Ghost Towns In The Ocean ☀︎ Ryden

16 | ever after

september 17th

- good morning i'm tired and stressed and instead of doing my homework today i'm going to see it for the second time because my priorities are obviously in order. also why is everyone in the universe a million times more productive than i'll ever be?? we may never know.

anyways listen this song here is one of my favorites in the entire great wide world. it's called ever after by this band called marianas trench and it's the first song that ever made me full on cry and you should,,, check it out.

━ don't you move, can't you stay where you are just for now? i could be your perfect disaster, you could be my ever after

Waking up alone never felt good. Especially waking up alone in someone else's bed. Curled up in Ryan's blankets and pillows, Brendon had expected to roll over and see Ryan there, eyes low with a lazy smile on his face. Instead, Brendon was just met with a view of the world outside Ryan's window. It was raining. It was always raining. Brendon sat up, throat dry, and crawled out of Ryan's bed. Maybe Ryan wasn't going to come back home. Maybe Brendon had been right.

He stood next to the bed in Ryan's freezing room watching the cold rain pour down outside. In Seattle, it felt like it was never going to stop raining. Brendon had never expected himself to like the rain. After growing up in part of the world where it had hardly ever rained and when it did it brought on floods and a great deal of wet dirt and dust, he hadn't really expected much from a city and state where all it ever really did was rain.

It hadn't been pleasant in the winter where it rained despite the freezing temperatures and Brendon had found no way to get dry and it had been so cold but at least there had been other people with him. There had been Sarah with him. They had tried enough to keep each other happy, keep each other warm, keep each other alive. Ryan wasn't like that. Ryan wasn't going to keep Brendon alive.

So Brendon left Ryan's room and made his way back down the stairs feeling more than a little defeated and then saw the person he wanted to see so badly. Asleep on the couch. Brendon just stopped and stared and felt like he could do nothing else. Ryan could have come upstairs. Ryan could have at least kicked Brendon out of his bed but instead he took the couch and Brendon didn't know how to feel.

So he felt cold. He felt bad. And he went back down to his own room. Back in his own bed, it took about five seconds for Brendon to realize that he might, in fact, be in love. When he spent every second of every day thinking about Ryan and wondering what Ryan was doing and wanting to see Ryan and wanting Ryan to be happy, well. He had sort of convinced himself that he disliked Ryan to a point where he couldn't fucking stand him but right now all he wanted was Ryan, fucking, Ryan.

Why did Brendon care so much about him? Brendon sort of didn't want to love him and didn't want to think about him anymore because he was so damn complicated but maybe it was more fun that way, more interesting. Basic love wasn't love at all. Ryan was hard to like in the first place but Brendon missed him so much even though he was right upstairs, asleep on the couch. So Brendon lay back and stared at his ceiling and thought and thought and thought and while he was thinking Ryan was writing because Ryan hadn't exactly been asleep, he had just been waiting on Brendon to leave his room.

Ryan wasn't angry anymore. Or at least that was what he was trying to tell himself but he had makeshift apologies for Brendon and a typewriter because using Brendon's computer had been a long shot anyways and it was raining again but Ryan had never had a problem with rain. Or a problem with writing.

5/2 - Dreaming

With you, I dreamed of rain. Of cold, maybe. I'm not sure why, but maybe I needed something to counteract your warmth. Hiding up in my room with all the lights off and all of the windows open while thunderstorms raged outside was the only way that I could get by while you played your piano and sang your songs of sunshine because I wanted cold showers and giggles, not full on laughing and warm water. I wanted the same thing for dinner every night, paint easels littering the floors, writing tacked up to the wall, the piano out of tune and there for both of us to use. What I got was different things for dinner every night, a floor clean enough to see my own messy reflection in, nothing tacked up to the wall because no, you didn't have fucking OCD. That piano was kept in tune and I wasn't allowed to touch it because I was a mess.