03: The Balancing Act
Ryan was not entirely sure what had caused this to happen, but he was certain he would need to have his shoulder looked at. He glared slightly at the back of Brendon’s head as he was once more dragged into another store. He looked around, his face instantly going blank, when he realized they were in a leather shop. Brendon eagerly dragged him to one of the displays and pulled out a leather jacket, tossing it to him.
Brendon on the other hand, was attempting desperately to restrain himself from buying things only for himself. He had decided that after seeing Ryan in such a state, that he needed to do everything in his power to cheer him up. He wasn’t entirely sure where the idea of getting him a completely new wardrobe came from, but he had dragged Ryan to over twenty different clothing stores, trying to find some new clothing for the younger man.
After the leather shop, Brendon had managed to drag Ryan out of the store by the collar of his shirt. Ryan would protest, saying: “Do we have to go into another store?” or things like it. Brendon would just roll his eyes, assuring that he would have fun and he wouldn’t stop until he found something to buy for him.
While the two men wandered the town, the coldness of winter started biting through. They both wore their circus jackets, and it was a wonder they weren’t getting swarmed by fan girls as usual. They’d gotten stopped in a store a few hours back, but it was nothing more than a handshake and congratulations.
They came to a corner and waited, Brendon practically bouncing in place, while Ryan stared at the large amount of bags they had manage to accumulate. He was uncertain if they were actually going to be able to carry everything back. Suddenly he was being jerked forward, and he looked up to see Brendon eagerly pulling him across the street.
There were too many people everywhere; Ryan could hardly even see where he was going. Brendon’s hand was gripped onto his jacket, tugging on his sleeve as they walked side by side across the street. Obviously Brendon hadn’t stopped to check where he was walking, because cars were zooming all around them; sounds of wiped wind soaring past Ryan’s ears.
Brendon looked up; a large yellow bus straight in his line of vision, heading straight for them. Acting purely on instinct as fast as possible he let go of Ryan and jumped back, saving himself. Ryan on the other hand stood there in confusion, having not noticed the moving vehicle until a mere second after. He jumped back, the bus just barley snagging onto his blue leather jacket.
Dusting himself off, Brendon let out a little laugh. Ryan on the other hand was breathing heavily from the adrenaline, checking to see if he could fix the rip in his sleeve. “Whew!” Brendon said, starting to continue walking back across the street, glad that he was alright. “That was close!”
Ryan looked down at his torn jacket, blinking a little. He turned his arm over and stared at the small spots of blood he could see, noting he had managed to get a rather shallow scratch. He turned to Brendon and stared for a moment. Then, he exploded.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Ryan screamed, his throat rapidly turning sore as he screamed, “I could’ve fucking died!” he threw the bags of clothing he had been carrying at Brendon and snarled, “Go shopping Brendon, I’m going home.”
Ryan spun on his heel and stalked away. Brendon blinked in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He looked down at the mess of bags by his feet and wondered if he was really expected to carry this all back to the tent himself.
Still hardly able to comprehend what had happened, Brendon dragged the rest of the bags onto the side walk. With a puzzled look on his face he sat down, sprawling his legs onto the road where he wouldn’t be hit. He really had no idea what had gone wrong there, other than the fact that he had brought him into traffic? That wasn’t entirely his fault, how else would he cross the street?
At a loss for options, Brendon dug into his pocket and pulled out his new cell phone. It was black, bulky but small enough to fit in his hand. He flipped it open and pressing one of the speed dialled numbers. After listening to several annoying rings someone picked up the phone.
“Hello?” they asked.
“Hey. Blake?” Brendon responded. “It’s Flame.”
“Oh, what’s wrong?”
Brendon paused, trying to shuffle the bags. The noise probably could be heard through the phone, along with the zoom of cars. Looking off in the distance he could just barley see Ryan sharply turning a corner and going out into the shadows.
“Wanna come pick me up?” he asked. “Aquarius just took off on me, so I’m sorta stranded with a million bags here.”
Blake shuffled, or as much as you could on a telephone, before agreeing. Brendon was pretty sure that he hadn’t been said “no” to by anyone except Ryan in a really long time by now. He told Blake where he was and hung up, watching the cars drive by. Many people inside stared at him before Brendon got annoyed and got to his feet.
There were posters of him everywhere: in store windows, on lamp posts. All promoting the new tour they were unleashing, starting off in a month or so. Brendon really didn’t notice, but he was really excited for millions of people in other areas to finally see him. He started getting tired of the same Las Vegas faces time after time.
Brendon shuffled the bags once more, looking completely annoyed. Several minutes later, he looked up and grinned at the sight of Blake’s Hummer. It was black, a startling contrast to his own corvette, but he didn’t actually care. Blake climbed out of the vehicle and helped him pull all the bags into the back, all the while muttering about Aquarius needing to have a talking to.
“Well, that’s it,” said Blake as he helped him into the passenger side of the vehicle, “Let’s get you back home, hmm?”
******
Brendon looked at the pile of bags and decided to just leave them for the time being. He had sorted out his own things, but was not certain if he should approach Ryan yet. He ran a tired hand over his eyes, wondering if Ryan would even be up to doing his makeup for that night.
There was still a few hours yet until the show, and Brendon seemed to need it more than ever. Those watchful eyes, staring at him with amusement as if he was possibly the most amazing thing they’d ever seen in their life time. And for some of them, Brendon knew he more than likely was. How often was it to run into someone with the power to manipulate fire?
Lately he’d also been noticing another power he had. The incident with the cop hadn’t been the first time he’d let out a mist. Well, this was the first time it had been visible at least. He’d often found himself in situations where he was longing to be center of attention, when all of a sudden everyone would be coming over to him; especially at parties.
Glancing at the bags, Brendon hesitantly picked one up and clicked off his stereo playing Daft Punk. All the throbbing base lines in the room came to a halt, the room falling suddenly silent. It was sort of eerie for a second until Brendon finally got his thoughts back into one place. He genuinely wanted to understand why Ryan had been so upset with him.
Brendon sighed and looked at the other bags for a moment before leaning over and picking up a few of them. He figured Ryan would come and get the rest afterwards. He left his room, nodding at several people as he walked the few steps to Ryan’s tent. He knocked with his foot, unable to move his hands at the moment. Brendon frowned as he heard music blaring in the tent and wondered why Ryan was listening to such depressive music.
After several seconds, Brendon rolled his eyes and dropped the bags by the door. He reached out and opened the door, only to let out a shrill sound of terror. People rushed to him and paled at the sight before them. There were yells for an ambulance and people trying to get Brendon to leave the room. Brendon exploded, literally. Fire spread rapidly, shoving everyone away from him before he stumbled into the room and fell to his knees in a pool of blood beside Ryan’s head.
He’d thought the sight from the night before was terrifying, but this was twice as terrifying. He rolled Ryan onto his back, taking in the deep gashes that ran down his arms and across his bare chest. Brendon swallowed with difficulty, nervously reaching out to his neck. After a few seconds of fumbling, Brendon relaxed ever so slightly, relief filling him at the feel of the weak pulse beneath his fingers.
*****
It was nerve racking, was what it was. Brendon sat in the hospital room, ringing his hands together as he stared at the pale face of innocence. There he was, bruised and broken from something so stupid Brendon had done. Really, he still didn’t know what he had done but he wasn’t about to own up to it any time soon. He still felt guilty, though.
His fingers were wrapped nervously around a crumpled note; Brendon had found it in Ryan’s room just as the paramedics were taking him away. He’d read it over and over again, each time making him wonder whether or not he should leave. Each word had obviously had been scrawled out so carefully with blue ink, Brendon knew he meant it.
Picking it up he read it over for the millionth time. In the middle of the torn loose leaf was an obviously written: Now I know how you feel, Goodbye. Brendon traced his fingers over it, still trying to figure out the erased message underneath. It had been some sort of proclamation; an I hate you by the appearances, but the word hate was rather contorted. Clearly erased and rewritten so many times that it was hardly visible now.
Maybe Brendon shouldn’t be there. Ryan clearly didn’t want to know him anymore, thinking they hated each other. It was far from that in Brendon’s mind; all in all he cared about the poor kid. Maybe he should just leave him alone and let him try and live his life without such hassle; another act of selflessness, something that was rare to everyone (with the clear exception of Ryan Ross).
Getting out of that rickety wooden chair was hard; Brendon had been sitting there for at least twenty four hours straight now. He might have gotten up once or twice to use the washroom. He was pretty sure that he hadn’t eaten either; all he had done was think and think and think until his head pleaded him to stop. He supposed it was because he didn’t think too often.
After at least five minutes of a slow and hesitant walk Brendon reached the door. He grabbed the knob, looking back at Ryan with watered eyes. He choked down the tears and wrenched the door open, shutting it again with as much ease as he could. But as he stood there he couldn’t let himself move; Brendon just stood beside the door, trying to fight the urge to go back inside.
Back in the room, eyes slowly fluttered open. Darting around the room, they quickly came to the conclusion they were not dead. Letting out an agonized grown, Ryan sat up slowly. Or attempted to, but as he was strapped to the bed, it was an impossible feat. Ryan looked down at his bandaged chest and arms before letting out a sigh of annoyance.
Ryan looked around the hospital room, wondering if there had been anyone who had bothered to stay with him. He snorted with bitter anger, deciding that everyone would’ve been more interested in making sure Brendon was ready for his show then anything else. Ryan wiggled his fingers and realized there was a button there. He shrugged slightly and pressed it.
Several seconds later, a doctor and a nurse entered his room, looking relieved to see him conscious. They moved and started checking him, asking him several hundred questions and generally trying to discover why he would be willing to throw away his life. He answered all their questions in a monotone before they finally released him from the bed, telling him it was more to prevent him from moving in his sleep and opening the stitches.
As they left, the doctor turned to someone by the door, “You can go in, he’s awake.”
Ryan was baffled by this and sat up slowly, ignoring the bout of dizziness his movements caused, before turning to look curiously at the door. He secretly hoped it would be Brendon standing there, but knew better then to allow himself to expect it. He tried to see around the door, but he was incapable of it, causing him to huff slightly out of annoyance.
On the other side, Brendon’s heart wrenched. Shouldn’t he leave? Ryan didn’t want to see him; it was obvious by the note. He leaned his back against the wall and tried to breathe slowly, wondering why he cared so much. The younger man had no one else so maybe that was why. Yes, that was definitely the case.
Finally Brendon pushed himself off of the wall, the note still crumpled in his palms. He was sure that the sweat from his hands was probably ruining some of the ink, but he still remembered what it said. He gave it another glance before stepping through the open door, his head down for the first few seconds. Once he looked up though, his thoughts were gone.
Bursting to a small run Brendon shot to Ryan’s side, making him jump slightly. He slid into the rigid wooden chair again and pulled up beside him, mumbling so many words at once. It took him several minutes to form a full sentence, coming out as: “I - How are y - Why di - Are y - I um - Do you want.” and then finally concluding with “I’m so - I’m so glad you’re - awake.”
Ryan stared in surprise at Brendon, not actually remembering him ever seeming so nervous. He frowned and turned his eyes to the small clock the hung over the wall and realized the other man had two hours until his show. He frowned, wondering if maybe he should show him how to do some of his makeup, at least enough so he could do his show.
He noted Brendon was clenching something in his hand, and was curious as to what it was. He reached down, ignoring the way his stitches tugged at his skin. Brendon tried pulling his hand away, but Ryan had the advantage of long fingers. They wrapped gently around Brendon’s wrist before he worked the note from his fingers. He paled slightly when he realized Brendon had been the one to find the note.
Both of their hearts leapt as Ryan read the note over again, checking to see if what he had written was a dream. Brendon swallowed down nothing but a lump of awkward as he played with his hair. There was a moment of silence, while Ryan somewhat regretted taking that note from him. There was a rather obvious I love you that he had written, and from Brendon’s paled face it was obvious he had read it.
“Why’d you write it?” Brendon asked, “The part at… the bottom,” he sounded almost as if he was dreading the answer. If Ryan hated him, Brendon wasn’t completely sure what he would feel.
Ryan looked at Brendon blinked, before deciding to deny it until Brendon explained what he was talking about, properly, “What are you talking about, there isn’t anything there, Brendon,” Ryan mostly stated, though he had a feeling denying it wouldn’t actually work all that well.
Staring in disbelief, Brendon pulled the note back and looking at it, he pointed, “Yes there is, right here!”
“Right where, Brendon? I don’t see anything.”
Brendon’s eyes narrowed suddenly, making Ryan rather nervous, before he suddenly snarled out, “The fucking “I hate you” at the bottom of the page, Aquarius Cylens, don’t be so dense!”
Ryan paled rapidly, almost enough to make Brendon think he was about to slump over into a dark abyss and leave him fretting over his friend again, “It doesn’t say ‘hate’, Brendon,” Ryan stated softly, “And… and it’s not aimed at you, ok?” he said, stuttering slightly as he lied.
Paling a bit more, Brendon started playing with his hair again. Quite obviously his mind would jump to that simple fact: everything was about him. There was another silence between them, Brendon only letting out a small “Oh,” in between. He leaned back in the chair, his hand absently placing itself on top of Ryan’s. “I’m glad…” he said quietly, staring off.
That was, until the doctor came back in and Brendon’s senses came back. Ryan’s heart was beating so fast, wondering why on earth he was even touching him after what happened. The clammy half-bandaged hand held by Brendon’s terribly warm soft one. But it was gone quickly as the door was opened, Brendon jumping away in realization. Where the hell had that even come from?
A doctor entered the room, looking at the two of them, before looking straight at Ryan. He explained that the younger man could leave in the morning, though he was going to need to be watched for awhile. He needed to be in the hospital for another night, because they wanted to make sure he was alright. He was then lectured on the fact that if it had not been for Brendon, he would be dead, as he had lost that much blood. Ryan glared slightly at the doctor as he tried to make him feel bad for trying to kill himself, but it wasn’t something he regretted. He might regret upsetting Brendon a bit, but he truly believed being dead was better for everyone, including himself.
The doctor left, after giving Brendon instructions to call for help if his friend tried to leave the room. Brendon nodded and turned back to Ryan, noting instantly that he did not look guilty at all. He frowned in confusion over this, wondering why, since Ryan got guilty if he messed up his makeup, even the slightest bit.
Moving back to his seat, Brendon sat down and looked at Ryan, “Can… can you explain the rest of the note?”
Ryan blinked slightly before he looked down at it. He flushed and crumpled it in his fingers, slightly nervous. He did not want to tell Brendon it was basically his fault that he was here at that moment, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it. He looked at his friend and shook his head, refusing to speak.
Thinking about it, Brendon had realized the question might have been too blunt at this point. All in all he wanted to know, he just was unsure of how to go about it. He glanced up at Ryan, hoping to forget about the fact that he had just held the younger mans hand. After all it was only for comfort right? Right.
“Um…” Brendon said, eyes lingering down to the note in Ryan’s hand. He wanted to rephrase what he said, but he wasn’t sure how to go about doing it. “Were you talking about me? Now I know how you feel…” Brendon quoted, having read the note so many times he didn’t need to even look at it again; though he still wanted to.
Unfolding the note carefully, Ryan looked at it, before biting his lip. He looked at Brendon and nodded slowly, seeing no use in denying that part. He folded the note together and tossed it away from him, watching as Brendon caught it and opened it.
“What do you mean by it, Ryan?” Brendon asked, reading the note over again. He looked up, looking confused.
Ryan shrugged, not wanting to explain. He looked at the clock, “I should probably show you how to do your makeup before you leave, or you’ll never be ready for your show,” he said softly, his voice quieter then it had been in years.
“I’m not going.”
Eyes wide in shock, Ryan stared up at Brendon. Never had he missed a show, not even when he was sick; so why was he about to give that up after so many long years? Brendon wasn’t even sure; he just knew it was the right thing to do. He glanced at the clock too, wringing his hands in his lap again before nervously playing with his hair. “Ah, fuck em, they can deal without The Flame for one lousy day.” He said with a small smile, looking back at Ryan. “Are you alright?”
Ryan nodded slowly, as he lifted her fingers to his lips and nervously began to chew on his nails. It was a bad habit he had been forced to break when he was younger, but it was also a bad habit that had a tendency to show up when he was nervous. Brendon reached over and pulled his hand away and held onto it. He looked at his friend, noting how he seemed extremely small and useless in the bed, almost as though he was 12.
“Ryan, what did you mean by what you wrote?” Brendon asked, knowing that the more he asked, the sooner Ryan would give in and tell him, especially since he was more then aware of how his younger friend hated being asked questions repeatedly.
Ryan looked at Brendon and then at the note, wondering if he should explain. He sighed and looked down at his sheets, nervously twisting them in his fingers, “I was almost killed by that bus… and all you did was let go…”
Brendon automatically let go, just as Ryan had said he did. He leaned back in his chair, guilt lingering in his eyes before an odd smile crept across his lips for only two seconds. He wasn’t sure why he did until he finally opened his mouth to speak. “I knew it had to be something I did,” he said, sounding somewhat amused (or hysterical). “I didn’t… I dunno…” Thinking, he tried to come up with an excuse. There wasn’t much of one though in his head he didn’t see much wrong with the situation. “I dunno, it was… instinct,”
Ryan shrugged lightly and settled back into the bed, rolling onto his side and staring silently at Brendon. Brendon arched an eyebrow slightly before shrugging. He toed off his shoes and climbed into the bed, lying on his side. He looked at Ryan as Ryan stared back silently. Ryan looked away first and looked across the room.
“You should call, Blake,” he said silently, “So he doesn’t worry…”
Reaching into his pants pocket, Brendon pulled out his cell phone and indicated it to Ryan. He raised an eyebrow before chucking it over his shoulder, letting it fly noisily onto the floor. “Fuck him.” He said truthfully, pulling Ryan so that his head was lying gently against Brendon’s chest. Ryan felt his arms wrap around his tiny body so delicately, he knew Brendon was afraid he’d break. They remained silent for a while, both thinking a million things at once.