how to kill a straight guy // ryden

step 4: spill out a heartache

"I'm dying."

Ryan shook his head, brown eyes rolling as he tightly twisted the washcloth in his hands. His fingers were becoming cold from the bowl of frigid water, but all he really had to do was rest them on Brendon's burning skin and he could no longer complain.

"You'll be okay," Ryan whispered back, an edge of maturity and confidence lining even the softest of responses. He folded the cloth between his fingers, resting it on his bandmate's forehead before picking up the bowl of water. "Just a flu."

"Just a flu?" Brendon reiterated, lifting himself up on his elbows. He made sure to keep his head back though; it would be a shame if the washcloth were to fall. "Do you know how many people have died from the flu?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders before rising from the couch, walking into the kitchen where Brendon heard a splash of the bowl being dumped into the sink. "Bird flu maybe," Ryan sounded from the kitchen. "But mostly children die from having the flu, Bren."

"I'm young."

"You're eighteen."

"I'm still just a child at heart."

There was a small chuckle before Ryan appeared in the doorway again, making his way back over to his ill friend's side and sitting himself on the edge of the couch. Brendon noticed there was really no shift of weight on the couch, concluding that either it was a new one Mrs. Ross had bought or Ryan was just anorexic. He felt a bony hand on his chest, much cooler than his heated flesh. They could have made steam.

"You won't die," Brendon felt Ryan's hand press down on his chest and it took a couple more seconds than necessary for him to actually get what the other man was implying. "If you just lay down and shut the fuck up for more than ten seconds."

Brendon scoffed as he laid back on the couch. "Some kind of nurse you are."

Ryan only rolled his eyes again, using those cold hands of his to pull the blanket from Brendon's legs to his chest. "Then why are you here?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Why didn't you stay home? Let your mom take care of you instead of dumping your ass on me."

"She wouldn't believe me," Brendon replied with a small cough. It burned his throat. "Thought it was another trick to skip school."

"Wouldn't blame her," Ryan said. A hand pushed under Brendon's bangs as Ryan felt his forehead, the younger man savoring the cooler temperature before it was pulled back. "You are sick, but it does speak to the heart of the matter. You're skipping again?"

"I don't need school for what I'm doing with my life."

"Your music?"

"Our music," Brendon corrected with a weak glare.

Ryan looked at him before letting a small sigh escape, moving his hands to push under Brendon's body. The gesture eventually turned the younger man onto his side, the washcloth his friend had meticulously prepared sliding slowly off of his forehead and momentarily forgotten as he watched the other man move. Ryan laid his body down on the area where Brendon's once occupied, a kind of scene in the occasional movie when a couple would cuddle face to face on a sitting area. They were close, pressed together with Ryan's face directly in front of his. It wasn't as awkward as Brendon thought it should be.

"So, you're completely and utterly heart-set on all this?" Ryan whispered. Brendon felt his breath against his face. It smelled like coffee, giving him a more mature edge. "You want to be some big rock star?"

"What? You don't?"

Ryan gave a small fidget, those eyes looking away for a second. Just a second. "It's not that," he started. "School, Brendon. You can't quit on high school for something that we don't even know will work."