Goodbye, My Almost Lover [s/a]
Goodbye, My Almost Lover.
Unrequited Ryan/Brendon. Brendon/Gabe.
! Alcoholism, mentions of abuse, cursing.
Don't own anyone mentioned.
disco_xdramatic - xxwhenitrains (both me, same person)
2,379.
And 373 miles away, Ryan realizes he still fucking can't.
Ryan has concluded that it is impossible to hate Brendon.
No matter how many times he spills his Fruit Loops all over Ryan’s clean carpet, or how many times he stumbles over his own feet and breaks Ryan’s favorite vase, he is impossible to hate or even dislike for more than a few minutes.
So when Brendon stumbles into the door of Ryan’s apartment at some 3:42 in the morning, Ryan just rolls his eyes and gets out of his bed, deciding to see what kept the younger man out so long.
“Bren,” Ryan says groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”
Brendon doesn’t reply right away, and Ryan suddenly realizes that his breathing is heavy. Upon closer inspection, he also realizes that Brendon’s hair is tousled, and what looks like the beginning of a black eye is lining his right eyelid.
“What the-- Bren?” Ryan says, wide awake at the sight. He reaches out and takes Brendon by the wrist, tugging him down the hallway and flicking the lights on. “Sit.”
Ryan pushes Brendon down onto the leather couch in his living room before going into the kitchen and retrieving a bag of ice to nurse Brendon’s eye with.
He sits down on the couch next to Brendon, tilting the man’s head up and pressing the ice pack to his face.
“So are you just gonna sit there or tell me why the fuck you have a borderline black eye?” Ryan asks, tone on the edge of being unsurprised.
“I…” Brendon trails off lightly, an ongoing battle of whether or not he should tell Ryan what really happened waging in his head. “I sort of, like, I went to this club, right? Illusions? The one downtown?”
“Yeah, I know it,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes and adding, “You didn’t get into a bar fight did you?”
“No,” Brendon replies. “But like…so I met this guy. “ Ryan sighs again, shaking his head. “I think his name was… Gary? Gabe? Gabe, yeah. But he was really cool and stuff, funny, great dancer, hot, everything. And he kept giving me shots left and right, and like, I was like, ‘Fuck it’, so I took them, and--”
“Fucking breathe, Bren,” Ryan interrupts. “And move tilt your head up a little more.”
“Right,” Brendon says, taking a long, shuddering breath. “So, like, next thing I know, we’re grinding all over the place and Gabe asked me to come back to his apartment. So I was drunk and I said yes and… next thing I know, we’re both naked on the bed, and I come to my senses. And I realize I’m about to have sex with a random stranger and he doesn’t even have a condom on, Ryan! So I told him to stop and he was like, telling me I wanted it and shit. And then I’m punching him and running down the street.”
“So how’d you get the black eye?” Ryan asks, too curious to reply to anything Brendon told him.
“He fought back at first, but I hit him hard enough he fell off the bed at one point, so then I ran.”
Ryan smiles despite the situation. “You’re so stupid. Why are you my best friend?”
“The question should be: why are you mine?” Ryan chuckles a bit, but it disappears when he looks at Brendon and realizes his eyes are glossed over, tears threatening to fall.
“Bren?” Ryan says as he reaches out to touch his friend.
“I was so fucking scared, Ryan,” Brendon whispers. “Like, I know I do random fucks here and there but for some reason I just didn’t want it.. And it’s not like any of my random fucks try to rape me.” Ryan watches his friend, gasping a little when he sees Brendon start to shake. “I just didn’t want it…”
“Oh, Bren,” Ryan whispers, hooking an arm around Brendon’s waist and pulling the boy onto his lap. “You’re okay, Bren.”
“I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of it,” Brendon sighs, tears bunching up at the corner of his mouth.
“Because you were scared,” Ryan tells him. “Rape is a scary thing, you know that.”
The two sat in somewhat of a silence for a few minutes, the only sound being Brendon’s gasp for air between his tears. Eventually the shaken man calmed down, breathing in deep and burying his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck.
“Ryan?” Brendon says quietly, breaking the sad silence.
“Yeah, Bren?” Ryan replies into Brendon’s hair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Bren. Always.”
___________________________________
The next morning, Ryan wakes up and smiles when he realizes Brendon fell asleep on his chest the night before, arms wrapped tight around him.
“Bren,” Ryan whispers, shaking him lightly. “Wake up.”
“Nyrgh,” Brendon replies sleepily. Ryan laughs.
“Get up, asshole.”
“What time is it?” asks Brendon.
“12:32,” Ryan replies. “Now get up. You drooled on me, you bitch.”
Brendon laughs and sits up, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Ryan gazes at Brendon in a slightly loving manner as he retreats to the kitchen, taking in his swollen lips and the way his shirt rides up his side a little bit. Ryan resists the urge to mutter a “beautiful’.
“When’s the last time you got groceries?” Brendon asks with mild amusement at the fact that all they had in their cabinets was empty cereal boxes and a half-gone loaf of bread.
“Hey,” Ryan says accusingly, holding his hands up. “I’m not the only one living in this apartment, feel free to do the grocery shopping for or with me.”
“Whatever, Ross,” Brendon says, smiling and throwing some Fruit Loops at him.
___________________________________
Ryan wakes up sometime early in the morning, not even remembering having fallen asleep. He lifts his head up from his pillow and takes a look at his alarm clock.
4:22 AM.
He decides to get up and see if Brendon is in. It had been a few weeks since the whole almost-raped incident, but even so it wasn’t unusual for Ryan to wake up in the middle of the night and find Brendon’s usual:
Ry,
I’m out for the night. Don’t worry, and don’t wait up. ♥
xo Bren.
on the counter.
Ryan opens Brendon’s door slowly, peeking his head in and rolling his eyes when he doesn’t see Brendon in the bed. It’s not like Ryan cared if Brendon partied, but Ryan was trying to keep a tight budget so he could buy new furniture for the apartment.
Somewhat awake, Ryan trudges into the kitchen after his stomach growls, pouring some of the cereal Brendon bought as a joke about their grocery banter the few weeks before. He stirs it in silence and only looks up when he hears a pair of keys jangling in the door.
Brendon.
Brendon stumbles in the door, clumsy as always.
“Drunk, much?” Ryan says sarcastically about Brendon’s antics.
Brendon laughs. “No, actually. Just happy. And clumsy.”
“Why?” Ryan says, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Get laid or something?”
“Har-har,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes. “And no. I…you know Gabe? From the club?”
“What the fuck did he do to you?” Ryan growls, immediately on edge.
“No, no!” Brendon throws his hands up and shakes his head in attempt to keep Ryan from getting angry. “He didn’t do anything. Except, well, he apologized. Said he was really drunk and wouldn’t do that under ‘sober circumstances’, as he put it.”
“So what?” Ryan says angrily. “You’re just goody-goody with a guy who almost raped you a few weeks ago? Who could’ve had God knows what disease lurking around in his fucking cum?”
Brendon’s discomfort was apparent as Ryan’s voice continued to grow louder, the scowl on his face slightly larger.
“I-- he’s a really great guy, Ryan, honest. I really think we have something with potential,” Brendon offers weakly.
“Whatever, Brendon,” Ryan sighs. “Great guys don‘t get smashed and then try to force their dick up some unwilling guy‘s ass. Just go to bed.”
___________________________________
Over the course of the next few months of Brendon and Gabe‘s whatever, Ryan tries not to notice the bruises on Brendon’s arms and torso.
He tries even harder not to realize the way Brendon limps every time he gets home from visiting Gabe (it wouldn’t bother Ryan so much if he felt like it was only a limp from good sex).
But what he tries the hardest not to realize is the way Brendon’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.
___________________________________
It’s one rainy day in Las Vegas when Ryan decides to ask Brendon if Gabe is hurting him.
“Does he hit you?” Ryan asks quietly, not taking his eyes off of the movie playing in front of him. It had been about five months since Brendon told Ryan he and Gabe were in some sort of relationship, and over that course of time Ryan lost track of the Brendon he thought he knew at one point.
“What?” Brendon says, snapping his head up.
“Gabe,” Ryan answers coolly. “Does he hit you?”
“I can’t even believe you’re asking this right now,” Brendon breathes out as he laughs. Ryan really can’t tell if Brendon is amused, shocked, nervous, or a mix of the three. “I told you Gabe was a great guy.”
“Being a ‘great guy’ has fucking shit to do with it, goddamnit,” Ryan replies sharply, eyes narrowing even though he still wasn’t looking at Brendon.
“I--” Brendon begins, only to be cut off.
“No, you know what?” Ryan cuts in, finally looking at Brendon. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation because I know I’ll be lied to, even if I’ve seen the bruises and your pathetic fucking limp.” Brendon flinches slightly, but Ryan continues. “And I know he hits you, and I know he’s not a good guy.”
Brendon stays silent and wonders if Ryan was done with his rant. But even if he was, Brendon wouldn’t know what to say back because Ryan was right.
“And as far as you go?” Ryan says with venom in his tone. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“So I hook up with one fucking guy you don’t like, and this is it? Our friendship is over?” Brendon replies, throwing his hands up in the air in a mix of anger and frustration.
“You’re always going to be my best friend, Bren, and I’m not fucking angry because I don’t like Gabe.” Ryan takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m angry because you can’t be fucking honest with me anymore.”
Brendon narrows his eyes in disbelief. “What do you mean, I’m not honest? I’ve been honest with you since the day we became best friends.”
“Right, and honesty is such a hard thing to rid yourself of,” Ryan replies sarcastically.
“Fuck you, Ryan, seriously,” Brendon says incredulously.
“Fine,” Ryan says. “Get the fuck out of my house, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
___________________________________
Ryan is looking through this old photo album he and Brendon made when they first moved into the two-bedroom apartment. It’s filled with pictures of the two moving boxes, laughing, smiling, hooking up their TV, and things of the like.
Ryan keeps flipping through, but his motions slow when he comes to the more intimate side of the book. He then sees pictures his friend Tom took of the pair the night Ryan’s father died. He really didn’t even remember Tom taking these, let alone allowing him to.
There’s one particular picture in the middle of one of the pages. In it Ryan is being enveloped by Brendon in a hug, and it looks like Brendon is whispering something in Ryan’s ear. Words of comfort, probably. Brendon was good at those. A few tear stains are visible on the red shirt Brendon was wearing at the time of the picture.
Ryan realizes then how much he loves, and needs, Brendon.
___________________________________
Ryan seems to be finding it harder and harder as the weeks passed to have no contact with Brendon. No phone calls, text messages, or visits to the house. Nothing. He knows he was a bit harsh, but he didn’t really mean for Brendon to take everything seriously and up and leave.
“Fuck,” Ryan sighs, finally giving in and picking up his cell phone. He holds down the ‘1’ button on his speed dial and presses the phone to his ear.
“Hey, it’s Brendon. I’m probably ignoring you, so leave a message that I probably won’t listen to. Peace out.”
Ryan laughs at the familiar voicemail, but clears his throat when he hears a soft ‘beep’ and says, “Hey, Bren. Um, it’s Ryan and… just, fuck it, look. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to take shit so seriously. It’s been, like, two months since we’ve seen each other or even fucking communicated. I don’t know where you are or if you’re hurt or what, but just… please. Call me back. I miss you, Bren. And I really fucking want to talk to you, because…I‘ve realized some stuff over the past few months. I fucking love you, Brendon. You‘re my everything an--”
“Fuck!” Ryan yells when the automated voice cuts into his message, telling him the length of the voicemail had been exceeded and that it was now sending.
Ryan hangs up the phone and plops down on his couch, chunking the device against the coffee table and falling asleep.
___________________________________
353 miles away, Brendon smiles sadly at the sound of his ex-best friend’s voice as he lays in his and his husband's new bed in their new apartment, beaten and bruised, quietly letting a few tears escape as he says, “Please don’t hate me, Ryan.”
And 353 miles away, Ryan realizes that he still fucking can’t.
___________________________________
Unrequited Ryan/Brendon. Brendon/Gabe.
! Alcoholism, mentions of abuse, cursing.
Don't own anyone mentioned.
disco_xdramatic - xxwhenitrains (both me, same person)
2,379.
And 373 miles away, Ryan realizes he still fucking can't.
Ryan has concluded that it is impossible to hate Brendon.
No matter how many times he spills his Fruit Loops all over Ryan’s clean carpet, or how many times he stumbles over his own feet and breaks Ryan’s favorite vase, he is impossible to hate or even dislike for more than a few minutes.
So when Brendon stumbles into the door of Ryan’s apartment at some 3:42 in the morning, Ryan just rolls his eyes and gets out of his bed, deciding to see what kept the younger man out so long.
“Bren,” Ryan says groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”
Brendon doesn’t reply right away, and Ryan suddenly realizes that his breathing is heavy. Upon closer inspection, he also realizes that Brendon’s hair is tousled, and what looks like the beginning of a black eye is lining his right eyelid.
“What the-- Bren?” Ryan says, wide awake at the sight. He reaches out and takes Brendon by the wrist, tugging him down the hallway and flicking the lights on. “Sit.”
Ryan pushes Brendon down onto the leather couch in his living room before going into the kitchen and retrieving a bag of ice to nurse Brendon’s eye with.
He sits down on the couch next to Brendon, tilting the man’s head up and pressing the ice pack to his face.
“So are you just gonna sit there or tell me why the fuck you have a borderline black eye?” Ryan asks, tone on the edge of being unsurprised.
“I…” Brendon trails off lightly, an ongoing battle of whether or not he should tell Ryan what really happened waging in his head. “I sort of, like, I went to this club, right? Illusions? The one downtown?”
“Yeah, I know it,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes and adding, “You didn’t get into a bar fight did you?”
“No,” Brendon replies. “But like…so I met this guy. “ Ryan sighs again, shaking his head. “I think his name was… Gary? Gabe? Gabe, yeah. But he was really cool and stuff, funny, great dancer, hot, everything. And he kept giving me shots left and right, and like, I was like, ‘Fuck it’, so I took them, and--”
“Fucking breathe, Bren,” Ryan interrupts. “And move tilt your head up a little more.”
“Right,” Brendon says, taking a long, shuddering breath. “So, like, next thing I know, we’re grinding all over the place and Gabe asked me to come back to his apartment. So I was drunk and I said yes and… next thing I know, we’re both naked on the bed, and I come to my senses. And I realize I’m about to have sex with a random stranger and he doesn’t even have a condom on, Ryan! So I told him to stop and he was like, telling me I wanted it and shit. And then I’m punching him and running down the street.”
“So how’d you get the black eye?” Ryan asks, too curious to reply to anything Brendon told him.
“He fought back at first, but I hit him hard enough he fell off the bed at one point, so then I ran.”
Ryan smiles despite the situation. “You’re so stupid. Why are you my best friend?”
“The question should be: why are you mine?” Ryan chuckles a bit, but it disappears when he looks at Brendon and realizes his eyes are glossed over, tears threatening to fall.
“Bren?” Ryan says as he reaches out to touch his friend.
“I was so fucking scared, Ryan,” Brendon whispers. “Like, I know I do random fucks here and there but for some reason I just didn’t want it.. And it’s not like any of my random fucks try to rape me.” Ryan watches his friend, gasping a little when he sees Brendon start to shake. “I just didn’t want it…”
“Oh, Bren,” Ryan whispers, hooking an arm around Brendon’s waist and pulling the boy onto his lap. “You’re okay, Bren.”
“I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of it,” Brendon sighs, tears bunching up at the corner of his mouth.
“Because you were scared,” Ryan tells him. “Rape is a scary thing, you know that.”
The two sat in somewhat of a silence for a few minutes, the only sound being Brendon’s gasp for air between his tears. Eventually the shaken man calmed down, breathing in deep and burying his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck.
“Ryan?” Brendon says quietly, breaking the sad silence.
“Yeah, Bren?” Ryan replies into Brendon’s hair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Bren. Always.”
___________________________________
The next morning, Ryan wakes up and smiles when he realizes Brendon fell asleep on his chest the night before, arms wrapped tight around him.
“Bren,” Ryan whispers, shaking him lightly. “Wake up.”
“Nyrgh,” Brendon replies sleepily. Ryan laughs.
“Get up, asshole.”
“What time is it?” asks Brendon.
“12:32,” Ryan replies. “Now get up. You drooled on me, you bitch.”
Brendon laughs and sits up, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Ryan gazes at Brendon in a slightly loving manner as he retreats to the kitchen, taking in his swollen lips and the way his shirt rides up his side a little bit. Ryan resists the urge to mutter a “beautiful’.
“When’s the last time you got groceries?” Brendon asks with mild amusement at the fact that all they had in their cabinets was empty cereal boxes and a half-gone loaf of bread.
“Hey,” Ryan says accusingly, holding his hands up. “I’m not the only one living in this apartment, feel free to do the grocery shopping for or with me.”
“Whatever, Ross,” Brendon says, smiling and throwing some Fruit Loops at him.
___________________________________
Ryan wakes up sometime early in the morning, not even remembering having fallen asleep. He lifts his head up from his pillow and takes a look at his alarm clock.
4:22 AM.
He decides to get up and see if Brendon is in. It had been a few weeks since the whole almost-raped incident, but even so it wasn’t unusual for Ryan to wake up in the middle of the night and find Brendon’s usual:
Ry,
I’m out for the night. Don’t worry, and don’t wait up. ♥
xo Bren.
on the counter.
Ryan opens Brendon’s door slowly, peeking his head in and rolling his eyes when he doesn’t see Brendon in the bed. It’s not like Ryan cared if Brendon partied, but Ryan was trying to keep a tight budget so he could buy new furniture for the apartment.
Somewhat awake, Ryan trudges into the kitchen after his stomach growls, pouring some of the cereal Brendon bought as a joke about their grocery banter the few weeks before. He stirs it in silence and only looks up when he hears a pair of keys jangling in the door.
Brendon.
Brendon stumbles in the door, clumsy as always.
“Drunk, much?” Ryan says sarcastically about Brendon’s antics.
Brendon laughs. “No, actually. Just happy. And clumsy.”
“Why?” Ryan says, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Get laid or something?”
“Har-har,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes. “And no. I…you know Gabe? From the club?”
“What the fuck did he do to you?” Ryan growls, immediately on edge.
“No, no!” Brendon throws his hands up and shakes his head in attempt to keep Ryan from getting angry. “He didn’t do anything. Except, well, he apologized. Said he was really drunk and wouldn’t do that under ‘sober circumstances’, as he put it.”
“So what?” Ryan says angrily. “You’re just goody-goody with a guy who almost raped you a few weeks ago? Who could’ve had God knows what disease lurking around in his fucking cum?”
Brendon’s discomfort was apparent as Ryan’s voice continued to grow louder, the scowl on his face slightly larger.
“I-- he’s a really great guy, Ryan, honest. I really think we have something with potential,” Brendon offers weakly.
“Whatever, Brendon,” Ryan sighs. “Great guys don‘t get smashed and then try to force their dick up some unwilling guy‘s ass. Just go to bed.”
___________________________________
Over the course of the next few months of Brendon and Gabe‘s whatever, Ryan tries not to notice the bruises on Brendon’s arms and torso.
He tries even harder not to realize the way Brendon limps every time he gets home from visiting Gabe (it wouldn’t bother Ryan so much if he felt like it was only a limp from good sex).
But what he tries the hardest not to realize is the way Brendon’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.
___________________________________
It’s one rainy day in Las Vegas when Ryan decides to ask Brendon if Gabe is hurting him.
“Does he hit you?” Ryan asks quietly, not taking his eyes off of the movie playing in front of him. It had been about five months since Brendon told Ryan he and Gabe were in some sort of relationship, and over that course of time Ryan lost track of the Brendon he thought he knew at one point.
“What?” Brendon says, snapping his head up.
“Gabe,” Ryan answers coolly. “Does he hit you?”
“I can’t even believe you’re asking this right now,” Brendon breathes out as he laughs. Ryan really can’t tell if Brendon is amused, shocked, nervous, or a mix of the three. “I told you Gabe was a great guy.”
“Being a ‘great guy’ has fucking shit to do with it, goddamnit,” Ryan replies sharply, eyes narrowing even though he still wasn’t looking at Brendon.
“I--” Brendon begins, only to be cut off.
“No, you know what?” Ryan cuts in, finally looking at Brendon. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation because I know I’ll be lied to, even if I’ve seen the bruises and your pathetic fucking limp.” Brendon flinches slightly, but Ryan continues. “And I know he hits you, and I know he’s not a good guy.”
Brendon stays silent and wonders if Ryan was done with his rant. But even if he was, Brendon wouldn’t know what to say back because Ryan was right.
“And as far as you go?” Ryan says with venom in his tone. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“So I hook up with one fucking guy you don’t like, and this is it? Our friendship is over?” Brendon replies, throwing his hands up in the air in a mix of anger and frustration.
“You’re always going to be my best friend, Bren, and I’m not fucking angry because I don’t like Gabe.” Ryan takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m angry because you can’t be fucking honest with me anymore.”
Brendon narrows his eyes in disbelief. “What do you mean, I’m not honest? I’ve been honest with you since the day we became best friends.”
“Right, and honesty is such a hard thing to rid yourself of,” Ryan replies sarcastically.
“Fuck you, Ryan, seriously,” Brendon says incredulously.
“Fine,” Ryan says. “Get the fuck out of my house, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
___________________________________
Ryan is looking through this old photo album he and Brendon made when they first moved into the two-bedroom apartment. It’s filled with pictures of the two moving boxes, laughing, smiling, hooking up their TV, and things of the like.
Ryan keeps flipping through, but his motions slow when he comes to the more intimate side of the book. He then sees pictures his friend Tom took of the pair the night Ryan’s father died. He really didn’t even remember Tom taking these, let alone allowing him to.
There’s one particular picture in the middle of one of the pages. In it Ryan is being enveloped by Brendon in a hug, and it looks like Brendon is whispering something in Ryan’s ear. Words of comfort, probably. Brendon was good at those. A few tear stains are visible on the red shirt Brendon was wearing at the time of the picture.
Ryan realizes then how much he loves, and needs, Brendon.
___________________________________
Ryan seems to be finding it harder and harder as the weeks passed to have no contact with Brendon. No phone calls, text messages, or visits to the house. Nothing. He knows he was a bit harsh, but he didn’t really mean for Brendon to take everything seriously and up and leave.
“Fuck,” Ryan sighs, finally giving in and picking up his cell phone. He holds down the ‘1’ button on his speed dial and presses the phone to his ear.
“Hey, it’s Brendon. I’m probably ignoring you, so leave a message that I probably won’t listen to. Peace out.”
Ryan laughs at the familiar voicemail, but clears his throat when he hears a soft ‘beep’ and says, “Hey, Bren. Um, it’s Ryan and… just, fuck it, look. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to take shit so seriously. It’s been, like, two months since we’ve seen each other or even fucking communicated. I don’t know where you are or if you’re hurt or what, but just… please. Call me back. I miss you, Bren. And I really fucking want to talk to you, because…I‘ve realized some stuff over the past few months. I fucking love you, Brendon. You‘re my everything an--”
“Fuck!” Ryan yells when the automated voice cuts into his message, telling him the length of the voicemail had been exceeded and that it was now sending.
Ryan hangs up the phone and plops down on his couch, chunking the device against the coffee table and falling asleep.
___________________________________
353 miles away, Brendon smiles sadly at the sound of his ex-best friend’s voice as he lays in his and his husband's new bed in their new apartment, beaten and bruised, quietly letting a few tears escape as he says, “Please don’t hate me, Ryan.”
And 353 miles away, Ryan realizes that he still fucking can’t.
___________________________________