Drop Me a Line

Ryan was always in a bad mood after work, but today Brendon had a solution. After school, he went to a small drugstore and bought out the selection of blank greeting cards, along with a few bottles of Ryan’s favorite tea. Now he was waiting outside the animal shelter, waiting for Ryan to come out so he could take him back to the apartment they basically shared; Brendon stayed most nights, unless his parents started catching on, which wasn’t that often.

Ryan finally walked out the front door, running a hand through his hair and readjusting his shoulder bag (that was not a purse). He glanced around the parking lot, eyes landing on Brendon, sitting on the hood of his car.

“Hey,” Ryan said, pecking Brendon’s cheek. Brendon gave him a small smile and slid to the pavement. He wanted Ryan to really kiss him, but he would take what he could get; Ryan wasn’t the most affectionate person in the world. “How was school?”

Shrugging, Brendon handed over the car keys. “Spencer called me dumb.”

“He does that every day,” Ryan pointed out. He ducked into the car, and Brendon followed suit. As Ryan was readjusting the mirrors (he wasn’t even that much taller than Brendon), he noticed the bottle of green tea sitting on the center console. “Brendon.”

He sounded disapproving. Brendon smiled wider, facing his window so Ryan couldn’t see. Ryan picked up the tea, turning it in one long hand. He set the bottle down and started the car, saying nothing for the ride home, which was not unusual. Brendon turned on the radio to fill the silence.

It wasn’t until they were in Ryan’s apartment that he really acknowledged Brendon’s existence again, thanking him for the tea, since he opened the fridge and saw the other two bottles. Brendon half-ran back to the bedroom and grabbed the bag of cards. Ryan was leaning against the counter, watching him, when he came back. Dumping the cards on the table, Brendon nudged Ryan out of the way so he could get a pen out of the junk drawer, which was mostly pens, then dragged him to the table and made him sit.

“Are you forcing me to write a suicide note?” Ryan questioned, picking up a card that had a bulldog in a Santa hat on it. Brendon couldn’t tell if he was making a joke. “On silly animal cards?”

“No,” Brendon said, drawing the word out. Ryan looked up at him. “I figured out how to make you feel better.”

“I wasn’t aware I wasn’t doing well,” Ryan replied. He picked up the pen and pulled the cap off.

“You’ve been snapping at me again,” Brendon said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway! I thought you might like to write Christmas cards to people you don’t like.”

“Why?”

“Because then they’ll be freaked out.”

Ryan stared at the cards, looked back up at Brendon, and smiled. “It’s genius.”

Brendon grinned.