Chapter Text
Colt stared at his phone. The default brightness of the screen irritated his eyes, but the worry of “how can I keep this as brief as possible?” exceeded that discomfort.
[Colt]: It’s a long story.
[Unknown number]: I have time
Oh, great.
Somehow, but only when it mattered, Court came up with the most reassuring yet infuriating words. Sometimes they were words Colt needed to hear. Sometimes they were unavoidable interrogations disguised as patience. This one was a mix of the two
[Colt]: You want me to write you a paragraph at 1a.m.?
I'm sitting in a sketchy parking lot.
[Unknown number]: You’ve managed to text me in worse places before.
A pause,
[Unknown number]: You’re stalling.
The accusation earned a scoff from Colt. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was annoyingly accurate. Court always knew when Colt was avoiding something. From showing his report card, to talking about anything emotionally heavy- Court just knew.
[Colt]: That’s how you express concern for my safety?
[Unknown number]: Yes.
[Colt]: You’re very irritating, you know.
[Unknown number]: Text me when you get home.
Colt groaned- internally because he was still a little scared of attracting the hypothetical robbers near his car. At least he bought himself a few hours, right?
Moments later, his car engine roared to life.
Ryland gaped at that door for at least ten minutes before being able to tear his eyes off it.
He tried to gulp down the cup of coffee he’d prepared for Colt before they started talking, but stopped after one sip. He would have puked if he had more. He rearranged the cushions on the couch, and lost grip of them from his weak, adrenaline-fueled hands several times throughout the process. The action was unnecessary but it was also one of the only things distracting him. He held up Colt’s jacket from the couch as if it reminded him of someone deceased. Colt had left in a hurry, and naturally, grabbed Ryland’s jacket instead of his bright, incredibly-hard-not-to-notice yellow one.
He knew he should’ve held his tongue. He knew he should call Colt and apologize.
He started grading tests instead. There on the living room coffee table- the same one that supported Colt’s phone as it vibrated with Gail’s call- Ryland marked his students’ papers under a single dim light with a red pen and a thin furrow between his eyebrows. Once he reached the end of the pile, he leaned his back against the couch. The fight had now become too overwhelming not to think about.
“What do I even say to him?” He thought. This wasn’t like the other monthly fights they got into. No- it was completely different. He told Colt, his brother, (and only brother for a while) that he should’ve died in an accident that took a year out of both of their lives. That wasn’t okay. And Ryland could swear neither was Colt.
Ryland tried to think about it rationally. He was right about the danger. Colt shouldn’t go back to falling off helicopters or jumping from car to car after what happened. But that reassurance was well outweighed by the gut-wrenching feeling of guilt. He needed to say something to Colt. Anything.
Every letter he tapped on the screen felt like gripping a rose with piercing thorns. No matter what he typed, it didn’t seem like enough and hurt like hell.
[Draft 1]: Colt, I didn’t mean it. I was scared and angry. Call me back.
Ryland flinched at how defensive he sounded when re-reading the text. Delete
[Draft 2]: I was being stupid. I don’t wish you died, Colt, I’m sorry.
The word ‘died’ made his stomach churn. Delete
[Draft 3]: Can we talk? Please?
Ryland’s finger hovered over the send button. If he wasn’t thinking at the speed of light- playing every possible outcome in his head- he would have noticed how violently his thumb quivered.
Just then, as if to save him from the distress of the situation, a call from another number tore the moment. It was Stratt.
Not the time, Stratt
Ryland knew ignoring Stratt’s call meant being dragged out of his apartment a minute later by three well dressed, non-talkative army men. So, with a sigh, he slid the bouncing green circle up halfway through the screen, and positioned his phone next to his ear.
Ryland wished it was Colt on the other end of the line the moment he heard Stratt’s voice.
“Dr. Grace? We have five days till the launch. What are you doing hiding in your apartment?”
“Seriously? What on Earth do you still need me for?”
Stratt’s tone changed instantly- the same tone she used on him whenever he hesitated to hand Dimitri the Astrophage samples, or the times he’d bicker with Dr. Lokken over nothing, “If you do not come back to our station, there soon will be no Earth.” A pause, “There is a car waiting outside your complex. You have three minutes.”
“Woah, woah, woah- what?? I can’t just leave- I have work tomorrow! And I’m kind of in the middle of something here-”
“Three minutes, Dr. Grace.” Stratt’s voice cut in sharply before the line ended.
“Nonono- wait! Darn it!” Ryland drew a keen breath in.
“Thanks a lot, Stratt,” whispered his thoughts. God, this apologizing thing was rough. He had no idea how Colt did it for so many years. But he knew he couldn’t sulk at the screen of his phone forever, no matter how much he wanted to. His legs pushed the floor away from his body as he stood up, and he felt the weight of himself double- as if the gravitational force on Earth went from 9.8 meters per second to a whopping 15. He had been sitting for so long.
Sliding his phone into the pocket of his jeans, Ryland grabbed his keys and Colt’s jacket off the couch- because Colt had taken (stolen) his on the way out.
Is this bright yellow jacket embarrassing to be seen in public with?
Yes.
Would Ryland take another jacket instead?
No.
Because this was the closest he felt to Colt tonight.
The same fabric that covered Colt before their fight embracing him- fitting just right- was comforting.
It was also the only form of comfort he’d feel that night, because the men dressed in dark suits standing stiffly outside his door were definitely not the embodiment of sunshine. He dreaded the moment he opened the door just at the sight of them.
“Can I grab something to eat real quick?” Ryland's question was punctuated by a low grumble from his stomach, though the firm shake of both their heads told him otherwise. He let out a sigh, his exhale fanning out in front of him in the form of tiny, visible frost particles. He grabbed a bag from beside the doorframe- one he’d remembered to keep there for times like these where Stratt ordered his presence out of the blue- and checked if he had his essentials inside. His notebook- for doing rough calculations since Stratt always demanded the time and speed of every process- a phone charger, and some money for coffee- since Stratt only ever ordered two for herself. His glasses had fully slid off his nose and were resting beneath his chin, one handle hanging on desperately to his ear while the other dangled, as he clumsily zipped the bag up.
He shut off all the lights in his apartment (there were barely any on anyway) before stepping out onto the hallway.
“I’ll have some time to text Colt on the way there, right?” He wondered, and then rather tried to convince himself that he would. The third draft sat untouched in his pocket as Ryland singled the key to his door out, before shutting the door and locking it.
Colt shoved the door to his apartment open. He didn’t even bother to turn more than one light on as he dropped his keys on the counter. As he slid his jacket off, he noticed that the fabric felt completely different. This isn’t his jacket. Did he grab someone else’s on the way out of work? He shrugged out of it before spinning it around in front of him. Shit. He had Ryland’s jacket on. When did that happen?
It smelt too much like Ryland and his stupid apartment for Colt to not recall every single word Ryland said. The same angry clench in his chest reappeared. Seriously, what kind of brother-
“No.” His conscience rang him back to reality. Talking to himself about how angry Ryland had made him wouldn't fix a thing.
He walked over and sank onto the couch, the jacket sprawled over his lap. It was a thin, greyish-blue jacket that reached past his belt. It looked a lot like a lab coat, with a nameplate near the shoulder that read “Dr. Grace”. Colt recognized it from the one Ryland wore when he showed up on his doorstep on a random Wednesday two years ago. Back when Ryland hadn’t wished death upon him-
“Stop it!” Colt exclaimed to no one. With every one of his fatigued muscles protesting against him, Colt pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans. There was no red circle reading “1” or any other number next to Ryland’s contact, which only fueled Colt’s irritation. Why was Ryland being so stubborn? Why couldn't he just apologize?
Trying to ignore the lack of messages from Ryland, Colt returned to him and Court’s texts. But when he tried to start explaining the fight via text, his brain came up with nothing but the fact that he was hungry. His fingers mocked him as he tried to reach across the screen. The letters on the keyboard rearranged themselves to spell “reckless” and “tearaway” and “soon-to-be-dead”.
Okay. He was clearly too tired to type out anything. With a grumble, Colt dialed Court’s number.
Court picked up within seconds, faster than Colt had expected him to. “I thought I told you to only text me.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Are you home yet?”
“Yes,” Colt nodded, as if Court could see him. “You gonna keep interrogating me or can I begin?”
Court decided he wouldn't deliver a lecture this time. “Go ahead, then,” he said, letting Colt begin.
“Me and Ryland.. we had a fight. A massive one.” Colt took a deep breath, trying to get all his words out in one breath. “He said he doesn’t want me going back to doing stunts and that I should’ve died in the accident so I walked out-”
“Colt- hey! Slow down.” Court’s voice cut in, concerned, “Start from the beginning.”
Colt let out a huff, fidgeting with the hem of Ryland’s jacket as if being asked to repeat his words was the hardest request ever.
“When was this? How did it start?”
“We were at his apartment. He brought it up, and when I said I’d still go back to work he said that he wished the accident killed me.”
Court went completely quiet after that- a long pause that made Colt’s fidgeting even more frantic. “He said that? Word for word?” Court questioned, to which Colt nodded again before muttering a quick, “Yeah.” Then, without taking a second breath, “He said he wished I died, Court. And he didn’t even apologize afterwards! I was so pissed I grabbed his jacket instead of mine on the way out! He’s being so ridiculous I can't even-!”
“Stop,” the stern, command-like sigh shut Colt’s rant right up. “Listen to me, Colt. He doesn’t mean that. He’s terrified,” Court paused, but not long enough for Colt to interrupt.
“You know how idiotic he gets when he’s scared, don’t you?" This time, Court waited for Colt to say something.
“I do,” came Colt’s small voice.
“He’s afraid he’ll lose you, so his only way out is to try and scare you too. Thing is, he can’t tell the difference between scaring and hurting until it’s too late.”
To that, Colt sneered, “Yeah but that doesn’t make it okay!”
“Give him 48 hours, Colt,” Court’s voice came through like a calming anchor, “Let him feel the weight of his own actions. He’ll feel awful and reach out to apologize, I promise.”
Colt grumbled, which was equivalent to agreeing. He was too tired to debate the immorality of Ryland’s words and, realistically, Court wasn’t wrong. “Fine. But I’m still mad at him, you know.”
“I’m aware. Get some sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah. You too,” Colt sighed. “G’night.”
“Night.”
Colt hung up the phone and stood up. He had decided just then, in a quick conversation with himself inside his head, that he would strictly follow Court’s advice and let Ryland sulk in the sting of his own words. He still stole a peek at his notifications before huffing because all it had to offer was a notice from the weather app- no new messages from Ryland. This was going to be hard. Ignoring his brother even while he’s vividly mad at him? To Colt it seemed improbable. But when had Court ever been wrong about anything regarding him or Ryland?
He could wait. After all, he had disappeared for a year from Jody after breaking his back- who says he couldn’t do it for two days?
Colt walked towards his bedroom, ignoring the daily ritual of attaching TENS pods to his back or spinning on the inversion table- which seemed situated too awkwardly in the tiny living space when Colt glanced back at it.
Like Court said, he needed some sleep. And his sore-ass muscles didn’t help to fight the exhaustion one bit.