Work Text:
Maybe Brendon forgot what he felt like, but he will never forget him.
"Hey Ryan, Ryan." a voice of a young man with giggles tangled between the letters he was pronouncing was audible behind the door. "What?" a sharper voice asked, unable to contain the giggles, unlike the other voice. "Fight me." The sound of fists softly crashing against cloth rang on his ears and a laugh was hearable.
"That hurted-" Ryan said, suddenly shutting up, only to cover the sudden stop with more giggles. "I won't punch you if you fight me. Come on, Ryan! Fight me!" Brendon then begged.
The giggles from both suddenly stopped as the sound of cloth against cloth appeared, and two bodies seemed to fall onto the couch in the room.
"Do you want me to fight you?" The usual giggly vibe in Ryan's voice was gone, and replaced by a deeper tone, strange on his friend's ears.
And Brendon said nothing.
Ten years had passed from that day, and Brendon already forgot what Ryan's hands felt on his wrists, his knees on the sides of his hips, his quiet lips on his neck.
But nobody would ever forget that if he wanted to start a fight with Ryan, he better threw the first punch.