longerthanwedo

Title: Unfinished (With Fear in Your Smile) [7]
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 the last chapter. Don’t hate me too much, because I love you all! Stick around for the epilogue soon. :)

Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6

Brendon's eyes were dry.

Dry in the way they get when all the moisture is gone, dry like cement, like cracking bone. His eyelids grated as he slowly blinked, dry skin itching, and he thought back through the day, craving the moisture that had been present hours before.

***

When he woke up, early that morning, he was happy, content, feeling the empty space beside him and picturing Ryan, out at the kitchen table, hunched over his paper. He sat up, and as he rubbed his face to clear his eyes, he inadvertently cleared his mind.

Ryan wasn't outside, Brendon had forgotten. Ryan wasn't here. The memories were rushing. Ryan wasn't here yesterday, Ryan was sitting, talking, laughing, Ryan was laughing with a stranger and meeting Brendon's eyes in the window and turning and laughing some more. And Ryan wasn't here in the morning.

The emptiness beside Brendon seemed to shift away and flow so it was inside him instead, hollow in his chest, and he blinked, trying to think and trying not to at the same time.

Where was Ryan? Why wasn't he here, why hadn't he come back, why wasn't he here? Who was that man who wasn't Brendon, and why was Ryan laughing with him and why wasn't Ryan here? Why wasn't Brendon enough? Why wasn't Ryan beside him, why was he alone?

Why was Ryan gone?

Brendon was in the kitchen, looking blurrily at the empty table. If Ryan was gone, why was his notebook lying open on the table?

Brendon wanted to find Ryan, track him down, corner him, demand answers, steal kisses. He felt like running down the street to the cafe, bursting through the door. He wanted Ryan to be there waiting, waiting for him, standing at the entrance with his lion eyes taking down names. He wanted Ryan to ask in that voice, "Hello, how many are with you today?" He wanted to sit with Ryan in the corner of the room, watching the sun in Ryan's hair and play with soft fingers across the table.

Brendon sat down, heavy, unable to make his legs move.

Why wasn't Ryan here?

There was a yellow sticky note on the fridge. A cell phone number, the initials RR, and a lightly drawn heart, like Ryan's pencil had shied away from the expression of feeling.

Brendon realized that he didn't want to see Ryan. He didn't want to show up, look in the window, and see Ryan sitting there with not-him, laughing at Brendon through the glass.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang, and Brendon tried not to flinch at the loud echo in the morning.

"Hello?"

Brendon thought Ryan’s voice contained traces of laughter, of smiles. He swallowed.

"Hey, Ryan, it's me."

"Brendon, yeah." Pause. "I needed to talk to you, actually."

"I...you did?" Brendon tried not to let the nervous laughter escape.

"Yeah...but not over the phone."

Bad, bad sign. Brendon knew what was coming.

"Can I stop by after my shift? I get off in an hour."

Brendon heard muffled talking. It didn’t sound like the voice of a customer. It sounded like it belonged to a long-haired, laughing stranger.

"Yeah, sure, yeah." Brendon agreed, looking at the notebook and pressing the phone hard to his ear.

"Okay, I gotta work now, see you then."

Brendon heard the beginnings of a laugh, then the dial tone. Another loud echo. He dropped the phone onto the table and his head into his hands. An hour.

An hour, and Brendon stayed put, his leg bouncing nervously, fingers cold, clock ticking slowly, and notebook lying open and untouched on the opposite end of the table.

The minute the hand ticked past the hour mark the questions in Brendon's mind started again.

Why isn't Ryan here? Why is he late and what is he doing and why did he leave his story here? Why did he leave?

Why is our story over?

The doorbell rang, another too-loud echo.

Brendon swung it open, and Ryan was there, his lips only slightly smiling and not touching Brendon's, not leaning in. His eyes were oddly dull, no firefly glint.

"Hey," he said, and Brendon nodded, stepping aside, a nonverbal invitation, afraid that his words might come out wrong.

Ryan stepped inside, walking past Brendon, walking into his world. It's Ryan's world too, Brendon thought.

Ryan's eyes were sad.

Was, Brendon corrected himself. Was Ryan's. Why is Ryan gone?

"Bren, I..." Ryan took back the nickname. "Brendon, I...I think this isn't working. I don't think...it's not what I need right now. I think I need some time to myself. I feel like I need to move on."

Who is he? Why is he in your life, what does he have that I don't, what can he give you that I can't?

"I'm sorry." Ryan's voice was quiet.

Brendon blinked, fast, eyelids wet and sliding easily open, shut, open, shut. He didn't speak, only nodded, and Brendon looked into his eyes like he wanted something from Brendon; some form of acceptance, maybe an agreeing statement. Brendon didn't speak, and Ryan looked down, ducked his head and walked by.

Brendon sank down, sitting again, wet eyes slipping closed and staying like that.

Why did you go? What were you looking for that I couldn't give you? Who is he? Who is he and why is he better than me? What did you find that wasn't here and what were you looking for? Why wasn't I it? What did you find that would leave you walking by?

The notebook was still there, open, unfinished.

Why did you leave these questions unanswered? Your lion eyes. Why did they whisper goodbye? Why did you turn away? Why did you leave this story unfinished?

What did you find that would leave you walking by?

Minutes, rounds of ticking later, and Brendon's eyes were dry.