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Okay, so, maybe Ryan had lied a little about the "never dropping Gabe" part.
Nobody's perfect, okay? Definitely not a young guy who's never properly hung head down from a damn bar before, thirty-fucking-five feet above ground with nothing but a damn net somewhere low beneath him. Ryan was new to this, but God forbid he made a mistake. Right?
Right. Ryan was the ringmaster's favorite, which meant whatever he asked for, went. So when Gabe begged and pleaded for their most recent show to not have a safety net, claiming they were pros, they knew what they were doing, one hard stare from Ryan had the ringmaster firmly shaking his head no to his begging. The net stayed; whether for Gabe's safety or Ryan's, well, they might never know. But it stayed.
And heavens above, thank fuck it did.
Ryan was a catcher. He didn't have much room or reason to fall, really. His legs were usually bound to the bar, so he stayed in his place — something he's learned to do very early on — and, well, his core was strong. He wasn't flying around in the air, risking his life. He was just hanging upside down for a few minutes daily, really. He was content like that, content to extend his arms a couple times during their performances, catch Gabe, throw him back out into the air dramatically.
Gabe? God, stubborn as a mule but agile as a falcon and full of energy like a puppy — but what was it worth, when he refused safety gear for the sake of a slightly prettier performance?
Apparently, a lot.
Gabe liked his shows to be flawless, citing that he needed them to be as eye catching and interesting as could be, given how little time they had at all, and in a way, Ryan understood. He just wished he wouldn't risk his own damn life for it. Ryan had never kissed the cross hanging off his neck as much before, than after joining the circus. He's also aged at least about a decade mentally, thanks to Gabe's shenanigans. But he wasn't going to tell him.
It happened at a later night show in Boston. The air outside was crisp, the people scurrying past the gates swiftly to enjoy the warmth of the many tents on the circus premises, the stalls with tooth-rotting sweets and sodas, sticky popcorn and tarot readings. They were on home grounds and earlier that afternoon, they met up with a couple of their ex-classmates for a quick lunch. It felt good.
It felt safe to be home.
That night, Gabe decided to change up his make-up and try on the new sparkly outfit his brother had sewn for him. The usually dramatic whites and blues that normally adorned his skin were nowhere to be seen, replaced by just a couple of rhinestones and some neon paint that vaguely resembled a clown, and Ryan thought that was going to be oddly easy to match. But it still felt off. Gabe rarely strayed away from his routine.
He rarely strayed from the painted on blues that pulled the corners of his lips down dramatically, the thick eyebrows drawn in the same powdery color, accentuating the pour. It felt like he had a soul bond to that painted on face. It felt weird to see him apply nothing but a few colorful lines that just barely resembled his usual face-up.
It started that morning, really, when Gabe allowed Ryan to play his country music over Gabe's usual French-Arab tunes. That never happened. God help anyone who's ever willingly tried to change Gabe's routine playlist; they either left beheaded or without a limb. Gabe was very particular about his choice of music. It got him in the groove.
Then, that same afternoon, he didn't fight about the safety net like he used to. He settled on a compromise with the ringmaster, to simply lower it so it was out of view from the set and then went on to take a nap. Ryan was worried, to say the least.
The evening continued with the aforementioned make-up and costume changes. Crawling up the trapeze shortly before the show began felt like a million lightning bolts striking Ryan all at once. He was high on the adrenaline rush, feeling like he's being subjected to something new, a different side of his partner that he never got to know before. He couldn't tell if it was right or wrong.
He found out not much later, really.
Everything was timed perfectly. Even over the music, Ryan could make out the soft hop Gabe let out as a warning, and so he swung, just in time to be able to catch him. Like usual, his body stretched long, arms extended, fingers flexing out. But he never caught Gabe.
Nothing had ever prepared Ryan for the feeling of helplessness, as he hung head down on a bar, thirty five feet above ground, watching the love of his life fall helplessly from beneath his own fingertips. For the feeling of absolute terror as he quickly, mentally, calculated just how much damage would be done when Gabe inevitably hit the lowered net, for the absolute pain coursing through his veins for a moment as he realized he'd failed him.
The ghost of Gabe's very brief touch against his palms was enough to make him feel sick.
He didn't understand how it happened; they'd practiced this very routine earlier that afternoon and everything went swimmingly. Gabe had done his three perfect spins, extended his arms, caught himself on Ryan's wrists. So what went wrong here? Why did it go wrong? Was he too far, too in his head, too weak?
He was down the trapeze faster than the ringmaster ushered the people out of the tent, somehow quicker than everyone else despite crawling down a ladder and up a net. He felt like throwing up the moment he was up there, but this wasn't about him. He needed to get Gabe down to the ground. He was the only one capable of doing that. He was attuned to Gabe's body well. Ryan needed Gabe to be safe.
The boy was unresponsive, but not unconscious, which was probably a win in this case. Ryan spoke French to him, soft, trembling, broken and absolutely terrified for Gabe and of himself. God, what has he done? His tongue was tied, but it wasn't as bad as Gabe's left wrist tangled within the ropes of the net, twisted awkwardly and clearly broken. That might need surgery. Ryan swallowed down the ugly feeling of bile rising in his throat again, and he knelt down, gently untangling Gabe's wrist from the net.
"I know, darling boy, I'm sorry. I'm working on it as gently as I can." He whispered, over and over again, unsure of who he was consoling there. Gabe's hand was uncomfortably mangled, but Ryan did his absolute best to untangle the boy safely, then he brought him down from the net. The entire crew was gathered around; someone had taken Gabe away from Ryan, someone had helped Ryan down the trapeze, and they all worked in a chain reaction filled with worry and pain.
It was all a blur after that, anyways.
Gabe stayed in the local hospital for two nights, asleep, with a bad concussion. They wouldn't allow any visitors, so Ryan stayed behind in his trailer, barely leaving at all unless he absolutely had to. He would barely eat and sleep, and he absolutely refused to even glance up at the trapeze.
He kept on recounting Gabe's fall. The pure fear behind those pretty eyes of his, the neon sad clown make up matching his scared expression almost perfectly, the extended arm like he was still trying to reach out for Ryan and the sturdy grab of his strong, large hands around his wrists. He kept thinking about what could've gone wrong there, what he'd done wrong, why he did it wrong.
He was terrified. Terrified of himself, of how incapable he felt. Terrified of the Gabe that'd come back to him, of the Gabe that might resent him for forever ruining his career, of the Gabe that might never trust him again. Because, really, Ryan had one job. Only one.
Catch Gabe at all costs.
And he had failed spectacularly at that.
But that Gabe never came. When they let him out of the hospital, still a little dizzy and disoriented after a difficult wrist surgery, the first person he searched for was, naturally, Ryan. The trailer was warm, inviting, Ryan's bed large for the quite small space, and he curled up into his boy's side like nothing had ever happened. Except, it has. A lot has happened. And Ryan wasn't sure how he's supposed to live with the guilt.
Gabe pulled him out of that head space quickly. Even with a hard cast that went up to his elbow and migraines that rivaled Ryan's own, Gabe still made sure his partner was safe and okay and mentally well. He made sure Ryan was taken care of just as much as he'd been taking care of Gabe. They were a team.
Because how was the show supposed to go on, if there was fear? How were they supposed to work, if Gabe's only trustworthy catcher was terrified of doing his job? So Gabe, still in his restless, still dizzy glory, bossed the circus around, created new routines in theory and spoke all about them when laying side by side in bed with Ryan while the circus was moving to a new location.
Sadly enough for the both of them, even despite Gabe's big plans for their bright future, Ryan still refused to even as much as look up at the trapeze. While Gabe liked to stop by, watch Rutger and Will jump and do their thing up on the swings, practicing now that the two circus stars were out, Ryan steered clear of anything acrobatics related. He opted to taking care of Gabe instead. It was the least he could do. Right?
Right. But Ryan's idea of taking care of Gabe differed greatly from Gabe's own idea; where Ryan wanted to bring warm teas and fluffy jackets, Gabe wanted help drafting mood boards and looking at videos of acrobats to find more exciting moves he could try when he inevitably goes back up onto the trapeze.
Gabe started practicing early, still kept his core strong and kept himself in shape, even while recovering, even while having his arm in a sling, encased in a cast. He was crazy like that, and everyone reminded him, but he only pushed through with a grin, noting that Ryan needed his dance partner back better than ever.
And where Gabe went, Ryan followed.
The fear was intense; he wouldn't go up even if Gabe begged, but he did start working on his strength again, worked on his focus and finally decided that, yeah, Gabe was right about that sparkly blue fabric. It did suit his complexion well. And, maybe, yeah, the neon paint had something to it. It looked good. Too good, even when Gabe used his non-dominant hand to paint Ryan's face-up that he might just never use ever again.
But if it made Gabe glow, then so be it.
They got better together; Gabe's wrist slowly healed as seasons passed and the circus traveled, and Ryan slowly but surely overcame his fear again. They started out slowly, training on the ground, then low on the trapeze that when Ryan stretched out fully, his fingertips grazed the netting. But it was a start. An easy one. Gabe couldn't quite jump yet, and Ryan won't be able to catch him like this either, but it was a good way to break off any barriers. It was a good way to get used to hanging off by his knees again, head down, arms outstretched, awaiting.
Gabe laid on the net beneath him, hands uselessly pawing at Ryan's forearms, testing his grip weakly, trying to figure out new techniques, new ways to catch himself. He was talking, like he always was, going on and on about the new routines he put together. Ryan simply watched, gently grabbed at his forearms here and there, humoring him, listening intently. He knew Gabe wasn't still quite ready, yet; his wrist wasn't all that healed up, bones still brittle and tender, so Ryan made sure to stay careful, gentle.
Day turned into night slowly, the late spring evening sun set later than normal, and before they both knew it, pinks and oranges dipped into a pure dark purple. By that time, Ryan laid next to Gabe in the net, their shoulders pressed together firmly, hair splaying on the netting. Gabe sighed deeply.
"Thank you, Ry," he murmured into the quiet night, watching some of the stars above them twinkle despite the light pollution. They reflected the gentle sparkle behind Gabe's eyes, Ryan thought, when he looked at him.
He could do that all night long, and then continue through the day easily.
Like it's his job to make sure Gabe's properly appreciated.
"What for, pretty boy?" Ryan asked in turn, head moving just to the side, blue eyes properly taking his boy in fully. Like he's seeing a work of art in a museum for the very first time, like he couldn't get enough of him. Ryan was genuinely enamored with Gabe, so deeply in love that sometimes his heart had felt like it was going to burst. He'd been feeling that way for God knows how long, and, well, Gabe knew. Because he felt the same.
Because he was equally in love with Ryan.
"Dunno… Just, thanks." Gabe shrugged, turning his head as well, so he was facing Ryan properly. Their noses were touching briefly, but Ryan wasn't having it. No, not at all. He pressed his crooked nose to Gabe's firmer, rubbing them together like he wanted to prove something. Gabe took the memo, reached a hand up to cup Ryan's face and returned the warm affection easily.
There, much better. Much warmer.
Gabe's affection always came easily, he was a touchy person and he always made sure Ryan felt loved. It was a little harder for Ryan, though, so any affection he initiated, Gabe soaked up like a sponge. And he wore a large grin to match.
His easy love and support was mostly behind Ryan's return to the trapeze. That day he dropped Gabe, he swore he'd never, ever, go back up there. He swore he'd never do another show, catch another one of Gabe's insane jumps, perform in front of a tent full of people. Ever again. He swore to the cross on his neck, promised he'd stay with his feet firmly planted on the ground until the day he took his final breath. Ryan supposes some promises are bound to be broken, if there's someone worth breaking them for.
"It was awful, Gabe." Ryan murmured, the crooked bridge of his nose still warmly, firmly pressed to Gabe's own. It was this kind of intimate touch that allowed Ryan's heart to open up; that made him feel safe enough to speak what's on his mind. "I could feel the ghost of your touch for weeks later. It made me feel so sick." He explained slowly, unsure if Gabe wanted to hear it.
Gabe did. He always did.
"Lenny, shit happens. I shouldn't have tried for four spins instead of three. That was my own stupid mistake." Gabe shook his head as much as their close touch had allowed him to. Which wasn't much, but it was still enough to send his point across. He didn't blame Ryan. God, no, he never did. "You made me feel safe, even when I was hurting badly. I'm grateful for that. Makes me believe you're the one."
And, oh. Ryan's heart skips a beat, then another, and maybe one more. His eyes snap open, meet Gabe's and he believes he could get lost in them easily, even with the darkness surrounding them and dimming the gentle blues and greens they hide. Ryan's thumb brushes the high of Gabe's freckled cheek, rests at the far edge of his eye and he huffs out a soft breath at that. Gabe's always believed in soulmates; he ate that kind of stuff up like a lovesick puppy, always looking for his The One.
He's found it within Ryan.
"Oh, yeah?" Ryan's chuckle comes out breathless, slightly too hopeful. Gabe just smiles, rubs his nose to Ryan's a little fiercely, just enough so their lips brush and they share the same crispy air. The temperature was slowly dropping around them, but they both felt all too warm and cozy. Like Ryan's bed in the lazy, late morning, when the bedsheets were all too heavy for them to lay beneath any longer, but the mattress too comfy to climb out of. Warm and cozy, like Gabe's favorite hot chocolate or their matching training sets Gabe got them at a stop in New York.
"Oh, yeah," and it's Gabe again, who's bold enough to gently rest a hand over Ryan's pulse point on his neck, fingers slowly wrapping around the nape of his neck, thumb brushing Ryan's jaw. He makes him tilt his head that way, and he nudges his way down to the other boy's lips slowly, until he's kissing him. It's slow, timid, like they're exploring this kind of intimacy for the first time, when that couldn't be further away from the truth. Still, they take it all slow and steady, breathing the same air while their lips move in sync, teeth carefully avoiding the once inevitable clashing.
Ryan always liked it when Gabe kissed him, always melted into the slow affection, because Gabe made it always feel like its their very first time exploring one another. He made Ryan feel all soft and delicate, like he was a precious piece of fine china Gabe needed to handle delicately so he didn't immediately break. He liked that. A lot.
So when they pulled away from the kiss, he rested his forehead to Gabe's tenderly, his breathing leveling out slowly. He chuckled, toothy and wide. All teeth but no bite, Gabe liked to tease. But not today, when Ryan's freckles seemed darker than normal beneath the warm blush spreading from his face down to his chest; not today, when they needed this serious piece of quiet and understanding. "I love you," Ryan blurted out.
And, well, there goes his no label policy. Straight through the netting below them.
But Gabe's quick to giggle, lips stretched wide, eyes closed like it was the silliest thing he's ever heard.
"Yeah, Lenny. I know." He'd murmured, pressing one more warm kiss to the freckled boy's lips again. Quicker this time. More childish. "I love you, too."