Hocho

Brendon was torn between being mad and being overbearingly concerned. His instinct to mother won, like it usually did with Ryan. He ended up bundling Ryan up in all the blankets he could find and made him three cups of hot chocolate within an hour. Ryan kept trying to refuse, even past his shivering.

“Brendon, I'm okay,” he said as Brendon forced a fourth cup of hot chocolate into his hands. Brendon stopped flitting around the apartment, straightening things that were already in place, and actually looked at him. Ryan was no longer shaking, and his cheeks were a little pink. “Can you stop drowning me now?”

“Sorry,” Brendon replied, deflating. From the couch, Ryan watched him, which was not all unusual; he had the tendency to stare, not realizing it made other people uncomfortable. Brendon had gotten used to it. Setting the mug on the end table, Ryan shed all but one of his blankets and padded over to Brendon. He wrapped his arms around Brendon’s shoulders. “Ry?”

“You looked cold,” Ryan said. His breath hit Brendon’s cheek, smelling strongly of chocolate. Brendon contemplated staying still, but he decided to chance turning toward Ryan. It was a good chance. Ryan kissed him, really kissed him like Brendon wanted, and it lasted.