Work Text:
‘Hey Rye… I just… I was wondering if you were coming back? I know we didn't end on very good terms… but we can still be friends, right? I-- we miss you here. Please call?’
It was January 7th, one month exactly since he’d left the crew.. He wasn't sure where he was, only knew that he was east of California, parked on the side of a long stretch of road.
He hovered his finger over the delete button, hand shaking slightly, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. So he hit save, keeping it in his long list of voicemails sent by Ray since he’d left.
He buried his face in his hands before tossing his cell into the passenger seat. He tuned the radio to something that wasn't static, then pulled back out into the road and continued east.
The storm was worsening, so he eventually pulled over at a hotel. It was a shoddy little roadside inn made for truckers and other travellers. The sign, a painting depicting a sunny beach side with palm trees, was faded, and half of the word ‘vacancy’ was burned out.
Once he stepped out of his car, out of the warmth of the heater, the chill went to his bones. He pulled his jacket closer to him and shuddered.
The man behind the desk was playing Solitaire boredly. When Ryan walked in he barely looked up.
“Welcome to Paradise Inn,” he muttered, minimizing the tab.
Ryan nodded politely. “Room for one night, please?” He placed $40 in cash and his fake ID on the counter.
The guy nodded, clicking a few things and taking the cash. “Room 107,” he said, putting a key on the counter. He brought back up his Solitaire game and spaced out once more.
Ryan took a hot shower first, trying to drive the chill from his bones.
Afterwards, his stomach grumbled so he walked to the gas station next door.
The fluorescent lights were too bright compared to the dim lighting of the outside world. He bought a diet Coke and a bag of chips before making his way back to the hotel, where the only light source was a lamp and one flickering overhead light.
It was quiet, so when his phone suddenly rang Ryan felt his heart leap from his chest. Out of habit he almost clicked the answer button without checking the caller ID, but he quickly stopped himself.
‘Ray <3’
His heart fell.
It rung for what felt like ages. Ryan’s hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from reaching out and answering the call. Every cell in his body wanted to pick it up, ask him if he was okay, if he missed what they had as much as Ryan did, if he ever dreamt of how it used to be before Ryan went and fucked everything up.
When the ringing stopped, the world felt too quiet. He stared down at his food solemnly, his appetite gone.
He threw it all away and pulled his laptop out to try and distract himself. His phone sat at the other end of the table, being pointedly ignored. Ryan knew he had a voicemail waiting; Ray had filled his phone up with voicemails since he left. Ryan also knew that listening to it would just reopen the wound that he was trying so hard to heal, but the urge was too strong.
He grabbed his phone and threw it onto his bed; out of sight, out of mind he reasoned.
The hotel had WiFi, so he turned to Netflix and browsed through the suggestions. He’d been using the downtime to catch up on the shows he missed, but hotel WiFi was generally unreliable so it was a slow process.
Ray, the only person with his password that didn't use his own account, had used his Netflix to watch weird crap like ‘Dracula 3000’ and 'Bad Johnson.’ Most of the suggestions were shitty B-Movie with weird titles and one star ratings because of this, despite the fact that Ryan had been watching other stuff on the account and Ray had since started using Geoff’s Netflix.
It was such a small, stupid thing to get emotional over, but Ryan still felt an ache of nostalgia in his chest. He felt dumb, being reminded of Ray by the cover of ‘Talking Cat!?!'.
He only got through one episode of ‘Breaking Bad’ before he started to get tired. It was only 10pm but he already felt worn out from the day. He shut off his computer and climbed into bed. The room felt too dark when he shut off the lamp, but not being able to see his surroundings relaxed him.
His phone, forgotten in the sheets, jabbed at his thigh and he grabbed it. The voicemail seemed to mock him, so he swiped it out of his notification bar. The icon remained. He sighed, wondering why the world seemed to have it out for him.
He was in Oklahoma, according to his phone. It was also 24°f and raining hard, though he’d inferred that from the stifling patter of rain against his window.
He pulled up a map and examined it. When he’d left, it was without a plan. He didn't even take all of his things, just grabbed a few changes of clothes, his mask, and all the money in his safebox. He figured now was as good a time as any to come up with a plan.
He thought briefly about leaving the country. He was fluent in Spanish, German, and French, so he could blend in. He decided against it, though. Too far away.
He swiped right, scooting the map towards New York.
(Ray was from New York. He blocked the thought as quickly as it had entered his mind.)
He’d only been once when he was a kid, and he’d always wanted to see the statue of Liberty. Ray had told him once that it was a lot smaller than people thought, and he wanted to see it for himself.
He could go back to Georgia too. His parents would always welcome him back with open arms. They thought he did IT work, had no clue he was a hitman for hire.
Before he knew it, it was 2am and his eyes were struggling to stay open. He nearly locked his phone to head to sleep, but he saw the voicemail icon and stopped.
He dragged his notification bar down and clicked it, put his phone to his ear and got ready to listen to it.
‘You have one new message and 15 saved messages. New message: “Hey Rye… If you're mad at me, well, I'm sorry. I did what I needed to do, but I just… I miss you. I do, I miss you a lot. We all do but I… please come home. I know you won't but I keep hoping you will. Like I’ll wake up tomorrow and you'll be there, making coffee in the kitchen like always, and everything was just a fucked up dream. God… I'll leave you alone I guess. This will be my last call. Wherever you are… stay safe. Please call.’”