Nobody Has to Know

I'm not surprised Ryan isn't doing coursework when I poke my head around the door. His college year is over, but he's been given heaps of homework for the holidays. But he's only there to play rugby, and he's pretty much already finished his theory for that.

So when I poke my head around the door, he's sitting on the squashy little sofa in his dark bedroom playing his Xbox. The thin grey curtains are closed and his bed is unmade in the corner. Well, when I say bed I mean mattress. He has this king sized mattress in the corner because his bed broke and his mum couldn't afford to get him a new one. He doesn't mind though; we usually spend our nights at my dad's anyway.

The room is grey and dim, with a small wardrobe, a little grey sofa and a TV. A shelf above his mattress lovingly stocks his many trophies from all the rugby games he won when he was in secondary school. It's usually dark and cold in his room, but I suppose I don't mind it.

He doesn't even look up when I enter. Although his expression is blank, his eyes are fixed on the TV and I can tell from the tension in his jaw that he's concentrating hard. His eyes are fixed on the screen. If I didn't know that cold shoulder so well, I'd think he hadn't noticed me. I'm tempted to cuddle up to him and pretend I didn't ditch him last night, but I don't think he'd be impressed.

I sink down onto the mattress, chewing the sleeve of the shirt that isn't mine. I try to suppress the guilt that threatens to boil over in my stomach, but the smell of him is all over me. It makes it so much harder to explain myself when I can't get him off me. Even when he's not here he manages to fuck with my head.

I try my best to smile, act like nothing's wrong. Not that Ryan notices anyway; he's too fixed on some war game.

"Hey," I say brightly in a bid for his attention. "I tried to get off early but the new guy was late."

"Okay," he mutters.

I know he's waiting for an explanation, for me to tell him why I ran out on him last night, but I don't have one prepared yet. What am I supposed to say? I begged him to come with me last night when I knew he didn't want to, dragged him to a school filled with people he hates, and then I ditched him without explanation. How am I supposed to explain myself?

I decide instead to bide my time, act like nothing happened until he decides to ask. Maybe he's over it. Maybe he made friends with a bunch of guys at prom and didn't even notice I was gone. But I know that's not true. He's probably been on the phone to my dad all day.

"Haven't you completed this yet?" I ask, nodding towards the screen because there's nothing like Xbox talk to cheer Ryan up.

"Twice," he grunts in reply.

"And you're playing it again?"

He doesn't reply, because I should've known better than to ask that question. He spends all his money on rugby clubs outside of college, so he hardly ever has the money to buy any new games. Maybe I should buy him one. It might soften him up. Probably not, though; he hates when I buy him things.

Back when I was in Year Nine and he was in Year Ten in his secondary school, he used to shout insults across the road with his public school friends. They all seemed to think we were all up our own arses because we went to private school. But then his nan died, leaving her house and belongings to his parents, and they moved in next door, where she had resided until she kicked the bucket. He got to know me, and he eased up on the insults, but he still thinks I'm spoilt. Which is probably true.

"Should we do something?" I persist, and he rolls his eyes.

"Like what, Alistair?"

I feel my heart plummet at the use of my full name. He only uses it on special occasions, when he's really pissed at me.

"I don't know," I mumble, shrugging. "We could walk the dogs or rent a movie."

"Sure, as long as you don't walk out halfway through."

I try not to look guilty. My heart stops and my fists clench and tension racks my entire body. Distracting him didn't work, and I was stupid to think it would. My stomach clenches, and I feel a lie forming on my tongue.

"I looked for you," I say brightly, doing my best not to stutter. I feel like he can see straight through me. "After I went to the toilet, I mean. I looked everywhere for you. I thought you'd left."

"Really, because I didn't move?"

"Well I didn't see you," I insist lamely. "I knew you didn't want to be there, so I presumed you bailed."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

My heart plummets and tremors rack my body. Guilt surges through me like a tidal wave. For a moment I just sit there, alone, taking in his soft blue eyes, the sharp outline of his thick arms and the casual flick of his black hair.

Trembling, I stagger to my feet, slightly worried my shaky legs won't hold me, and I shuffle over to the sofa, dropping into the seat beside Ryan. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and he even takes a second to drag his eyes off his game and sniff my fluffy hair, making me giggle softly.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, lightly kissing his neck.

"How come you didn't come home?"

"I slept at Kayleigh's," I lie, closing my eyes even though he can't see the swirling remorse in them anyway. His concentration is saved purely for his television screen. "I'm sorry I didn't think to call you."

"Okay," he grunts.

I curl my arms around one of his, grinning gently at the remarkable size difference. I'm not convinced he forgives me, but Ryan always takes a long time to soften up.

"So," I persist, trying not to let the guilt lace my words, "shall we do something?"

"What do you want to do?" he mutters.

"Why don't you choose?"

"What do you want to do, Alistair?" he repeats, a warning in his tone.

I sigh and remove my arms from around his. Gunfire blares from the speakers and curse words continue to creep from Ryan's lips and I can't help feeling he doesn't want me here. I've upset him and I'm failing to make up for it.

I slide off the sofa and stalk out of the room, figuring bacon sandwiches and Dr Pepper will cheer him up. I pad softly into the kitchen where his mum Andrea stands, washing the dishes. She glances over her shoulder and smiles tiredly at me, and I shoot her one back.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over me when I open the fridge. It's almost empty, containing only a carton of milk, a sliver of cheese, two eggs, butter and a packet of bacon. My heart sinks at the sorry sight of it, and even though Ryan always tells me not to worry I can't help it. I shut the fridge and move to the bread bin, sighing when I realise there's only one slice left.

"I've been meaning to go shopping," says Andrea, glancing over at me. "I just haven't found the time. Zena's been a nightmare with her tummy bug and Dylan keeps getting into trouble at school. It's just endless little things piling on top of each other, you know?"

I nod, fingering the bread bag absentmindedly. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes, not to worry," she replies brightly. "It's just you and Ryan who need to be fed."

"I might order pizza," I say thoughtfully.

"Good idea."

I hop onto the counter, swinging my legs, not wanting to return to Ryan just yet, at least without physical peace offerings. Kicking off my new shoes and abandoning them on the kitchen tiles, I help myself to the kitchen phone and call for pizza. I order Ryan's favourite: BBQ Meat Feast with stuffed crust, and a big bottle of Pepsi because I don't drink Asda Cola. It's just not the same.

When I put down the phone, I realise how weird I feel without my mobile. I dropped it in Austin's pool last night, and it's probably sitting at the bottom right now, yet another reminder of the horrible sins I've committed. I guess at least it's insured.

Ryan drifts groggily into the kitchen a few minutes after I've made my call to the pizza place, a scowl on his face. As he moves through the doorway, I can't help noticing there isn't much difference in width between him and the door. Ryan's tall and well built, and he could probably lift me above his head with little effort. I'd ask him, but he chucks me around enough as it is. It's kind of demeaning and embarrassing.

He makes for me, where I'm still sitting on the counter watching his mother wash up, and he rests his head on my chest. My hands instinctively lift to his soft black hair, running my fingers through it and kissing the top of his head. In my periphery I can see Andrea watching us.

"Have you forgiven me yet?" I whisper into his hair.

"S'pose," he grumbles, moving his head up to rest it on my shoulder.

I wrap my arms and legs around him, comfort overwhelming my guilt, and I giggle as he nuzzles into my neck. We don't care that his mum's in the room; she's walked in on worse. I'll spare you the details but I was afraid to come over for a whole month. I was mortified, but Ryan, being a huge asshole, found it hilarious. Probably because he wasn't the one with his head under the duvet.

"Make sure you move your shoes, okay Al?" says Andrea with a fond smile, and I nod.

She sweeps out of the kitchen, sensing we're having a moment, and I deem it safe to pull Ryan closer to me, shuffling closer and closing my legs tighter around his waist. He lifts his head, and I waste no time in connecting our searching lips.

"I love you," I breathe against his mouth, and his lips twist into a grin.

"I love you more," he sings, kissing me again between each word.

His hand finds its way to my soft, sandy hair, stroking it softly and forcing my face to make contact with his. I let my arms dangle off his shoulders, just falling into him and shivering as his free hand creeps up the back of my t shirt. Austin's t shirt.

My body seizes up at the thought, and suddenly I feel disgusting. I feel grimy and nasty and horrible. Ryan hesitates, sensing my tension, and his brow furrows.

"You okay, Ali?" he whispers, and the use of my nickname soothes me somewhat.

I nod stiffly. "I-I, um, I just feel kind of sore after today. I was a little overworked, I guess."

He kisses the tip of my nose, and then my forehead. "Do you want a bath?"

"After dinner," I mutter, trying to shrug off all these icky feelings that are just sticking to me like glue. "I ordered pizza."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure we have something here, you didn't have to."

"You can just say thank you."

"Whatever. Are we renting films tonight?"

"I'll pay," I immediately offer, and he jabs me hard in the ribs. "Ow!"

"I don't need your pity, Ali," he reminds me, and it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"Thank you, Alistair, you're a great boyfriend and I love you so much," I suggest, and Ryan grins.

A knock at the door prevents Ryan from saying what I'd like him to, even though I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have anyway. I hop off the counter and head out of the kitchen, but Ryan grabs me by the back of the shirt and drags me backwards, making me slip on the floor tiles, the only thing keeping me up being him. I glower and straighten up, slapping his arm as his hand creeps into my jeans and retrieves my wallet, which, thankfully, I hadn't chucked in Austin's pool with my phone.

Then he pushes me back towards my forgotten shoes and disappears out the door. Rearranging my bunched shirt and muttering profanities, I seize my shoes and stomp after him, almost tripped over Dylan, his younger brother. It appears he was bowled over too. Ryan's already shutting the door with his foot when I reach him, scowling. The pizza and Pepsi are in his arms.

"Upstairs then, dickhead," he orders, and I stick my tongue out petulantly.

Dylan's just got to his feet when I pass him, and a thud behind me indicates Ryan's kicked him over again.

"Fucker!" Dylan calls up the stairs as we go.

"Don't call Alistair names," laughs Ryan.

After the briefest of inner debates about where to sit, I flop down on Ryan's mattress, chucking my shoes in a random direction and patting the space next to me as he kicks the door shut behind him. He drops the hot box into my lap and sits, uncapping the Pepsi.

"Shall we get horror films?" he suggests, and I wrinkle up my nose.

"I'll have nightmares."

"Aw," he teases, taking the largest slice of pizza for himself and biting into it. "I'll be here to protect you, Ali, it's okay."

I let him rent a few horror films on the Xbox, purely because I have some major ass kissing to do after last night, and after dinner we settle under the duvet and start the first one, my plans to bathe forgotten. I'm hugging his arm for dear life and looking at the rugby poster on his wall through most of the movie. I'm not one of those typical gay guys who likes all girly stuff, but I would much rather be watching chick flicks right now. Also I'm pretty sure I'm missing the new episode of Ke$ha's Crazy Beautiful Life.

Okay, so I like some girly things, but in my defense who doesn't love Ke$ha? And seriously, what sort of psychopath enjoys watching one guy cut off another guy's face? Even if it is fiction, it's sick.

Even the blood curdling screams are setting me on edge. I don't need to be watching it to be afraid. All I can hear is chainsaws and screaming and blood splattering. It's disgusting. But I guess it's an excuse to cuddle up to Ryan.

"Look, Ali, they're eating his face," he laughs, and I whack him with a pillow. "They didn't even cook it, the savages."

"Don't!" I scream, my voice a little higher than what's deemed manly.

"Eurgh, he has flesh stuck in his teeth."

"Stop it!"

He laughs almost manically, and I pout like a little kid, wincing every time someone on the screen screams. It only makes him laugh harder, so I whack him again. I don't know why he makes me watch this stuff when he knows I hate it. He knows I get nightmares. I think he just likes to see me squirm because he's twisted and sadistic and he's an asshole.

Ryan grins and cups my chin, his eyes glinting even in the dark. He plants a tiny kiss on my jutting lower lip, and I feel a little better. Just a little.

"You're so cute," he coos, and I frown again.

"You're supposed to say handsome," I snap, slapping his hand away, "or rugged."

"Rugged?" he laughs. "You?"

"Whatever."

I burrow under the duvet to sulk, trying to block out the sounds of dying people and cordless electric drills. I can still hear Ryan laughing over it, and it's kind of worrying how he enjoys it.

I feel the mattress shift beneath me, and suddenly Ryan's here, snaking his arm protectively over my stomach. I only just realise I'm shaking as I turn to face him, burying my face in his chest. He pulls me into him, his arms tight and secure like a harness. He plants a kiss in my soft hair, and I close my eyes.

"Can we turn it off now?" I whisper, my voice shaky.

I've always hated admitting being scared of something, because it's just another one of those stupid fucking stereotypes people associate with gay guys. But I guess really the only things I'm scared of are horror movies and wasps. Wasps are Satan's evil little minions, I tell you.

"Aw," he breathes, chuckling into my hair. "Are you scared, Fluffy?"

I nod, wincing as a woman screams outside the duvet. It's almost like people are being murdered right outside of the blanket. But then Ryan grabs the remote and silence drops like a bomb. I'm still clinging to him like a vice, but he doesn't mind. He relaxes into my hold, still shaking with silent laughter.

I feel kind of bad that he never gets to see the end of his film, but it's his fault for putting them on in the first place. He should learn to like superheroes and comedies, not that gory shit.

I don't know how long we're lying here before Ryan's breathing slows. He's probably slipping into pleasant dreams and easy sleep, leaving me to try to keep myself awake. I can't even count how many plagues await my dreams.

I can't help thinking about how this morning I woke up with one guy and tonight I'm falling asleep with another. The thought disgusts me, makes me hate myself. I need to talk to Austin, tell him it can't happen again. I can't carry it on in knowing I'd have to be the one to disturb Ryan's peaceful dreams.

It's been such an eventful day, enough to exhaust me and make it difficult to stay awake. As my eyes begin to droop and my nightmares slowly wrap their cold, black fingers around my throat I can't help thinking tomorrow's going to be just as interesting.