Just After Three

The deadbolt turned, and Ryan opened the door. From the living room, he could hear the canned laughter of a sitcom; he hadn’t expected Brendon to wait up for him. Shutting the door quietly, he turned the bolt again and hung his keys on their hook. Ryan shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders, folding it over one arm, and followed a collective gasp to the back of the couch. His lips pulled upward at the corners at the sight of the sleeping figure curled up half-under a fleece blanket, glasses askew.

Placing his jacket on the arm of the sofa, Ryan removed Brendon’s glasses and set them on the end table. He was so oddly beautiful, even in the ugly glow of the television screen, his mouth hanging open in a soft snore. His eyes darted back and forth beneath their lids. Ryan leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and Brendon began to stir, eyes slowing then opening to squint up at Ryan. He smiled blearily, reaching up to rub his cheekbone, where the throw pillow had created an indentation.

“Hey,” he muttered. “What time ‘sit?”

“Just after three,” Ryan said. Brendon stretched, covering his mouth as he yawned. He held out a hand and Ryan took it.

“Are you going to bed?”

Ryan brought Brendon’s hand up to his cheek. “I was going to try writing.”

“Deadline,” Brendon replied, eyes slipping closed. He yawned again. “I'll stay up with you.”

“You’ll stay up with me,” Ryan repeated, amused. Brendon nodded. His hand slid out of Ryan’s and onto his stomach. Ryan rounded the couch and wrapped his hands around Brendon’s wrists. “Come on, Bren.”

Making a noise of protest, Brendon opened his eyes, narrowing them at Ryan. “I don’t wanna move.”

“I'm not letting you sleep on the couch again; you’ll hurt your back.”

Brendon stayed limp, and Ryan pulled him into a seated position. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Brendon’s midsection, lifting him from the couch. Brendon squirmed.

“Put me down, Ryan,” he whined, but he nuzzled his face into the crook of Ryan’s neck and held onto him loosely. “’S not fair.”

“I know,” Ryan said, carrying him down the hall. Brendon mumbled something incomprehensible as they entered the bedroom and hit Ryan’s back with his foot. “I know.”

Stopping at the edge of the bed, Ryan lowered him down. Brendon turned onto his side, facing away from Ryan, still mumbling about the injustice of Ryan’s surprising strength and that he needed to get fat so he couldn’t do that anymore.

“Sounds like a plan,” Ryan smiled, pulling the blanket from the end of the bed up to Brendon’s shoulder. He kissed Brendon’s cheek. “See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I'll beat your face for picking me up, you assbutt,” Brendon muttered, swatting Ryan away. “Go ‘way.”

Tucking his arm back under the blanket, Ryan shook his head; Brendon was already asleep. “I love you, crazy boy.”

Brendon let out a snore.