Continued from here.
---
Ryan finishes the last of his homework at six o'clock on Sunday, and stretches back in his chair, cracking his fingers over his head and dropping his pen triumphantly on the floor. He spends about five minutes flipping through his books, half to check he didn't forget anything and half to feel smug and superior for a while. Then, he stands up and goes downstairs, heats up some instant noodles for a brief dinner. His dad isn't home, and Ryan feels a little aimless for a while, drifting stupidly from room to room. Eventually he heads up the street to the corner shop and buys three packets of candy. It's always ten times more expensive at the movies.
It's about forty-five minutes on public transport to get to Brendon's place, Ryan thinks on his way back. He could drive, but his car has started making dubious clunking noises, and it's probably for the best if he gives it a rest for a while. Jon usually drives them around during school time, anyway.
He hesitates for a moment. It's too early, really, to be getting ready, but he figures if nothing else he can go and meet Brendon at his place. He wonders if they'll watch the movie. So far, they don't have the best track record at doing something for longer than forty-five minutes before pausing to fight or make out. He goes and showers, washes his hair, sings quietly to himself under the stream of the water.
It takes some rummaging through his drawers, but after a while he comes up with a clean pair of jeans and shirt, and he blow-dries his hair and puts some eyeliner on, too. He hasn't gotten dressed properly in a while; he spent most of the time in Brendon's apartment slobbing around, barely dressed at all, and he doesn't bother that much when he's going to work. Now, he moves quickly; sure, deft movements, and there's a song stuck in his head, something with trumpets and strings.
He's almost about to leave when the sight of himself in his mirror catches his eye. He was just looking in it a moment ago, of course, but now he stops and stares properly. He looks dressed up, looks his best, hair falling artfully over his face. He also looks kind of excited. Mostly, Ryan thinks, mostly, he looks like he's about to go on a date.
Ryan freezes. This was never meant to – but now he thinks about it, Brendon's cautious expression on Friday, and Ryan hadn't stopped smiling all the way home, and he doesn't, he doesn't want this. He doesn't even like Brendon, this whole thing is fucking his head up, and he rips his shirt off almost viciously, tossing it on the floor and throwing himself back on his bed, kicking off his shoes.
"Fuck it," he says. He doesn't have any sort of fucking obligation to Brendon, doesn't need to go anywhere if he doesn't want to, and this is too much, too weird, too close. Ryan breathes out and turns around, shoves his face in his pillow. He doesn't put music on. He lies there unmoving, the minutes passing with his excruciating slowness.
His phone doesn't go off at eight o'clock, or anytime after that, and Ryan doesn't move.
---
The first morning of school is never great. Ryan's always grumpy and pissed off and feeling cheated, like the vacation has gone too fast, and he's very much not a morning person, anyway.
The first morning of school, Ryan finds out, is considerably worse when it begins with Spencer and Jon hurrying across the parking lot towards him. Jon looks cautious but Spencer opens, bluntly, with, "Ryan, did you know everyone's talking about how you apparently sucked off the English substitute teacher under his desk last term?"
Ryan gapes at him. "I what?"
"Easy, Spence," Jon murmurs, and steps up properly. "Don't freak out, Ryan. But um, yeah, we heard it from Cash, who heard it from one of the Alexes—"
