Missing in Action

Chapter 020

The conference had been... long and boring. By the time Brendon was being driven back to Ryan's, he was exhausted and it was nearing midnight. The only good thing about the whole night had been the many people promoting and supporting his charity, and his alone. He was sure that it had gone well, but it had taken entirely too long. Sighing, Brendon paid the cab driver his fare before opening the door and stepping out of the car. He walked up the drive to the front door and turned the doorknob, only to see that someone must have locked it when they'd retired for bed. Biting his lip, Brendon let his forehead rest against the cool door as he knocked softly enough that it wouldn't wake the whole house, but loud enough to hopefully be heard. Being left outside was not what he needed right now, and he found himself wishing that he'd had the intelligence to have asked for a key, or at least for the door to remain unlocked. He knocked again.

Ryan was up on the roof, his laptop with him, typing away on the ninth chapter of his next novel, when he heard the knocks and belatedly remembered that Señorita Sanchez always locked the door behind her before she left and he'd forgotten to tell her not to. He quickly saved the document and put the computer on standby before walking to the edge of the roof, leaning over the waist-high railing. "I'll be there in a minute," he called down, keeping his voice hushed. He pulled his hoodie a bit tighter around himself and went back to the stairs, leaving his laptop and glass as well as the pitcher of wine where it was. He'd bring it back inside later, or maybe bring Brendon up here with him if they were talking tonight. He went down, through his room and down the hall before he ascended the second set of stairs and reached the front hall where he quickly came to the door, unlocked it and opened it with a smile. "Welcome back."

Brendon smiled wryly. "Finally," he muttered, shaking his head and pushing his way inside. He smiled brightly at Ryan, though he knew he must look as tired as he felt. And if he didn't, it would be a miracle. He was wearing one of his best suits, pitch black with a dark red dress shirt underneath and a black tie. He had even styled his hair, though as he ran his hand through it, now, he knew it must be an utter mess. "That conference was entirely too long," he said, chuckling softly and making sure to keep his voice down. "How was Isaac? Where did they put him to sleep? He didn't make a fuss, did he?"

"He's in Spencer's room," Ryan answered. "Seemed perfectly fine, honestly." He gave a small smile and reached out to give Brendon's shoulder a small squeeze. "You look tired as hell," he stated. "Maybe it'd be better if I just let you get some sleep and we'll talk some other time?" He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. "Hungry, or thirsty, or anything?" he went on, not even sure himself if he were trying to fill the threatening silence or just attempting to be a proper, polite host.

Brendon grinned, proud that his son had managed a night without him. He shook his head. "No, no, I'm good. Tonight is good. Though, I am famished," he informed, nodding to himself before frowning a bit. "All they served us were those damned finger foods that people always devour because they're never enough to fill you up," he chuckled again and shrugged. "Kitchen?" he asked, knowing that if he and Ryan didn't at least talk a little bit tonight, they would convince themselves to put it off until it was possibly too late. And he didn't want that. He wanted to talk, and he wanted to do it now. Couldn't wait. Wouldn't.

"Let's get some food in the kitchen and then go onto the roof," Ryan suggested. "It's lovely up there." He didn't say that the roof of this house was probably the one place in the whole world where he felt the most comfortable and that if he were to speak about all these things, then he need a place like that to be able to handle it. He headed for the kitchen where he knew there was still a good bit of the dinner and dessert left in the fridge. He found it quickly and stacked up a plate of the Cassola del Tros, handing it and an empty wine glass to Brendon before dishing up two plates of Crema Catalana, which he kept in his own hands as he led the way up the stairs and through the hall and his bedroom, now absent of Jaken's belongings, and back up the stairs to the roof. "Probably my favourite place in the world," he stated as he sat back into his chair, looking out at the moon-bathed view, huddled slightly into his hoodie again. The nights really were cold.