryan had a way of flirting with anyone he met. He was intimidating but at the same time, he was charming and attractive and funny.

But Brendon knew better than that. He’d seen Ryan cry, he’d stayed with him until they’d both fallen asleep and he’d been trusted to keep his secrets locked away. In a nutshell, Brendon had seen the side of Ryan that interviewers and fans never saw. The soft side. The sensitive, emotional aspect of him. And that was the part that Brendon had a crush on.

What he didn’t like, however, was the other side of Ryan, the one that everyone glimpsed at in public. The side of him that he showed on stage, at award ceremonies, in interviews. The cocky, confident part. Not that Brendon disliked when Ryan had confidence; of course not, he loved it, in fact, because it brought a smile to both of their faces. But he had noticed the eyefucking when it came to cameras, the sly remarks, the suggestive looks at other people. Ryan liked to indulge himself, sometimes in not the healthiest of ways, and although Brendon knew he couldn’t stop him – he’d be a hypocrite if he did, anyway – he wanted him all to himself, no one else’s to share.

He hated how jealous he was. He was acting like a fourteen-year-old girl on her first period.

Except his crush never did go away, and to Brendon, it was the most annoying and frustrating crush he’d ever had. He wasn’t stupid enough to act on it. That could fuck up the whole band and their whole friendship and no; he wasn’t going to do that. Why would Ryan want him in the first place? The boys and girls he wooed after shows were his company, more accomplished than he could ever be, he didn’t matter. To Ryan, he was their singer and their best friend but he would never be anything more.

He willed his crush to go away by concentrating on his music and their fans and living up to their expectations from the label. For the most part, it worked. He was almost too distracted to pay attention to Ryan’s ridiculously endearing ways when there were no cameras present and how he appeared much more reserved and down to earth when he wasn’t caught in the limelight of fame. In private he was shy, a word not usually associated with him and that was exactly the problem that Brendon had.

He could easily ignore the guitarist in public, brushing it off as just simply liking the attention. But on the bus, when they weren’t playing or doing press, he was quiet and content and so totally normal, that Brendon ended up forgetting that he was even famous at all and allowed himself to overlook the smug area of Ryan’s personality. He was screwed, so badly screwed. Having a crush was horrible at the best of times but when it appeared out of the blue and focused on one of his best friends who would never feel that way back, well, he really hated cupid and his stupid fucking arrow.

Finally, tour ended just before Christmas and the four of them went their separate ways, Jon heading back to Chicago and the rest of them to Vegas. Brendon was glad; really glad in fact, that he was going to be away from Ryan for at least two weeks. In that time, he would try to forget the fact that he was hopelessly devoted, focus on relaxing and seeing his family and just generally having a great time. He’d managed to achieve two days of eating junk food in front of the TV all day before Ryan visited, eyes clouded with lust and want.

“Ryan, wh-” he hadn’t even managed to ask why he was at his house before his lips were smothered and he was being pushed forcefully against the wall and his arms gained a mind of their own when they slid down Ryan’s torso. Was he dreaming? Was this really happening? He’d wanted this so badly and now it was here, and just as Ryan’s skinny fingers skimmed over the buckle of Brendon’s belt, he let all thought and conscience drain from his mind.

It had been quick and didn’t contain even the slightest bit of emotion (Brendon knew this because Ryan disappeared not long after, as he was getting dressed again), and when it was over, he let jealousy and shame wash over him once again. He had just been a painless way for Ryan to get laid, a pawn, and for the first time in his life, he thought himself pathetic. He should’ve said no when he had the chance, should’ve just declined Ryan’s approaches. Maybe that way he wouldn’t have felt so dumb and irrelevant as he did now.

Brendon finished dressing himself and went upstairs to hide from the world under his duvet.

*

The antics didn’t stop on the next tour, either, when it started again in January in Europe. Their first night in Poland, the adrenaline had been crazy, the fans going nuts in the crowd and the band enjoying every minute just as much. Neither of them really wanted to leave the stage at all, and when the last notes of Build God, Then We’ll Talk echoed throughout the venue, they reluctantly walked off, sweaty and out of breath but full with excitement for the upcoming show in Germany the next night. It was when everything had quietened down and Brendon was attempting to sleep in his bunk much later, when Ryan climbed in, said nothing as he straddled the singer’s hips and leaned down to kiss him eagerly.

This time, Brendon didn’t even need to ask. But his mind failed him like before, and he wasn’t sure he was thinking at all when he didn’t protest to what Ryan was doing, just went along with it and enjoyed it like he was back at his house again, and just like before, he felt ashamed and used when Ryan returned to his own bunk just minutes later. He couldn’t resist him, he really couldn’t. He was helpless and a fool and yeah, he really hated cupid.

He turned over to face the side of the bus, buried his face in his pillow and concentrated on the slight hum of the engine to help him sleep. Above him, Spencer made a low snuffling noise as he dreamt and he heard the faint, steady snoring of Jon from across the path. He couldn’t hear Ryan at all and the thought made him oddly sad.

He shut his eyes and let the slow purr of the bus lull him to a slumber.

*

The next time, Brendon initiated it, despite his brain telling him not to, but he ignored it because he needed this and he knew Ryan wouldn’t object. And he didn’t. He took all of his frustration and anger and infatuation out on him, left the lyricist in a mess of discarded clothes and sweat in their deserted dressing room, and then he left, just like Ryan had done to him, and he felt even worse than he did before it happened. He dressed in silence and went to sit back on the bus, tried not to think until Jon came in, perched on the couch next to him and nodded his head in reassurance.

Brendon nodded back, suddenly wanting to cry, and he snuggled closer to the bassist, who wrapped a comforting arm around him. It made Brendon feel better, even though no words were spoken, his guilt melting away slightly. Ryan had no idea how much he wanted him, had no idea how much he wanted it to be real; it was all a cruel game. But he was already too far to forget him, and Brendon regretted this more than anything he’d ever done.

Ryan made him miserable but he was one of the only people to really cheer him up when he felt like crap. Their love, if you could call it that, was one-sided, bittersweet, a complete failure in terms of actual love for each other, but their friendship, in spite of the occasional bickering and playfully violent encounters, was one of a kind. He valued their friendship, wanted it to last as long as possible, didn’t ever want to do anything to jeopardise it, but he feared he’d already overstepped that boundary when he first developed his silly little schoolgirl crush.

It was all his fault.

*

Their sex became routine. After nearly every show, Ryan would sneak into Brendon’s bunk when he was sure the other two were asleep, and they would hardly make a sound, and then it would be over quickly. Brendon would clean the mess from the sheets, Ryan would go back to his own bunk, and it wouldn’t be spoken of again. If he hadn’t known the guitarist like the back of his hand, Brendon would say that Ryan missed him, but that was just his heart hoping too hard again. He missed Ryan. By god, he missed him. He always missed him. On the off chances that Jon and Spencer were off somewhere together to give the two space, Brendon still got butterflies when Ryan walked into the room drenched in girl’s deodorant and smelling deliciously of soap and his own distinct scent. Even through everything, his pining was still innocent.

He shouldn’t have ever let his feelings get involved. That was when things began to get complicated. But it was Ryan, it had always been Ryan. Looking back on it, Brendon has always liked him, from the moment they met when he auditioned for the role of guitarist; he’d laid eyes on him from across the room, they’d shared a glance lasting a few seconds, and that was it. Even before he knew it, Brendon was hooked on something he shouldn’t have been. That was the moment when he truly fell in love with Ryan.

The bond they had was more special than any other friendship Brendon had before. It was a mutual trust, something that he’d seldom experienced, and more, although he couldn’t put his finger on it. When he was kicked out of his parent’s house, he was the one there to pick up the pieces, help stitch them back together and provide him with comfort and advice. It wasn’t just a friendship, even from the beginning. It had always been something more, maybe not as advanced as a relationship but nothing as tame as friends-with-benefits. There was an area of grey between the two that existed only for them, a status that no one else would ever be able to understand, even Spencer, who’d known Ryan all of his life. Brendon knew this was probably dangerous territory; he was crossing an invisible barrier without anything to protect himself with, and when his liking of Ryan finally reached a head, there was nothing he could do. Ryan had set an anchor on him.

He wanted to snap cupid’s arrow in half and burn the pieces.

*

When Ryan met his girlfriend, Brendon feigned happiness and wished them both all the best. But he would never admit that he wanted to break down because it meant that everything he had with him, whatever it was – sex, yes, but not love – didn’t mean anything to him at all, it was all a game, just a way to get off quickly, and Brendon felt sick with himself for believing anything that Ryan did. He did like Ryan’s girlfriend, she was exactly the right person for him, but at the same time, he despised her for interrupting it all. It wasn’t her fault.

“Brendon,” Jon said as he sat down next to him at the back of the bus. The youngest man could hardly remember sitting down in the first place. “We need to talk,” he continued.

Brendon looked up to face the bassist, saw his fiercely concerned and stubborn expression and sighed, shifting to stare directly at the floor instead.

“What about?” He already had a pretty good idea.

“You and Ryan,” he said shortly. “I want to know what’s up.”

Brendon knew this was coming. He couldn’t expect the other members of the band to remain ignorant forever, and really, it was only a matter of time before they figured it out on their own. Spencer was different when it came to things like this; he had a way of knowing even if you didn’t tell him. Jon was the same, except he was usually the only one brave enough to question it.

The singer sighed, “There’s nothing up.”

Jon frowned and looked at him sternly, “Brendon, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Brendon sighed again. He loved Jon but he got kind of annoying when it came to his protective and caring instincts. He was the oldest, it was only natural, but Brendon had a habit of keeping things to himself, and he really wasn’t in the mood for Jon’s stubborn attitude.

“Jon, I-”

“I mean it.”

The younger man huffed, “Fine. I don’t know what to tell you. We fucked a few times but that’s it. Nothing personal.”

This time Jon sighed, pressing his head into his hands, “Don’t play dumb with me. You think I haven’t noticed the way that you look at him? You think I haven’t seen the stupid smiles and glances in his direction? I’m not stupid, I know what’s going on-”

“Then why are you asking, Jon? I appreciate the effort but you’re wrong, I don’t like Ryan. At least not in the way you’re thinking,” he lied, and as the words slipped out of his throat, he bit his tongue to stop the confessions from pouring out. This was just an issue between himself and his heart, Ryan wasn’t important, and he still held the faith that one day, his tiny, miniscule crush on Ryan would disappear to nothing. But even he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that it would. He knew it wasn’t possible. Ryan, despite the pleading with his brain and his hatred of winged babies with arrows, had embedded himself in his heart for good, and there was nothing he could do to make him go away.

“Fuck, Brendon, stop lying! You’re my best friend and I’m worried about you. I’ve seen the way you grin like a fucking idiot when Ryan lets you win video games. I’ve been around you long enough to see these things.”

Brendon was silent again for several moments, before he looked up from the floor and stared directly at his friend next to him, then he pursed his lips in deep thought. “Okay, fine, I admit it. I like Ryan, okay? But it doesn’t matter, he has a girlfriend.”

Jon pulled him into a one-arm hug across the shoulders, “It does matter. He matters to you. Open your eyes, Brendon. That way you might see what’s really in front of you.”

The singer returned the hug, eyes staring back at their place on the floor.

*

When the band left to the mountains to write the follow-up to their debut, the situation still didn’t ease. In fact, it probably got worse. Brendon knew that everyone in the cabin with them had guessed about their relationship – or lack thereof – and he was anxious. He hated being around Ryan in fear of admitting everything in a heartbeat but he also hated being away from him too. It was then usually followed with an overwhelming sense of paranoia and anger at himself.

It was rare when they got time alone – or, more specifically, it was rare when they stopped arguing long enough to fuck in the first place. Everyone else got annoyed with them when they kept the rest of the cabin awake in the early hours of the morning screaming insults at each other for trivial offences (Brendon declines it now, but he definitely did eat the last of Ryan’s cereal just to be spiteful because Ryan deliberately broke a string on his guitar). But then they would retreat to their respective bedrooms and several hours later, Brendon would sneak into Ryan’s room and would make the amendments to their forgotten argument. It was like an unwritten agreement of sorts, an apology, but really it just made Brendon want him so much more.

And suddenly the cabin fever ended, and they returned to the recording studio to finally make it real. Brendon could hardly believe what happened; A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out didn’t seem as important anymore, didn’t seem as novelty as before and that was entirely a good thing. But then, in time, even those songs weren’t right and they went about writing better ones soon after.

They named it Pretty. Odd. purely for the fact that it was both pretty and a little strange, and it fit with exactly what they were trying to say. Brendon liked to think it symbolised something slightly deeper than just a modern fairytale laced with some personal meaning, the beginning of a new era of his life perhaps. He was more positive about this album than any other decision he’d ever made.

As the starting notes of We’re So Starving rang around the arena and the screams of thousands erupted in the tiny place, Brendon smiled to himself. He was lucky to be doing this, grateful to Pete Wentz for signing them and grateful for the fact that his boss at Smoothie Hut allowed him to sing to the customers. He looked over to Ryan on the right side of him. He had so much to owe him, something he didn’t believe he would ever be able to do, and as they both grinned and Brendon started to sing, he felt more assured than ever.

*

“God, Ryan,” Brendon breathed heavily, eyes closed in absolute bliss, fingers curled in the locks of the beautiful boy on his knees in front of him. He’d done this so many times, and by now he was almost a professional, but he still managed to make Brendon’s toes curl and still left him completely breathless in the most amazing of ways. For now he was ignoring that it was just for pleasure, obviously overlooking Ryan’s flaws and forgetting about how it wasn’t real. He was going to save the blame games for later, when he was alone and he could point at himself in the mirror.

The truth was, Brendon did feel used, but he always did have a knack for pretending.

And an overwhelming ability to think far too much.

Ryan did something with his mouth and Brendon groaned in delighted surprise. That was the thing about Ryan; he was no stranger to Brendon and especially not to his body, but he still found ways to make Brendon love him more, even if he believed it wasn’t humanly possible.

“Oh my god,” he whispered and the guitarist smirked from his position below him.

He figured that the fans had a vague idea of what was going on between them and he also knew that the subject would be questioned in their next interview, also that they would probably receive some slightly R-rated fanmail in the oncoming weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would do what he always did: carefully avoid answering, comment on it with something witty and the interviewer would be too distracted to remember what they were going to say. The fans would know it was just for the stage shows. But he knew how to keep a secret.

Brendon moaned again and Ryan moved his hands from resting on either side of Brendon’s hips to closing around Brendon’s fingers in his hair. Abruptly, Ryan moved upward, one hand remaining entwined with Brendon’s, and he kissed him slowly as he helped him to achieve his release.

He couldn’t stop the fluttering of his heart at the feel of Ryan’s callus palm against his own.

*

The next morning, Brendon woke up with Ryan still in bed next to him. It was only at that point when he realised that was the first time that he stayed, only once in three years. Brendon wanted to let himself get lost in childish fantasies of him and Ryan and their perfect white picket fence, but he didn’t, instead staring down at Ryan’s naked back and wondering how he finally got so lucky. And really, he was happy that this particular hotel, somewhere in southern Florida, although he couldn’t remember the name, didn’t have stick-thin walls and didn’t have interconnecting rooms. It was like him, Ryan and the bed that brought them together, isolated from everyone else. He sighed into the early morning sunshine, letting the light hit his face and admiring the patterns it made on Ryan’s skin.

Ryan’s phone vibrated on his bedside table and before Brendon could stop himself, he picked it up curiously, discovering MESSAGE (1) on the homescreen. Ryan’s background was a picture of him and his girlfriend.

He really was pathetic. How could he let himself believe, after everything Ryan had done, that maybe, he finally felt the same? He wanted to cry and curl up into a ball and scream his hate at the world. He’d never thought that karma existed, really, because it was just a saint’s way of saying they were all doomed, but when he let his mind wander back to when he accidently starved his first pet fish when he was a boy, he began to wonder if maybe this was a punishment for him making all the wrong decisions.

He clicked onto the message, read the text quickly and replaced it back next to the hotel telephone, feeling slightly guilty. Ryan had made his choice, maybe he had from the very beginning: Brendon was never going to be enough for him. He enjoyed the company of his girlfriend too much, and Brendon was just a footnote in Ryan’s happiness. He sighed sadly and began to dress himself. He was finally going to move on.

The bus was back on the road several hours later, Ryan having been awakened (he promptly fell asleep again when he got to his bunk) and Brendon strummed on his guitar awkwardly. Jon was reading a magazine, Spencer was watching TV on low volume, Zack was off doing whatever on some other part of the bus, Eric was nowhere to be seen… where they were headed next, he had no idea.

Outside, it had begun to rain.

He sighed and pulled his guitar from his shoulders and placed it on the sofa he sat on. The only noise in the whole room was the quiet murmur of the TV playing some reality show that Brendon had never seen and Spencer secretly enjoyed. He was bored of tour now, he wanted to go back to the studio, write some more, explore things again, but they still had a few weeks before this was over and he could relax.

But he could see the tension arising between the four of them; Jon was unhappy, so was Ryan, and sooner or later one of them would bring it up and the band would have to choose where to go next. He really hoped it didn’t lead to where he was thinking it would, but he had a tendency to be proved wrong most of the time and he bit down on his lip in anxiousness.

He wasn’t ready for this all to end, not yet.

*

Keltie’s blog post appeared on the internet within a matter of weeks, the news spreading across the thousands of fans they had, and it was at that point when Brendon felt truly useless. It was him who Ryan had cheated on his girlfriend with (Keltie had claimed it was down to finding a hickey on Ryan’s neck which she didn’t remember giving him, and earlier that morning Brendon had been the one to initiate it). But the strange thing was, even to Brendon, he didn’t seemed bothered that he had ruined the seemingly perfect relationship he had with her, because he gave her a half-hearted apology and didn’t try to run after her.

Brendon really needed to make up his mind.

He tried to compose himself from jumping up and down in triumph.

He caught Ryan’s shy smile from across the room – a simple gesture of thanks, a hello, a you’re welcome – and his heart swelled in admiration, he returned it and retreated to his bedroom again. It wasn’t even near nightfall but suddenly he felt very tired, exhausted actually, and the prospect of sleeping for a long time seemed like a gift.

He curled under his blanket, head poking out on top of his pillow and closed his eyes. The room was oddly cold, a draught of some sort seeping through the walls and pinching his skin. His bed was a double, although he could only ever sleep on the right hand side, for reasons he had no idea why, and the light from the alarm clock on the bedside table looked too bright, flashing at four in the afternoon because it was almost out of battery (Brendon made a mental note to leave a note for Ryan taped to the fridge as a reminder).

He closed his eyes, turned his thoughts off and dreamt.

*

“Wha-” Brendon mumbled as the bed dipped from behind him and a pair of arms encircled his torso, closing him against the chest of whoever was hugging him, but they were warm, protective and comforting. He felt them wrap their legs around his own, pulling his limp body against theirs, and when the beautiful singing voice of Ryan filtered into the otherwise silent atmosphere, he could’ve sworn he was dreaming still.

“Ryan?” He mumbled, not really a question but still requiring a confirmation. The guitarist stopped singing and laughed quietly, muted slightly by the blanket, and Brendon felt him nod his head against his back. He smiled out in front of him.

“I missed you,” Ryan whispered and the slight smile on Brendon’s face disappeared, replaced instead by a frown.

“I’ve been here all along,” he also whispered, and Ryan snuggled closer into his back, ducking his head between Brendon’s shoulder and neck. He placed a small, chaste kiss to the singer’s chin, and Brendon couldn’t help but to smile like a teenager again.

“I never said you weren’t,” Ryan said, running his hands along Brendon’s collar bone and then resting his nimble fingers on the dip of his throat, almost as a claim to him, a form of saying ‘mine’ and Brendon had no objections whatsoever. He could smell Ryan’s girlish deodorant again, laced between their entwined bodies, but also the significant, distant scent that belonged only to Ryan’s clothes and skin and hair.

He pressed himself further into him, closing all available gaps and lingering air, and he heard Ryan chuckle lightly from behind him. And then he began to sing again, a song that Brendon both knew and loved and he joined in, the two quietly singing, unclear whether it was to themselves or each other. Outside it was cold, rain spattering silently against the windows, but the two of them remained lost in each other, the weather forgotten.

“If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true and help me understand? / ‘Cause I’ve been in love before and I found that love was more than just holding hands / If I give my heart to you, I must be sure from the very start that you would love me more than her”

Brendon shifted so he was facing Ryan and looking up to him, he could see every freckle and pore on his face, could see every subtle colour change in his eyes, could count his eyebrows; they’d been much closer before, like when they were kissing or having sex but those were only physical. This time, even though he knew how soppy and childish and lame he sounded for thinking it, they were the closest they’d ever been on a deeper level. He was such a fucking sap.

“Do you regret it?” He asked suddenly, and Ryan looked surprised for a second before he composed himself.

“Regret what?” He asked. Brendon could tell that he knew exactly what he was asking him but didn’t want to answer.

“Breaking up with Keltie,” he kept his voice steady.

For a while Ryan said nothing and didn’t attempt to conceal his expression of worry, simply stared down at the sheets and their entwined bodies, obviously hesitating for whatever reason. Brendon felt stupid for even asking.

But he replied with a sure, “no,” and the relief surged, and Brendon grinned with just as much confidence. Ryan grinned back, although Brendon couldn’t see the anxiety behind it, but he quickly hid the falsities, replaced it with a genuine smile and tried to rid the horrible thoughts from his mind.

*

It was July 5th.

Outside it was just beginning to rain.

Brendon hadn’t seen Ryan in weeks, probably down to the fact that he and Jon moved in together because of their increasing want to do something new, and Ryan hadn’t been answering his calls. He hated how he was suddenly so dependent on him. Every time his cell phone rang and his heart leapt at the prospect of it being Ryan to apologise and invite himself over, he wanted to throw his phone out of the window and fall down a very deep hole. Not to mention that he was desperate for a release and his right hand had started to ache because of it.

It was only he and Spencer together now, living in the same apartment and creating new music and he enjoyed it more than he should have done.

Maybe it was Ryan who needed to learn to make up his mind instead.

It had come to the third week of not speaking to his lover that Brendon finally decided to visit him, whether Ryan liked it or not, and he wasn’t leaving until things were sorted between them. So he walked to Ryan’s apartment (he knew it off by heart by now, although he didn’t admit that to anyone) and stood facing the door.

For the beginning of July, it was cold and rainy and there was a small mist in the air. He wrapped his coat tight around his torso.

There was a long interval between Brendon ringing the doorbell and Ryan opening the door, looking somewhat flushed but that didn’t mean anything, and for a second they could only stare at each other before Ryan looked away and huffed lightly.

“Brendon,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“We need to talk,” he wasn’t going to beat around the bush. Ryan inwardly contemplated for a second but then huffed again and moved aside for Brendon to come inside. There was the fake sort of silence that you only get when you tell someone to be quiet and for some reason, it made Brendon feel uncomfortable in the small place.

“Where’s Jon?”

“He went out,” was all Ryan replied, and Brendon caught sight of the stern look on Ryan’s face before he slammed the door shut and turned to look at him.

“Ryan, what the fuck happened?”

“What do you mean?”

The singer huffed, an equivalent of Ryan’s almost, and continued, “Don’t act dumb. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks. Did I do something wrong? Because if I did, I’d appreciate if you told me so I can stop feeling so fucking inadequate and make it up to you.”

“Nothing, Brendon. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was just concentrating on writing songs.”
Brendon laughed humourlessly. There were times, especially like these, when he wished he wasn’t so gullible and didn’t believe everything that Ryan said. Cupid really hated him. Or God. Maybe it was a combination of both.

“Tell the truth, Ryan. I can smell bullshit from a mile away.”

For a while Ryan was silent, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall above the TV. A chill tingled through the air like a ghost. Outside it was still raining. But then he heard the shrill female cry of “Ryaaaan, who is it?” coming from the bedroom and suddenly everything fell into place.

The cheater became the cheatee.

He ignored the plea in Ryan’s eyes not to enter the bedroom and fought off his weak advances to stop him, reaching the door to the room and scanning through the gap quickly. His female was under the covers, obviously naked, waiting impatiently.

He turned away from the door hastily, not needing to see anymore.

“Brendon, I-” Ryan started from behind him as he ran to the front door.

“Fuck you, Ryan. Fuck you. I’m done.”

“Wait-”

His defence was lost at the closing of the door. The tears came next.