Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryan was a very tidy person. Anxiously tidy. Type A, some (his boyfriend) might say. Ever since that night, something about spaces being chaotic brought chaos to his own mind, he felt like he couldn’t think straight.  He hated the mess, hated the clutter. Things being out ot place made him feel out of place himself. 

Maybe that’s why he was cleaning out his and Dylan’s closet on a random Tuesday morning. 

He folds their clothes that are up on the shelves, and organizes the ones on the hangers by colour.  He’s in the process of throwing out empty shoeboxes they have abandoned in the closet while in a hurry when he stumbles upon a really beat up one, a cartoonish heart painted on the top. 

Ryan lets his curiosity get the best of him and opens it up. (And to know whether to throw it out, too). Instead of seeing trash or it being empty, the boy is suddenly met with an instant wave of nostalgia.

The box is full of memorabilia. Movie tickets from his and Dylan’s first official date, a wristband from the last festival they went to, a NERF bullet which Ryan remembers very well from camp as it was Dylan’s favourite way to rile up the kids. And to get Ryan to pay attention to him.

Ryan smiles. Did Dylan really save all of this? 

He grins when he finds some photos of their first Christmas, where Schrodinger managed to take the entire tree down with her as they were taking a selfie. Ryan mentally scolds himself when he hears himself giggle like a teenage girl and decides it’s enough, as he’s not even sure Dylan wanted him to see this. 

As he closes the box and tries to put it on the higher shelf he stumbles, and the box drops with all of its contents scattered on their bedroom rug. 

“Fuck.” Ryan breathes out and starts collecting everything and putting it back in the box, but there’s something that catches his attention just as he’s about to finish. 

There’s a stack of papers, held loosely with a rainbow (where the hell does Dylan even get this stuff?) paperclip. Normally, Ryan wouldn’t give it a second thought and would just put them away, but a mysterious “Dear Ryan” written in a messy, but somehow neat handwriting which Ryan recognizes as Dylan’s catches his eye.

Ryan knows he shouldn’t. But he lets curiosity take over. He takes the papers, sits on the edge of their shared bed and starts reading.

2018/07/03

Dear Ryan,

I know you will probably never read this but I just need an outlet since I can’t deal with this anymore. I think I like you and fuck, I might even be in love. I’ve been going to this stupid camp since I was 15, and every year I come back thinking that this year, I might not have feelings for you anymore, that I might actually focus for once because I still adore the nature and my friends here, but it never goes away. Even since I first saw you, you were tattooed on my mind and it seems like I will never get rid of you. I know I have no chances. I don’t hold a lot of hope. But god fucking damn it every time I look at you I feel like the world stops spinning and you’re the only thing here. Sometimes I even start hating you. Nevermind. I don’t. I don’t think I ever will. But I know the chance of you actually liking boys and liking me back is so slim it almost doesn’t exist. Maybe I’ll stop going to this stupid camp and seeing your stupid face which makes me vomit butterflies. 

Dylan.

Ryan smiles as he remembers their first meeting. He remembers the way Dylan blushed the first time Ryan talked to him in sailing class. That blush didn’t dare to leave his face the whole summer. (He’s nice for calling it a blush. In reality, Dylan’s colouring reminded everyone of a beetroot.) Though, of course, Ryan being Ryan, thought it was the weather. The boy is just hot! Right? Right. “The boy is just hot when you pass him by, Ryan.” he mocks teenage-Ryan internally.

When they left that year, he remembers missing Dylan’s presence and that stupid blush the moment he closed the door of his granddad’s car. He quietly, but so desperately hoped to see Dylan again next summer. He only realised why much later. But he did see Dylan the next summer. And the next. 

But one summer, Dylan was gone. Ryan berated Chris with questions for 2 months, although with no avail. He never did find out, though. It was only one summer, so they never brought it up as it was so long ago. 

But now, it all makes sense. And Ryan regrets not asking.

This one is a bit shorter and somehow, is even more bittersweet.

2019/08/09

Dear Ryan,

I regret not coming. I thought I could imagine a summer without Hackett’s Quarry, but turns out I don’t. Things are pretty boring, I have found a job and when I’m not working I’m on my phone most of the time. The customers are nice, though. Apparently this is a popular hippie place. I have broadened my horizons!

 I thought that not coming to the camp will ease up my feelings for you. But it didn’t help. Here I am. Still writing a letter for you. And I can’t even see you. 

I hope the camp is fun. 

The world’s best barista, 

Dylan.

The next one was written after that night. Ryan’s jaw immediately clenches at the thought. He looks at the date and realizes this one was written when they weren’t in contact, too scared to bring up some unwanted, hurtful memories. Something they both wanted to forget so badly. 

All it took was one drunken night for both to understand how much they were missing each other. That they weren’t living, weren’t forgetting. Dylan had become a wound in his heart that stubbornly refused to scar. At least, not until he managed to find him again.

2021/12/30

Dear Ryan,

Please, come back. Shit’s been so hard and I’m scared I’m not strong enough to handle it alone. Everything is reminder. Everyday is like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. 

I’ve been doing a lot of therapy. A lot. She told me to find a safe space, a place of comfort. And I always imagine that moment at the campfire. Kissing you. Like that night, before everything. That’s so mundane. I know. But it gives me serenity because it reminds me I haven’t changed, (except maybe for the hand and the dreams) I’m still the same Dylan who cracks shitty jokes, adores music, loves physics, cares for his friends and can’t get Ryan Erzahler off his mind. 

I miss you. I hope you’re okay. Fuck, I really really hope you’re okay. Please come back to me.

Yours,

Dylan Dylan.

“Extracurricular reading?” a tired, but playful voice asks. Ryan lifts up his head to see Dylan leaning on the doorframe, his bag slung over one shoulder.

“Fuck, Dyl, I’m sorry. I just- I didn’t know what it was. This is a complete invasion of your privacy, I am so sorr-” Ryan apologizes, suddenly feeling very small, like a child caught stealing candy, but Dylan interrupts him, putting his palm up.

“Relax, love. It’s alright. I wanted to show you these someday anyway. Except maybe for the one you’re reading right now.” Dylan presses his lips together in a tight smile. “You can read the next one. Or I can just tell you what it is. Spoiler alert: it’s me, being a lovesick fool.” the taller boy says, making his way over to their bed which Ryan was sitting on.

“I-” Ryan begins, but the emotion he feels is so, so unbearably overwhelming he realises words could never express how he’s feeling. He’s not good with them, anyway. The shorter boy suddenly stands and holds Dylan’s face in his hands, caressing his cheeks and tries to put all of the love he feels for the man in every stroke. He kisses him, his full lips pressing against Dylan’s slightly cold ones and he thanks the universe over and over again for giving him the chance to do this everyday. 

Ryan was never big on words. So instead of saying I love you, I love your mind and how fascinating it is. I love your sentiments, your dedication, I’m so glad I found you again, so glad I met you , he peppers Dylan’s flushed, red face with little kisses.

And it’s perfect.

Because Dylan knows what they mean. 

____________________________

“You know what would be really funny?” Dylan quips, nudging Ryan’s ankle with his cold feet, as Ryan is about to fall asleep.

“Yeah?” Ryan answers, his voice silent and signaling sleep.

“Interlocking toes.” Dylan says and then bursts into giggles.

“Dylan.” Ryan deadpans. 

“No but think about it! I don’t have a hand anymore, right?  So we can interlock toes. Like instead of the other arm. And my feet are soooo cold.” He says, his giggles slowly turning into laughs. 

“Oh my god, are you fucking drunk?” Ryan says, turning over on his back so he can look at his boyfriend. The moonlight peeks through their bedroom window, softly illuminating Dylan’s features. His fluffy hair is messy, all over the place, and Ryan doesn’t hesistate from reaching out and petting it, putting some stray hairs behind his ears. Dylan’s eyes are sparkling, full of playfulness and he’s wearing a grin so bright it might actually be daytime. 

“Wait, wait, let me try it.” Dylan gets up and moves to the edge of the bed, sitting in front Ryan  with his knees slightly bent. Ryan rests on his elbows to observe the other boy.

Dylan takes Ryan’s foot in his palm and starts putting his own toes in between his. It feels super weird and Ryan hates it, but the way Dylan’s lips are pressed tightly, gaze fixed, his tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth, is too cute and stops him from pulling away and going back to sleep.

“You’re so weird.” Ryan says, but smiles at how stupidly focused his lover looks.  “Why are together, remind me please?”

“Because you can’t resist my charm and wit. Or my whimsy.” Dylan laughs, resting on his elbows and throwing his head back, mirroring Ryan’s position, now that the toes are fully interlocked. “Yeah, this feels vile… You wanna do the other foot?” 

And Ryan smiles fondly. It’s all he can do, honestly. “Oh God, just come back here, I have work tomorrow.” he says.

“Bitch, you’re smiling. Do you have a feet thing?” Dylan says, pulling his leg back and laying next to Ryan, the latter throwing a hand over his waist and bringing the taller man close, chest pressed to his back.

“I absolutely do not.”.

____________________________

When Jacob invited them to a frat party, their expectations weren’t high. 

However, this party has officially hit rock bottom.

It wasn’t even midnight yet and everyone in this house was absolutely hammered, in the process of falling asleep on every surface in the house. The music - which could have been their saving grace -  was all shitty SoundCloud rappers, probably the frat boys plugging their songs. 

The people weren’t exactly nice or at least sociable either, a lot of them shooting uncomfortable looks to their linked hands or Dylan’s robotic one on the left side of his body. So an hour in Ryan and Dylan decided they’d rather spend their evening in the corner, making out on the couch or helping another lost soul find a bit of sanity in this house. 

The reason they didn’t leave with the first weird look, is the fact that there was a year’s supply of (free!!) alcohol. In this economy, this was nothing but a luxury. And low and behold, Dylan was very drunk. Ther older man had his arm lazily wrapped around Ryan’s shoulders, not falling asleep, but hanging off of his neck, smiling so wide it looks painful.

“You’re so hot. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this legal? Are you legal? Should I call ninety-one one?” Dylan slurs, burying his face in Ryan’s neck at the end of the sentence. 

“Dyl, let’s go home, yeah? You’re shitfaced.” Ryan says, holding him tight by his waist, worried that if he lets go, Dylan will make out with the floor.

“Yeah! Yeah. Let’s go home.” the boy in his hands wiggles his eyebrows “for some sexy time, hopefully?”

“Yeah, no. As I said, you are drunk. Or I can let you go and you can kiss the rug.” Ryan says, dragging Dylan through the door and to their car.

“No. That’s no fun. I bet some guy puked on it.” Dylan pouts.

They get to the car and Ryan opens the passenger door for the brunet to get in. He’s about to, but suddenly, he jumps, banging his head on the roof. “But! Another brilliant idea from your absolute best boy  - McDonald’s?” Dylan gives him the best puppy eyes he can possibly muster.

“Sure. McDonald’s works.” Ryan smiles. 

Their home. The sound of that is still weird. If you told him 4 years ago, that he’d be living with the charming, energetic, complete polar-opposite fellow-camper-turned-fellow-counselor and secret big-fat-crush , he would have laughed in your face. Shit didn’t work out for him that well. But here he was, driving home with his best boy , who was currently not only very excited about a squirrel they saw this morning, but also smiling at him with pure admiration, like Ryan actually hung up the stars in the sky and is the reason the world turns everyday. Or why squirrels chill in trees, apparently.

Once Ryan unlocks the door, Dylan faceplants on the couch. He’s not asleep, however. He lets Ryan turn on the lights, lock the door and then once the dark-haired man sits down, he curls up next to him, hand securely placed over the youngers’ chest,  closely watching the phone as their regular order is placed. 

They play a movie, but they know it’s for background noise. Drunk Dylan can’t stop babbling and Sober Ryan can’t stop listening to him, fascinated with his mind everytime, as Dylan comes up with the most random things that Ryan is sure, nobody else could think of. They talk shit about the frat boys and swear on never going to anything Jacob invites them to ever again. When the food arrives, they start to reminisce on other horrible parties they went to, even before they knew each other. Somewhere in between he gives Dylan his fries and when the latter flashes him the most genuine, thankful smile for such a simple gesture he thinks yeah, he could do this every day.

____________________________

Ryan is fucking tired. Not to mention it’s finals week, which had him pulling multiple all-nighters and literally going crazy, work hasn’t been a walk in the park, either. He knows everyone starts going feral during Christmas time, but he so done with people screaming, being rude and impatient. 

The only good thing about today was getting a call from his sister, all enthusiastic and excited to have Ryan visit. It’s the only time he smiled in the past week and once he ends the phone call, he can’t help but feel a bit empty. He hasn’t seen his family in months. He hasn’t even seen Dylan for the past week and, mind you, they live in the same apartament, yet their only meetings are at night, one pulling the other closer and falling asleep in an instant. This emptiness and scorching guilt overwhelms him and honestly, he can’t wait to go home and sleep it off. He can deal with his emotions later.

Ryan comes back home, kicks his shoes off, leaves his stuff on the coffee table and falls asleep on the couch.

When he awakes, it’s dark and there’s fingers in his hair. There’s lo-fi songs playing in the background and it’s so, so calming. Ryan has missed this.

“Hey, starlight,” Dylan speaks up, the pet name falling off his lips. The taller man kneels in front of the couch to face Ryan and speaks in a voice ever so soft, (Ryan thinks his voice is actual velvet) “are you okay? Are you not feeling well?” he says, his eyebrows knitted.

“I’m better now .” Ryan answers, tone a little flirty, shooting his boyfriend a lazy smile. “But... Not a good day.” he adds, keeping his sentences short.

“Well then, maybe a bubble bath will help you feel better? I’ve been wanting to take one all day, so why not do it together? I haven’t seen you in a while anyways, busy bee.” The taller man offers, pinching the other’s cheek.

And Ryan, after all, is just a man. He can’t resist an offer like that.

He also knows Dylan can see right through him. He knows Dylan can notice his eyebags, can sense his uneasiness, can literally hear the cogs turning and neurons connecting in his brain.

They step into their bathroom and Dylan starts the water, pouring some shower gel and adding a bath bomb to make the bubbles. He takes off his shirt first, followed by his pants and boxers and lastly, removes his prosthetic arm from his left wrist and sets it on the bathroom cabinet. Ryan peacefully admires him. Even after all these years of crushing, healing, pining and loving he still can’t get enough and frankly, he probably never will.

Dylan gets into the bath and Ryan joins him a minute later. The younger man sets himself in between Dylan’s legs, his back pressed to his chest. Dylan wraps his arms around the waist of his lover and presses a kiss to his temple, offering comfort. 

“Am I a bad person?” Ryan says, remembering his conversation with his sister earlier today.

“What?” Dylan quips, confused as ever, “What do you mean?”

“It’s just… Sarah called. She didn’t say anything, but I feel so horrible that I haven’t visited the in a while even though I promised I’d see them every weekend when I left. I feel like I’m neglecting her, when I’m supposed to be here for her, to look out for her.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s normal to drift a little bit away from your family once you get hit in the face with adult responsibilities.  I’m sure they’ve been through the same thing, Ry. Give them some credit too, yeah?”.

“I know. I’m just sorry. I haven’t seen you properly in like a week, too.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. And even though I was a bit upset about it, I realize you have shit to take care of. And that’s okay. Even though I wish you could, you can’t be with me every waking second, right?”

Silence follows. Ryan’s anxiety is still there, but it is less prominent. His stomach doesn’t twist and his brain does not blame him for being neglectful anymore.

They’re silent for a while and it’s comforting. He focuses on the sound of Dylan’s breathing, feels the way his chest rises up and then deflates. He closes his eyes and thinks he could die like this.

“Ryan?” Dylan speaks up, interrupting the peaceful silence. 

“Yeah?” Ryan turns his head, the back of his head now on Dylan’s shoulder blade, looking right up into his eyes. 

“I’m sure everyone who loves you, and I know your family does, would wait for you. I know I’d wait for a decade if it meant I could go home with you and just have you here, this close, in this hot, soapy ass water.” Dylan chuckles lightly at the end of the sentence.

Ryan smiles faintly and closes his eyes. 

“I’d wait a lifetime just for the privilege of loving you.” Dylan adds, kissing his forehead. 

Yeah. He could die like this.

____________________________

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!!” Dylan screams.

“Oh my god, stop being so dramatic.” Ryan laughs, closing the door to their apartament building.

“Dramatic? How dare you call me dramatic! It’s so fucking cold my DICK is gonna FALL! OFF!” Dylan exclaims, dramatically, yelling some of the words and getting some angry looks from people passing by in return.

They get in the car and the taller man immediately starts fiddling with the buttons, his hand shaking. 

“I swear these fucking groceries aren’t worth it, why am I doing this for some milk and pasta? This is some real fucking mockery.” Dylan whisper-shouts, finally getting the settings right.

“Do you want us to starve?” Ryan says, laughing.

“We can eat each other if we get too hungry. Bones and all.” Dylan replies, making his last lines desperate in an attempt to mimic the scene.

“Do not quote Timothée Chalamet movies to me.” Ryan deadpans, as the man next to him laughs.

“No, but honestly, which body part would you eat if you had the chance?” The brunet asks, staring at Ryan’s hands on the steering wheel. (He always had a thing for Ryan’s hands. Especially when they’re touching him).

“None, Dylan. None.” Ryan says, sternly, trying to really emphasize the last word.

“Aw, really? Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about what… a thigh tastes like?” Dylan puts his index finger to his chin, as if in thought.

“I’m dating a psycho.” 

Dylan just grins.

A little bit later, after some questionable parking and some expert penguin walking to avoid slipping on the ice, Ryan and Dylan find themselves in the pasta aisle.

“If you get penne one more time, I’m breaking up with you.” Dylan says, his hand on his hip, face screaming ‘bitch, please.’

“What’s wrong with penne? It’s the only acceptable shape!” Ryan says, desperately trying to defend himself.

“Just because it’s cylindrical, Ryan, does not mean it’s acceptable!” Dylan says loudly, flailing his hands,  earning them a weird look from the middle-aged man nearby.  “It turns out I’m the one dating a psycho.” Dylan tsks.  

“Do not compare my love for penne shaped pasta to cannibalism.” Ryan disagrees, nudging his boyfriend’s shoulder.

If the man nearby gave them a weird look before, this one was a full on ‘ oh shit, i’m gonna die tonight ’ one.

“Eh, potato po-tah-to.” Dylan shrugs, smiling as he puts the radiatori pasta in their cart.

They wander the store for a little while, having silly arguments and debates over various items, Dylan laughing louder than what’s appropriate for the grocery store and Ryan facepalming so much some might think his palm is glued to his forehead. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

2023/12/05

Dear Ryan,

It’s your birthday. I couldn’t be happier or any more thankful you chose to have me by your side.

I love our little life. I love going home knowing you’ll be there, I love telling my mom about the silly trips we take, I love how Schro is OUR baby now, I love the meaningless arguments we have every evening when we can’t agree on what movie to watch, I love doing the dishes with you, or cooking, or cleaning or literally just existing with you by my side.

For this year, I hope you’re nothing but happy. And when you’re not, I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me. 

The best part is is that now I don’t have to vent on paper – I can tell you all of this myself. 

Forever yours, 

Dylan.