Work Text:
tell me your secrets, they whisper to each other.
find them yourself, they answer.
-
“alright, let’s stop with the masks.” geoff sighs, sliding into a chair next to ray. the diner they're in is nice, some sort of older style, but he isn't paying much attention to it. ray likes it for the music, and the milkshakes.
"it's hard to stop with the masks when we're always wearing them," ray murmurs, taking a sip of his milkshake. geoff almost responds to that, but then he realizes it's not what either of them want.
"i know ryan skipped out on us."
"yes." ray doesn't hesitate.
"i know he's probably halfway across the world by now."
"yes."
"and i know you're still in contact with him, narvaez."
oh, so this is what he meant by masks.
"if you're here to ask me to beg for him to come back, it isn't going to work." he shoves the milkshake across the counter, losing his appetite fast.
"i'm not. are you still talking to him because you're lonely, or because he is?"
ray doesn't respond to that for a long time. "he got scared, geoff."
"scared? ryan?" even though he scoffs at the idea of it, he knows ray isn't lying. he remembers fire, and a lot of mistakes, and a little bit of lost trust between them all in the end.
by the way he stares impassively back, ray knows it too.
-
he needs a list of the people who love him right now, it’s hard to remember when he tends to only think about it when he’s drifting, drifting, gone.
instead ray finds a slip of poetry under his door. most of it is empty words, but one line hits too close to home.
'you made the stars your home because they were the only ones that loved you.'
he shows it to michael as they sit on a hill, staring up at the stars. he's the only one who might understand.
"it's almost like they're talking about what could have been," michael muses. he's just guessing, but ray's phone rings with a text message and he'd bet everything it's from ryan and he quietly folds his head in between his knees and deletes the message without looking at it.
-
he carries the regret on his gun, and every bullet he buries in someone’s head carries it away with it. every new text notification fills up his clip again; ryan always has the ammo, and he never forgets it.
he always said anyone who messes with him won’t last long. ryan always said it too, but neither of them ever thought to act on it until they did and it was too late and ray could taste the blood in the air. they always act like they’re immortal, but they’re not. they’re only immortal in the saddest of ways. he’s drifting, drifting, gone. the bullet didn’t carry away the regret this time, it only made it worse.
-
"would you miss me?" ryan asks, tracing his finger along the edge of a glass. a chocolate milkshake, the same thing he orders every time he comes here. "if I left for real?"
ray stares at him for a long time, and ryan thinks it might just be disbelief. he's always looked small, but right here in a ragged hoodie with bloodstained hands, he looks small in the face of the universe.
"no," he finally answers, and falls quiet again.
never.
by the way ryan looks at him, he thinks ray isn't lying.
ray stares silently back, knowing that he is.
-
“maybe this is a mistake.”
ryan and ray don’t make mistakes, they make victories.
“can we pretend that we’re in love?”
who are they kidding?
kissing ryan doesn’t feel like a victory, but ray does it anyway. maybe if he kisses hard enough he’ll stop tasting blood in his mouth; blood that isn’t his, blood that isn’t ryan’s. he doesn’t care, as long as it drowns out the regret.
he has all the right words and not enough time to say them. ryan will be gone in the morning. the next time his phone rings, ray throws it off the pier.
-
he made the stars his home, forgetting he could never reach them.
in the end, he's still alone.
-
“jack,” gavin sounds like he’s been crying, but there’s no other signs of tears. jack understands when he tosses a bloodstained mask onto the counter in front of her.
ryan’s mask is always bloodstained, but this time she knows. she trails her hand along the edge, dried blood flaking under her touch, and she knows.
“ray?”
he tosses a different set of bloodstained motorcycle keys next to the mask. jack stares at him, and thinks he understands for a brief moment; but then he just looks lost, and a little bit sad. jack knows.
“oh.”
-
michael once made ray promise something to him. it’s always michael and ray, to the end of the line. michael and ray come first. but los santos is a land of broken promises, and when ray tosses out his keys and steals a new motorcycle, he turns on his apathy and tunes out the world and never, never stops to feel guilty.
michael made him promise to never feel guilty if one of them got hurt for the other. ryan was never included in the mix, ray won’t feel guilty anyway. for either of them. he melts away.
“I want to see you in the stars, but I think you’re already there. just too far away for us to reach.” michael decided, on that hill, late at night. ray wonders if he ever settled on a home at all.
----
what happens next was always meant to happen first. ray only procrastinated the in between.
here’s what happens: “there doesn’t need to be two of us,” ryan tells him.
here’s what happens: ray draws his gun just a little bit faster. ray aims just a little bit better. he tells ryan, "I won't miss you," and he means it.
ryan is right; he isn't needed. right from the start, there was never space for both of them in the world.
there doesn't have to be two of them; so ray walks into the night pretending the echo of the bullets don’t match his heart rate, with the milky way shining in the sky and blood underneath his fingernails and, for a moment, in his eyes. if it were a movie, this is where he would start to shine. instead he stands on a hill and watches the sun rise and drifts, drifts, and melts away. he keeps on breathing because he has to.
home is where family is. he was a fool to think he could ever find it here.