Boarding School~Ryden

Eight

TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: Mentions of past violence and a past suicide attempt. Please stay safe. I will add a recap in bold letters at the end of the chapter for those who don't want to read the content. Please be safe.

Also: I'm thinking of doing a book of oneshots (Ryden) after this fic is over. Thoughts?

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I'm sitting in my room, writing in my English Journal. We're supposed to write about one we find dear to us, and so far, I'm doing terribly. I can't just... sum Brendon up into writing. It doesn't matter if the most talented poet in the world wrote a book about him. It wouldn't be enough. Not for him.

The door opens, and I turn, expecting to see a drunk Jac or maybe even a horny Gabe (it's happened before) but to my surprise, it's neither.

It's a tearful Brendon.

I blink. He's back early. Two days early, and he's crying.

"Brendon?"

"Ryan."

A dull monotone. So unlike his soft, childish voice, or even the silky, slutty voice he uses on occasion. Scarily different. I want to stand, to wrap my arms around him and kiss away every single tear, to let him tremble in my arms. It's a primitive urge, to protect and hold and care. It's hard to shake it off.

"How was the trip?" I ask, my hands shaking, wanting to touch Brendon, to card through his hair and kiss his temples.

"Enlightening." Brendon mumbles. I frown. "How so?"

"I learned a lot about my parents. And about what's right and wron

g. How to be a good, God-Fearing Christian."

"A what?!" I ask, snorting incredulously. I expect Brendon to laugh along with me, to roll his big eyes and call his family crazy. Brendon isn't God-Fearing. Brendon does believe that there's a God, but from what I remember of the conversation (we were both pretty high) he had said he believed more in an entity that 'loved freely' and 'didn't judge'.

But he doesn't laugh, just... looks at me.

"A God-Fearing Christian." He repeats. I scoff.

"You're joking, right?" I ask, and Brendon heaves a sigh. "I don't know, anymore. My family... they just... they fuck everything up. My moral values, confidence, mindset, they take it and leave me stripped bare." He mumbles, eyes welling up even more. My stomach drops.

Here's the thing: Brendon has always looked beautiful when he's sad. He's still when he gets upset, perfectly so. A change from normal life, where there's constant movement. His skin pales, letting every freckle and beauty mark show up in high definition, and his eyes fill with water, making the size of them grow and the color almost... glow. His lips pout outwards, and tears cling to his lashes, making them dewy and dark.

In conclusion, Brendon is beautiful all of the time. It's obvious: he's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on. And I love him with all of my heart, every cell filled with keening want and practical adoration.

But when he's sad.. he looks stunning. Like a Greek God, glowing gently. Seeing Brendon in pain hurts me, infinitely. But from pain comes beauty. Phoenix from the ashes. Pearl from oyster. Diamond in the rough. When Brendon is sad, is hurting, I want to swallow him in my arms and keep him away from everything. I want to kiss his lips, sweet and soft and chaste. But most of all, I want him to want me. God, I want him to want me.

It takes all of my willpower not to surge forward and kiss him. To make him mine.

But he's not mine. Never will be.