For Brendon.

Ryan walks into the shop, and is surprised he doesn't choke on the scent of incense he always thought psychic people used. He frowns because it's more of a watermelon aroma, and that's the last thing he needs right now, even if it calms his nerves slightly.

He looks around and sees the building is decorated with drapes and beads of all colors, hanging from the ceiling. Playing cards and blank sheet music are tacked on the walls. The room is cluttered with rocking chairs, couches, and recliners. He smiles to himself because Spencer would have field day organizing all of this.

Ryan squeezes his way around all the cluttered furniture, and almost trips on the leg of an ottoman when he reaches the front desk. The guy behind the counter looks indifferent, and Ryan really wishes he wasn't there.

"Hey," the dude says. "Here for an appointment, or here to make one?"

"Um," Ryan starts. "I have an appointment, with, uh. Pete."

The guy nods his head, and Ryan's pretty sure if he moves again his glasses will fall off his nose. It doesn't seem to bother him, because all he does is say, "Alright, I'll go tell him you're here. Take a seat."

Ryan watches as the guy disappears behind a curtain, and sits on the edge of a wicker chair. He thinks about everything while he waits. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't believe in this stuff anyway. All psychics are, are people who pretend to know what they're talking about just to get money. But Jon suggested it. He went to some animal-psychic named Frank, so he could talk to Dylan. Jon asked Frank for a good recommendation, so Ryan could go to get closure. Ryan had huffed about it because he swore he didn't need closure, and he still doesn't. But here he is, waiting for a guy named Pete to waste his time and money.

The guy slinks back into the room, and says, "Okay, you can head back."

Ryan stumbles to his feet and walks through the curtain and into a tiny hall, which leads to a small room. He expects it to be dark, but he blinks when he opens the door to light. He stands there for a few seconds and sees the psychic, presumably Pete, sitting at a table.

"Ryan, Ryan. Come sit," the guy says, pointing to the chair opposite him. "I'm Pete, and welcome."

"Hi," Ryan mutters.

"Alright," Pete says, clasping his hands together. "So, I do things differently around here. Have you ever been to another medium before?"

Ryan shakes his head no. He doesn't even want to be at this one.

"Okay, so I have this introduction policy. First, I'll connect with the spirit you're looking for. I'll ask whomever it is for proof that he or she knows you, and you know him or her. If all goes well, we continue. If not, and you think this is all B.S., you can leave free of charge, and I'll apologize for taking up your time. I won't be offended, promise. I have other things I could be doing, like Mikey at the front desk."

Ryan stares at Pete, shocked for the most part at his straightforwardness. He was expecting metaphors and such, not this simple language. He was expecting to be confused, but so far he understands everything. Even if he didn't need to know that about Mikey.

"To start," Pete smiles, "take these matches and light this candle."

Ryan takes the box of matches and strikes a match a couple of times. When it doesn't light, he takes another, and lights a flame, but it burns out when he puts the fire to the wicker of the candle. Ryan looks up nervously at Pete, whose face is concentrated. It takes Ryan another four matches, before he can light one again and put it to the candle.

Pete clears his throat, and says, "Since it took you six tries to light the candle, it's been five years since the death of this spirit. But your second year was the worst. You thought you were recovering, like how the flame lit, but your grievance overcame you, like the flame overcame the matchstick. Know that the sixth try, when the candle finally lit, represents a hopeful future."

Ryan's eyes go wide because it has been five years, and the second year in was both the hardest and easiest. He nods for Pete to continue, because it probably was a coincidence.

"This soul keeps screaming at me. He keeps saying, 'tell him I'm reading the book again, his book.' And he's showing me...this book and chanting, ‘dedication!’"

Ryan's brain shuts off for a minute.

-

Brendon came bounding into the coffee store, humming and swinging a grocery bag. Jon waved to him when he reached the counter, while Ryan made Brendon's usual hot chocolate.

"I was at the store today," Brendon announced when Ryan finished the drink and handed it over the counter to Brendon. Brendon ignored it, and pulled Ryan's shirt forward so he could meet his lips across the distance of the counter.

Ryan pulled back with a lazy smile. Brendon tasted like watermelon, he always did.

"I bought your book, Ry."

Ryan froze for a second and sent Jon a worried glance. He was glad the shop was empty because he squeaked, "Oh."

"Yeah, but I should get going. I mean, and line was kind of long at the book store," Brendon babbled. "Plus the cashier looked at me funny when I put your book down, and asked me why I was buying it. So, I had to tell her you were my boyfriend and, of course, I bragged, and she giggled and turned red. She winked when I left and told me to enjoy the book."

Ryan blushed. "You didn't-"

"Ryan!" Brendon cried. "It's your first published book, of course I was going to buy it. You're my boyfriend." Brendon grinned, but added as an after thought, "But boyfriend or not, I need to get back to work. My lunch break ends in five minutes."

Brendon pulled Ryan back across the counter for a goodbye kiss, and skipped out with his hot chocolate.

"Jon," Ryan breathed, when Brendon was out of sight. "I was going to ask him if he read it."

Jon smiled wide at Ryan. "Not yet, I guess."

Later, when Ryan got home that night, he had already had two panic attacks, and was ready to have another. What was he thinking when he published the book? Brendon was going to hate it, and then leave Ryan. Ryan didn't want that.

Ryan hung his coat and scarf on the coat rack, and slid his shoes off. He wasn't surprised to find Brendon's stuff scattered everywhere, so he straightened it a little before heading into their bedroom. He was stalling. He was scared to see what was going to unfold.

He eventually went into his room and found Brendon curled on the bed, with an empty tissue box and used tissues scattered across the blankets.

Brendon didn't look up at Ryan, and Ryan thought maybe if he acted quickly he could take it back and fix things before they blew up.

So, Ryan crawled on his knees on the bed to Brendon, and asked in a worried tone, "Brendon what's wrong?"

Brendon looked at him and started crying. "Ryan," he choked.

Ryan looked at Brendon, and then noticed the book lying next to him. "Brendon?" he asked cautiously. This was it. The answer and reaction to his stupid idea.

Brendon sat up, and pulled Ryan in for a kiss. Ryan bit his boyfriend's lip in shock, but pulled back when Brendon started sobbing.

"Brendon?" Ryan asked again. "What's wrong?" He knew he messed up, and he knew Brendon didn't want this, so he tried to think of an apology.

But, he didn't have time think of one, because Brendon grabbed Ryan's bicep, and squeezed it. He looked at Ryan with sincere eyes.

"Yes," Brendon whispered. Ryan didn't get it at first, but than realized what Brendon meant. Ryan didn't have time to smile because Brendon was pulling him in for another watermelon flavored kiss. This was the answer Ryan wanted to hear, so he forgot everything else. "Yes, I will."

Soon, the empty tissue box and tissues were pushed to the floor, along with Ryan's first published book, which had a dedication page that read: For Brendon. Will you marry me?