FEVERISH [RYDEN] [REPOST]

NIGHTMARES AND NEW BUSSES

He woke up in a cold sweat, twitching on the carpet.

Spencer was passed out next to him, and Brendon was asleep on the couch, one of his feet dangling off the side.

And Ryan's brain was plagued with the stench of alcohol and his father. His upper arm was aching, and his nightmare was fresh in his brain.

Sometimes he could feel it, how much it hurt.

He decided to get up and get a glass of water.

He threw the blanket, which had been mostly kicked off anyways, in the direction of the couch. It hit Brendon's foot, causing him to stir.

He left Brendon and Spencer behind, their sleeping forms cast in shadow as he flipped the kitchen light switch.

Which cabinet were the glasses in? He should know this.

He pulled a mug out, running it under the faucet as the sound of footsteps grew nearer. He looked up, eyes meeting the person in front of him.

Spencer's Gran.

"Ryan, what are you doing up?"

He sent an apologetic smile in her direction.

"Just a little thirsty."

She shuffled towards him, placing a palm on his forehead.

"You're a bit feverish. Are you feeling alright?"

Her concern practically radiated off of her, and she wiped a bead of sweat from his skin.

"Ye-yeah. I just had a nightmare."

She took the cup from him, dumping the water out and pouring milk in it.

"Let me heat this up for you, I always used to give Spencer warm milk when he had bad dreams."

Ryan gave her an awkward nod, leaning back against the kitchen table.

"What was your dream about?"

Ryan paused, gnawing on his lip.

"My dad."

She removed the milk from the microwave, handing it to him.

"Don't burn yourself. Spencer said he wasn't the nicest man."

"He-he did?"

"Yes. It's a shame, you're such a nice boy."

Ryan nodded, resisting the urge to cry as he sipped the warm mixture from the mug, his slender fingertips running over the decal that proclaimed her the 'World's Best Grandma'

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ryan shrugged.

"You know, Spencer asked me if we could adopt you once."

Ryan raised his gaze.

"Really?"

"Yes, maybe a week or so after he met you?" She smiled, her aging eyes crinkling with the memory.

He nodded into his mug.

"He said that your dad didn't like you much, and he couldn't understand why. At least now you'll be out there, and he can't get you."

His words caught in his throat at this.

"Y-yeah."

"Come here, Ryan."

He set the mug down and took a step towards her. She reached her wrinkled arms out, wrapping them around him. He buried his face in her shoulder, stifling a tear.