conceal | ryden

[02]

ryan.

it's still dark when i wake, the floor cold under my bare feet. i curse under my breath, fingers fumbling for a shirt, still half asleep. i slip my football jacket over the top, shuffle my jeans on.

the water is cold under my hands, and i splash it halfheartedly at my face in an attempt to wake myself up. it doesn't work.
i try to tame my hair at the same time as brushing my teeth, inevitably getting toothpaste in my hair. i wipe it out and head downstairs, tiptoeing into the kitchen.
pour myself a coffee, grab a granola bar and my bag.
the clock says 06:26 in bright, blinking red letters. i'm late.
i close the door, praying that it doesn't squeak. it does, and i can hear footsteps coming down the stairs. i don't wait to see what he says; instead i'm running to pete's house, unlocking the door with his spare key. pete's in the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal when i come in, and he barely blinks when he realises i'm in his house. it happens far too often; he's used to it.
"you okay ryan?" he asks me, pausing with a spoon in one hand. "did he-"
"no. i was fast enough, it's okay pete, i'm okay."
"you need to get out of there."
"i know, but it's not that simple pete. i still-"
"don't you dare say what i think you will-"
"love him."
pete just sighs, grabbing the milk out of the fridge. "i know you do," he says, and there's no malice to his words. "you coming? we're meeting ryan and dallon at starbucks soon."

dallon and ryan are already there when pete and i arrive, seated at a window table, coffees in hand. they're easy to spot; dallon is wearing a bright red jacket, and ryan's hair seems bluer than usual.
"hey ryan, pete," dallon yells over. "hey dallon, ryan," pete speaks for both of us. i feel restless, running on adrenaline and caffeine. i'm not listening to the conversation that the others have struck up until i hear my name.
"...isn't that right, ryan?"
i blink quickly, take a sip of my coffee.
"sorry, what? i zoned out there for a moment," i say, trying to sound lighthearted. my heart was thumping.
"it's okay man. ryan was just saying- well, complaining- about having to cover the track team."

"hey, i'm doing it too, and it can't be that bad right?" i tell him. he shrugs.
dallon perks up at this. "stop complaining, it will be fine. track isn't even that bad; and if you two weren't so smart you wouldn't have to do it, would you?"
i grin and set my coffee cup on the table, checking my phone and dragging pete with me to his car so he could drive us to school. i can drive, but i have no car. i'm already working three jobs with extra-curriculars, and pete knows it.

by the time track time rolls around, i'm pacing the field restlessly. my nails are bitten down and it's easy to see i'm anxious. i'm not sure what about, but i shove my earphones in and drown in music until the track team gets here. dallon's waiting with me, tapping his fingertips against the ground and eyeing me worriedly. i push it off and take a deep breath as the team starts to arrive, forcing myself to seem my normal, cheerful self. i'm not an amazing runner, especially not long distance, my skills lay in other areas; that's why i play football, but here i am. ryan seaman stands next to me, speaking to the team as i unplug my earphones and wind them around my phone.

i feel like i'm on the brink of turning into a supernova, nervous energy making me bounce around more than usual.

"hey ryan," comes a voice from my left. i spin around quickly, noting the guy standing in front of me. he's only about an inch or so smaller than me, shirt tight and accentuating his body. he seems restless as well, fingers tapping on his thigh in some complex rhythm. "yeah?" i reply. "it's brendon, right? dallon's friend?"
a smile spreads across his face, and i catch myself staring at him; at his
dark hair, strands falling over his forehead, eyes squinted against the sunlight.

out of the corner of my eye i can see ryan coaching the team, but i don't care about going over to help him.
"yeah, that's me," he replies, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "what's up then, brendon?"
"nothing much, just wanted to say good luck for tonight."
my mind spins; tonight? then i remember, with a sinking feeling. i had a football game tonight.
"thanks, dude. you'll be there?" i asked him, trying not to sound like i'm bragging or anything like that- i just really want him to be there. he smiles like he knew what i meant.
"sure i will. wouldn't miss it."
"shouldn't you be with the rest of the team, anyway, brendon?"
"not really. i came with dallon, for emotional support- and mostly to miss physics."
that made me grin. "wanna come skip to get coffee? we can go in pete's car. he won't mind. it's on me."
"sure."

i have music with brendon, it turns out. i wave at him through the window of one music room to the one he was in, regretting it when he didn't see me.
stupid.
i think it would be nice, to have a group of friends that you can rely on. sure i had pete, and ryan, but they had other friends.

when lunch rolled around, i had truly worked myself into a mess. my hands were shaking, and my breathing was far too shallow to be considered normal. i felt sick, like simply the sight of food would make me throw up. brendon was nice however, not questioning me when i ordered a coffee and no food.
we made vague small talk, asking questions about each other, and honestly it was nice. calming.
at one point our hands brushed when i reached for the bill as he set his coffee cup down. what a cheesy cliche.
"i'll pay for mine."
"no, i will. i brought you out here, i told you before, it's on me." i told him, and he left it.
i wrote my number across the back of his hand, another cliche i couldn't resist with.
"text me?" i asked.
"sure."
"i'll see you after the game, urie."
i left.