last resort | ryden

8

"can't help you. sorry."

the words were like a blow to his stomach, hard, fast. ryan's voice was flat, still low and gentle how he remembered, but quieter. he sounded calm but there was a desperation in the tapping of his fingers, and a clear suvival instinct in the stiffness of his body.
brendon's heart ached for him.
he looked skinnier, if that was possible, clothes hanging slightly off his body. more tired, fingers shaking as they tap tap tapped on the doorframe.
brendon cracked the knuckles on his right hand, noticing the way ryan flinched ever so slightly and shuffled backwards.
brendon raised an eyebrow, watching as ryan's cheeks bloomed rosy pink.

"what if i asked you what happened here? you're injured, ry."

ryan stared at him, half blankly. brendon cleared his throat.

"-an"

ryan's shoulders slumped slightly. "please don't. it's- it's nothing. it doesn't matter. what's wrong, why are you not touring the world with the band we made, why are you not performing shows and releasing music and being on award shows and talk shows and doing interviews? why are you not being a celebrity, like you left me to be?"
the words stung.
but they were true.

"ryan, know something is going on. whatever is happening- come with me? just for today?
i need a guitarist for tomorrow night. Please help me out. i can get you out for a bit, please, at least consider it?"

"i'll ask him."

"thank you."