Status: ♂♂
Sometime Around Midnight
lose yourself for a minute or two
The first time he comes home to an empty apartment, he locks the door behind him and stares at the walls and breathes like he’s drowning.
--
“Bren,” Spencer whispers. His breath is icy, smells sickly sweet. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” he replies faintly, but, really, it is.
Brendon hands shake when he reaches for the joint. His chest still feels too tight and his face hurts; itches. He doesn't break.
Spencer laughs at the TV, but it sounds hollow and Brendon chokes on a sob. He tries to hide it in his hands. He can’t remember the last time Spencer laughed. It must’ve been sometime before, when his hair was shorter and his heart wasn’t so broken.
The clock strikes midnight. He doesn’t have the strength to refuse the next hit. Smoke billows around him and he sighs.
“I didn’t want this,” he whispers, nose buried in a wine glass. He inhales and it smells like the weed. It smells like Spencer. “All I wanted was him.”
Spencer sucks in a soft breath. The room is so quiet, the sound suddenly muted, and Brendon thinks he can hear the oxygen rattle in Spencer’s lungs. He hurts somewhere distant inside and Spencer reaches for him.
“I’m not leaving,” Spencer says, and it means nothing and it means everything. He thinks Ryan never said that. He thinks Ryan could never fucking say that and mean it.
“I… I don’t want you to go.” It’s too big, hazy. He doesn't mean to say it, but he does, curling in on himself. Spencer follows, pressing against Brendon’s side, shielding him.
“I’m not.” Spencer whispers, toes touching the top of Brendon’s foot. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
Brendon doesn’t say promises are meant to be broken. He’s not Ryan, even though sometimes he can be; narcissistic and rash and selfish. He thinks Spencer knows it because he sits up and presses his forehead to Brendon’s and breathes against his cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Brendon can almost feel the shape of the words against his jaw. It feels like you’re nothing like him. He maybe wishes he could be.
Spencer blinks down at Brendon, and all Brendon can feel is the pressure behind his eyes, in his heart. You’re my best friend, he thinks desperately. But Ryan was yours.
He watches Spencer watch him, watches Spencer swallow, lacing their fingers together. Brendon’s heart thumps weakly and he doesn’t pretend to understand.
He closes his eyes, red burning behind his eyelids, and he can feel Spencer’s breath against his mouth. He doesn’t press their lips together, but it’s so near he breathes in Spencer’s next exhale. He waits. He waits, but nothing happens and Spencer moves away and Brendon is breathing harder than he should be.
He opens his eyes and Spencer looks nothing like Ryan.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
--
“Bren,” Spencer whispers. His breath is icy, smells sickly sweet. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” he replies faintly, but, really, it is.
Brendon hands shake when he reaches for the joint. His chest still feels too tight and his face hurts; itches. He doesn't break.
Spencer laughs at the TV, but it sounds hollow and Brendon chokes on a sob. He tries to hide it in his hands. He can’t remember the last time Spencer laughed. It must’ve been sometime before, when his hair was shorter and his heart wasn’t so broken.
The clock strikes midnight. He doesn’t have the strength to refuse the next hit. Smoke billows around him and he sighs.
“I didn’t want this,” he whispers, nose buried in a wine glass. He inhales and it smells like the weed. It smells like Spencer. “All I wanted was him.”
Spencer sucks in a soft breath. The room is so quiet, the sound suddenly muted, and Brendon thinks he can hear the oxygen rattle in Spencer’s lungs. He hurts somewhere distant inside and Spencer reaches for him.
“I’m not leaving,” Spencer says, and it means nothing and it means everything. He thinks Ryan never said that. He thinks Ryan could never fucking say that and mean it.
“I… I don’t want you to go.” It’s too big, hazy. He doesn't mean to say it, but he does, curling in on himself. Spencer follows, pressing against Brendon’s side, shielding him.
“I’m not.” Spencer whispers, toes touching the top of Brendon’s foot. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
Brendon doesn’t say promises are meant to be broken. He’s not Ryan, even though sometimes he can be; narcissistic and rash and selfish. He thinks Spencer knows it because he sits up and presses his forehead to Brendon’s and breathes against his cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Brendon can almost feel the shape of the words against his jaw. It feels like you’re nothing like him. He maybe wishes he could be.
Spencer blinks down at Brendon, and all Brendon can feel is the pressure behind his eyes, in his heart. You’re my best friend, he thinks desperately. But Ryan was yours.
He watches Spencer watch him, watches Spencer swallow, lacing their fingers together. Brendon’s heart thumps weakly and he doesn’t pretend to understand.
He closes his eyes, red burning behind his eyelids, and he can feel Spencer’s breath against his mouth. He doesn’t press their lips together, but it’s so near he breathes in Spencer’s next exhale. He waits. He waits, but nothing happens and Spencer moves away and Brendon is breathing harder than he should be.
He opens his eyes and Spencer looks nothing like Ryan.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm not very good at this.