FEVERISH [RYDEN] [REPOST]

I WOULD DO ANYTHING

The fact that Brendon's grandma died was, all in all, not surprising.

In theory.

Old people die. That's a fact.

You never expect your old people to die. Even when they're bound to hospital beds, hacking and wheezing, and you're expecting them to croak any minute, in that second- in the second it's over-

You're shocked that they're gone.

His mother didn't take the liberty of calling him- the voicemail was from his neighbor, a malnourished, dark haired woman who taught the in-church abstinence classes, who had most likely snatched his cell number off a notecard tucked in the back of the Pastor's office.

"You know I'm coming with you, right?"

Brendon shook his head, eyes closed. When he'd pressed play on the voicemail, he let it ring out, and then sat down, sinking onto his ass into their shitty armchair. He'd fluttered his eyelids closed, and sat there, his legs crossed, his arms resting neatly on the armrests.

"Brendon."

Brendon shook his head again, clearly lost behind his eyelids, breathing out rather steadily, his posture too perfect to be comfortable.

"Brendon, if you're going to the funeral, you're not going alone."

"No."

"Brendon, Jesus. You can't handle that."

"I can."

"You can't."

Brendon's eyes slowly opened, and he rocked forward a little bit.

"You're wrong."

He was gnawing on his bottom lip, so it was clear that he didn't believe himself.

"Why can't I come?"

Brendon looked down, clear that tears were sprouting.

"Because I- I don't want them to hate you."

He said it quietly, and it caused Ryan to falter. Of all the things he expected, it wasn't that- so he tucked his feet underneath himself and sat at the foot of the chair.

"Why?"

Ryan was good at that- he always was- asking the hardest yet most simplistic questions. Why- was so short- so broad, yet so concise- but it was always the hardest of all to answer.

"What- whadoyou mean why?"

"Why does it matter?"

It was like he was talking to a child, an all skin and bone kindergarten teacher with a nihilistic outlook on his own general existence.

"Fuck."

Brendon slid onto the floor, onto Ryan's lap, and wrapped himself around. Ryan pushed him back onto the bottom half of the chair, holding him, his lips brushing on the side of Brendon's ear.

"It's going to be okay."

"I have to go."

"I know. What if- what if Jon went with you? Or Spencer?"

"I'd- I'd rather just go alone."

"Brendon. Let me get this straight." Ryan pulled away, holding Brendon's face in his hands, inches away from his own. "You want to go to a thing with your whole fucking family, and your whole fucking town, alone?"

"Y-yes."

"No."

Ryan leaned in and kissed him, his hands traveling to the back of his head. Their noses brushed, and Brendon tilted his forehead forward and held it against Ryan's.