Can We Colour, Bren?

There’s a bounce on the 200 thread count sheets that were covering the cheap ass mattress. The boy sleeping on it ignores the movement. Another one. He makes a small noise like a cat purring, nearly, and ignores it again, rolling over. A childish like squeal coming from the person causing the bouncing.

“Stop it,” the boy mumbles, eyes still closed, mind still in a sleep-like trance.

A giggle, now, and he opens his eyes, grinning softly at him. “You should be asleep.”

“Daddy said I could wake you up.”

He frowns, emptiness overtaking his heart as he remembers that his boyfriend isn’t there. That it’s just his boyfriend’s body – but not his mind. He’s still the same Ryan, though, somehow. With the brown eyes that everyone loves, and the heart so big it could burst.

Except his mind’s been invaded by a five year old, it seems. He remembers what these past few months have been. Taking care of him, treating him like a child; taking him to the park, buying him ice cream, letting him watch Barney, and Dinosaurs, and several other movies.

“Did he now?” His mind comes back to the person sitting in front of him, who’s clapping his hands extravagantly, giggling like mad. “Ry, stop.” Ryan’s grin fades and his eyes automatically fill with tears at Brendon’s sharp tone.

Brendon shoots up and wraps his arms around the boy, whispering for him to hush, that everything will be fine. “I made you mad,” Ryan’s big eyes shine from the tears, as he looks up at the boy.

“No, no, you just didn’t need to bounce,” Brendon explains to him, and climbs out of the bed, taking Ryan’s hand. “Come on, we’ll go get breakfast, okay. Did your daddy make you some?”

Ryan grins, eyes lighting up again. “Yeah, waffles!”

Brendon smiles and watches Ryan scamper down the stairs.

Ryan’s dad has been staying with them for about two months now, since it all happened, because Ryan couldn’t live without him.

“Morning Brendon,” His dad nods, setting a plate of waffles down in front of him. He has to admit, this had made things easier on the entire band.

“Morning,” He responds through a mouthful of syrup and waffles.

Brendon remembers the last time he saw Ryan’s dad. It was when the band got their first tour, and Ryan’s dad hadn’t wanted him to go. It ended in Ryan never wanting to talk to him again.

That had been two years ago. Ryan had no recollection of that fight – still thought that everything was okay between them.

“Brenny, wanna color?” Ryan looks up at him, puppy eyes, holding out a purple crayon. He’s sitting on the floor, on all fours, a piece of paper with colorful scribbles strewn across it. Brendon grins.

“In a minute, okay?” He tells the boy, before standing up and taking his plate to the dishwasher.

Mr. Ross is standing at the window above the sink, staring out, sighing lightly. “What’s wrong?” Brendon asks him softly, slamming the dishwasher door shut and pressing the wash button, listening to the comforting whir of the water start off.

“D-Do you think he’ll ever come back? Do you think my boy will ever grow up again?” Spills from his lips, fear and worry following, for the first time since all this happened.

Brendon is surprised. He’s never – not once – said anything to lead the band to believe that he was worried. Brendon had figured that, of course he was worried, but he was determined. He wasn’t ready to give up.

Maybe he’d been wrong.

Tears fill Brendon’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “I don’t want to think about that right now,” He says. He walks out into the dining room again, and Mr. Ross hears his son’s voice – in a child’s tone, “Can we color now, Bren?”