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Las Vegas nights were cold. Colder than most people anticipated. Guess it was cause Vegas wasn’t a winter vacation spot. Brendon’s glasses were frosting up from his breath, making the christmas lights an astigmatism-esque blur. Couldn’t they be bothered to take them down? He sniffles, using his scarf to wipe the fog away. He doesn’t fancy the idea of slipping on the sidewalk because all he see were club lights.
This side of Vegas was quiet. Or—well— quieter than most of the city. No surprise there, he found solitude in silence. With nothing but a pen, paper, and crickets or cars was when his writings flourish. There was no sight greater to behold than watching Ryan’s eyes when he was focused, the determination in them shining the way they do in movies. A spark.
He was over the whole “Christmas Spirit” thing. Couldn’t wait for winter to end. Hands slip into his pockets, relishing in the warmth yet shivering at the change of temperature. Walking around at an unholy hour in the cold, he can admit that this isnt his brightest moment. In his defense, it’s in his nature to be impulsive.
So impulsive, in fact, that he’s wandering the dark streets just to have a talk with his (ex) best friend. He was feverish and thinking crookedly, so maybe that’s how he rationalized stepping out of the door.
Yeah, he doesn’t know what he’s doing or why he’s on his way to where he’s going. He does, however, know where he’s heading. Most of his old late night strolls led to him sitting in Ryan’s apartment, talking his jaw off. It was muscle memory. In turn, it only made sense that he remembered the way to Ryan’s apartment by heart (he always would). Every turn was automatic, every step was unconscious. Though, that didn’t mean he didn’t dread what he’d do once he arrived.
He’s already established he’s quite impulsive.
The old brick building comes into view, and he’s starting to regret every decision he’s ever made. When makes it to the front door, he’s really contemplating turning on his heel and heading to Sarah’s hotel instead. Breaking and entering seems like a more appealing idea than seeing the apartment’s doorman again. It’s not that he knows anything that happened between them, in fact, he’d probably let Brendon in without a question. Maybe thats the part that hurts. The fact that he’s been here a thousand times before. That this place was considered his own home. It’s more the nostalgia of the act that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, not the act itself.
So he takes the second option. Like an idiot, sure, but he could live with that. He turns his focus to the fire escape ladder, just perfectly within his reach. His fingers pull back when they first come in contact with the cold metal, a freezer burn of sorts. He pulls his jacket sleeves to his fingertips before beginning to climb. This was one of the worst ideas he’s ever had, he thinks, but he doesn’t back down. Its worrying, usually by now he’d have someone convince him how dumb this plan was. Or he might’ve realized himself. More than that, it’s also incredibly embarrassing. He even remembers exactly which window lead to Ryan’s, like some super fan desperate to meet their favorite star.
When he reaches the window, he hesitates. He knows he’s going to regret this. He knows he might break down the moment he even sees Ryan.
He also knows that if he leaves now, he’ll regret it until he’s reached his death bed.
Sheer green curtains do little to obstruct his view of the interior of Ryan’s apartment. It’s just as he remembers. Vinyl cases were displayed on the wall, Ryan’s acoustic guitar prompted against the mock fireplace. Picture frames stand proudly on top of it, and Brendon can make out one that seems to be of him and Ryan. He looks away.
The hardwood floor is covered by a floral rug that reminds him of the album over of Pretty Odd. Speaking of which, he could hear a vinyl of said album playing. Northern Downpour, unmistakably. He frowns. There’s a table pressed against the wall, right underneath window. He tilts his head downward for a better view, recognizing it as Ryan’s desk. He must’ve moved it. He would sit there while Brendon talked, humming in agreement and writing down whatever came to his mind as future lyrics. It was usually this time at night when they used to do that. Behind the curtain, he could see the faint outline of a cup of coffee accompanied with what he presumed was Ryan’s notebook beside it. That meant…
Ryan walks into the room. They make eye contact. It’s like a scene from one of those shitty romcom movies where the love interests see each other for the first time again after being separated for so long. Brendon liked to believe in that crap, but he’s never experienced it first hand until now. The Notebook wasn’t too far off with what it felt like.
The world’s turned into a dizzy mess. His feet are suddenly helium balloons, and the rest of his body are heavy weights. Right. No pressure. He probably thinks you’re a total creep and an obsessive ex, but he knew you like the lines on his palm. So. You know. He’ll understand. Brendon swallows the excessive saliva in his mouth. He taps the glass as if politely knocking on a door despite the fact Ryan obviously saw him. He smiles sheepishly.
Ryan stumbles making his way to the window, ramming his hip into the corner of his desk and wincing. What a dork (what a hypocrite), Brendon thinks. He watches as his hands fiddle with the handle, the window opening inward. At least Brendon isn’t smacked viciously in the face like the first time he pulled something like this. Did the landlord change the panes?
“What are you doing here?!” is the first thing he’s asked, which he responds to with a double sneeze. The first thing he’s told is; “Get inside.” before he’s being pulled through the window and sat at the couch.
Ryan hands him the cup of coffee from his desk, and Brendon notes that it’s freshly brewed. The cup warms his hands nicely, so he takes a sip. Its bittersweet. Tastes like what Northern Downpour sounds like, but maybe thats just the placebo effect.
A cold hand finds its way to his forehead, making him jolt. “You’re burning up.” Ryan says, matter-of-factly. He rolls his eyes. Well, duh? He knows that, he’s the one burning up after all. He doesn’t say that, though, just hums in agreement. The bane of his existence ends, and When the Day Met the Night starts playing. Never mind. This wasn’t any better, significantly worse actually. God, couldn’t Ryan just turn the record off? Didn’t he feel the cramp in his chest when he heard the sound of their voices harmonizing?
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asks him again, a lot more calmly than the first time. “A warning would’ve been nice. Or going through the front door.”
Brendon stares up at him, puppy eyed. It’s not intentional, he swears, but many people have begged to differ. “Would you have let me in? If I asked?” Ryan gnaws at his lip. Brendon remembers that. The thing he does where his lips are pursed and he looks like a scholar in thought.
“No.” The man above him answers simply.” “It’s not like that, though. Well— I’m not ready just yet, you know…?”
Brendon nods. Like he knows himself, he knows Ryan. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I’m not either. But,” He tilts his head to the side, gesturing to Ryan’s window. “I don’t think much before doing.” Ryan snickers half-heartedly.
A silence falls between them. It’s not soft and peaceful like the ones they used to have. No, this one’s filled with tension, unspoken words. Like they’re waiting for the other to start, so they’re stuck in a never ending cycle of quiet. The older of the two breaks eye contact, shifting his focus to the collection of vinyls and cds in his cabinet.
Brendon takes the time to stare at Ryan. He’s tired, Brendon can tell. When you spend every hour of every day with someone for nearly 6 years (to the point that your girlfriends left you for spending too much time with each other), you tend to memorize how they look in every moment. The way his eyes were downcast. His eyebrows being slightly furrowed. The hand traveling up and down his thigh.
The record’s playing Behind the Sea when Ryan stands up to turn it off. He slips it back into the case with the care of a mother to her child and Brendon admires it with all his soul. The vinyl was Ryan’s child, in a way. Music he had curated with nothing but his mind and a guitar, lyrics he had wrote with the intention of weaving the mark of his life into. Words that felt like singing a diary out loud. Maybe that made Brendon the dad, but he doesn’t pursue that thought. Silence blankets them.
“I-“ They start at the same time. He cringes. This whole situation was way too… romcom-y. He’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable with it.
“Could we go out? To the fire escape, I mean.”
The air is frigid. It’s colder up here, but Brendon had a fuzzy blanket wrapped around himself to keep him from shivering. The sneezes never stopped though, so Ryan handed him a complimentary box of tissues. Ryan starts talking before he could clear his nose.
“I’m sorry. About the split. I know we said ‘on good terms’ and that we’d stay in touch but…” He sits down, slotting his legs between the gaps of the metal bars. Brendon follows in suit. He waits for Ryan to continue. He doesn’t. Instead, he huffs out a tired breath. “How’s Sarah?”
Brendon shrugs. “She’s doing fine, I guess. Heads back to Michigan tomorrow. Said she’s gonna spend New Year’s with her family.”
“Why aren’t you spending the night with her?” Good question. Why wasn’t Brendon spending the night with her? They wouldn’t see each for another couple months or so, so he should be with her every chance he gets. But he isn’t. Instead, he’s sitting on Ryan’s fire escape after months of no contact, tucked away from the world in a blanket that smelled like him. The worst part was, it felt right. Like this was what he meant to do all those months of yearning. Yearning? No, thats not the word he meant to use. His thoughts are spiraling, thats why. It wouldn’t be long before he started thinking of something stupid, like how fast steam trains could go.
“Brendon?” Ryan interrupts softly, like he’s afraid to disrupt Brendon’s thinking. “You with me again?” He says with an amused smile. Brendon thinks he’s grown accustom to how much he zones out.
Brendon returns the favor, and now they’re both grinning like two idiots on marijuana. “Yeah, I am.” They look each other in the eyes and Brendon thinks he wouldn’t mind throwing out his whole career to stay here. He wasn’t above gazing into Ryan’s soul for all eternity. And also to avoid the question.
Of course, not all good things last. Mostly because neither of them were capable of permanently shutting up. “Are you gonna go with her? To Michigan?”
“What?” Brendon shakes his head. The cold’s starting to nip at his nose again, but he ignores it. “No way, man. We just started dating in August, it’s way too early to spend the holidays with her family.” Ryan goes quiet at that. Not in a literal sense, but in the ‘downcast-gaze’ way. He’s never liked when Ryan wore that expression.
“August, huh?” The bustle of the city streets that usually calmed him down was now too loud. If he could turn it down to better hear everything Ryan said, he would. “Time passes like river currents.” Oh, him and his stupid endearing metaphors. Of a sun like the golden brew of tea and of a moon like the silver gush of streams.
“Yeah.” The word escapes his mouth in a whisper and the urge to change the subject consumes him. “How’s your album going?” It’s Ryan’s turn to shrug and look disinterested.
“Just fine. Sort of. Some lyrics have been tripping me up. I can’t get the wording right, and it’s killing me.” That’s funny, he thinks. He can’t comprehend the thought Ryan not knowing what to say, let alone how to say it. “There’s just— so many thoughts, experiences, lives that I want to cramp into 40 minutes worth of songs. I don’t know, I just think, maybe I’m doing too much?”
Brendon scoffs, pulling away from the railing bars to look at him. “Doing too much? Ry, if anything, you’re not doing enough. Are you hearing yourself? It’s gonna be an impossible feat, topping the lyricism of fever. But you did it with pretty odd, so Ry, I think you could do anything.” He pauses, shaking his head. “C’mon, man. I don’t wanna be one of those dumb signs in schools that say ‘believe in yourself’ and all that bullshit, but sometimes they’re right. You’ve got the mind of a genius, it’s only fair you use it.”
Ryan playfully punches him the arm, making the blanket slip off Brendon’s shoulders. He doesn’t shiver this time“Flattery gets you nowhere. I’m not writing you another song, Bren.”
He can’t stop the ear to ear grin. “I’m being serious! You know how horrible I am at lying.” He scoots closer to Ryan. Ryan’s arms are cold, he’s only in a Beatles t-shirt after all, but his touch feels warmer than the blanket’s embrace. Here goes all he’s thought of the past six months.
“I’m sorry too. It was your band, it should’ve been your decision. I wasn’t even supposed to be in the band, I shouldn’t have been the one who stayed.” He doesn’t dare look up at Ryan in fear of what he might do. And in fear of what he might say. “Spence misses you. Panic’s not the same without you, Ry.” The words hang over them. Brendon just has to say it. He looks up.
The winds blowing the hair out of Ryan’s face. The warm street lights combined with the cool moonlight create a dance of light and dark. Brendon’s lips part in awe. He looks so ethereal, Brendon feels like he’s defiling him with his gaze. As if he’s not meant to look at someone so precious.
Ryan takes a deep breath, the kind when you’re about to say something game changing. He has a feeling he knows what Ryan’s gonna to ask.
“This isn’t about panic, is it? Why you came, I mean.” Brendon sucks on his teeth, making a ‘tsk’ sound. He pretends to not have heard him. Like maybe if he pretends it isn’t happening, it’s not going to.
“Brendon, do you ever miss me?” He pulls the piece of cloth closer to himself, now wanting nothing more than to curl up into a shell. “‘Cause I do. I’m over not admitting it. Not like it was a secret.” He should’ve never come over, never climbed that ladder. He feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell Sarah I’m sorry.”
There’s another hand, this time on his face, pulling him closer. It slides down the side of his face in a gentle caress, fingertips starting from the corner of his eye, trailing down to his chin. They cup his chin in between the index and the thumb. The hand draws him in. It tilts his head for a better angle.
“You know I won’t.”
The kiss, god it’s all he’s needed since summer ended. He thought that maybe he could fill the void with another person’s lips, but Sarah was spring rain after winter snow, Ryan was the sun rays on a cold beach. They couldn’t be compared, no, not when it was evident how much Brendon loved the summer. He couldn’t wait for spring to end.
Ryan’s the expert at this. He tugs the blanket off of Brendon’s shoulders, laying it down on the rusty tarnished metal. He lifts up Brendon’s thigh, silently asking him to slip onto the makeshift mattress. Like a well trained dog, Brendon follows his orders. He’s prompted between Ryan and the window. A hand ghosts up his leg, stopping to rest on his inner calf. The palm warms his feverish skin.
“Ry-” He mutters when Ryan pulls away, only to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. His lips travel down his jaw, his neck, dragging off his jacket to reach his shoulder. “You’re gonna get sick, you know? Do you really want a repeat of—” This time Ryan bites down, leaving a teeth shaped mark on the crook of his neck. “—of fever?”
“Couldn’t care less. No, actually, I do care less.” He squeezes Brendon’s thigh. “Could get pneumonia for all I care.” Ryan’s right hand is tangled in his hair, dragging him impossibly closer. Like he wants their souls to merge as one. He tugs on his hair for another kiss—
This isn’t right.
He pulls away, his hand covering Ryan’s mouth. What the fuck was he doing?
“You okay?” Brendon shakes his head.
“No. No, I shouldn’t be… Sarah’s waiting for me. In a hotel on the strip. I should really get going, Ryan, she’s probably—” He cuts off his excessive babbling, keeping Brendon from embarrassing himself further.
“No, don’t worry, it’s fine, I get it.” He stands up, holding his hand out for Brendon to grab. “So… this is goodbye, I guess?”
Brendon frowns at him solemnly. It’s that stupid look again. Only this time Brendon knows what gets it off of his face. And he wont do that. “Yeah.” He takes Ryan’s hand, pulling himself up. “I’ll see you.” It takes every neuron in his brain to not ask to stay the night, and every muscle in his body to not return as he begins descending down the ladder.
“Wait!” Ryan stands up, running inside to get something. Brendon figures he was afraid that he would leave when he was gone, because he’s back in a mere second.
He hands Brendon a red jacket, the black floral design reminding him of Ryan’s old rose vest. He takes it, wiggling his arms through the sleeves. It’s not nearly as warm as Ryan, but it would suffice. “Thanks.”
“Will you be back?” Ryan asks him, and he isn’t sure of the answer. He wants to go back. Of course he does. But he doesn’t know if he could handle going back.
“Some other day, Ross.”