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Usually, Brendon is a summer kind of guy.
He likes the heat, the sun, the endless days. He likes spending those days outdoors — surfing or skateboarding or hosting barbecues; cold beer, great food and amazing company of friends and loved ones, what's not to love? Staying up sunset through sunrise, huddled around the fire pit, playing guitar, singing songs, perhaps even sharing a joint, living, relishing every moment, squeezing every ounce of joy from it.
So yeah, summer he was a fan of, couldn't get enough of it. Heatwaves were whole other beasts, and ones Brendon was not as enthusiastic over. Or at all. Especially if they had a tendency to roll back around every other week since the very start of summer.
It's the lack of productivity, he decides right then and there, driving his way home, the heat sucking out most of his will to do anything. Brendon had only had a couple of errands to run, a visit to the bank and shop for the groceries, and he already feels like he has depleted a whole day's worth of energy.
There was only one thing running through his mind, one thing that he really wanted to do: dive headfirst into the pool as soon as possible. Feel the cool water wash the heat, sweat and day's grime off him. Stay in it until either the sun set or he was physically dragged out of it.
He has a date with his pool and he couldn't wait to get to it.
This is his plan of action: get home, get the groceries inside. Make quick work of putting everything away, starting with the freezer, then the fridge, then the pantry. Grab a cold bottle of beer, beeline his way to the bedroom closet to change into a fresh pair of swimming trunks. Get this sweaty, gross clothing into the laundry room, snatch a towel from the linen closet. By then he will be probably done with the beer, so fetch another one.
And then, finally then make his way out into the patio and cannonball his way into the swimming pool.
It's a perfect plan, one that keeps him at least a tiny bit zen in the middle of heavy midday traffic.
Emphasis on tiny bit zen, because the A/C in his car seems to have given up against the heat, blasting lukewarm air at best, and the sun shines bright and intense through the windshield.
He should just take the car straight to the shop to get it fixed, but then some asshole with a BMW cuts him off just before a traffic light, and he's over the entire day, any remaining motivation to do anything productive at all gone.
Sitting there, waiting for the light to switch from red to green, Brendon regrets his choice of an all black outfit. He regrets it more than anything in his life. A combination of skinny jeans and a t-shirt might have sounded like a good idea in the morning, but the dark fabric was soaking up the heat like crazy, sticking to his skin, catching and making him all the more uncomfortable.
The sun is out to get him, to cook him alive right there in his SUV, he just knows it, and he sends a glare up to it through the protection of his sunglasses.
He sends up a middle finger too, just for a good, albeit childish, measure.
So by the time he parks the car in the drive way he's grumbling curses under his breath, wiping the sweat off his forehead, combing the fringe back from it with an irritated sweep of his fingers.
He had sent Ryan a voice message to come and greet him outside, help him with the groceries, but despite there being a little indication of Seen just right under the blue bubble, the message seemingly went ignored. The front steps leading to the entrance of their house is barren of any tall, lanky men, and Brendon's mood sours further.
As Brendon's unlocking the front door, he considers abandoning his entire game plan; he should just dump all the bags on the floor right there in the hall and head straight for the patio. Let Ryan take care of storing it all away, or have all the ice cream melt and ruin their floors, because if Ryan doesn't, then see if Brendon cares.
Yeah, fuck it all, it's decided. He's totally heading straight for the pool, diving in as soon as he gets to it, clothes and all.
The first thing that hits him upon pushing the door open is a cold blast of air and cinnamon. Cinnamon? The scent of it so potent and overwhelming, it takes no time to settle on the back of Brendon's tongue, the taste overtly sweet and warm and so wrong for summer.
"Ryan?" He calls out, hesitant steps taking him inside. He checks the thermostat first, a brief glance at it confirming his suspicion that Ryan wanted their house colder than Antarctica. But a few steps further into their house erases all worries of a skyrocketing electricity bill from Brendon's mind once he sets his eyes on the display set up in their living room.
It's like Jack Skellington himself has barfed all over every possible surface in the room and then some.
There's pumpkins and fake spiderwebs, plastic bats and cheesecloth ghosts they diy'd last year, a skeleton sitting in an arm chair, one of Ryan's old fedoras atop its head for whatever reason and… is that? There's actual candy corn in a black kettle, exchanging a centerpiece of what this morning was a bouquet of fresh flowers on their coffee table. How in the hell did he manage to get those?
"What the—"
"Hi," Ryan breathes, right into his ear, landing a kiss on his cheek and effectively cutting Brendon off. If he would have managed to pick his jaw off the floor in time, Brendon might have gotten a proper kiss on the lips.
As it is, he was too shell-shocked by the title card of the movie frozen on their TV to get with the program, and Ryan has moved onto taking some of the grocery bags from him and heading for the kitchen.
"C'mon, I'll help you with these so that you could go grab a shower, you look like you could use one," Ryan calls over his shoulder, beckoning Brendon to follow, just like that. Like the fuzzy slippers, sweatpants and a soft looking crewneck sweater were a completely normal thing to wear in the middle of a heatwave.
Brendon's body moves on its own accord, while his mind attempts to play catch up with the change of decor in their living room.
At least he was no longer irritated. No, at this point he was just incredibly confused.
Some of it has even spread to their kitchen, it seems, a tray of candles set, all pumpkin shaped and pumpkin spice scented, on the kitchen island, each and every one of them lit.
In the middle of summer.
On the kitchen counter a bowl full of batter, flour and sugar sprinkled across the surface, cracked egg shells, an opened carton milk, whisk abandoned just by the sink and a whole mess of wet paper towels. Ryan was never a very organized cook.
"Are you making cinnamon pancakes?" That's the first question that seems to fully make its way past Brendon's lips, the furrow in his brow only deepening. It's what sticks out the most for him; the spice and its warmth thicker in the kitchen, filling up every crevice of the room, even sticking to his sweaty skin.
"Yeah, I am," Ryan responds, easy and light. Like it's a totally natural occurrence in their household, and standing by a hot stove flipping pancakes didn't seem like pure torture in this heat. No wonder he had the air conditioning in the house working overtime.
"…Why?"
"Because I was in the mood."
"No, I mean—" With a sigh Brendon cuts himself off, finally setting down the bags he was still holding onto. "Babe, you do know it's still July, right? There's a heatwave just right outside."
"What's your point?"
"My point is… isn't it too early for Halloween?" At that Ryan finally seems to pick his eyes up, meeting Brendon's gaze, eyes big and innocent, a hint of sheepishness to the way he chewed on his bottom lip.
"Maybe a little."
"A little? Ry," he says his name like he's trying to make a point, eyebrows high on his forehead and eyes wide as he rounds the island to get to Ryan. "In case you forgot how to do math all of a sudden, October's still over two months away. We have friends coming over tomorrow. Are you planning to serve them dinner out of our pumpkin plates too?"
"No. I just," and at that Ryan lets out a huff, looks out into the living room. Offers Brendon a shrug. "I've missed it."
"The cheap plastic decorations?"
"The coziness of them," Ryan corrects without missing a beat.
For a moment he looks completely exasperated, hands twitching by his sides, lower lip jutted out and down-turned. Brendon knows that look — Ryan gets it anytime he wants to pull Brendon into his arms, but doesn't want any of his sweat to transfer onto his clothes. In summertime, it's more of an occurrence than usual. And that crewneck's cashmere, expensive and delicate, Brendon knows because he gifted it to Ryan the previous Christmas.
Brendon's shirt was still clinging to his skin, splotchy in places where the perspiration has completely soaked through, even if he was rapidly cooling down thanks to frigid air blasting through the vents. So he gets the hesitation. It's better not to risk ruining it.
"I miss not living in what feels like Satan's ass crack every day. I miss pancakes and warm sweaters, and hot chocolate, and watching movies with you snuggled up under the blankets." Ryan draws in a deep breath then, wrapping his fingers around Brendon's wrist, slowly brushing them up his forearm.
It's a touch that feels like something more than just a compromise Ryan reached between his urge and logic.
It sends a shiver up Brendon's spine, his breath catching slightly at the contrast of Ryan's cool palm against his heated skin.
"I miss being close to you without the risk of giving us both a heatstroke. I miss the serenity of it."
It's the sort of longing Brendon shares with Ryan, buried deep in his heart. Pushed aside in favor of enjoying everything the season had to offer. The longing of closeness and just how right it feels, and it gets more acute with Ryan's words. Like acknowledging it made it present, and urgent, and focal, demanding to be satisfied.
Brendon looks to his left just then, out through the French doors leading into the patio, into the cool pool water where a promise of a nice tan and a cold bottle of beer was waiting for him.
A hand on his cheek brings him back, makes his eyes meet Ryan's once more. A thumb gently sweeps over his lower lip, fingers cool and the wedding band cooler where it pressed against his cheek.
"Humor me, please?" There's hope in Ryan's tone, in the way he looks at him, the adorable scrunch of his eyebrows. "Just for today. I'll take down all of that crap tomorrow and we can get back to summer. But for today — pretend it's fall, for me?"
A beat passes, but it's not much of a decision.
His date with the pool can wait.
"Okay," Brendon's surrender is whispered against the pad of Ryan's thumb.
"Okay," Ryan echoes and exchanges his thumb for his lips, the kiss brief, but with an obvious mix of excitement and relief to it.
Another moment of silence following once the kiss breaks — foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in — and then Brendon releases a soft huff of laughter.
"But you get to put away all the stuff I brought back, and I am so not watching Hocus Pocus 2. Find a better movie by the time I finish with my shower, or I'm so stealing all of the pancakes to myself."