Relax, Relapse (Ryden)

Eight (Ryan)

Goddamn Brendon almost broke my fingers.

I had to leave after that, as I had spent a very long time with Brendon and my dad would definitely be waiting at home. I'd be hit again, of course, because what's more important than visiting a depressed friend in the hospital after his suicide attempt? My fucking dad's liquor supply.

I drove home in the fucking piece of junk, singing to myself again with the windows rolled up. I now had a completed song, which made three total. No one outside of our band cared, but it gave me a feeling of satisfaction knowing that I'd completed three totally unique songs. Three more steps toward actually being a thing.

That's what I wanted, more than anything else.

Brendon was let out of the hospital five days later.

The night he was released, I drove my fucking piece of junk over to his house and we sat on his couch, eating chips and watching Disney movies. His family, conveniently, wasn't home. If they were, they'd probably have pepper-sprayed me as soon as I pulled up in the driveway. And they say he's going to hell.

About halfway through The Little Mermaid, Brendon leaned his head on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "You're not straight, are you?"

I blushed (that little shit). "No."

Brendon snuggled up closer, and because he's shorter and younger than me, he can get away with that kind of stuff. "Girls are pretty. But you're prettier."

"Fuck, Bren, I think that was the most cliché thing you've ever said."

"What? You're very pretty."

"That I won't deny."

He moved in until he was almost sitting on my lap and sighed. "I hate my family."

"I know."

"And I hate really everything else. Except you. I even hate this movie. Why are we watching it?"

"Dude, you're the one who suggested it."

"Well, why'd you listen to me?"

"I like you."

"Why?"

That kind of took me off guard. "There are a million reasons why."

He shook his head. "Now you're the one sounding cliché."

I kissed him.

For a second, his eyes widened. Then they closed, and my eyes closed, and all I could feel was Brendon. This is what happens when words fail you, and in my opinion, Brendon is much better than words.

It was so unbelievably hard to pull away from him, but eventually I had to. He didn't move any farther away from me, just stayed within six or seven inches of my face. The Little Mermaid was still playing in the background, which I found slightly ridiculous given the circumstances. Brendon stared into my eyes, and I (dumbly) realized that I was his first kiss.

He wasn't mine, of course. I'd done my share of experimenting. But I've got about six more months of experience than him. He's got time.

"Ryan, what-" he choked. "What do you see in me? I'm a wreck."

I swallowed. "I see a lot of things. Your smile, for one. It lights up the room."

Brendon started to cut me off, but I beat him to it. "And you can sing like a fucking angel. And you always have so much energy, like, you can never sit still. I love that for some reason."

"I hate that. Everyone makes fun of me at school for that."

"I also love when you talk about the things you like, like Blink-182, and your eyes just light up."

"I'm still a wreck."

"Yeah, Brendon, but you're my wreck."

"Back at it with the clichés, are we?"

"It may be cliché, but it's true."

He didn't reply to that, but I didn't need him to. All I needed him to do was sit on the sofa and cuddle up next to me, and watch stupid movies and eat all his family's popcorn for the rest of the night.

And maybe start therapy while he's at it, too.