Let Each Who is Worthy Part 7

[moku_youbi]

They’ve rehearsed until Brendon complained his throat hurt and they’re crowded on the sofa watching Evil Dead when there’s a knock at the door. There’s a lot of grumbling all around before Jon finally gets up to get it.

“Oh,” he says, when he sees one of Brendon’s companions-he never learned their names. “What’s up?”

“Is Brendon here?” the guy asks. “I thought he’s been hanging out a lot.”

Jon looks over his shoulder and Brendon has moved out of Ryan’s arms and is sitting, back painfully straight, on the edge of the sofa. “Elder Link,” he says stiffly. He goes to the door, standing alongside Jon. “What’s going on?”

“Brother Fry called, from church? His daughter, Anna, is in the hospital and they were asking if you could meet them there,” Link says, and Jon doesn’t really like these guys, but he seems sorry to have to tell Brendon this.

Brendon’s whole face falls and Jon wants to put an arm around him, but he doesn’t know what’s okay in front of this guy. “Is she alright?” Brendon asks. “What happened? Is she going to be okay?”

Link shakes his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just asked that you come.” He holds out a piece of paper something written on it. “This is the hospital and room number.”

“That’s about forty minutes by train,” Jon says. “I’ll drive you.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ryan says, already running around to get on his shoes and find his coat.

“Guys,” Brendon says, “I don’t think that’s…” He stops suddenly and Jon knows all the protests he was going to make, about how these are people from church, and what they’ll think when they see Brendon with these strangers. But then Brendon’s shoulders sag and he says, “Please, yes.”

Brendon is silent the entire ride, his leg jiggling anxiously and Ryan holds his hand in a death grip when they walk into the hospital and ask for Anna Fry. Her room is in the recovery wing, so Jon figures that has to be a good sign.

Mr. and Mrs. Fry look young and frightened and when they see Brendon they both give him big hugs. “Are these your companions?” Mrs. Fry asks, looking over Jon, Spencer and Ryan.

“No, they’re. They’re my friends,” Brendon says. Neither of the Frys seem to think this is strange and some of the tension goes out of Brendon’s posture. “What happened? Elder Link didn’t know.”

Mr. Fry sighs and buries his face in his hands. Mrs. Fry bites her lip and she’s so pale when she says, “She took a bottle of pain killers. We were out for the evening. Jason found her and called the ambulance and they had to pump her stomach. She’s awake now, but she won’t tell us why.”

“We know you spoke to her a few times,” Mr. Fry says. “We were hoping you could talk to her now. Try to figure out what happened.”

“I don’t think I…” Brendon begins, but he looks at their faces and his shoulders slump entirely. “I’ll try,” he says.

Ryan obviously doesn’t want to let Brendon go alone, but he lets Spencer drag him to a chair in the waiting room. They watch CNN on mute for forty-five minutes, the first thirty of which Brendon is alone with Anna, the last fifteen after he calls Anna’s parents in to join them.

When Brendon comes back out alone, he looks even worse than when he went in, eyes rimmed in red, face wan. “I wanna go home,” he says, and doesn’t talk until they’re back at the apartment. Jon makes hot chocolate and Ryan wraps Brendon up in his arms and legs like a blanket and they wait.

“She asked for my help weeks ago,” Brendon whispers. “It was before we…” He shakes his head. “I was still on my meds and she asked for my advice about being gay and I told her that it was wrong and she had to ask God for guidance and she could never act on it.”

Brendon laughs, and there’s no humour in it and Jon shares a look with Spencer and Ryan and that they’re just as worried as he is. “She said…she said it was obvious that I was gay and I was a hypocrite and I…I knew she was right, but I swore I’d never act on it, so I left and I stopped going back.

“She. The girl she likes-loves-she’s just been engaged and Anna didn’t have anyone to talk to because I acted like a child instead of helping her when I could have and I…” He pauses, wiping furiously at his cheeks. There are no tears, but his eyes are red and his skin pale.

“You know, she said she couldn’t lie about it any more. That she had to tell her parents and they said they didn’t care about things like that, that she was more important to them than what the Church thinks and they loved her no matter what and I thought, even after how much I fucked up with her, I was still envious of her, because my parents will never accept me.”

“Brendon,” Ryan whispers and Jon thinks tell him you love him, you asshole, but Ryan just hugs him tighter. “We’ll always be here for you. We’ll always accept you, no matter what happens.”

Jon thinks that’s the end of it. He thinks this whole thing has only made Brendon more determined never to tell his parents about quitting his mission and sleeping with a guy and making a choice to go away for college.

But it’s Friday afternoon and Spencer has classes until six and Ryan’s working his job at the café. Brendon usually comes straight home after finishing at Starbucks, usually around two in the afternoon, but it’s closer to four when he finally comes through the door and Jon’s off the couch in a second, because Brendon looks wrecked.

“What?” Jon asks desperately, hugging Brendon close. “What is it, Brendon?”

Brendon shakes his head, tears falling silently down his face and Jon ushers him over to the couch and leaves only for a second to get a box of tissues. “Brendon, what happened?”

“I-” he has to stop, shaken by a new wave of tears.

“Is it something with Anna?” Jon asks, because he knows about suicidal friends and how even if everything seems okay one minute it can all go to hell the next.

“No,” Brendon says, and shakes his head again, fiercely. “No.” He takes a deep breath and it’s all shaky when he lets it out, hiccoughing. The tears stop abruptly, but Jon can tell they aren’t finished.

When Brendon opens his mouth again, he’s calmer, just slightly, but his words keep skipping and stuttering. “I called my parents, when I got home from work today.”

All the times Jon and Spencer insisted that Brendon should tell his parents eventually, and all Brendon’s vehement protests suddenly make sense. Jon had hoped Brendon was wrong about his parents’ reaction, but it’s obvious that he wasn’t.

“What happened, Brendon?” Jon asks. He rubs his hand over Brendon’s back in a circle like his mother used to, when he was younger and couldn’t sleep.

“I didn’t mean to tell them everything. I just wanted to tell them that I couldn’t do the mission any more and that I’d found a job and I planned on staying here,” Brendon says, the words coming out in a jumbled rush.

“I wasn’t going to tell them about the band yet, or Ryan, because I knew how that would go, but my mother got so upset, saying I wasn’t the son she’d raised any more and my father said I had to go to the bishop right now and tell him what I’d done and ask for his council and accept whatever punishment they gave me, and until I did that and finished my mission, I wasn’t welcome home, and I…”

Brendon stops and the tears start leaking again, slower. There’s a helpless misery on Brendon’s face and Jon doesn’t know how to make it better. “I told them if I confessed to the bishop everything I’d done, there was no way I’d be allowed to finish my mission, because I was…I was sleeping with another guy, and they…” He shakes Jon’s arms forcefully.

“I didn’t mean to, I was so hurt and I wanted to hurt them as badly as they’d hurt me, and I knew the second I said it that I couldn’t take it back and my mother just started sobbing and my father said he never wanted to hear my voice again and he hung up.

“I tried calling back and no one would answer and finally, after the sixth time I tried it was my brother and he wasn’t mean but his voice…I’ve never heard him sound like that. He said I probably shouldn’t try calling back and that dad was going to call the mission house here and tell them and they were going to kick me out of the apartment.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say in the face of all of this, so he just pets Brendon’s hair and waits when the tears start anew. Brendon goes through half the box of tissues and Jon wonders if he should try to call Ryan, or something, because Brendon needs better comfort than Jon is allowed to give without stepping over boundaries.

“I can go get your stuff for you,” Jon says. “You don’t have to see anyone from the church or anything. I can get your stuff and bring it here and you never have to deal with that again.”

“Jon,” Brendon says, his face red, the neckline of his shirt damp with tears. “Jon, please.” He holds out his arms for a hug and Jon wraps Brendon up, drawing him close and tight, and he doesn’t know how it happens, but one minute he’s stroking Brendon’s hair back and brushing tears off his face, and the next they’re kissing.

It’s just a peck at first, something innocent that can be shrugged off and forgotten easily enough. It’s just closed mouth to closed mouth, a little wet from Brendon’s tears. Then Brendon whimpers and tilts his chin and opens his mouth over Jon’s, hungry and desperate. “Jon,” he pants, “please.”

Jon isn’t strong enough to say no to that. He hauls Brendon closer, half in his lap and Brendon spreads his legs to straddle him. They kiss fast and sloppy, one kiss bleeding into the next and Brendon’s stopped crying and his hands are fixed in Jon’s hair twisting and tugging.

“Jon,” Brendon says, pulling back just enough so their eyes can meet without crossing. His lips are red and swollen and his gaze flicks over Jon’s face. “Will you fuck me?” he asks.

“Jesus, Brendon,” Jon breathes, hands clenching in the back of his t-shirt. “Fuck. Come on.” Brendon follows him into the study, the futon still unmade from where Spencer woke him up this morning with a lazy blowjob and Jon isn’t sure he can do this.

Then Brendon slips out of his t-shirt, shoving his jeans and briefs to the floor and he’s naked and just starting to get hard and he’s gorgeous. He lies back on the bed, spreading his legs and Jon is halfway out of his own clothes before he has time to think about it.

Jon slides onto the bed between Brendon’s thighs, pressing him back into the pillow with kisses. There’s still a string of condoms and lube under the pillow from last night and Jon squeezes some lube on his fingers, rubbing to get it warm. He reaches between them, giving Brendon’s cock a few strokes.

Brendon turns his head out of the kiss and says, “Just fuck me, Jon. Please, I’ve wanted you…I’ve wanted you since that day you gave me a ride.”

Jon almost asks, What about Ryan, and it’s pure selfishness that keeps him from doing it. He’s Ryan’s friend and he loves him, but he loves Brendon too, and he’s wanted this probably as long as Brendon has.

Instead of saying anything, he reaches lower, feeling his way to Brendon’s hole and pushing two slick fingers inside. Brendon arches his back off the bed, baring the long column of his throat and all the beautiful, pale skin of his chest.

Jon lowers his mouth, tracing his tongue down Brendon’s neck and over his collarbone and it isn’t until it’s too late and there’s already a mark that he realises he’s been sucking the same place.

Brendon works his hips back onto Jon’s fingers and says, “I’m ready, Jon, please,” and Brendon feels tight and Jon doesn’t want to hurt him, but Brendon’s eyes are wide and imploring and the way he catches his bottom lip between his teeth makes Jon want to do all sorts of dirty things.

“Yeah,” Jon breathes, and fumbles a condom on, fingers shaking. He’s aware of Brendon’s eyes, heavily lidded, following his movements and there’s something sexy about that.

“Come on, Jon,” Brendon whispers, drawing a toe up the back of Jon’s calf. Jon sinks between Brendon’s thighs, lining up and pushing in. Brendon whimpers, and he digs what Jon is sure will be bright red welts down Jon’s back and cups his ass. “Fuck me.”

Jon shoves in the last little distance, hard and Brendon whimpers his approval and all the little sounds Jon’s heard through the walls, he’s allowed to hear them firsthand. He’s the fucking reason for them. That thought alone spurs him into action, setting a fast, hard pace.

Brendon keeps begging for it harder and faster and as hard and fast as Jon can manage doesn’t seem enough. He pulls out and Brendon cries out in protest, trying to tug Jon back in with hands and legs. “Get up on your hands and knees,” Jon says and Brendon scrambles to do as he’s told.

Jon has fantasies about Brendon’s ass. He takes his time with it now, running his hand over the swell of the cheeks, grabbing a handful and kneading. Brendon makes a keening sound and shoves his ass back. Jon parts him and thrusts back in, fingers digging in and there will be marks. There will be no way Brendon can lie about what they’ve done.

It’s easy to give Brendon what he wants like this, Jon pulling Brendon’s hips back to meet every thrust. Brendon braces his hands on the futon frame and pushes back on Jon’s cock and the sounds he’s making, Jon can’t tell if they’re good or bad or some mixture of the two. The futon is creaking in protest and it’s obscene and Jon thinks that in all the times he imagined being with Brendon, it was never like this.

Jon reaches for Brendon’s cock but Brendon jerks away and says, “No, just like this.” Jon just fucks him harder, even though his lungs are protesting and his ankles ache from the way he’s pushing forward; he doesn’t care. He’s close, but he makes himself wait until Brendon’s there.

When Brendon comes, his entire body shudders, the long, elegant line of his back arching like a cat’s. He cries Jon’s name and Jon is only a few thrusts behind him, hips stuttering to a halt deep inside.

It’s growing dark inside the room which means it’s close to six. Spencer will be home and Jon doesn’t know how to explain this, but he knows he can’t lie to Spencer about it. Jon falls to the mattress at Brendon’s side and tugs Brendon close with an arm around his waist. Brendon is limp in his arms, muttering something under his breath.

Brendon yawns, face in Jon’s throat. Jon rubs his hands down Brendon’s back and tries to figure out what to say. He has no idea what you say in this situation. He’s not used to being a cheater and Ryan has a history of being hurt just like this.

“I have to tell them,” Jon whispers and Brendon doesn’t put up any argument. “Ryan’s never going to talk to us again.”

Brendon goes tense for a second then relaxes again. “He only ever slept with me to begin with to get back at you,” Brendon says. “He won’t care about losing me except that he lost me to you.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Jon argues. “He may have started it to get back at me, but he cares about you, Brendon.” It’s true and Jon knows it and it makes him sick to think he’s just done to Ryan what Ryan did to him. “This is going to hurt him a lot. Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” Brendon spits out, sitting up. “I-I just told my parents I’m gay. I just got disowned, Jon, and then I realised I did it because of Ryan and no matter what I feel for Ryan, no matter how much I lo-no matter what, it doesn’t matter because he was just fucking me to make you upset and I love you, Jon. I want to be with someone who loves me back.”

Jon’s worried Brendon’s going to start crying again and his anger just melts away. He gathers Brendon close again and lies back down with him.

“What about Spence?” Brendon asks, voice rising with each word. “Oh God, Jon, I didn’t even think. I never wanted-you and Spence-I didn’t mean to.”

“Brendon,” Jon says firmly. “Calm down. Okay. We’ll deal with this.” Jon thinks of Spencer telling him they’d deal with their feelings for Brendon, and he doesn’t think this is what Spencer had in mind.

“You need to get a shower and then we’ll wait until they get home and we’ll talk to them,” Jon says. Brendon nods and gets up silently. His face is so sad and resigned that Jon has to stop him, standing and taking his wrist. “Brendon,” he says, “you are with someone who cares.”

Brendon gives him a smile that’s equal parts happiness and misery and Jon kisses him, soft and slow, until his breathing calms again.

Brent sends Ryan an email, like he does sometimes, keeping him updated on Vegas, and how he’s doing at school, and how he and his girlfriend are planning on getting a place together in the summer.

Ryan writes back, answering all the small talk, and then writes, We finally found ourselves a singer. He’s pretty fucking awesome. Funny story, he’s ex-Mormon. He doesn’t think about it for another day or two until he checks his email again at the library between classes, and when he does, he just imagines it will be an I-told-you-so from Brent. What it says makes Ryan’s breath catch a little painfully in his chest.

Whatever, Brent writes, brendon was fucking awesome 2 if ud just gave him a chance.

Ryan’s fingers feel a little numb as he fumbles with his phone, but he needs a more immediate answer than what email will give him. He types out a text with a ridiculous amount of errors, demanding to know who Brendon is.

Brent answers almost immediately, and if a text can be annoyed and give the impression that it’s author is rolling his eyes, this one succeeds. brendon urie. the guy i wnt 2 skool w/idiot.

Ryan taps out his response with shaky hands, asking, Did you tell him about us? What did you tell him about us?

jesus, comes Brent’s response, wtf dude i didnt tell him shit

All through work that afternoon Ryan argues with himself over what to do. His stomach twists itself into knots as he thinks up excuses or lies he could tell. A little voice in the back of his head keeps asking, why do you even have to tell him in the first place? That makes him feel even worse.

Brendon deserves to know. There are so many things Ryan has done to Brendon that haven’t been fair, but he’s told himself he’s going to make up for each and every one of them, starting with this. This first wrong he did by Brendon, without ever knowing him.

Sometimes Brendon will stay up late, unable to sleep and Ryan will get him to talk about what’s bothering him. It is, inevitably, something to do with church. Brendon’s spoken of how difficult it was for him, when he first started doubting his religion, how he’d had no friends to help him. Ryan realises that was happening right around the time Brent met him and invited him to the audition for the band.

Ryan just wants to kick himself over missing out on Brendon’s voice for the past several years, wondering where they’d be now if he’d sent Pete their songs with Brendon singing them. But mostly he wonders how different a person Brendon would be. Would he be happier, more confident?

He calls Spencer on his break and tells him and Spencer, who at the time argued with Ryan and said they should give the kid a chance now is supportive and understanding and promises that everything will be okay.

Ryan tamps down on any feelings that inspires in him. He’s not going to fuck up with Brendon, not now, not just because he’s maybe been a little bit in love with Spencer for thirteen years and that’s done now. That opportunity is gone now. Brendon is here now.

Spencer meets him at the grocery store and helps him pick up a few things they need, as well as a block of Velveeta so they can make Brendon’s favourite pasta when they get home. Ryan buys a roll of the slice and bake cookies Brendon loves, printed with a red heart, on sale left over from Valentine’s Day, even though Spencer makes fun of him for being romantic. Brendon’s his boyfriend; Ryan’s allowed to be romantic.

Brendon and Jon are sitting on the sofa, shoulders tense, hands clasped in their laps, eyes straight ahead when Spencer and Ryan walk in the front door, juggling grocery bags. Ryan shoots Spencer an uneasy look, thinking, how could Brendon already know, and sets the bags aside nervously.

Brendon’s eyes go wide and he looks on the verge of tears. Ryan hurries over to his side. “Brendon, what is it?” he asks, half kneeling on the floor beside him. He takes Brendon’s hand and Brendon gives it, though it hangs limp in Ryan’s grip. “Brendon, what?”

“We need to talk,” Brendon says, and his eyes flick to Spencer. “All four of us.”

Spencer comes to stand at Ryan’s shoulder. “What is it?” Ryan asks, and has a hard time getting the words out, sort of irrationally terrified of what Brendon might say. Have his companions found out about them? Have Brendon’s parents?

“We…” Brendon trails off, gesturing between Jon and himself. Ryan follows the movement and furrows his brow.

“Fuck,” Spencer whispers, and he always figures things out first. Just this once Ryan would like to be not the only one left in the dark.

“What?” Ryan demands more steadily.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen,” Jon says evenly, but Ryan doesn’t take his eyes off Brendon’s face, pale and red-eyed, like he’s been crying.

“Didn’t mean for what to happen?” Ryan says between gritted teeth. Spencer touches his arm and Ryan shakes off the touch.

“Brendon was really upset,” Jon says. “I came home and-”

“Just fucking tell me!” Ryan snaps.

“We fucked,” Brendon says and Jon flinches.

Ryan’s hands release Brendon’s and Brendon’s fall back to his lap like dead weight. A sensation like ice trickles down Ryan’s spine. “I-” he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think this is very funny,” he finally says.

“We’re not joking,” Brendon sighs. Ryan’s eyes dart over Brendon, taking him in, really noticing things for the first time. Like the bruise peaking out from the collar of his shirt that Ryan knows he didn’t leave. He remembers all the marks he leaves on Brendon’s body.

It feels as though he’s been backhanded, the force of it driving him to stand too quickly. He trips over his own feet and Spencer catches him, stands him upright. There’s a look of grim determination on Spencer’s face, directed at Brendon and Jon.

“Spence,” Jon says, voice low and Spencer lets go of Ryan’s arm to go to Jon.

“I’m not angry,” Spencer says and the worst thing is that Ryan can tell he means it. Jon and Brendon have betrayed both their trust and Spencer isn’t even angry about it. He sits at Jon’s side and puts a reassuring hand on Jon’s neck.

“Oh my god,” Ryan whispers. “I can’t...” His mind is racing with all sorts of things that don’t make any sense. All he can feel is a cold, rigid fury building, threatening to say and do things that will make any sort of reconciliation impossible. Not that he wants any reconciliation.

“Ryan, please,” Brendon says, “you have to let me explain.” There’s pain on Brendon’s face and a little disbelief. Ryan thinks, wildly, did he think I wouldn’t care?

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Ryan says. His voice sounds distant, like he’s detached from his body, watching this whole thing from above. He stumbles backwards towards the door and Brendon gets to his feet.

“Ryan, you have to understand,” Brendon says urgently. “I spoke to my parents today-”

“I don’t care,” Ryan says. He keeps his voice even and cool. “You couldn’t say anything that would make this better. You spoke to your parents today and that meant you had to fuck Jon? I would have…” He feels stinging at the corners of his eyes and he can’t tell if it’s from anger, or disbelief, or something else entirely.

Brendon reaches for him and Ryan jerks back violently, falling heavily against the door. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Ryan hisses. “Don’t ever…” He feels behind himself blindly, finding the knob and wrenching the door open.

There’s nowhere for him to go, but he hits the street anyway, walking as quickly as he can away from the apartment, no destination in mind. It’s cold again, but the rain has let up for once.

The wind is cold on his face and he puts his hands up to warm his cheeks. He keeps his eyes open wide, keeps them dry. He’s not going to cry over stupid Brendon Urie and fucking Jon Walker.

He stumbles into a bar several blocks from the apartment. This close to the university, the place is packed; the only seat left is a stool at the far end of the bar, tucked against the wall. He lays his notebook out in front of himself to discourage anyone from trying to talk to him but his mind is absolutely blank. He couldn’t write now, even if he wanted to.

It’s several minutes before it even actually hits him, and then it hits hard. Jon’s betrayal isn’t all that shocking, given all that’s passed between them. Ryan isn’t exactly proud of what he’s done to Jon and he should have expected some sort of retaliation. That’s how their game has been played from the start, little jabs and looks, using other people to get under each other’s skin.

But this…taking Brendon like this…Ryan’s lungs hurt when he thinks about it, making it difficult for him to breath. He puts his head in his hands and makes himself calm down, trying to figure it out. Maybe the fact that Jon hadn’t told them that he knew Pete should have been a sign, but Ryan had never dreamed Jon could ever descend to such unplumbed depths of sheer spitefulness and cruelty.

This isn’t just about hurting Ryan-as if it isn’t enough that he’s taken Brendon from him, he has to cheat on Ryan’s best friend at the same time. Even if Spencer says he’s okay-even if he is okay with what Jon and Brendon have done-Ryan refuses to be okay with it. Sure, he’s done shitty things to Spencer, but never on this scale. Why would Jon start with Spencer just to cheat on him a week later with Brendon?

And Brendon. Ryan takes another deep breath and lets it out as slowly as possible. Brendon, who Ryan’s only know for a few months, yet has somehow come to mean as much to him as Jon, as much as Spencer. Brendon, who was supposed to be just another point against Jon. Who listens when Ryan is upset and knows just how to touch him when speaking can’t help. Who understands Ryan’s words and gives them a voice.

Ryan can’t imagine never speaking to Brendon again, never hearing Brendon’s voice again, or feeling Brendon’s skin pressed against his. It makes him sick to his stomach even to think of it, like he’s the one who’s been cheating. The mere thought leaves him laughing incredulously.

The thing is, Ryan can’t figure out why Brendon did it. Brendon was the one who wanted to call them boyfriends, the one who practically moved into the apartment, the one always reaching for Ryan’s hand in public. Maybe Ryan’s never actually said that he loves Brendon, but he thought Brendon knew. He thought maybe Brendon felt the same way. There have been times when he could have sworn the words were on Brendon’s lips, waiting to be said.

Of all the fucked up relationships Ryan’s had, of all the people who have disappointed and hurt him, he never would have thought Brendon would be capable of cheating on him. Brendon with his goofy smile and his cuddling and whispered secrets, Brendon, who’s still trying to deal with the fact that he’s had gay sex with one guy, torn apart by guilt over what his parents will say and the lingering doubts associated with being raised Mormon.

“Kid, you gonna have something to drink?” the bartender asks, on her third round of the bar. Her name tag reads “Laura” and she’s pretty, in a scene sort of way-hair dyed black and bleached yellow, side part swept over her forehead, eyes lined thick with black, lip pierced. She doesn’t look much older than Ryan, and Ryan would like to know where she gets off calling him a kid.

“Something strong,” he says.

The bartender looks him up and down but doesn’t ask for his ID and she comes back a moment later with something the scent of which makes Ryan’s nose hairs sting and his eyes water. “You sure that’s what you want?” the girl asks, arching a brow.

“It’s perfect,” Ryan says, grinning sharply at her, and downs as much as he can in a single gulp. It’s almost okay, until he swallows, and then it burns its way down his throat, making him grimace. He refuses to cough.

The bartender chuckles and Ryan blinks up at her. He thinks about fucking her, knows he could, from the way she’s eyeing him. A month ago, if he’d stumbled into this bar instead of Brendon’s apartment, Ryan would have fucked her, and then he wouldn’t be in the mess he’s in right now.

Three drinks later, she stops charging him and with the amount of alcohol in his system, fucking her seems like a really good idea. Laura goes on her break, shooting grins at Ryan over her shoulder, and he’s more than a little wobbly on his feet when he follows her into the staff bathroom.

It’s dirty and dingy but there’s just a single toilet and the door locks and she says no one will be bothering them for at least ten minutes. The alcohol is coursing through his veins, making it difficult to see straight, let alone think straight.

Laura undoes his pants and pulls his dick out, giving it a few jerks before rolling a condom down his length. She pushes her skirt up around her waist and hooks a leg around Ryan’s hip. She’s short, but she’s tiny and it’s easy to lift her up a little and thrust in.

He doesn’t last long; he’s drunk and messy with it and she keeps making these breathy little sounds and tickling the back of his neck with her fake nails. He comes with a groan and almost calls Brendon’s name.

Before he stumbles out into the night, Laura adds her number to his phone and gives him a kiss. He turns his face away from it, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Give me a call sometime,” she says, and Ryan waits until he’s a couple of blocks away before he erases her number.

He gets sick in an alley a few blocks from the apartment and stands against the wall until he gets his breathing under control and is certain that he won’t be sick any more. He still feels drunk, which is stupid because he’s sure there’s nothing left in his stomach. More than that, he feels sick with himself, like fucking Laura was somehow cheating on Brendon, even though there’s nothing left between them for him to cheat on.

Part Eight