with you by my side // ryden oneshot

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hope u cry. this was originally posted on ao3 but i decided to post it here as well. this is my fic (:

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Hospital rooms were never really Ryan's favorite place to be, but it seemed like that's where he'd been spending all of his time, wrapped up in thin blankets while sitting on chairs that caused more pain than comfort.

Granted, he had Brendon who came by everyday, bearing coffee and some type of food that most certainly wasn't good for them, but neither of them cared too much, eating away at their donuts and breakfast sandwiches every morning.

"I hate seeing him like this," Ryan mumbled into Brendon's chest one day after bagels and hash browns, wrapped up in his boyfriend's arms in a recliner that was far too small for the both of them, but Ryan had wiggled his way onto Brendon's lap persistently, curling himself up to give the illusion that he was smaller than he was. "He's always so... loud."

Brendon's fingers stopped moving in Ryan's hair, turning his head to look at the man next to them, only on oxygen now as they had decided there was nothing left they could do to help, and the only thing Ryan could do was spend every night in a hospital room on the top floor, surrounded by crying families and dying patients.

"Do you remember when I first met him, and we weren't even dating and... he just smiled and told me to make sure you were always happy, and that if I hurt you he'd break all of my fingers." Brendon smiled at the memory, placing a kiss on top of Ryan's head. "You told him before I came over that I played guitar, like you, so he didn't even target, like, my dick. He said he'd break my fingers because then I wouldn't even be able to play guitar."

Ryan looked up at Brendon, a smile on his face as well. "But you would never hurt me." His voice was soft as he spoke, knowing what he said was true.

"You're right. I would never."

::

"Today's the day," Ryan announced as Brendon walked in one morning, carrying a bag from Dunkin Donuts and coffees from starbucks. "I just know it. He looks bad and he's cold and he's not responding anymore and I can't take it, Brendon."

Brendon was at Ryan's side instantly, setting the food and coffee down on his way. He sat on the small loveseat in the corner of the room, pulling the fragile boy into his arms as he started to crumble. "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing Ryan's head as he held him tight, trying to make him feel safe and protected in his arms. "I would take this all away if I could."

Ryan was silent, not including the snotty sniffles that escaped every so often, but his body shook against Brendon's, hands gripping his shirt as he tried to search for some kind of stability. "I can't do this anymore. I just want to go home and clean up after him and listen to him bitch about the shit I didn't do. I would rather him scream at me and call me a disappointment in a drunken rage than be here, looking at him deteriorating in front of me. I can't take it, Brendon, please, make it go away."

Brendon had only seen Ryan cry once, and it was at the end of Titanic, of all movies. The one movie Ryan seemed to make fun of, due to the fact, Brendon later found out, that it was the only overrated movie that made him cry every time.

But those tears were tears of sadness for a fabricated love on screen that didn't exist in the same world we did, and those tears disappeared as quickly as they came.

These tears are different. Big, fat tears that soak through Brendon's shirt until his chest is wet, tears that burn Ryan's eyes and make him want to scream, tears that can no longer be pushed deep, deep down, ignored and never to be mentioned.