longerthanwedo

Title: Unfinished (With Fear in Your Smile) [6]
Author: longerthanwedo
Beta: melody_so_sweet
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan for now.
Rating: PG-13
POV: 3^rd, Brendon centric.
Summary: He’s writing in blood; a feeble attempt to finish the story. The story of his life, of him and him and him. It’s a story of life, of love, of lions and fireworks and years gone by. It’s a story of blood, plenty of blood.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. Title and inspiration from Something Corporate.
Author’s Note: This is probably going to be the second to last chapter. One more and an epilogue. This story for me is more of an artistic endeavor than a major plot twister. Thank you all for reading!

Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5

Ryan said he was writing a story.

He was going to piece their relationship together on paper, he said. Their story, their moments, days, Brendon’s love.

He had a notebook, one with a shiny new cover hat somehow still looked used and soft, and day after day the pages filled. He didn’t show Brendon the words, only snippets, lines, something here or there that could be a poem or a song.

Brendon loved Ryan’s words. He loved them like he loved Ryan; he thought they were beautiful, bright and warm and slightly removed from reality.

When Ryan wrote, Brendon wasn’t even sure if he was a part of this world. His hair would fall into his eyes, undisturbed by his fingers; his lower lip would get caught between his teeth and stay there. His foot would bounce unconsciously, brushing against the side of the chair or the leg of the table.

Sometimes he would spend the day at Brendon’s house, sitting on the porch or on the bed, writing nonstop as Brendon studied his concentrated face. He’d sit there through the day, hardly moving, and then the sun would sink and Brendon would creep into bed alone.

He would wait for the morning, curious to see if he would wake up with Ryan, warm and yawning beside him, or if when he walked into the kitchen he would find the other man fast asleep, his cheek pressed to his notebook, pen still in hand. When that happened, Brendon would wake Ryan with kisses in his hair, and he would sleepily stare, smiling, before stretching and heading out to work.

This morning was one with an empty bed. Brendon swung his legs onto the floor, waiting for the circulation to return, and shuffled his way into the kitchen. Ryan wasn’t there. Brendon frowned, looked at the clock, and realized that he’d gotten up late. He let his breath out and grabbed a sweatshirt, deciding that Ryan was already at the café and maybe Brendon could surprise him, make him smile, see that glitter in his eye.

It was cloudy and warm, and Brendon’s hands were in his pockets as his eyes moved all around. The sidewalks were mostly empty, the streets occupied only by a few early morning commuters’ cars. Brendon’s feet made their way to the familiar café almost automatically, his mind flipping idly through moments with Ryan over the past days as if he were browsing through one of his photo albums, brushing the dust off the pages and rediscovering memories.

Inside was surprisingly crowded, and Brendon looked past the line, but it wasn’t Ryan at his usual position. The girl in his place had long blonde hair, and when Brendon asked her if she’d seen Ryan she didn’t know who he meant. With furrowed eyebrows, Brendon decided to leave, wander the sidewalks for an hour, and come back later.

Maybe his car had a problem, he had to get it fixed. Maybe he had a break, went to buy groceries. Maybe he got sick, went to the doctor.

Brendon passed by the clinic, the grocery store, the auto shop, and looked inside each one, hoping to spot the head of brown curls and green jacket Ryan wore every time he left in the morning. He didn’t see either.

Eventually he couldn’t walk anymore. Worried and overwhelmed, Brendon doubled back, dejected, approaching the café and looking in the window, doubtful, when his eyes widened.

Ryan’s profile was just inside the window, sitting at a table, smiling and nodding and not noticing Brendon standing outside the window. Across from him was someone Brendon didn’t recognize, a man with long hair, glasses, and an equally big smile. They leaned slightly toward each other and Brendon was confused, standing there, not knowing what to think or what to do.

Suddenly, his eyes met Ryan’s. For just a brief second, their gazes locked, and then Brendon turned, fast, walking out of sight of the window. He stood against the wall, mind racing, catching his breath, and then leaned forward, just around the edge. Ryan had turned back, gone back to smiling and talking, and Brendon walked home.

When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was Ryan’s notebook, lying open on the table, innocent, scrawled with words and scratched out sentences. He walked over and looked down, halfway expecting the story to be finished, to see the words the end written at the bottom of the page. He expected to see the end of his story and the beginning of a new, but there wasn’t.

It was just his story, and then blank lines.