Watch me// Ryden • Brallon

1k reads!!!

HOLY SHIT I HAVE 1K READS!!!
Thank you sm have an extra chapter x
(Creds to disneyNerd48 the idea.)

Ryan was beginning to realise that regrets were pointless, and that however much he wanted to change the past it remained immovable. Time kept slipping away from him nowadays, and his head was still stuck in his teenage years where love and rebellion were barely indistinguishable. It had all disappeared too fast and still it kept falling through the cracks in his fingers.

He had caught some of it, in old texts and boxes of clothes, a pile of yellowing polaroids in one corner, a dusty guitar no longer being played in the other, the strings either lose or cracked, like it, too, could no longer bother holding on.

Somewhere he found a draft of lyrics, rejected because it had seemed to obvious. He scanned the paper and the whole song screamed of Dallon. He had been convinced he liked Brendon when he wrote this, he had been wrong.

He missed Dallon, even now, so many years later, but perhaps he had simply built him up in his absence, made a superhero out of a childhood crush. Ryan had convinced himself he remembered him perfectly, but as he looked at a photo he realised he had got his eye colour wrong.

He remembered when the photo had been taken though, Dallon had been lying on the grass behind his house, watching the clouds go about their daily lives far away from their dismal suburbia. It had been a beautiful day, a rare blue sky and even Ryans pathetic backyard had seemed almost dreamlike. The lighting had been unreasonably good and so he took photos of Dallon.

"What are you doing? Taking photos?"
"The lightings good."
"Nah it's because you think in pretty."
"Sure."
"That means yes."
"That means keep believing in a lie because at least it makes you happy."
"You want me to be happy!"
"You're my best friend, Dall."

There had been a moment of seriousness then, and he knew now how close Dallon had been to joking about how they were more then that, but not being able to because there was something terrifying about the truth.

Ryan pushed the polaroids aside, watching the careful pile tumble down, watching the faded colours fall messily to the floor.

There was a suitcase buried under a pile of scarfs, and Ryan had almost forgotten the code until he saw it, and, unbidden, a strong memory of them locking it came into his head.

"We should open this is ten years, see what we left here." Ryan had been so excited it was almost funny, bittersweet.
"How will we remember the code?"
"Its your birthday, how could we forget it?"
"Or we could just force it open?"
"And ruin my only family heirloom?"
"You didn't even know there was any Ross heirlooms until today."
"Shut up, Dall."
"Make me."
Ryan had been so naive then, and of course had taken his best friends offer as a duel situation, pushing him over and laughing as they ended up wrestling on the attic floor, dust flying and floorboards creaking.

He clicked the code in, he remembered the 'fight' but not what they had actually put in there and was surprised at the amount of records. There were two Frank Sinatra ones, a Scoripions one, and even two David Bowie records Ryan had no recollection of ever owning. Below that were books, books he automatically recognised as his and Dallons childhood favourites. Finally were two letters, he opened his first.

GEORGE RYAN ROSS III's EYES ONLY
Dear Ryan,
Do you still like Sinatra? Dall's mum says we will be embarrassed about it when we're older but he's awesome!
Are you still living with dad? Is he still.......doing stuff? Did you ever tell anyone? Tell Dallon? Did it get better? Dall's mum says everything gets gets better but I don't think your dad hitting you is ever okay. It'll be worse if I tell someone though, won't it?
Did you find Brendon? Is he cute? Is he better then Dallon? I bet he's not. I wish I lived somewhere where Brendon doesn't exist so I could marry Dallon instead. Are you married to Brendon? Its a shame I will never hear these answers but I guess one day I'll know them.
Hows the band? Keep playing.
Xox Ryan.

He had been so young, he had forgotten how much he idolised Dallons mum. She had been a wonderful woman. He had eventually told Brendon about his dad, when he had become unsensitised to it, but not when it was still an issue. At least he had kept playing, he couldn't disappoint his younger self on that. He picked up Dallons letter.

FOR DALLON JAMES WEEKES EYES ONLY
Dear Dallon,
Where do I start? Ryan is scribbling questions he'll never get answers to. Of course I want to know things. About Brendon, and Ryan, and music, and each possible future, each path in the wood that you could have taken. We're studying that poem in class and I keep thinking I'm going to chose the wrong path.
I hope you still like the records and books, play them for us, if you can, remember us. Ryans finished writing and I feel like I should too, despite that I haven't really said anything. I just hope you're happy.
Dallon.

Ryan was crying. Reading his own letter was bad enough but having to experience Dallons, because Dallon couldn't? Heartbreaking. He felt like he should have left it sealed, that he had disobeyed Dallons instructions by opening it.

They had been so different when they wrote this, Dallon the intellectual and Ryan the chatterbox. He had learned to shut up later, to let Dallon talk because he had better things to say, to try and keep quiet until silence became second-nature. To tell Dallon that he was amazing until he started to believe it, started to leave Ryan behind. He knew Dallon had loved him, but Brendon had changed everything, and it had been unfair, so unfair, but almost understandable.

He put on the records.

Ryan tried to remember their last conversation. It had taken place on the swings in the nearby park, their favourite place to talk. The park was meant to be for kids, but it wasn't, just filled with the scent of nicotine and things kids were far too young to know about.

"You coming practice tomorrow?"
"Nah I have to go shopping with my mum. You can do both parts easily though."
"I'll give it a go, bring something back for me."
"Always, I always think of you Ry, maybe some black socks to match your personality?"
"Important and warm?"
"Boring and smell bad."
"Fuck off, Weekes."
"Love you too."

Dallon had blown a kiss and Ryan had rolled his eyes, then his mum wasn't had rang him and he had made an apologetic face and left.
"Fuck off, Weekes" were not idea choices to be your last words to your best friend, sometimes it almost felt like his words had prompted it.

At least Dallons had been true.