how to kill a straight guy // ryden

step 11: watch out for your own emotions [part two]

He didn't really expect to dress for a funeral while on the road.

The best that he could scrounge up was a dark grey t-shirt and black pants, highly informal for such a somber event. But, he didn't really feel too guilty about it, considering that the man's own son was dressed just as disrespectful—white tee and a short black jacket with those tiny, dark jeans. Then again, it's not like they could have gotten too gussied up for this occasion; they had a show later that very evening. In a way, it upset Brendon that Ryan wouldn't even cancel one performance to pay his respects to his father, sitting closed in that sealed casket in front of them as men and women shrouded in dark colors bowed their heads and stared sullenly at the roses that rested atop it. Of course, it wouldn't matter what Brendon thought at all.

Ryan hadn't spoken to him since the night Brendon had told him he hated him.

The older man would hardly even look at him, and when he did, they were either accidental looks that would turn into glares when Brendon would try to hold them or they would be glances that would turn into saddened expressions when Brendon would look back. Each attempt Brendon had tried to grab the brunet's attention, each tap on the shoulder would be shrugged off, each time Brendon would walk into the room would be the time Ryan would leave, each time Brendon would ask the guitarist a question around other people would just result in a silent shrug. It was slowly beginning to tear the younger man apart, even though it had only been a few days since these awful ignorances began. Anymore of this, and Brendon would seriously begin to contemplate ripping his hair out of his fucking skull. If not being able to have Ryan had destroyed Brendon's being as such, then being completely neglected by the other boy was just sheer torture in the most cruel of ways. Brendon didn't want this, he wanted Ryan to always be happy, he always had. But now, Brendon was the cause of Ryan's pain and sadness, and the very thought was enough to shred his heart into ribbons and pray for certain death to just make it go away. He just wanted a chance to tell Ryan that everything had been a misunderstanding, a cliché mix-up that Brendon needed desperately to fix before he was driven to pure dementia. However, no matter what he did, Ryan would always just ignore him, scoffed off of his shoulder to sit back and watch the boy fade farther and farther away with the passing of miniscule minutes. That was where he was right now, forgotten in the colors of dark clothing even though he stood right beside the boy that now despised him so. Of course, he wasn't allowed to take even one glance over at the older man, knowing that if he did, Ryan would definitely move away from the spot that had taken Brendon about five minutes of careful inching to acquire. So, instead he joined all of these other people who had no identities in his mind in staring at the wooden casket poised above the slot dug into the Earth, hardly observant to the monotonous droning of the old man praying in robes of Christ at the very tombstone. It was all just so weird.

Because sadly, Brendon felt no compassion for the man lying in his resting place, no deep, emotional battering for Ryan's father, so he felt like he was just wasting air. Of course, he had his reasons. This man had made Ryan cry, had made Ryan hurt with constant abuse and the neglect of talent and dreams that no child should ever have to go through. So, with this thought in mind, Brendon actually had to stand there and wonder if Ryan really did feel deep remorse from his father's passing. It was quite a sad thing, but was he truly heartbroken by such a thing?

Curiosity fueled him now, and no matter how long he had kept dark eyes at bay, he really couldn't help it as they took quick shots at the boy that was positioned beside him. Four quick glances got him enough to see that Ryan had his arms crossed over his chest, soft July wind teasing chestnut hair and lack of sunlight causing him to look much more paler than usual. Two more looks got him the confirmation that Ryan didn't look happy at all; he looked so forlorn, thin lips pulled downwards into a frown that tugged at the strings of Brendon's heart. He had to see, he had to fully look at Ryan. He had been pulled into the sorrow that radiated around him, manipulated to dissemble his cautious advances as his head turned to take in all that was Ryan Ross beside him. He looked so bland, so drained in a way that Brendon had never quite seen him before. And that's when he saw it, the light tinge of red that graced pale skin underneath the brunet's eyes and the flesh of his nose. He suddenly could make them out with the light squint of dark eyes, small strands of dampened, shining lines that ran down his cheekbones.