last resort | ryden

7

Brendon POV

the noises were back. not only throughout the evening and early morning, but every time he was in the flat.
he had only lived in the apartment for a day and he was already sick of it.
leaning over his laptop and resting his head in his hands, he gripped his hair and sighed.
he had written a set list, messaged all of the guitarists (with again, no reply) and  managed to successfully write three words on a microsoft word document as to what he should do about ryan.

it scared him.
if it was, in fact, ryan, living next door, why were sobs and muffled cries heard through the wall?
if it was ryan, what was happening??

just as he was wondering this exact question, a yell was heard through the admittedly- extremely- thin wall.
brendon got to his feet, fear and adrenaline coursing through him. he had to go see what was happening.

he knocked.
once,
twice,
thrice.
a man opened the door.
that wasn't ryan.
the sounds silenced.
the man glanced behind him. "can i help you?"

a rough, abrasive voice like sandpaper. barely concealed anger.

"is ryan ross in?" brendon inquired coolly.
again, the man looked behind him. 
he hesitated.
"he's in the kitchen," he ground out.
"could i see him, please? i need to ask him something," brendon said, edging towards the man.
he hesitated again.
"ryan! someone wants to see you!" he finally yelled into the flat.

- and then-
came the words brendon was dreading.
the words he didn't know were coming. 
ryan ross' voice.
"so- so sorry, i'm a bit busy at the moment love."
"there you go," the man said, smugly.
"he's busy. sorry!" 

it kept nagging at him.
that was ryan's voice, sure.
it was ryan's voice.
but it wasn't how brendon remembered him.

of course, it could just be because they had been apart for so long, and that would be the logical explanation.

but logical wasn't always true.

it hurt, of course.
it hurt.
hearing his boyfriend- ex boyfriend- talk to someone in that way, so full of love.
it was so strange.
it was strange.
that man- he resembled someone so closely- it wasn't the sort of person Ryan would go for.
it resembled his father so closely- the man who he used to run to Brendon from, that it didn't seem real.

he edged towards his flat door again, wincing when he heard the slam of a door.
instead he turned and pressed his ear to the flimsy wall, cursing under his breath when he heard
a tv
running water.
an apology.
the slap of skin on skin.

it didn't click yet.
was it just the tv?
or something more?

brendon slid down the wall and instantly hit his back against the skirting board, because that move is cliche and only used in films which aren't filmed in a block of flats where the heating doesn't work properly and teenagers and adults alike regularly smoke on the dim stairwells.
groaning, he got up and made coffee before grabbing his phone and sending a slightly angry- okay, very angry- email to his producer about the show that was literally in two days and here he was sat on a crappy bed without a guitarist and his ex only a thin wall away and how he didn't even have enough courage to ask him to play.
he had to ask.
the show was in two days for God's sake.
and it was only afternoon.
but he waited.

a slam of a door.
footsteps retreating- down the steps- away.
they were loud, forceful.
ryan's boyfriend.

brendon was up, scrambling to his feet, spilling his coffee in the process but he didn't care.
he wrenched open the door and knocked.
again.
once
twice
thrice.
it opened.
and there he was.
ryan ross.
his face was bruised and he had a split lip.
and his eyes were frantic.
he frowned when he saw brendon.
"ryan- i need your help."