Archive of Our Own

It’s dark. Much darker than it normally is. And late. Ryland hadn’t bothered turning on any lights, didn’t see the point of them. Hadn’t bothered with his glasses either. He just… doesn’t need them.

He’s sitting on the floor of his kitchen in the same clothes he laid down to sleep in, cold seeping through his pants, wrapped up in one of Colt’s jackets. His scent has long since faded from it, so has the warmth, but Ryland still wears it every day.

Even with the attempted added comfort, he tossed and turned for what felt like an hour before he eventually gave up on sleep altogether. Again. It’s been a while since he slept through the night, but he wanted to at least say he tried, even if the attempt was poor.

Which is why he’s here, where the only illumination is the meager moonlight shining through the living room window. And the clock above the stove. 

His back hurts, a persistent, gnawing ache. And so does his chest. But that doesn’t feel new. Nothing’s ever really new in his life, at least not recently. Especially not recently.

No new friends, no new voicemails, no new meals, and no new messages. He used to say his routine was as comforting as it was stifling, but at least there was familiarity in it. 

And then, of course, the universe hurled a meteor-sized wrench into it and blew it all to bits.

Ryland clicks his phone on, observes the way it casts a dim white light upon the cabinets next to him. On his face too, he’s sure. Highlighting the bags under his eyes, the persistent frown he can’t seem to smoothen out. It feels stuck to his face. 

There’s no one to smile for, anyway, so what does it matter.

Numb, tired, and heavy from his skull to his toes, Ryland unlocks his phone and stares at his home screen. One nudge, one little twitch of movement, and he could tap on his messages. There’s nothing to respond to, but there’s more he could send.

Even though the last several, probably hundred messages have gone unanswered. Unread, sitting in the black void of a one-sided silence. Here he is again.

Ryland blinks, slow, and feels his vision go a little fuzzy. 

He’s… really tired. So tired that he can’t sleep. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he won’t sleep; after a couple of days his body just stopped letting him. He figured he couldn’t do much to fight it, even if he pretends he can.

He sighs, and the fridge buzzes in front of him, and cars honk in the distance. It’s cold tonight. It’s cold every night. Ryland’s bed feels too empty, too clearly missing the warmth of a second body that should— could— be there. 

He can barely stand to even be in his bedroom anymore. He’s been sleeping on the couch, when he can actually manage a few fitful hours.

Ryland opens the messages. Again and again, he comes back to this.

He forgoes leaving another useless text and taps on the contact at the top. Taps call. It’s all routine. Phone held up to his ear, Ryland waits out the grating ring… ring… ring… until the voicemail tone beeps through. Exactly as expected.

His voice is low, quiet into the night. A bit rough from disuse. “Hey, Colt. Just me again. Calling to check in. See if you’re…” Ryland brings his other hand up to his face, pinching his furrowed brow. His eyes hurt, deep into his head. 

This has become his routine lately. An endless cycle of waiting. Of trying and pretending.

“I just, uh… I know I’ve been messaging and calling a lot.” Ryland bites back an apology. It’s not like Colt’ll hear it anyways. He drags his hand down his face and heaves a sigh. “I’m just… worried. But you know that.”

A little over five days ago— six, now— Ryland found out secondhand from a coworker that Colt made front page news in Australia. And not for anything he deserves to, like winning an award or- or being heroic or something.

No. This coworker had caught Ryland sipping bitterly at his bland coffee on his break and had said “Have you seen this? This Colt guy, isn’t he your brother?” and handed their phone over to him. 

Ryland’s heart had already dropped into his stomach at Colt’s name before he even heard the rest of the sentence.

Turns out, the instinctual fear was warranted.

On the screen, a woman was reporting on-scene: “Following a massive boat explosion on Sydney Harbor, authorities are investigating what seems to be the alleged suicide of Colt Seavers, the man responsible…”

And that’s where Ryland’s hearing had faded to make way for a shrill ringing. He would’ve dropped that phone if his coworker hadn’t rescued it from his slack grip.

Alleged suicide of Colt Seavers. Alleged suicide. Suicide.

He doesn’t remember his exact thoughts in that moment, if he even had any. He just remembers the visceral sensation of the entire world dropping out from under his feet, plunging him into the icy depths of the ocean. 

It was like something sucked all the oxygen from his lungs. His blood froze in his veins and cold lightning shot through him. It felt like he was swallowing back his heart, his stomach, wretched and burning. 

All of him just went… blank.

He’d barely even made it to the bathroom before he was doubled over and coughing up his meager lunch, trembling all over, gasping. It was pure, unadulterated terror.

He doesn’t know if he made it through the rest of the day. Doesn’t remember the ride home, either, or really anything else except the sharp, shallow gasping breaths stinging his chest as he fell back against his front door and sunk to the ground in a shaking heap. 

It was like it was all hitting him at once as his brain finally processed what the hell he had heard.

One thought stood out in the howling cacophony of his mind: 

Colt’s dead.

He sat there shaking apart at the seams and dialed Colt’s number. Again, and again, and again. All throughout the night. 

Not once did he pick up.

Ryland called in sick to work the next day. And the day after that, and then he conceded that he would be absent for the entire rest of the week until further notice.

He’d wanted to rush out of his apartment, out of the state, and take the first plane he could to get to Australia. See for himself in person if it was really true. 

The key word being wanted. Because he never did, didn’t even look up available flights. He was scared shitless over the possibility of flying over there just for it to be real. And what would he do if it wasn’t? How the hell would he find Colt?

At least with the accident, Ryland had known that Colt was already hospitalized and where to go to see him by the time he was told. With this, he had nothing. Just a headline on the news and the words alleged suicide playing on loop in his head. 

It was paralyzing. 

So he did absolutely nothing.

And now it’s Sunday, tipped over into Monday, and Ryland is still fruitlessly trying to reach his twin brother. He still feels like his heart hasn’t really dropped from his throat, still feels the sharp sting of fear lingering days after. But he hasn’t succumbed just yet, hasn’t given up.

He refuses to believe Colt really died. 

Not just died, but committed suicide? Absolutely not. 

He’s had some time to think about it, once the initial paralyzing terror faded enough for logic to trickle in. Colt wouldn’t just up and do that with no reason. No explanation.

So Ryland, of course, scoured every news source and feed and social media he could get his hands on for the whole story. As soon as he could actually pick himself up from the floor, that is. 

He’d watched in nauseous horror as it unfolded before his eyes. The murder video— obviously fake— the explosion, and most importantly, the dead silence afterwards.

Absolutely nothing from Colt.

Ryland’s been living in a void since. Suspended in some kind of limbo between denial and bargaining. 

His heart feels cleaved in half, thorns wrapping around his lungs and drowning him in his own blood. And yet, paradoxically, his insides feel hollowed out, replaced by a persistent chill that seems like it’ll never go away.

He… It sounds morbid, but Ryland always wondered what it would feel like if Colt died before him. If Ryland would feel it deep in his soul, would know— his other half is gone. 

He’d wondered if he’d be able to keep living after having something so integral to his existence ripped away from him. Not just his heart, or his lungs. A piece of his soul. Part of what makes Ryland Ryland.

The idea that he might be finding out is so terrifying that he completely refuses to believe it. It’s impossible.

Yesterday was when Ryland first heard that Colt’s name was cleared. The story was a couple days old by then, but it was the soonest he could stomach looking for information again. 

The specifics weren’t given, at least not from the source Ryland was listening to, but it turns out that Colt was framed. Deepfaked onto the video; it was all orchestrated. 

Ryland knew that much, at least, that the video was fake. But nowhere did they say Colt was alive. Just that he was wrongly accused. 

Ryland had broken down into tears. That day was especially rough. He might or might not have gotten drunk and then spent the majority of it spinning out in some mixture of twisted happiness and deep despair. He stopped being angry a long time ago.

Either Colt really is alive and is- is recovering or something, or he really did commit suicide because he didn’t know how else to escape the situation he was forced into. Which was heartbreaking to even think about. 

Ryland doubted the latter, flat out refused it, even as a cruel voice in his head whispered to him about all the what-ifs. All the things he’s been deliberately blocking out from his thoughts.

Colt’s smart. Smarter than that. He wouldn’t.

Even after finding that out, even after the multiple days that had passed between it actually happening and Ryland hearing about it, his messages remained utterly empty. Not a single text, not a single call. Not even Jody has tried to reach out to him. 

He’s not sure if that gives him hope or not. That maybe if Colt was actually dead, she would’ve told him by now, like when she called when Colt had the accident. But if she hasn’t because he’s actually alive, then… then maybe…

Ryland holds onto hope with bloody fingertips even as he loses hours to entire nights of sleep, and struggles to eat, and drags himself out of bed just to collapse onto the couch. 

All the while, he’s texting Colt. Calling him and begging him to respond. He keeps getting errors, red popups telling him that the texts aren’t going through. 

But he won’t stop. Because the next message could be the one that makes it. It could.

It’s stupid, but it’s all Ryland has. Call it denial, call it desperation, call it naivety. There isn’t anything else he can do. He’s out of options.

Ryland curls into himself and drops his face into his knees. There’s a steadily growing darkness eating him from the inside out, getting larger day by day. It’s taking everything in him to not let it win. 

Every second is a fight, each day a battle. His entire body is full of an ache that no amount of numbness can purge.

“I miss you, Colt,” Ryland whispers into the receiver, throat closing up. “I miss you a lot. I hope you’re okay. Just—” He hiccups, heat building and blooming behind his eyes. “You don’t have to respond, just- just read one. Let me know you’re still there. Please.”

It’s the same thing he’s been saying for the past week. Of course, Colt can’t read the texts if they never go through in the first place, but- but there’s a chance that they could. Even if it’s miniscule, Ryland will take it. 

What does he have to lose?

Ryland sniffles and doesn’t bother holding back the tears; he buries his hitching cries into his knees, feeling simultaneously heavy and hollow as a great, aching pain strangles him. It doesn’t do much to muffle the sounds to his own ears, but maybe it’ll muffle them to the phone. 

Like it even matters. 

“I love you,” Ryland chokes out. Gasps in a wet, trembling breath. “I know you’re still alive. I know it. You’re the- the s-strongest person I know. You’re smart, a-and kind, and clever, and I know you’d never let them win. Not my brother.”

Ryland isn’t able to get any other words out around the tears before the end tone drawls into his ear. He lets his hand drop, phone clattering to the tile. Takes a great, heaving breath that hurts his throat, and curls his empty hand into a fist. 

This feels pointless. Like there’s no good ending. Like no matter what Ryland tries, it’s all in vain. 

But he can’t give up. He can’t accept it. 

Ryland thumps his head back against the wood of the cabinets and tries desperately to gather the sorrow and despair inside of him and stuff it deep down where it belongs. Pull himself together so he can pick that phone back up and try again. 

It, like it has for the past six days, doesn’t work.

It’s a wave, a great force Ryland can’t hold back by himself. He can’t keep his head above the water, not for this long. But he has to. He has to. Giving in means giving up on Colt. Ryland can’t do that.

He swipes angrily at his eyes, to no avail. The tears keep coming, the sobs keep leaving him, and his chest feels cracked open. Like someone tore right through, shattered his ribs through the middle to reach in and yank his heart out and now he’s bleeding out onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

Pointless, a voice in his head hisses. This is pointless. Colt’s dead, and no amount of hoping can change that.

Ryland hugs his knees to his chest, curls into the tightest ball he can make, and sobs. 

He sobs until he loses all the moisture in his body and keeps sobbing even after that, even after the tears stop coming and he’s just heaving and gasping. There’s a noose around his throat constricting tighter and tighter, splinters shredding his lungs. His hands slide into his hair and grip the greasy roots.

Is this what it feels like? This unstoppable, burning void inside of him? Is this the feeling of Ryland losing his other half, the only one who has ever made him feel whole? 

It doesn’t feel like grief. It feels like murder.

If Colt is dead, then so is Ryland. That’s just how it goes. They’re twins, connected from birth, inseparable down to their DNA. They share eye color and face shape and most of their emotions, the good and the bad. 

He’s Ryland’s greatest and first ever love. His only love, the sole owner of his heart. There is no Ryland without Colt.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

Just give up? He can’t do that. He has to keep trying. Keep hoping. No matter what. Because Ryland knows deep down that something doesn’t add up, there’s pieces missing from this puzzle. Colt can’t be dead. 

So he’ll never stop trying, not until he gets the explicit confirmation—

Wait. 

Ryland abruptly stops heaving, his breath shaking out of him. 

Why hasn’t he called Jody?

Ryland uncurls himself and scrambles for his phone, haphazardly wiping his face on his sleeve and ignoring that it does basically nothing to help. If Jody won’t call him and tell him, he will call Jody and ask her. She knows, right? Surely she does. And she’ll tell him.

Ryland clumsily finds Jody’s contact and jabs the call button. He feels like he’s hyperventilating as he tries to catch his breath around the hesitant hope clawing up his chest. Real hope. He leans back and tangles his fingers in his hair again, just trying to open himself up and breathe.

He feels wild, frantic. This is something he hasn’t tried yet. This will give him an actual answer. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. 

Ryland barely even blinks when the rings peter out into voicemail. He just hangs up and redials. He doesn’t care that it’s the middle of the night and any sensible person would be asleep. Or maybe it’s- maybe it’s morning for Jody. Which would be even better. She’s more likely to be awake.

This is— Jody will pick up. Yeah. She has to.

This isn’t Ryland calling for a casual chat, this is Ryland calling to beg his friend to tell him half of his soul isn’t really gone. 

Ryland sits there and tries calling Jody… Well, he loses count after the fifth try. Somewhere between what’s probably the seventh or eighth attempt, he starts leaving brief voicemails. He sounds manic, near incoherent. Begging Jody to pick up, please, I really really need to talk to you.

“Come on, come on, come on…” Ryland whispers to himself. He’s heard this stupid awful ringing sound so much lately he’s pretty sure it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. 

It’s a sound that invokes despair, hope, the dreadful anticipation of will they pick up? Will this time be the one?

But that click of the call connecting never happens.

Not with Colt these past few days, and not with Jody right now. Ryland briefly pauses to text Please pick up. It’s important. Then he goes right back to dialing.

Please. Please, please.

Eventually, that dash of actual hope, of optimism, that had begun rising within him wilts. 

In the end, Ryland’s left in the same silence he’s always in. The same silence that keeps him prisoner, that feels like a guillotine hanging over his head. Or maybe a loaded gun— inevitable, deadly. 

He’d never known silence could be so torturous until it felt like the acute absence of noise. Noise that’s supposed to be there. Like something is just… missing. It’s heavy.

Ryland is cold and hollowed out and so tired it’s sunk down to his bones. He stares numbly down at his screen until it dims and powers off. 

Jody won’t pick up. Figures. Why would she?

Another dead end. Back to square one. 

Ryland’s fingers tighten around the phone. This really is pointless, isn’t it?

That’s all it takes for the weight on his shoulders, the one he’s been desperately trying to carry for the past few days, to suddenly become too heavy for him to hold. 

He feels it like it’s physical as it crushes him, oppressive and unforgiving. It’s the weight of all the despair, the exhaustion, the endless hoping when it feels completely hopeless. Pressing down down down, all at once. 

That’s the funny thing about grief, about being in a state like this. It’s the tiniest things that can feel like the final straw. The final breaking point.

Jody not picking up… it’s like a slap to the face. A reminder of everything Ryland’s been refusing to tell himself. 

There is nothing else— no one else. You’re alone now.

Cracks are forming and widening rapidly, cracks that he can no longer seal with his duct taped hope and flimsy optimism. It’s getting too weak, he’s getting too weak. He might just let his spine shatter beneath the pressure.

Ryland barely feels himself breathing as he sits there. As this wave of simultaneous apathy and despair washes over him and he thinks, This is really it. 

He shifts his position to curl up on his side against the cabinets instead, phone forgotten somewhere on the tile, and wraps his arms around himself, wishing they were Colt’s. Wishing he was here. 

Even just his voice. Just to feel a modicum of his warmth again, of the love and comfort he gives out like it’s nothing. To see his crooked smile and creased eyes, the slope of his jaw and bridge of his nose. Anything. 

Ryland’s pretty sure he’d give anything for it.

God, is Colt really gone? Everything, all of the memories, the laughter and kisses and the joy, just… gone. Forever. Ryland will never see him again, never talk to him again. Never touch him again.

The noises he makes in his sleep, the knuckles of his fingers, his horrible dancing, his bravery and brightness and the tiniest things that all add up to make him Colton Grace, Ryland’s twin brother. Reduced to nothing.

He can’t be gone. He isn’t.

Ryland’s breath goes shallow. He feels like a husk, like he’s just a lump of flesh and bones. There’s nothing left inside of him, Colt took all the brightness with him. He took Ryland’s heart with him.

A loss this momentous just… it can’t be processed. Ryland’s not sure it ever will be, if he’ll ever make it past denial or if he’ll be stuck in this endless loop of disbelief forever. 

There’s a tiny, stubborn little part of him that refuses to die out that hopes, that knows, that Colt’s still out there. He can just… he can feel it. Whether that’s him deluding himself or it’s some form of their connection as twins, Ryland doesn’t know. 

It’s his logical brain fighting against his heart that believes more than anything in his brother. 

He just wishes he had more behind this belief than a feeling. Wishes there was concrete proof, a foundation grounded in reality, in fact. But there isn’t. And that void, that rot, that’s building inside of his mind and infecting all his thoughts is getting loud. 

It’s whispering to give in, to wake up and see reality, see how meaningless this all is.

Because if Colt is gone, there really is no meaning in any of it.

But Ryland, he… he can’t… It hasn’t even been a week, he hasn’t tried everything. He can’t give up this shred of hope, this fraying rope he’s clinging to. No matter how bloody his hands are, or how hard he’s trembling. He has to keep trying. 

It’s Colt, for God’s sake. Ryland could never give up on him. Never. He’ll find a way.

But every second without a message, a sign of life, is a second deeper into this darkness swallowing him whole. Every day is twenty-four hours closer to his grave, all his fragile hope bleeding out of him. 

He can’t give in, he doesn’t want to. But this… this is…

It’s pathetic. That’s what it is. Ryland’s wallowing and it’s pathetic, but it’s— What else is he supposed to do? Take a wild guess as to where the hell Jody is and buy a plane ticket to beg her in person? What if she’s not in Australia anymore?

Besides, hadn’t he wanted to try that with Colt already? And yet here he still is, too scared to go through with it.

Ryland grinds the side of his head into the cabinet until the dull pain supersedes the pulsing headache battering his temples. It doesn’t do much to banish the thoughts, but it was worth a try. The position is awkward, painful. He doesn’t move. 

Ryland heaves a sigh and closes his aching eyes. He should… he should try to sleep. It’s not like he can do anything more productive, and clearly sitting here and drowning in his thoughts is achieving nothing. 

He should properly clean his face, drink some water, and go lay down on the couch. He can keep trying tomorrow, when this doesn’t feel so debilitating.

Yeah, that sounds good…

Ryland doesn’t even try to get up. Doesn’t move an inch; doesn’t want to. There’s no point.

Maybe he can just… catch a nap right here, on his kitchen floor. Wake up feeling even worse than normal, in even more pain, and see where that gets him. He can pick himself up tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Empty promises.

Ryland’s genuinely considering it, breath slowing, sinking into the exhaustion lining his soul. It’d be nice to be unconscious right about now.

Gradually, he feels himself drifting. Not off to sleep, but just… drifting. Floating where the pain doesn’t hurt so much. 

Then, breaking through the fog: Knock.

A knock at his door. Just one singular rap interrupting the silence of his night. 

The universe hates him. It has to. Someone is bothering him right now? 

Ryland’s eyes drift open, confused and irritated and in pain. Who the hell…? He’s not about to get a noise complaint from a neighbor, is he? Why else would somebody be outside his apartment?

Well, whoever they are, Ryland feels bad for them, because there isn’t even a little bit of a chance of him answering the door right now. He can not, and will not, deal with this. I’m asleep now, go away. Leave me alone.

Barely ten seconds pass before the person knocks again, more persistent this time. Knock knock knock.

The sounds feel like they echo throughout Ryland’s flat and bounce around his skull. It exacerbates his headache, turns it into something sharp, pulsing behind his eyes in time with his heartbeat. He groans weakly.

Then again: knock knock knock knock. Each one louder than the last. Jesus Christ. 

“You’re kidding me,” Ryland mumbles to himself, hoarse and quiet. He unfolds his legs, tries to straighten his spine despite the heaviness in his bones. It hurts, because of course it does. His entire body is revolting against him.

He leans forward and listens quietly like that’d do anything to help him find out who’s on the other side of his door and what they could possibly want. 

The next set of knocks are louder, quicker. Almost frantic sounding, like the person is getting desperate. It is far too goddamn loud. 

Well, now this person knocking is going to get Ryland a noise complaint, if anything. At this point, he’ll answer just to get them to stop. He really, really doesn’t want to, though. Maybe if he waits it out, they’ll give up…?

Can he really sit through all the obnoxious knocking until that point? His headache’s bad enough as it is. 

Ryland grimaces. Yeah, alright.

He drags a tired hand through his hair and begins the extremely arduous process of reaching up towards the kitchen counter to haul himself back onto his feet.

He absolutely hates it. It feels like every joint in his body creaks and pops as he stands, protesting every millisecond of movement. 

He has to lean his weight against the marble to keep himself standing, legs tingling with the pins and needles of being in the same position for too long. He’s dizzy, harshly blinking the fuzz from his vision. God, his head hurts. This sucks.

Ryland considers falling right back down onto the tile as his head swims, visitor be damned. Screw this and screw that. 

And then there’s another round of knocking, loud and harsh.

“Goddamnit,” Ryland hisses, admittedly biting back some more extreme curses. 

Well… he’s up, at least. Which he hadn’t thought was going to happen tonight a minute ago. He doesn’t know yet if this is a good development or not. It sure doesn’t feel good.

He stumbles over to the sink and splashes water onto his face in a vague attempt at becoming slightly more presentable. Or at least shocking himself into proper functionality. It doesn’t do much to help.

He mops up the water and general mess with paper towels and heaves a great, trembling sigh. He’ll throw them away later. While he’s at it, he fishes out some Advil and tosses a few pills back.

Ryland looks over his shoulder in the direction of the couch. Maybe… Maybe he can ignore whoever this weirdo is showing up at his door at— Ryland squints at the clock above the stove— 3:49 in the morning and just sleep. That way, he won’t have to sit through the noise.

He’s not sleepy, and he quite honestly detests the idea of trying to sleep, but he cried so much that his body might just do him a favor and shut down on its own from being wrung out both emotionally and physically. Maybe he can—

BANG BANG BANG.

“Jesus f—” Ryland jumps, flinching with the skip of his pulse. 

Okay, wow. Really demanding. And also, rude. Pounding on Ryland’s door when he technically could totally be asleep. This stranger doesn’t know. And also everyone else who’s asleep? What a douche.

“Fine,” Ryland hotly mutters under his breath, temples throbbing. “Fine!” 

With no other choice, he makes his way around the counter and out of the kitchen with heavy steps, stumbling every few feet from the absolute mess of stuff going on in his body right now. 

An increasingly painful headache, some form of mild dehydration, lack of sleep and proper food, a healthy heaping of grief…

Ryland might just tell this person to kindly (or not so kindly) get lost and then go right to sleep. Maybe slam the door in their face, see how they like it. He doesn’t have to actually properly answer. 

As it stands, he might keel over before he even gets there. He feels lightheaded.

The closer Ryland gets, the more he hears. That being faint, incoherent mumbling. He can’t make out the words nor the voice, but whatever they are, they sound stressed. There’s a few curses, he thinks. 

All signs pointing to what will most likely not be a very pleasant conversation. Great.

Ryland doesn’t give two thoughts to looking any more put together. He genuinely can’t be bothered, especially not for this asshat. Especially not when it’s this late. Nobody looks put together at almost four in the damn morning.

Occasionally using the hallway wall to balance himself as he approaches the door, Ryland grimaces at the much louder knocking that then sounds. Over and over and over. Unfortunately, being closer to the source of the noises makes them sound louder. Who would have thought! 

Now there’s pounding at his door and in his head. Wonderful.

There’s what sounds like a huff after the knocking ends. And then a voice, muffled and quiet but as clear as it can be:

“Come on, Ry… Wake up, goddamnit!”

Ryland nearly trips over his own foot and faceplants into the door. He catches himself in time, stumbling against the wall with a ragged gasp. The pain all but vanishes from his perception, taking any and all annoyance with it.

That’s… That was…

No way. No fucking way.

Ryland shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut with dizzy desperation. He’s too tired for this, too out of his mind to deal with whatever the hell this is. He’s hallucinating, for God’s sake.

Because that was Colt’s voice. Rough, low, and achingly familiar.

But that’s— It’s not possible. Is it? Colt, at Ryland’s door, in the middle of the night? Showing up now of all times? 

A thought strikes through him just then: Isn’t Colt supposed to be dead?

So, then… how is he here? It’s- it’s improbable.

Another, quieter voice in his head says, But you never really accepted that he was dead, did you? Deep down, a part of you knew.

More banging, startling Ryland from his stunned daze. His head whips up, staring wide-eyed at the door with his heart pounding up into his throat. His mouth is the driest it’s ever been. 

He feels like he might pass out. Like, within the next few seconds, head going all staticy. 

There’s a hiss after the banging ends. More muffled cursing. Familiar. So familiar. 

“Fucking…” the voice mutters, “Okay. Uh… okay. Okay.” A brief pause. Ryland might not be breathing. It sounds exactly like Colt.

Across the flat, in the kitchen, Ryland’s phone starts ringing. On the floor exactly where he left it. The phone that’s been absent of any and all types of communication for the past six days. No texts, no calls. Nothing.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

A tentative, incredulous hope starts creeping up Ryland’s spine. His breath goes shaky, rapid, shallow pants that fill his head with a faint buzzing sensation. His chest burns. 

Is this… Is he dreaming? Did he actually fall asleep on his kitchen floor and now he’s living out his subconscious’s deepest desire? It doesn’t feel real.

He stands there dumb and disbelieving until the ringing stops, feet glued to the floor. He’s not sure he could move his legs if he wanted to. 

He’s trying desperately to process, to logic this out in his head. He just can’t seem to. It doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense.

“Shit,” the voice once again swears. There’s what sounds like a growl of frustration. 

Then, loud and seemingly closer than before, “I lost my spare key, Ry, wake up and let me in! I’ll break down this door if I have to, don’t make me do it. You know I will!”

Spare key, the repeated use of ‘Ry’... 

Ryland slumps to his shoulder so he can reach down and pinch himself. The skin on the back of his hand, where it’s thin and the pain is sharper.

It stings, a short stab of pain that makes him wince.

And… nothing happens. He doesn’t wake up. 

Clarity hits him like a punch to the face. 

Oh god, it’s really Colt. He’s here. He’s outside my door.

Ryland swallows back what feels like his entire respiratory system and staggers forward. He nearly collides with the door in his hurry, hands trembling so violently the doorknob shakes when he wraps a fist around it.

His gasps are loud in the silence, ringing through his own ears as his pulse thunders harder and higher. He can’t feel his toes. 

Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god.

Ryland gathers the ragged shreds of his courage, unlocks the door, and wrenches it open.

It takes his eyes a couple seconds to process the sight in front of him. 

Colt’s standing with his arm raised like he was about to pound his hand against the door again, the other gripping a phone with white knuckles. He looks haggard, ruffled and panting, dressed in casual clothes. Backlit by the warm hallway lights, Ryland can make out a bandage across his nose and faint bruising under his eye. 

He’s… literally the best thing Ryland has ever seen.

“Colt…?” Ryland’s voice is weak and scratchy, shaky with disbelief. With the trembling of his lungs as they struggle to expand. 

His whole body might be trembling at this point. His heart is thudding so hard he can barely feel it anymore.

Colt blinks and stutters over a few soundless words before he eventually gives an awkward smile. He pockets the phone and clears his throat. “Uh… hey.”

That’s all Ryland needs. 

He basically collapses right there, stumbling forward into Colt’s opened arms and clinging onto his brother with desperate strength. 

He half expects to pass right through him, nerves catching fire when he doesn’t. Colt’s solid, real, catching him easily with a small shocked sound. Ryland nearly goes lightheaded just at the feeling of his warmth. 

Immediate, encompassing, and so alive. Alive alive alive.

Ryland doesn’t even realize he’s started sobbing again until Colt stutters out, “Woah, what— Are you crying?”

Of course he’s crying! He feels broken down, like he’s being torn apart and stitched back together. 

It’s elation, it’s the first breath of oxygen after almost drowning, it’s the- the feeling of sun after rain. 

It’s hearing a heartbeat from a flatline.

Ryland claws at Colt’s back until he can grab fistfuls of his jacket, burying his face into his shoulder to muffle the broken, heaving cries pouring from him. He tries to gasp in enough breath to speak, but every attempt falls apart halfway through. 

It’s every minute Ryland’s spent despairing and losing sleep and crying and grieving leaving him at once as he soaks in the sensation of being in Colt’s arms. Of Colt being in his arms, alive and warm and breathing and here.

He’s hugging Ryland back just as tight once the shock fades, arms wrapped as far around him as they can get. It’s incredible. Beyond incredible. It’s indescribable.

“You’re okay,” Colt keeps whispering, right into Ryland’s ear. Instinctually soothing, even though he probably has no idea why Ryland’s crying so hard. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here.”

Ryland soaks it all in as the sorrow bleeds out of him with each shuddering cry and makes way for pure relief. 

It’s a relief that staggers him, that feels like it reaches deep down inside his soul and clears away the swallowing darkness, the rot, with swathes of warm, incandescent light. 

It’s Colt’s light. His touch and his voice and- and his everything because he’s- he’s really—

“You’re alive,” Ryland sobs. It’s sinking in. A shattering, breathtaking realization. 

Colt’s alive. He’s alive! Of course he is. Ryland knew he was. He knew it!

Colt’s breath hitches, his grip tightening. He sounds a little choked up when he croaks, “Yeah. It, uh, it got messy. I got here literally as quick as I could. Had to pull some strings.” 

He starts rubbing a hand up and down Ryland’s back, sending warmth burrowing under his skin and filling all the hollows of his bones with a great, bright relief. The relentless chill recedes, melting away like frost beneath sunlight.

It makes his nerves light up, makes him squeeze Colt even tighter. He’ll never let go again. 

Colt doesn’t seem to mind; he simply kisses the side of Ryland’s head. Sniffles a bit. Kisses him again, then a couple more times. Ryland’s cries hitch into a stuttering, messy giggle. Or an approximation of one.

Colt makes his own breathy, strained half-chuckle of a sound and gently knocks their heads together, so that they’re pressed tight from head to toe. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there and starts rocking them back and forth as Ryland cries until he literally can’t cry anymore. 

He thought he’d already achieved that tonight, but leave it to Colt to prove him wrong. He does like doing that.

Once he’s wrung dry and made Colt’s shoulder significantly wetter, Ryland clumsily mumbles out, “Noise complaint.” 

If the neighbors weren’t awake already, they probably… definitely are now. Ryland, for once, can’t find it in himself to care.

Colt starts squeezing Ryland’s shoulders with every upward pass of his hand until the tension stacked there finally starts to unwind. It feels heavenly. “What?”

Ryland nuzzles deeper into where his face is buried and doesn’t repeat himself, unclenching his fists to flatten his hands into a proper hug. Colt doesn’t ask him to, either. Just lets them melt back into silence as Ryland’s breaths calm.

Eventually though, Colt does playfully whisper, “Are we ever gonna stop hugging?” sounding like he wouldn’t really mind it if Ryland said no. His hold doesn’t loosen a fraction.

It’s most likely a rhetorical question. Ryland clutches tighter in response. “Never.”

“Ah, I understood that one,” Colt teases. Then he hums. “Okay then. Should I carry you inside, or… do you wanna stay out here all night?”

Ryland doesn’t really mind either of those options, and he probably won’t even get to choose, because he’s pretty sure the second he steps back from Colt he’ll either pass out or his legs will give out from under him. Or both. His body cannot physically handle everything it’s being put through. 

He also does not want to separate from his brother, not for even a second. He doesn’t care. There was a moment there earlier where Ryland was starting to accept the realization that half of him was dead and never coming back. That he’d never get to hug or touch him again. 

But now that half is here and touchable and absolutely not going anywhere under his watch. Not even a cataclysm could separate them right now.

Ryland unburies his face enough to speak clearer. “I might pass out if you let go.”

Colt gives a huff like that was a joke. Ryland goes to tell him he’s being serious but then Colt’s saying, “I get the feeling you’re being serious when you say that.”

It’s a shot straight to the heart. Ryland missed this. Being twins, being with Colt, basking in the knowledge that someone knows him, for better or for worse. And there was a possibility that he might’ve never had it again.

“I love you,” Ryland blurts out, because he has to say it. “I love you so much, Colt, you asshole, never do that to me again.” 

Colt makes a stifled noise and squeezes Ryland tighter into him. “I—” He clears his throat. “I won’t. Hopefully that’s the last time anyone ever tries to rope me into a murder-suicide plan.”

A murder-suicide plan? Jesus Christ, isn’t this man a stunt double? How the hell does he get into situations like that?

Evil producers, apparently, if the news outlets were correct. Ryland will have to ask Colt for details later. Preferably much later. He has so many questions, but they can wait. This is more important.

“I love you, Ryland,” Colt then says back, low and quiet. A bit rough. “And I missed you. God, I missed you.”

Ryland’s already-weak knees go even weaker. He ends up leaning more of his weight into Colt to keep himself standing. Colt takes it without so much as a twitch. Easily, unbothered. Like it’s not even there. 

It’s such a relieving feeling, knowing that Ryland doesn’t have to hold his own weight up anymore. Colt has him.

After a moment, Colt lightly squeezes the back of Ryland’s neck. “Make your objections known if you don’t want me to carry you right now.”

That… actually sounds kind of nice. Really nice, in fact. Ryland just about submits to it as soon as Colt says it. No objections here.

…Wait. 

The bandage, the bruises. Wait.

Ryland pulls back only enough to come face to face with his brother. He can’t believe he didn’t— “Wait, you— Are you hurt? Your face…”

Colt blinks a couple times, his hand falling back down past Ryland’s shoulders. “Oh, this? I’m fine, it’s just the face.” 

He sounds like he’s telling the truth. Ryland sighs out a little breath of relief. Thank God.

Colt looks about to say something else, but it never comes. His lips drift shut as his gaze flicks over Ryland’s no doubt very messy face. Taking in the tear tracks, the baggy red eyes, the blotchy cheeks and unshaved stubble— all the signs of Ryland’s very poor mental state. 

He’s evidently displeased by whatever he finds, because he frowns and cups Ryland’s cheek, gently thumbing under an eye. Ryland’s lashes flutter at the touch, at the worry beginning to fill his brother’s eyes. 

If the hug was relief, Colt’s direct touch feels like salvation. Skin to skin.

“You look tired,” Colt murmurs sadly, followed by another thumb rub. 

Ryland’s not sure how to tell him that he is so tired, in fact, that he’s looped to being awake and then back to being tired again. Mentally and physically.

He’s at a level of exhaustion probably previously undiscovered by humankind. Past the metaphysical.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” Ryland whispers, because that’s a much simpler way to say it. 

Colt’s frown deepens, guilt creeping into his dark eyes. Nope, none of that. Ryland tilts his face further into his brother’s palm to stop it. And also to just soak up the contact because it feels so nice.

It seems to do the trick; Colt’s lips twitch and his expression softens back out. The worry lingers, but that’s to be expected. “Alright,” he sighs. “Sleep time. For me, too. Jet lag’s kicking my ass.” 

Ryland just nods. He already feels halfway to sleep standing here cocooned in Colt’s warmth, there isn’t a world in existence where he complains about being picked up right now. A haze is gradually settling in his brain, now that he feels empty of all the despair that had been building up.

All that’s left behind is warmth, is the gentle tingling of his repaired heart thudding inside his chest. He feels like he can finally sleep, can actually rest.

Ryland willingly follows Colt’s lead when he pulls back, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He feels heavy and light simultaneously, swimming in a concoction of way too many things at once. 

Colt’s back home safe and sound. After everything, after all of that trying, he can finally just relax. Let go.

Colt dips and scoops Ryland into his arms with a soft grunt and slight wheeze, waiting until Ryland’s grip around him is secure to start moving. He nudges the door further open with his foot, awkwardly shifting around Ryland’s weight to shut and lock it behind them. 

Ryland can’t remember the last time Colt picked him up bridal style, wow. Being so tired it’s beyond bone-deep must be a special occasion. Or is it the whole coming-back-from-assumed-death thing? 

Regardless, it’s nice. Ryland can’t decide between staring at Colt’s incredibly handsome and slightly blurry profile or snuggling into his shoulder, so he just does nothing, sinking into his brother’s hold knowing he’s secure. 

Ryland feels so warm he’s starting to forget how relentlessly cold he’d been.

His blinks start lagging as a fog gradually fills his head, awareness fading in and out. And then suddenly he’s being carefully set down onto his bed and Colt’s bent over him fussing with the blankets and pillows.

It’s brighter than it was before, Ryland realizes. Colt must have turned on a lamp or something. It’s actually nice, and it makes it easier to see Colt’s face, which is definitely a plus.

Colt reaches for Ryland’s jacket and promptly pauses, a complicated look flashing across his eyes. Ryland’s too loopy to decipher it, but it looks pretty positive, so he isn’t too worried about it. 

Whatever it means, Colt says nothing, just lightly shakes his head and helps Ryland out of both the jacket and his shirt— because he knows Ryland, knows he loves the skin on skin— as he does absolutely nothing to contribute. 

“I’m getting you water,” Colt tells him as he finally pulls back, brushing Ryland’s bangs off his forehead. “You need it.”

Ryland catches his wrist when he goes to step away, feeling hazy and sleepy but uncomfortably panicky about the distance. It strikes through him like muffled lightning, sharp but blurred by his exhaustion. 

He doesn’t want Colt to leave. Not again. Not ever.

“Stay,” Ryland pleads, a slight tremble in his voice. Obviously Colt will come right back, and Ryland knows he will, but he’s… he’s strung-out, right now.

His heart can’t tell the difference between genuine, reasonable fear and an overreaction; it races all the same, unnecessary signals sent down from his brain. His wires are tangled, made no better by the fog obscuring his logical thinking. It’s all messed up.

Colt stops moving at once, closing the short distance back up with a soft look. He slips his arm free of Ryland’s truly pathetic grip just to bring that same hand up to his lips. 

He kisses Ryland’s palm, then the tip of his ring finger. “I’ll be back in thirty seconds. You can count them.”

Ryland frowns even as he lets himself sink back into the comfort of his bed. He tries to blink himself into awareness, but his body is shutting down on him, forcing him to get the rest it’s been missing now that his nervous system has finally calmed down.

“Come back soon,” is all he ends up saying, sounding forlorn about it.

Colt gives him a reassuring smile, squeezes his hand, and speed-walks out of the room. Ryland watches him go and feels an achy sadness start to form in his chest. He breathes through it and does exactly what Colt told him to.

He only makes it to twelve before his thoughts begin to scatter and drift and he loses track of what number he was on. Dang it. Maybe… no. Not eight. What was…? 

Jeez, he’s really out of it. Sleep is calling a very enticing siren song to him, especially after everything his poor heart’s been through lately, but he wants to stay awake until he knows for sure that he’s falling asleep with Colt. 

He can’t truly, deeply rest until he knows that when he wakes up, this won’t have been a dream. Colt will still be there.

As though summoned by the thought, Colt returns, footsteps considerably quieter. He’s panting just slightly, holding a glass of water. And Ryland’s phone. 

“Thirty seconds exact,” he announces proudly, like Ryland would’ve even known either way. “Took my shoes off too. And I got your phone! New record.”

Ryland smiles sleepily up at his brother, just basking in his presence, in the timbre of his voice. Colt’s back, his brain crows happily. That achy sadness melts away like it was never there in the first place, and he drags himself upright to accept the cup his brother hands him.

He ends up draining it in a few gulps, unheeding of Colt’s “Jesus, Ry, slow down—”

It feels incredible against his sore, overused throat. He’s cried enough in the past few hours to last him for at least half a year. 

Ryland wipes his lips and barely blinks as the glass is promptly removed from his grip. He sinks back down onto the pillows and watches as Colt shuffles about, tracking his movements, blearily taking in the shifting of his shoulders and his strong hands. He’s so fudging handsome.

Ryland’s eyelids feel heavy. Sleep is creeping dangerously close, and Colt’s still not in bed with him. 

He’s too… he’s too far away. 

“Colt,” Ryland calls, as Colt hastily shrugs out of his jacket and strips his shirt off. No response. “Colt.”

Colt emerges from his shirt with fluffed up hair and wide eyes. Ryland takes him in in all his shirtless glory and is extremely happy to find he wasn’t lying earlier when he said he wasn’t injured anywhere else. He’s as jaw-dropping as ever.

Ryland needs to be pressed up against all that warm skin and smooth muscle yesterday. He aches for it, deep in his chest.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Ry,” Colt responds as he drops the shirt, though Ryland hadn’t actually said anything beyond his name yet.

Still, he frowns, watching Colt move about the room at a close but not close enough distance. He should be close enough to touch. They should be actively touching. But instead, he’s picking up the clothes, adding them to the laundry pile, generally just doing everything except cuddling with Ryland. 

Ryland’s bed has felt far too cold and far too empty for far too long. He’s been spending the past few nights wishing more than anything that Colt was with him, barely able to even be in his bedroom without feeling the gaping wound of his absence. 

So Colt, the one who is here now, in Ryland’s bedroom, needs to hurry up.

Unfortunately, Ryland does not have the power of telepathy, and he’s so fuzzy he doesn’t think he could successfully say all that. At least not in any way that’s coherent.

And so, Ryland sucks in a deep breath and does something he might or might not agonize over when he’s more lucid and can feel things like embarrassment:

He reaches out and makes a grabby-hands gesture at his brother. “Colt, c’mere.”

Colt’s gaze flicks over in time to see him doing it, and he promptly freezes mid-movement. A full-body halt kind of freeze, like someone pressed pause on him.

Which is the opposite of hurrying up. 

Ryland does it again, frowning and feeling colder by the second. “Come closer,” he urges. Begs, really.

Colt just stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking. Then he seems to go through a split-second full system reboot and nearly trips over himself in his haste to join Ryland on the bed.

Much better.

Ryland’s rolling over into his brother the second he’s within reach, barely waiting for him to actually settle beneath the blankets before happily snuggling in close. Colt makes a few breathless noises when Ryland drags greedy hands up his bare torso, feeling the solid heat of him.

So much better.

Colt goes to roll onto his side, but Ryland pushes him back by his shoulders until he’s lying flat. Colt blinks wide, confused eyes up at him, lips parting soundlessly. He’s lightly flushed and adorably ruffled and so bright. Ryland feels like he has the sun in the palms of his hands. 

Colt’s just— He’s radiant and warm and beautiful and he’s finally back where he belongs, filling that cold, empty spot in Ryland’s bed with his warm hues and radiating presence. He’s so brilliant, dizzying just to look at.

And he’s all Ryland’s.

Ryland feels his love swell and swell with nowhere to go, a drumbeat starting up behind his ribs. It starts to suffocate him from the inside out, so he does the only thing he can think of: he leans over his brother and slots their lips together. 

Colt’s hand immediately flies to his jaw, his cheek, cupping the stubbled skin with a soft noise. He shifts to better align them, and they both sigh at the exact same time. 

It’s easy, like puzzle pieces joining. They were made for each other.

Ryland absolutely melts. He presses in deeper, entire body loose and heavy and happy. It feels like coming home. 

It’s just one firm, tender kiss, Colt nudging their noses together and brushing a hand down Ryland’s back to settle at his waist when he smiles.

He gives a little hum, the kind of hum he always gives when he’s enjoying a kiss— low and rumbly. It makes Ryland’s entire body tingle, makes his heart trip over itself like it’s trying to jump out of his chest and onto his brother’s tongue.

He’d probably let it. And he’d love to keep kissing, but he’s already breathless and he’s not sure he’d be able to do much more before passing out. 

Later, then. Ryland pulls back with reluctance and gives Colt’s lips another couple pecks, because he can’t help himself. 

It’s everything he’s been missing, been aching for. He can’t believe he really could have- could have lost it. Forever. This easy, thoughtless intimacy that comes so naturally for them despite everything.

Colt’s smiling crooked and soft when Ryland leans away, eyes creased. There’s a little gleam to them, happy in such a simple way, just from being kissed. 

He’s so… he’s so everything. He’s just literally everything. There isn’t a single thing Ryland loves more. Not one.

God. Ryland exhales a soft breath of awe and decides he will actually faint if he keeps falling deeper in love and also not closing his eyes. 

Without another word, he sinks down onto his brother, nuzzling into Colt’s chest until his ear is pressed to where his heart thuds quick and steady. Strong. 

Ryland’s entire body melts at the sound of it, the rhythmic thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump against his cheek.

The proof of life, Ryland’s favorite sound in the history of ever. He’s decided, from here on out.

Colt’s arms come around him automatically, heavy and grounding and warm. He’s so warm. Endlessly warm. 

Ryland deliriously wishes he could bury beneath Colt’s skin and become a part of him that can never be removed. He almost says it out loud, only stopped by the bliss turning his thoughts to molasses.

“I’ll explain everything soon, ‘kay?” Colt whispers. His hand, currently cupping Ryland’s shoulder, squeezes lightly. He starts rubbing his thumb back and forth. Ryland feels like if he melts any further he’ll turn into a liquid. “Let’s get some rest for now.”

Ryland has absolutely no complaints. He’s going to “get rest” whether he wants to or not. And for the first time in a couple days, he does want to. 

Just… one thing.

Clinging onto awareness, Ryland reluctantly lifts his head to look Colt in the eye. He’s already staring, because of course he is. 

He’s very handsome in the low light, the kind of roguish yet softly handsome that’s hard to look at straight on, even with the bruising.

“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?” Ryland asks in a whisper. He has to check. Just in case. For that niggling voice in his head that won’t go away.

Colt smiles, a little sad, a lot tender. All sincere. “I’ll be here, I promise.” Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb rubs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The last remnants of Ryland’s anxiety, the stress and the worry, slink back to where they came from. It’s like a great sigh of relief. In their wake, he’s just left feeling happy and content and very very sleepy.

And so, finally settled, Ryland sinks back down onto the warm and soft body of his brother beneath him with a sigh. He tosses a leg over both of Colt’s, tangles them together until he’s half on top of him and they’ve basically fused into one being. Perfect.

“Good,” Ryland mutters, muffled and slurred. The wonderful, glorious skin on skin is making him all tingly. “Stay forever.”

Colt just hugs him closer. “I will.”

Ryland’s asleep within the next couple breaths, drifting off to the soothing sound of a system working in tandem to keep his favorite person in the world alive. The sound of undeniable life.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in over a week. Probably longer than that, even. He always seems to sleep the best when he’s with Colt. Something about finally feeling whole, complete, when they’re touching.

They sleep right through the morning and a good bit into the afternoon. It’s just completely uninterrupted rest. They both needed it. 

Ryland wakes from a pleasant, inoffensive dream to the feeling of being surrounded in warmth. Still coming back into himself, he instinctively shifts and melts into it, sinking into the comfort it provides. It’s blanketing without being uncomfortable, somehow. It’s very nice.

It’s also the warmest Ryland’s felt upon waking up in… well, a long time. He doesn’t examine why too closely, too fuzzy to even attempt to, already drifting off again. He snuggles further into the heat he’s pressed against, rubs his cheek into it. 

It squeezes around him in response, keeping him tucked close. It’s soft. Almost… alive. 

Ryland’s brain hooks onto that curious fact. It leads him back out of the fuzziness of almost-sleep and further into awareness. Enough for him to come to the conclusion that there is currently… a person in his bed. 

Yeah. That’s a person. Ryland can feel a heartbeat beneath his cheek, slow breathing, and heavy arms around him. Not restricting, not even close. Just… secure. Safe.

A deep breath, followed by a deeper sigh— a sigh of utter contentment. It hums at the end, a familiar rumble that sends a pleasant little shiver down Ryland’s nape. Though that might be from the vibration against his cheek. 

Actually… It’s all very familiar.

It’s then that memories start to trickle in. It only takes the hint of one to wake him up, of Ryland wrenching the door open to see—

Ryland’s eyes snap open. He sees a whole lot of nothing, due to the fact that he’s held quite securely against a chest. He rolls out of it, the arms loosening to let him, further onto his side so he can come face to face with…

Colt. Colt. 

Of course it’s him. Nobody else’s embrace could ever make Ryland feel so inherently safe.

His eyes are fully open and blinking slowly at Ryland when he meets them. Still sleepy, a bit droopy. Evidently, Ryland was not the first to wake up. 

Oh.

They’re tangled about as closely as they were before they fell asleep, if Ryland’s memory serves him correctly. Colt looks happy in a quiet, calm way. Like there isn’t a single place he’d rather be than in Ryland’s bed cuddling with him. Which is a sentiment Ryland can definitely agree with.

Colt smiles, slow and warm. “Good morning,” he rumbles, and reaches up to brush Ryland’s bangs away from his forehead. He strokes down his cheek, gentle and reverent.

Ryland feels like his heart has stopped beating. Or maybe just skipped a beat and then leapt from his chest so abruptly he wasn’t able to track its retreat.

Colt’s… He’s still here. He still has that bandage over his nose, still has that bruise under his eye. His hair is disastrous, like it always is when he first wakes up. He looks even better in the muffled daylight peeking through Ryland’s curtains.

He’s… he’s real. Last night wasn’t a dream. Colt’s here. 

Mortifyingly, Ryland feels heat build up behind his eyes. His mouth twists into a wobbly grin, so relieved he feels it melt through his body like it’s being pumped straight from his heart. 

It’s over. The stress, and- and the sleepless nights and the grief and the pain. Colt’s okay. 

Ryland feels like he’s already had this realization, but he was apparently not of a sound enough mind for his entire body to let it sink in. Which makes sense, considering how quickly his mental state was deteriorating over such a short period of time.

Well, it didn’t feel like a short period of time when Ryland was in the thick of it. It felt like every second was an hour, like every moment where he was left guessing and waiting and clinging onto hope was slowly killing him. 

He spent almost a week in an endless, torturous limbo.

He spent six days and six nights thinking his twin brother was dead.

“Don’t cry again, baby,” Colt murmurs fondly, a little raspy. He leans in and kisses the corner of Ryland’s eye, triggering a blink that forces the tears on his lash line to escape. Just a couple, soaking into the pillow.

Ryland sniffles and blinks the rest of the wetness away. “I won’t,” he whispers. He can’t stop freaking smiling. Even though there’s a tangle of emotions in his chest, it’s good. It’s the good kind. 

He drags in a shaky breath. “I’m just… so relieved.”

Colt makes a half-sad, half-happy face. He carefully wipes the tear tracks from Ryland’s cheeks with his thumbs. His hands are as warm and callused as ever. “I know.”

It feels… so indescribably good to be touched by him again. To be able to touch him again. To be in his warmth, see his face up close like this. Ryland just wants to- wants to feel him.

So, heart tumbling in his chest, he does.

Ryland gently, very gently, presses his fingertips to the bruise below Colt’s eye. Colt twitches and sucks in a little breath, going utterly still. Ryland’s barely paying attention to his reaction, vision narrowing in on what’s in front of him. Just this moment. This touch.

He can’t help but marvel at the skin beneath his fingers, rough and warm, as he traces the bruise’s yellowing path up Colt’s cheek and to his temple. There’s a small, healing cut where it stops near his brow that he couldn’t see before.

Ryland catalogues it all, watching his own hand, the familiar lines and planes of Colt’s face. He has this exact same facial structure, knows it very, very well. 

And still, he wants to memorize it. Wants to commit to memory every microscopic difference.

He feels across the crooked, bandaged bridge of Colt’s nose, out to another healing cut at the apple of his cheek. This one looks older, already on its way out. A couple days and it’ll be like it never even existed in the first place. 

Enough days, and none of this will remain. Only the memories of it.

Colt’s eyes are now closed into the exploratory touch, expression peaceful and more than a little blissed out. His lips are parted and everything, just slightly. It’s adorable. 

Ryland drags his fingers down to Colt’s beard, his chin, and just… takes it all in. Maps out his brother’s handsome features with a soft bloom of warmth unfurling in his chest. It takes his breath away, a little bit. This miracle given human form. 

Ryland lets out a soft, soundless exhale. This is what he missed. What he thought he was losing. All of this love, this warmth, ripped away from him.

Colt makes a small humming noise as Ryland’s hand drops away to his chest. He blinks his eyes open right before Ryland closes his because he’s getting choked up again and he really needs to stop crying so much. His body can only lose so much moisture.

“...Ry?” Colt ventures after a moment. Careful, quiet.

Ryland lightly shakes his head and only looks up when he’s sure he’s got his tear ducts under control. “I’m fine. Just, uh,” he smiles at the tiny little furrow in Colt’s brow, “happy. That you’re back and okay. I’m really happy.”

The furrow disappears. “Oh.” Colt blinks a few times, then gives a smile of his own. “Good.” He nudges Ryland’s leg under the sheets. “I’m happy too.”

It’s genuinely a wonder that Ryland doesn’t have heart issues after so many years spent around Colt. The warm sheen to his eyes alone is devastating. Makes Ryland’s breath hitch just slightly. 

They’ll be old and gray and married for fifty years and Colt will still make Ryland’s heart skip a beat. He just knows it.

Ryland gathers all his scattered brain cells and takes a deep breath. He’s gotta… he’s gotta focus. No more swooning and no more freaking crying. “Can I ask about things now?”

Colt hums and settles in. “Go for it.”

Ryland tries to clear the lingering shakiness in his throat. He just has one big question to start off. “Why… Why didn’t you ever call me? Or text me? Or have Jody do it?” 

He’s not trying to accuse Colt of anything, it’s just… the biggest thing he was wondering (and agonizing) about. Absolutely zero communication.

Colt wets his lip. “Well, my phone kind of… exploded.”

Ah. Right.

Colt maintains steady, calm eye contact as he continues, “So… it took a bit to get a new one, and by then I was already heading here. I didn’t know if you even knew about what happened, so I thought it’d be kinda panic-inducing to have Jody call you out of nowhere and tell you I’m not dead.”

Okay, that’s fair. Considering Ryland probably wouldn’t have known if that coworker didn’t tell him. Which is honestly a horrifying thought. 

He looks down, presses his palm back over Colt’s heart and sighs shakily at the strong, slow pulse. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Colt clears his throat and gently overlays his hand atop Ryland’s. He increases the pressure, pushes Ryland’s palm flat to his skin. “I’m… sorry for the radio silence, that must’ve sucked.” 

Understatement of the century. Ryland nods. “It was pretty sucky, yeah.”

“How long did you…” Colt drags in a deep breath, their hands rising with it. “When did you find out?”

Ryland almost laughs at the memory, just at how absurd it is. How ridiculous. “Pretty much a week ago, actually. Monday. A coworker showed me the news feed reporting your alleged suicide.” He pauses. “While I was on lunch break.” 

Ryland looks up from their joined hands to meet Colt’s eyes right as he winces. “Yikes,” he hisses commiseratingly. Which is just about the best way to sum it up.

And it also just reminded Ryland that he didn’t call in sick for today. Well… he really doesn’t think there’ll ever be a better use for his PTO than a family member’s faked out death.

Speaking of…

“Did you really fake your death?” It still sounds crazy to Ryland. I’m just the stunt guy, Colt likes to say, and yet he’s got all the dramatics of an actor sometimes. 

Colt’s head ducks briefly with his huff. “Listen,” he says, a little bit of embarrassment in his expression, “it worked, so I don’t want to hear it.”

“A little warning would’ve been nice,” Ryland mutters, only half serious. “Like, ‘Hey, don’t be alarmed, I’m gonna fake my suicide and be dead for a bit. You’ll probably find out by watching the news, but I’ll be back soon so it’s totally fine! Don’t worry.’”

Colt wheezes a laugh that sounds like pure music to Ryland’s ears. “Okay, in my defense, I would’ve totally done that if given the chance.”

Oh, right. Colt did say he would explain everything, but so far Ryland doesn’t actually know the full story that led up to the murder-suicide. Especially the murder part, only that he was framed.

So, Ryland asks him to start from the beginning, and Colt does just that. He does his best to include everything Ryland needs to know, but he’s not too great at telling coherent stories, so he keeps jumping around and inputting occasional tangents in his explanations.

Ryland gets the gist of it, or at least the most important parts. He sits there in disbelief and no short amount of anger as Colt explains how it was all a set-up, how Ryder is the worst person ever— “And then he, you know, he tortured me—” Ryland’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “He did what?!”— but Gail is somehow even worse, and that he faked his death so they could finish the movie. 

What the hell, seriously.

Ryland laughs when Colt recounts how he got Ryder to confess, now propped up against the pillows with Colt sat next to him, gesturing intensely as he speaks. It genuinely sounds like the plot to a movie, that’s how ridiculous it is. In any case, Ryland is glad at least that Ryder’s gone.

“Wow,” is what Ryland eventually says after Colt’s finished and a baffled silence has settled between them. “You’ve been busy.”

Colt slumps over into Ryland’s lap with a groan, rolling onto his back so he can gaze up at him. Ryland just blinks and smiles down at his brother, hand falling instinctually to start combing through his hair. 

“Way too busy. I’m glad to be back.” He catches Ryland’s free hand and links their fingers together, kissing the back of his palm. Just unrelentingly sweet, this man is. “What’s been happening with you?”

Ryland squeezes their palms together as they settle atop Colt’s chest, lips pursing. “Do you want a detailed recounting, or a summary?”

Colt settles in, looking content and comfortable. His gaze is attentive. “Whatever you want. You know I like the details.” You know I like it when you talk.

Well, if he really wants it…

Ryland tells him. The day he found out, and everything that followed after. The desperation, the denial, the stubborn hope despite it all.

He does, however, omit a few details specifically about how much of an emotional wreck he was and how he was basically starving himself because he had no appetite, because that would make Colt feel all sad and guilty for not getting there sooner, and Ryland doesn’t want to do that.

He can stand the coddling that’s sure to follow anyways, though. He’s actually looking forward to it. Typically he wouldn’t, but… it’s been a rough freaking week. He’s gonna be clingy. Besides, it’s how Colt shows he cares, how he apologizes.

Colt listens in silence the whole time, frowning faintly the longer Ryland talks. He tightens his grip on Ryland’s hand when he hesitates on last night— technically earlier this morning— specifically. 

Because, yeah, Ryland had been pretty damn close to giving up. Giving in. He was breaking, plain and simple.

“Luckily,” Ryland says towards the end, still absently playing with Colt’s hair and enjoying his comforting weight, “you showed up at the perfect time. Like, literally perfect. I’m pretty sure our souls are tied together or something, that’s how perfect it was. But, uh, yeah. You know. It’s been kinda crazy for me.” 

A pause, a quiet swallow. “I’m glad it’s over.”

There’s a long pause. Ryland can only imagine what’s going through his brother’s head right now. Probably not very many happy things.

Colt’s voice is rough when he finally speaks again. “Me too. Promise I’ll pick up the next time you call. Every time you call, actually. Even if I’m busy.” 

He looks all sincere and serious, like he’s genuinely pledging a promise. It soothes something in Ryland that he didn’t even know needed to be soothed.

A gentle warmth blooms inside his chest all over again, bleeding down into his limbs, filling him up. Ryland smiles lovingly down at his brother, then hunches over to kiss his forehead. 

Colt makes a small noise when he pulls back. Ryland’s pleased to see the frown has faded from his face.

“And warn me before you fake your death again, please,” Ryland teases, gently thumbing Colt’s brow, right above the healing cut.

Colt huffs, mirth in his lopsided smile. His eyes are genuine, though. “Okay, okay, that too. I promise to warn you.”

Ryland sinks back into the pillows with a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, warm and content and feeling intensely clingy. It might take a few days before he lets Colt leave his sight. Something tells him Colt won’t really mind.

He feels Colt shift off his lap and opens his eyes to see him propping himself up, regretfully disentangling their fingers. He plants his hands either side of Ryland’s thighs and leans in. 

“I love you,” Colt murmurs, looking deep into Ryland’s eyes. His gaze is unwavering, light-swallowing. Intense. “So much. And I’ll always try to come home to you, no matter what.”

Ryland’s heart thuds a symphony of rapid beats at the words, at the way Colt says them, low and with purpose. He gently strokes across his brother’s cheek, chest buzzing when his lashes flutter. He isn’t even able to respond before Colt’s kissing him.

Just as gentle as ever, tender and careful and firm. Like he’s trying to apologize with something deeper than words. 

Morning breath means absolutely nothing in the face of that, of this; Colt being so close, kissing Ryland with so much love and care that he can almost taste it. 

Ryland’s the one who deepens it, hands in Colt’s hair trying to tug him closer. Colt goes easily, without fight, humming against Ryland’s lips. 

He slips his hand down between them, fingers fanning out across Ryland’s navel, sending a pleasant shiver through his stomach. He’s so goddamn warm.

They kiss like that, pressed close, lazy but deep. Making up for the time spent apart, for all the seconds Ryland spent agonizing over never getting to have this again. 

He pours those worries, those feelings, into the press of their lips. Over and over. 

Colt receives it with sincerity, with gravity. Then he hums and proceeds to kiss the thoughts away. Pulls back only when Ryland does, immediately dipping his head to kiss Ryland’s jaw, his throat, working his way down to his chest and then further still to his stomach.

He has to pause to scoot down and settle between Ryland’s legs to make it easier, and he does so with care, no ulterior motive. Just love; gentle hands guiding Ryland by the knees, sliding to his waist, reverent and warm and large.

Ryland squirms with a soft whimper, gasps when Colt’s hand slides under him to pull him up into the next press of his lips. It’s ticklish and soft and turning Ryland’s insides to mush. He tangles his fingers in his brother’s hair and pants while all his blood goes hot and shivers cascade down his spine.

“Never…” Ryland swallows, breath hitching. “Never leave again.”

Colt glances up from his spot at Ryland’s navel, framed between his thighs. His pupils are wide, eyes dark with a deep devotion. 

“I won’t,” he rumbles, and presses the words, the promise in them, into Ryland’s skin. 

Ryland sighs shakily, just sinking into this quiet calm, into Colt’s touch and the warmth spilling from him. Colt works his way slowly back up Ryland’s body, pausing over his heart to just breathe him in. 

Ryland tugs him down until their chests connect, hearts beating in perfect sync, and wraps all his limbs around his brother. Colt gathers him up and holds him just as tight.

They stay pressed close like that until Ryland’s body really starts to revolt against him for its mistreatment, loudly, and then they’re ordering food in and reluctantly pulling apart just to shower together a couple minutes later. 

(“By the way…” Colt starts as they’re getting dressed, “were you wearing my jacket last night?”

Said jacket is currently at the top of the laundry pile. Ryland blinks at it, then at Colt. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

Colt clears his throat. His cheeks look a little pink. “No reason. Just… feel free to wear it more.”)

Colt seems perfectly happy with the clinging that then follows, with being forced to stick close to Ryland at all times. Well, forced probably isn’t accurate, considering anytime Ryland pulls or leans away for any reason, Colt just follows him. It’s sweet. 

Ryland calls in sick to work again too, apologizing about his continued absence only for the friendly voice to say it’s no problem, take your time, which is very nice of them.

It’s just… a very nice Monday in general. Much better than Ryland’s last one. 

They also call Jody at one point to update her and then just spend an hour or two chatting. She berates Colt for leaving Ryland in suspense, to which Colt sputters and tries (and fails) to defend himself, and then drapes himself all over Ryland when he laughs at him. 

She also apologizes for missing Ryland’s calls, prompting Colt’s signature kicked-puppy look paired with an extra-tight hug.

“I did try calling back,” she says, “but it went straight to voicemail. Is that me getting a taste of my own medicine, so to speak?”

Colt makes a quiet noise and hides his face in the back of Ryland’s shoulder. Of course. Ryland huffs. “I think Colt did that.”

Muffled, Colt defends, “You needed the uninterrupted sleep.”

Well, he’s not wrong, and he definitely needed it too. Even Jody concedes to that.

Overall, they just… eat and hang out and cuddle, and Ryland feels healed every second Colt is with him. Every second they spend touching. He’s not sure how many more times he can say he’s relieved before it feels like enough. 

He’s just so- so glad and grateful and, if he’s honest, still recovering from and processing it all. He keeps reaching over on occasion just to feel Colt’s pulse. Colt lets him do it, tilts his head or bares his wrist to make it easier and smiles when Ryland sighs in quiet relief.

Ryland imagines the expression his coworker will have when he eventually returns and tells her that it turns out his brother is actually super alive. Surprise! Yeah, I didn’t know either. Crazy, right?

He’s looking forward to it. That just by itself proves Ryland’s relief; he’s awaiting the future.

He has no doubt that Colt will get himself hurt a thousand more times, and he’ll make Ryland worry and probably give him many early gray hairs, but hopefully no more being the victim of borderline villainous schemes. 

As long as Colt comes home at the end of the day, whenever he can, that’s enough. 

Ryland makes him promise it, this time. 

Colt looks into his eyes and says, “Nothing could keep me from you. Not even death.”

Which sounds a lot like a quote from a movie, but Ryland is too busy sinking into an emotionally charged kiss to ask. Or care.

His other half is home. That’s all he needs.