Archive of Our Own

The hallway was dark and dimly lit and reeked of sex and cigarettes. Ryan Ross was concentrating hard on keeping chill bumps from forming along his bare forearms as he followed the bald, heavily tattooed figure walking ahead of him to the end of the narrow corridor. There was a shuffling of footsteps from behind him as well, a subtle reminder that his behavior was being monitored.

The man at the head of their small procession fumbled with a set of keys. The door to what could have been loosely labeled an apartment squeaked open. Ryan focused on his own breathing for several long moments, trying to steady himself without being too obvious. He knew what he was about to walk into, what revolting horrors might face him beyond those doors, and he also knew he could not afford to react in the way instinct would tell him to. Not here, not now. He was so close, so frustratingly, intoxicatingly close—

The bald man was motioning for Ryan to come inside, and he shook his swirling thoughts back into their respective corners within his brain and crossed the threshold. The lingering heaviness of stale cigarette smoke stung his eyes, and underneath its stagnant stench he could just detect the faint but telltale scent of blood. A small round table sat in the middle of the room, mismatched with rickety chairs cluttering the space around it. An old refrigerator hummed to itself in the corner, surrounded by a poor and tiny excuse for a kitchen. Every free surface was littered with half-filled or empty alcohol bottles and dirtied ashtrays, but Ryan’s eyes flicked past all of these things to each of the minute suggestions of violence surrounding him: a crumpled rag on the floor, stained dull red and brown; a large pocketknife in the center of the table; that sickening, coppery smell of blood, still tickling Ryan’s nostrils every time he breathed in though the much heavier scents of sex and smoke.

“Well, do you want to see the merchandise or not?” The tattooed man crossed his arms, turning his narrow gaze on Ryan, who hoped the gleam he saw in the other man’s eyes was not a sign of growing distrust. This man, who went only by the name of Mike to anyone it happened to concern, was bad news, and Ryan knew it. He had come this far, he couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion. Not yet.

“Of course,” he replied. He squared his shoulders and mentally checked that all of his facial features were still slack with disinterest. Mike studied him for a moment more before keying open the first of two closed doors.

Ryan stepped past the other man, careful not to make physical contact, and steeled himself before allowing his eyes to roam the room before him. No amount of preparation, however, could ready him for the sight he faced: young bodies strewn haphazardly about the room, most of them bruised, some bleeding, some handcuffed or tied at the hands and ankles, some with drug-heavy eyes and small, circular scabs lining their inner arms. Only one or two bothered to glance up when the door opened, though several others cringed at the sound. There were eleven, of mixed gender, in all, he confirmed with a quick, sweeping count, but his searching eyes failed to locate the one he was looking for.

Sickness and fear bloomed like weeds in his stomach, but he swallowed his anxiety back down and pretended to be surveying his “options” as he checked once, twice, a third time, to make sure the subject of his search was not contained within these four walls. He allowed a minute or two to pass before glancing back at Mike. “Is this all of them?”

Mike scoffed in response, and for an instant Ryan feared he had come across too eager, but then the larger man chuckled and beckoned for Ryan to backtrack into the main room. Ryan forced some of the tension from his shoulders and watched Mike lock the door behind them before opening the one to their right. He stepped aside once more, allowing Ryan a glimpse into the room.

It was the same type of scene as before, except this time Ryan saw him almost immediately. All of the air in his lungs escaped in a single breath as his vision narrowed, one long tunnel ending at the crumpled figure at the other end of the room. His hair, his gorgeous black locks of hair that Ryan so adored, was tangled into knots, his arms twisted and tied behind his back, his ankles both cuffed to the legs of the ancient heater anchored to the back wall. He would have been naked if not for the pair of ragged gray shorts tied around his waist, and his torso was littered with bruises, scars, welts, angry jagged cuts, wounds shaped like teeth…

Ryan shook himself from the momentary trance he had slipped into, forcing his gaze to continue its short trip around the room, as if he was at all interested in anything else inside. He begged his heartbeat to slow, fretting that Mike, or the gangly man still lingering in the background behind them, would notice his slip, would start to suspect. But both men stayed quiet, their posture unchanging, and Ryan clung to his remaining nonchalance as best he could.

Several long, agonizing moments passed before he allowed his eyes to settle once more upon the boy curled up at the back of the room. He was staring, glassy-eyed, down at the floor, unmoving, and had not looked up once or even changed his expression since Ryan’s entrance. But there was no doubting that it was him. Ryan’s brain screamed at him to do something, do something, do something, his palms itching as beads of nervous sweat rose to the surface of his skin.

“That one, in the back,” he heard his voice say, alien against the anxious buzzing in his ears, his finger pointing in indication.

Mike’s eyebrows rose, and he blinked back at Ryan in what seemed like disbelief. “That one. Really. Hardly the prize pick.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he met the other man’s gaze. “Then I guess you’ll be glad to get him off your hands.”

There was a beat of silence, and Ryan’s words hung in the space between them, scaring him, but he knew that now was the time to play the game he had walked into. And considering what hung in the balance, it was absolutely imperative that he win.

“1200,” Mike replied at last.

Ryan frowned. “From the looks and sounds of it you’re going to have a tough time moving that one at all, let alone for over 1000.” His skin crawled as he forced the words from his tongue, each one tasting like the bile that churned in his stomach.

“Maybe. Then again, you seem awfully interested.”

“I’ll give you 900.”

“You’ll give me at least 1100.”

“No, I won’t.” Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Mike in a manner that he hoped conveyed enough confidence to make it seem like he knew what he was doing. “1000. That’s the highest I’ll go. And definitely more than you’re going to get from anyone else.”

Mike looked at him for a long, tense moment. “You have it on you?”

Ryan responded by reaching deep into his front right pocket and withdrawing a large lump of cash. Mike watched as Ryan separated ten 100-dollar bills from the wad before slipping the now considerably slimmer stack back into place. Mike exhaled and shrugged. “Okay. Guess we got a deal.”

They eyed one another with thinly veiled caution as Ryan dropped the money into Mike’s outstretched hand. Mike flipped through the bills once more before nodding at the man who had been standing behind them silently the whole time. “Let’s help him pack up then, G.”

‘G’ just grunted in response and shuffled past them into the room, picking a path through the tangle of arms and legs and torsos littering the filthy floor. Ryan watched as the ankle cuffs were removed, and that was when the dark-haired boy moved for the first time since Ryan laid eyes on him, flinching away from the contact like it burned his pale skin. A deep shudder passed through his frail body as he was jerked to his feet, G’s fingers digging into his upper arm to drag him toward the doorway.

“Back to the gentleman’s car, then,” Mike grumbled, and it was at this instant that those glassy brown eyes rose from the floor, their forlorn and faraway gaze bouncing about until it settled upon Ryan’s face. Ryan met the stare, mixed emotions jolting through his chest like a bolt of lightning. The slack expression remained, but Ryan was sure he saw a glimmer of something dance through those otherwise dull pupils – recognition, or hope, or… maybe just fear.

And then the moment was shattered and they were shuffling back down the dark hallway, G dragging the quivering figure along beside him, Ryan’s eyes counting ribs and vertebrae just barely visible through the pallid skin that contained them. They emerged at the back of the building and those dark eyes blinked in shock at the change in lighting, dramatically brighter than inside even as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Ryan reached inside his pocket, fingers locating the automatic key to the black Subaru in front of them and jabbing the unlock button.

“You don’t want him in the trunk,” he heard Mike saying from behind them. “They tend to find ways to escape. Floor of the backseat is what most people go for.”

Now Ryan’s stomach was really twisting into knots. “Of course,” he forced himself to say, nausea mounting inside of him as he watched G open the back door of the car and force the boy into the space between seats. His body curled in on itself, as if expecting harsh blows to follow, and Ryan felt his chest flood with fury.

“Go ahead and cuff the legs back, G.”

Ryan’s gaze snapped back to meet Mike’s. “I doubt that’s necessary.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“He’s hardly put up a fight.”

Mike squinted at him. “The cuffs only go on in the first place when they start making trouble. Might be in your best interest.”

“I think I can handle it,” Ryan bit back, now really struggling to stay calm. He shut the door to the back seat with a pointed look at G, who took a few unbothered steps back.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he heard Mike sneer as he opened the door to the driver’s seat. He paused and looked over his shoulder, forcing aside the anger itching over his skin, and jerked his head in a short nod.

“Likewise.” He hopped into the car and yanked the door shut. Within seconds he had the engine cranked and was squealing out of the alley, the shady comrades disappearing in his rearview mirror.

Ryan felt his calm façade melt away as the reality of what had just happened slammed through him. When the next light in his path blinked from yellow to red and he was forced to pause the triumphant escape, Ryan twisted in his seat, one foot still pressed down hard on the brake pedal. In the shadows cast by the fading light he could just make out those glazed chocolate eyes, boring holes into the back of the passenger seat.

“It’ll be okay,” he heard himself saying. “It will. I promise. It’ll be okay.” Whether he was trying harder to convince himself or the huddled heap of human in the backseat, he wasn’t quite sure.

The light shone green and Ryan’s foot eased back down onto the gas pedal. He knew exactly where he was going, each twist and turn and slight left and veering right. He had studied the map until his eyes burned. Nothing was going to go wrong now, nothing was going to slow them down.

Every time he had to stop for longer than a few seconds, Ryan turned to check the backseat. His chest ached each time, and he wanted nothing more than to throw on the parking brake and stop just long enough to undo those wrist ties, rub feeling back into the raw skin beneath, kiss every bruise and chafe…

But he couldn’t. He knew better. To indulge this want, this desire, this need, would be to immediately put them at risk again. Not that they weren’t already at risk; this was the reason he drove with such caution, such calculation, took as convoluted of a route as possible to his next destination. He had heard the stories, had studied as many disgusting tricks having to do with this awful business he was now wrapped up in as he could get his hands on. One of the most common was stealing back a body once it had been sold, used especially often on the newer buyers, those who came off as unseasoned enough to turn themselves into a target.

Ryan wasn’t stupid; he knew his subpar acting hadn’t been enough to make him look like he knew what he was doing, especially with the pressure of so much depending on his performance. This was why had to do everything else in his power to remove himself and his new passenger from any further danger. He would explain later, he told himself, straining his ears to catch the sounds of ragged breaths rising from the back of the car. He kept repeating those words under his breath, until he was hardly even aware they were leaving his lips, just kept repeating that it was okay now, it was all going to be okay now, everything was going to be okay.

Nearly an hour passed before he finally pulled into the motel parking lot. He circled around to the back of the building, parked in the last space of the lot, threw on the parking brake, and killed the engine. Within seconds, he was out of the car, casting quick, furtive glances over his shoulders before flinging open the door to the backseat.

This, of course, resulted in the figure huddled there shrinking away from him, and Ryan had to remind himself that it was instinct, just instinct, even as he felt his heart shattering inside his chest. With gentle hands, he reached out and laid his fingers upon pale forearms, murmuring nonsensical reassurances under his breath. He began to undo the coarse ties binding thin, too thin, wrists, feeling each tremor beneath his hands as he worked. He leaned back and watched with bated caution once the ties had fallen away, waiting for a reaction.

His heart jumped into his throat when those vacant eyes met his and at last, at last, he could see the glass starting to crack, see hints of life creeping through the fractures left behind. He slipped his own fingers through the long spindly ones he had so missed holding onto, and as if pulled by an invisible length of rope, the rest of the boy followed along, unfolding from the vehicle floor and slipping out into the blanket of dusk that had fallen down around them. Unstable knees buckled and Ryan was ready, breaking the fall with one steady arm and trying to ignore the full-bodied shudder that resulted. Instinct, he told himself. Only instinct.

He guided the both of them to the last door of the bottom level, fumbling for a few moments before finding the key at the bottom of his pocket. He flicked the light switch up with his elbow, kicking the door shut behind them and securing the deadbolt with his free hand.

The bulbs above them flickered, dousing them in dull yellow fluorescence. Ryan took several long seconds to catch his breath before allowing himself to finally absorb the moment they were in. With careful movements, he turned the body cradled between his arms so that they stood chest to chest, smoothing those tangled raven locks with one hand and cupping a sunken cheek in the other. He felt his eyes filling up with tears as he took in every detail, every feature, that his mind had long since etched an eternal memory of, feeling a desperate need rising inside of him to convince himself that this was all actually real, that he wasn’t about to wake up in a cold sweat, gasping and sobbing alone in the dark.

“Brendon,” he heard himself whispering, through the tears that now spilled freely over his face. “Brendon, Brendon, Brendon…” Over and over and over, everything that mattered in Ryan’s world wrapped up in this one magic word, over and over leaving his lips, as he wrapped his arms around the shivering mess of a man in front of him and held him close, pressed chaste kisses to the top of his head, murmured his name against his ear until finally, finally finally finally, the shaking subsided and the warmth of the embrace was accepted.

Ryan breathed out slow and soft, fighting to feel all that he felt without losing the calm demeanor anchoring both of them to reality. His eyes swept down Brendon’s bare back, taking in the streaks of dried blood that lined the skin surrounding scabbed-over wounds, mixed with traces of sweat, dirt, and…

Not the time to fall down that rabbit hole.

Ryan pulled back enough to look at Brendon’s face. His gaze was avoided at first, and after a moment of hesitation he brought his hands to Brendon’s cheeks and coaxed his head into an upward tilt. Brendon looked up at him with reluctance, dark irises swimming with uncertainty. Ryan could see the dam of pent-up emotions lurking behind those eyes, still refusing to break, refusing to accept this as reality. And that was all right, Ryan told himself – there would be time for that. There would be plenty of time for everything.

But right now, Ryan’s mind was occupied with one matter in particular: he needed to know just how badly Brendon was hurt – in the physical sense at least, and his stomach twisted at the thought of how many other ways in which harm had been done – and provide him with some sense of renewal. Maybe he couldn’t wash away the pain that lurked beneath that pale skin, but for now he could at least provide the comfort of cleanliness on the surface.

So he whispered “hey” and watched Brendon’s facial features twitch in response before turning his eyes toward the bathroom. Brendon followed the gaze and Ryan peeked down at him, watching him take in the open door, the outline of the shower curtain barely illuminated by the main room’s light. Ryan gave him a few seconds before asking “okay?” and to his immense relief, Brendon wavered for a beat before inclining his head in a short nod.

Ryan helped him into the bathroom and flipped both the light and fan on in quick succession. He felt Brendon cringe next to him and glanced down in alarm before realizing that as the room was washed with light Brendon had caught a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was now avoiding his reflection with all his might, features contorted in self-disgust. There had been several points within the past two hours during which Ryan imagined he could feel his heart shattering inside of his chest, but so far nothing had pained him more than this.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, drawing no response from Brendon, whose face remained turned pointedly away. Ryan exhaled and bit his lip, reaching down to turn on the shower.

As they waited for the water to heat up, Ryan assessed the situation. The easiest way to do this would be for both of them to stand inside the shower, especially as Brendon seemed hardly able to move of his own accord, but Ryan hesitated to disrobe in front of the other boy given his behavior so far. He knew exactly what would cross through Brendon’s fear-riddled mind and the idea made him ill, especially as he was already going to have to remove Brendon’s tattered shorts.

“Brendon,” he began carefully, eliciting a short jolt from the other boy as he raised his voice to be heard over the water’s flow. “Is it okay if I get in with you to… to help?”

Brendon, still staring down at the floor, just nodded once in response. Ryan gnawed at his bottom lip before undoing the buttons of his shirt and letting it slip to the floor. Brendon didn’t move as Ryan removed his pants as well, belt buckle clinking as it slapped against tile. Ryan could almost feel the quickening of Brendon’s breath as Ryan stood before him in just his boxers, and he paused, deciding he best not go any further.

“Is it… can I… um.” He shifted weight, feeling his face flush. “Your… your shorts. Is it okay if…”

Brendon’s eyes squeezed shut, but he gave another jerk of his head, and his shaking fingers yanked at the knot of cord looping through the waistband of the cheap material, the only thing that kept the loose shorts hugging his midriff. Ryan had to stifle a sharp intake of breath when the clothing dropped to reveal protruding hipbones marred by dark, hand-shaped bruises.

Averting his eyes before he could be caught staring, Ryan fumbled with the faucet until the water that trickled out was just above lukewarm. He took one of Brendon’s hands in his, laying the other on his shoulder as they stepped beneath the shower’s stream. He felt the tremor that passed through Brendon’s slender frame as the water bathed his tarnished skin. Rivulets of pale red pooled briefly at his feet before vanishing down the drain.

Ryan took in every cut, every etching of wound, as the dirt and blood was rinsed away. Brendon’s entire back was covered in long, thin stripes, likely from a brutal whipping. Faint imprints of teeth littered his shoulders and collar. The hand-shaped bruises Ryan had spotted first against his hips made guest appearances along his torso and, to Ryan’s quiet fury, his neck. To his immense relief, however, he saw nothing that seemed to require urgent medical care.

Brendon turned sideways to blink water from his eyes and Ryan’s gaze was drawn to a large cluster of bruises along his stomach that had gone unnoticed before. It looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to his body in a fit of rage, and Ryan could not tear his eyes away until he realized Brendon had noticed him staring and was shaking again.

Ryan turned away at once and grabbed for the small bottle of motel shampoo on the ledge behind him. Brendon flinched under the weight of Ryan’s hands in his hair, but bowed his head submissively as Ryan worked the gel into his dark locks. He swore he could see each strand shine as months of grease and dirt were washed away, disappearing down the drain in a cloud of suds.

He was more cautious with the soap, his lathered hands first moving along Brendon’s quaking shoulders and down his arms, then across his back with the lightest of touches that still managed to elicit a wince of pain. Ryan forced himself to continue until he had cleansed the entire wounded area, fear of infection overruling how much it hurt to see Brendon bothered and in pain. He decided to forgo applying soap to other areas after this, figuring the water’s rinsing would suffice for now.

He reached behind him one last time, fingers curling around the largest bottle on the shelf, this one lacking the motel’s emblem. He squeezed a golf-ball-sized dollop of cream into his palm and began smoothing it through Brendon’s hair. He saw Brendon start and turn his head to the side, some sort of nostalgic recognition glinting in his eyes as a fragrant smell filled the small space, and Ryan’s heart pounded, knowing he had recognized the scent of his favorite conditioner. Brendon’s lower lip quivered, conflict churning in his eyes, and Ryan could tell he was one step closer to breaking down that dam of emotion built up inside.

He wouldn’t push, though, he knew better. With tender caresses, he ran his fingers along Brendon’s scalp until all of the product was gone, leaving behind a silky mass that nearly resembled a healthy head of hair. He leaned past Brendon to turn the water off, and reached around the curtain to snatch up a towel from beside the sink. He draped it over Brendon’s shoulders and Brendon’s fingers clutched at its edges, pulling the fabric tightly around his body.

After working a hand towel through Brendon’s hair Ryan began to run a comb through the thick locks, gently picking apart each mat and tangle between its teeth until none were left. Brendon leaned into him as they climbed out of the shower, Ryan’s skin tingling at the contact. Brendon watched warily as Ryan sorted through the black pouch perched by the sink, locating a bottle of moisturizing lotion and pumping a large glob into his hand. He rubbed the product along Brendon’s arms, quietly pleased when Brendon voluntarily shifted the towel’s positioning to make way for Ryan’s hands. Brendon even stifled a quite obvious flinch when Ryan raised his fingers to smooth a bit of lotion over his pallid face.

Rubbing a towel quickly over his own damp body, Ryan led Brendon back out into the main room. Brendon watched Ryan dig through the suitcase tucked between the wall and the queen-sized bed, following the motions of Ryan’s hands as they laid out a pair of plaid pajama pants, pale blue boxers, and a plain black t-shirt on top of the comforter. Ryan turned away, another set of clothing clutched between his fingers as he stepped back into the bathroom. As he peeled off his soaked boxers, he heard the sound of slow, ginger movements from the other room as Brendon accepted his privacy and began to get dressed. Ryan pulled on the gray tee he had snatched up for himself, followed by a well-worn pair of sweatpants. He toweled off his hair for a minute longer, giving Brendon ample time to cover himself before shutting off the light and emerging from the bathroom.

Brendon, now dressed in the clothes Ryan had laid out, was leaning against the side of the bed, fingers fiddling with his damp towel. He glanced up as Ryan re-entered, but neglected to make eye contact. Ryan crossed the room to where a grocery bag sat atop a tiny table. He beckoned for Brendon to join him as he perched on one of the two cheap chairs, and after a moment of hesitation Brendon shuffled over, easing himself into the chair opposite Ryan. He watched Ryan’s fingers as they removed each item from the paper bag: a box of saltines, a banana, a small bottle of juice.

“It isn’t much, I know,” Ryan said, spreading a few brown paper napkins over the table. “There’s not a fridge in here, or anything, so I was kind of limited, but…” He tore into a saltine sleeve, shaking several out onto one of the napkins. He had already started peeling the banana when he realized Brendon had not budged and was still staring blankly at the food in front of him. He leaned forward and touched Brendon’s arm.

“It’s for you,” he said softly, hoping he didn’t seem too patronizing. “Go ahead.”

Ryan resumed peeling, watching as Brendon’s hands inched over the edge of the table and picked up one of the crackers, fingering it as if it were made of gold before bringing it to his lips. Ryan withdrew a plastic knife from the grocery bag and started slicing the banana into bite-sized rounds, politely keeping his gaze averted as Brendon ate. He cut each piece slowly, prolonging the activity to keep the silence between them from growing stagnant and uncomfortable. When he finally finished, Brendon was already halfway through eating the fruit, and Ryan hid a small smile as he twisted the lid off the juice container. He allowed Brendon to continue grazing, pulling out one of the several bottles of water at the bottom of the bag and sipping from it.

As Ryan expected would be the case, Brendon’s eating had already slowed in pace by the time he finished the banana, and Ryan decided not to lay out any more saltines, instead nudging the juice across the table. He was glad at his choice to bring foods gentle on the stomach; it was obvious Brendon had not received proper nourishment in a very long time. He saw, as Brendon drank the last of the juice from its bottle, his dark eyes shift to the bottle of water in Ryan’s hand. Ryan quickly set it down in front of him, smiling encouragement as Brendon hesitantly accepted the gesture and took several long swigs.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Brendon stared down at the table, hands hidden in his lap again. Ryan studied his expression, which had once more fallen blank. He noted the heavy bags that hung beneath his chocolate eyes and threw a sideways glance toward the bedside table. The alarm clock read 10:02. Ryan felt a sudden wave of weariness wash over his body as he realized the exhausting day had drawn to an end.

“We should rest,” he said, his suggestion met by a grateful nod from across the table. Ryan stood up, arching his back into a stretch.

“I brought toothbrushes,” he said. “If you want.”

Brendon slipped into the bathroom almost immediately following that statement, and Ryan tried not to think about how long it had been since Brendon had been afforded such small luxuries. He sighed as he packed the saltines back into the grocery bag with the remaining bottles of water. He plugged his cell phone into its charger and woke up the screen. He had no new messages, though this did not necessarily surprise him. He had been “off the grid”, so to speak, for some time at this point.

He tapped the email icon and typed a quick message, attaching several screenshots of maps with arrows drawn on top before hitting “send”. The toilet flushed, followed by half a minute of running water, and Brendon vacated the bathroom. Ryan set his phone on the nightstand and went to brush his own teeth.

When he came back in, Brendon had tucked himself beneath the covers on the right side of the bed and was leaning stiffly against the headboard, his fingers clutching the comforter in a vice grip. Ryan walked over to the closet, his movements deliberate as he pulled an extra blanket from the top shelf. Brendon’s eyes followed every motion as Ryan turned on the bedside lamp and shut off the main lights. He laid down on top of the bedspread, unfolding the blanket over his long body. He felt Brendon relaxing into the mattress as he understood Ryan’s gesture. The last thing Ryan saw before turning off the light was Brendon’s eyes turning toward him for a fleeting second, and the glimmer of gratitude reflected in their gaze.

Ryan laid awake for a long time, listening to the sound of Brendon’s breaths slowing as he eased into a much-needed sleep. He could hear crickets humming in the background, and somewhere in the distance a cicada chirped cheerfully. He fell asleep planning, the road that lay ahead of them stretching and rolling through his mind until the motion of it lulled him into a deep, comfortable slumber.

-

He awoke with a slow ease, stretching the kinks from his back and legs before his eyes opened. He stared up at the ceiling while his brain took a moment to remember where he was, as was habit after years of travel, countless days of never staying in one place for too long, first touring with his best friends, then searching for Brendon.

Brendon. He suddenly remembered just what was different about this morning – the person lying next to him. He turned his head and saw with a start that Brendon’s eyes were wide open and staring back at Ryan. They gleamed with wetness and in his peripheral vision Ryan spotted several drops of moisture upon the pillow supporting Brendon’s head. Alarmed, Ryan sat up, eyebrows knitting together above the bridge of his nose. Before he had time to react further, Brendon’s dry lips parted, quivering for a second before they uttered the sweetest sound Ryan had ever heard.

“Ryan…”

And that was all it took for Ryan to see the eddies breaking down, the flood of emotion behind Brendon’s face as that protective dam was washed away and everything hit him all at once, and his eyelids fluttered shut and he began to sob, heartbreaking, earth-shattering, painfully beautiful sobs. Ryan kicked away the blanket tangled between his legs and stuffed his body beneath the covers of the bed. He wrapped his arms around Brendon’s quaking shoulders and pulled him into his chest. Brendon’s head nestled into the crook of Ryan’s neck, tears spilling from his eyes to Ryan’s skin.

Ryan ran his fingers through Brendon’s sleep-tousled locks. Brendon whimpered his name again, muffled by the fabric of Ryan’s shirt, and it felt like a jolt of electricity dancing through Ryan’s veins.

“I’m here,” he whispered back. “I’m right here. I got you.”

Ryan had never seen a human being break down so fully and completely as Brendon did for the next however-many minutes that passed. Ryan felt every tear that leaked from behind those russet eyes, every whimper and hitch in Brendon’s breathing like a stab to his gut. He felt like he was breaking, too, and empathetic tears weighed heavy behind his eyes but he willed himself steady, for Brendon. The only thing that mattered was Brendon.

He pressed his lips to Brendon’s temple as the sobs began to subside. He offered a gentle smile when Brendon raised his head, cautiously meeting Ryan’s gaze.

“H-How… how long was I…” He trailed off, biting down on his lower lip.

Ryan tried to keep his smile from fading in response to the solemn question and smoothed several stray locks back from where they fell across Brendon’s face. “Thirteen months, nine days, and…” He glanced over his shoulder at the clock, which read 8:47. “…about six hours.”

If Brendon was surprised by the exactness of Ryan’s answer, he didn’t let it show. “How long were you… looking?”

“The whole time,” Ryan whispered. Brendon ducked his head, a stray tear leaking from his right eye. Ryan swept his thumb over Brendon’s cheek, brushing the droplet away with one tender stroke. “I let the police look for the first three days. I realized eventually that I… I wasn’t going to be able to just sit around and wait for them to find you.”

Brendon shook his head. “But I… how did you…”

Ryan averted his eyes. “I knew you didn’t just disappear to… blow off steam, or something. I knew… I knew that they… I knew that you were…” He swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. “I was there. I saw it happen.”

He felt Brendon’s body grow rigid beside him and he squeezed his eyes shut. The panic he had felt that night came flooding back along with the memory: his realization at what was happening as Brendon screamed and struggled against the hands that clawed his skin, the rising terror in his chest as the black van drove away, running until he felt his lungs would burst and the vehicle was long since out of sight…

He jumped when Brendon touched his shoulder. He met the gaze of eyes just as haunted as his, and knew they were both reliving very different versions of the same cursed night.

“I saw the license plate,” he said, trying to keep his words steady. “I saw you getting pulled into the car and I read the license plate. The cops found the van the next morning by the river. They didn’t get any evidence from it, just traced the plates until they got the name of… well. A name.” He knew there was no sense in using an exact term, though he felt the words hanging in the silence between them: trader, pimp, sex trafficker, scum of the earth…

“You were outside.” Brendon’s tone was even, laced with caution.

Ryan forced a nod. “Yes.”

“We…” Brendon sucked in a deep breath as his voice cracked. “Before… that, we… we fought.”

A shadow fell across Ryan’s face. “I know. I—” He stopped, struggling to hold onto the tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I went outside, I came to find you. I knew I was wrong, I knew I wasn’t being fair, I was already sorry for all of it. I just wanted to find you and tell you that… that even if I left the band, I didn’t want to leave you. I…” He had to close his eyes for a few seconds, emotions swelling inside his chest. “God, I didn’t want that fight to be the last thing we ever said to each other…”

Brendon just nodded, biting down on his lip so hard he threatened to draw blood. He was crying again, quietly this time, and he buried his head in Ryan’s chest. Ryan let several tears drip from his own eyes, fingers never pausing in their caresses through Brendon’s soft hair.

“I thought it would be,” Brendon mumbled into Ryan’s shirt. “The last thing. I kept… thinking…”

“Shh. I know. Me too. It’s okay now.” He swept Brendon’s bangs back to plant a soft kiss against his forehead. “I was wrong, okay?”

“I was too. I… I shouldn’t have left the bar…”

“No. Brendon, stop. None of it was your fault. None of it.”

Brendon didn’t respond. Ryan listened to the sound of him breathing, felt the warmth of each exhalation against his chest.

After several moments, Brendon tilted his head back, peeking up at Ryan’s face. “Where are we?”

Ryan blinked back, trying not to show his surprise. “Uh… Georgia. Right next to the Alabama border, actually.”

“Where… was I?”

“Atlanta. Or, just outside of Atlanta, technically.”

“You came so far,” Brendon whispered.

“It was worth the journey.”

He thought he saw traces of a smile cross Brendon’s face at hearing this. He planted another soft kiss and laid his head back, soaking up the moment, perfectly content.

Then he felt Brendon stiffen again and glanced down in apprehension. Brendon’s eyes, stretched wide with terror, had swiveled toward the door.

“What?” Ryan murmured. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Brendon released a shaking breath. “I-I… they… it’ll be all over the internet, it’ll get seen, they… they’ll figure out where I a-am…”

“No. No, Brendon, no. You’re safe now, that’s not going to happen.”

Brendon shook his head and Ryan could feel the waves of hysteria washing over the other boy. “No, you don’t understand, they… they… I-I…”

“Bren. Shh. Hang on.” Ryan reached behind him, fingers scrabbling against the top of the nightstand until they curled around his cell phone. Yanking it from its charger, he woke up the screen and opened his email. He paused when he saw the ‘new message’ icon, and moved his thumb to open his inbox instead of the sent folder. His eyes scanned the screen and the sides of his mouth curled into a grin. “Brendon. They got them. It’s over, it’s done.”

Brendon’s gaze wavered, splitting its focus between Ryan and the bolted door. “Wh… what?”

“Right. Right. Sorry. You don’t know what I’m talking about. Okay. I kept in touch with one of the detectives on your case – or, well, sort of, I guess, he would reach out every time they had a lead and let me know… Anyway.” He ran his fingers through Brendon’s hair, trying to soothe away the tremors that racked his body. “Last night, once I made sure you were safe, I sent him a message with the address of where I found you. He replied this morning. Atlanta PD did a raid. And they found a contact list, and they’ve already been making arrests across the country from it, and all those horrible people are gonna go away forever and never hurt anyone ever again, including you. It’s over.”

Brendon had begun to cry again. He shook his head in disbelief. Ryan stroked his flushed cheeks with gentle hands. “You’re safe, Bren. You’re safe with me.” 

They laid there for some time, until Ryan cast a sideways glance at the alarm clock. He sighed when he saw that over an hour had passed since he first woke up. “We should probably hit the road soon. Got at least three days of driving ahead of us.” 

Brendon frowned. “Where are we going?”

Ryan smiled. “Home.”

-

Ryan couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Brendon from where he sat in the driver’s seat, dark shades masking his flickering gaze. The younger boy had been staring out the window with an entranced look on his face for at least an hour, his dark eyes somewhere far away. Now slept and showered he looked slightly less dead, a hint of color in his sunken cheeks and a faint shine returned to his unkempt hair. He was beautiful. He was so beautiful that Ryan physically ached. Just having him so close by, so tangibly real, after so much time made Ryan dizzy in the head.

Brendon finally caught him staring after he let his eyes wander for several seconds too long and nearly veered off the road. He felt his cheeks flush as Brendon squirmed in his seat, twisting his fingers together. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry.” Ryan straightened his sunglasses and tried not to look too sheepish. Brendon just lowered his gaze and turned his head back toward the window. Ryan felt his insides twist. Fourteen months prior Brendon would have been poking him in the ribs, teasing and whining and wheedling until Ryan nearly ran off the road just to get the other boy to say what was on his mind, no matter how stupid those thoughts ended up being.

They lapsed back into silence until the gas needle had inched dangerously close to the big red “E” at the bottom of the dashboard and Ryan turned off onto a sleepy-looking exit. He pulled into an uncrowded Texaco station and felt Brendon turn an uncertain gaze on him as he stopped the car. He popped open the compartment separating passenger and driver’s seats and fished out a worn gray cap and a spare pair of sunglasses.

“Just, ah, wait for a sec while I start the pump, yeah?”

Brendon blinked as he jammed the hat down over his wavy locks and nodded, looking as though leaving Ryan’s side for even a second hadn’t occurred to him in the slightest.

Ryan stretched, long and slow, as he slid his long limbs out of the car. He mussed his long, untrimmed bangs before he fiddled with the gas pump, so that several mousy strands fell forward into his face. It had been awhile since he had been recognized in public, having learned within the first several months of his search for Brendon that it was quite difficult to keep a low profile when teenage girls were squealing and asking for photos with him every time he got out of his car. He’d let his hair grow until it could easily cover his face, acquired a small collection of sunglasses and cheap, very not-Ryan-Ross baseball caps, learned to put on only the plainest and most inconspicuous of clothing when he woke up in the morning. And it worked; he hadn’t been approached in public in well over six months.

But now Brendon was here, and seeing as half the world at this point knew he had gone missing thirteen months, nine days, and about twelve hours ago, not to mention the fact that most fangirl radars seemed to be extra sensitive when Ryan and Brendon were in the same place at the same time… well, Ryan was nervous. He tried not to be, as he jammed his credit card into the slot. Technically, he had no reason to be nervous after the email he had gotten that morning. But he was, all the same, probably because he had gotten so used to the familiar feeling of worry hanging about in the back of his mind and the pit of his stomach.

Plus, he mused, Brendon getting recognized and practically assaulted in public was hardly what either of them needed right now.

He lingered just outside of the bathroom of the station shop, feeling awkward and creepy but refusing to move from the nearest aisle until he saw Brendon emerge. He moved through the store collecting assorted snacks from the shelves. Brendon trailed along behind him, not really paying attention to anything except his own nervous fidgeting.

It was like being in the twilight zone. As they had walked inside Ryan was eerily reminded of the long drives and weary pit stops that broke up each blur of a show on their seemingly endless tours, of Brendon bouncing around between gas station candy aisles trying to convince Ryan that he would absolutely still be able to sit still for the rest of the drive if he was allowed to eat six packs of M&Ms.

He wished now that he had paid more attention to those moments while he was in them.

Ryan noticed the visible release of tension from Brendon’s shoulders as they got back into the car. He also noticed the slight contortion of the other boy’s facial features when he reached for his seatbelt and twisted his torso a bit too far.

“Hey, if you… if you need to see a doctor…”

Brendon shook his head, not meeting Ryan’s gaze. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice quiet and small.

“If…” Ryan bit his lip, unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to say. “If anything hurts more than you think it should, or, I mean, if something feels like it’s not quite right, I… I can find a hospital on the way, we can stop, it’s not a problem. I mean, you should probably see a doctor anyway, so…” He trailed off, feeling the discomfort wafting from the passenger seat.

“My ribs were broken,” Brendon said, after letting an uncomfortable silence stretch between them for several moments. “And now they’re not.”

Ryan swallowed, unsure of how much further he should press. “They probably healed wrong, Bren. And I mean, considering… well, considering. You should see a doctor anyway, at some point.”

Brendon’s pale cheeks had flushed a deep shade of crimson and he turned toward the window to hide them. “Not right now,” he murmured, and Ryan knew it was meant to be a statement, but it came out halfway between that and a meek question, and Ryan sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah. That’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.” He pulled a pack of candy from the flimsy plastic bag at his feet and set it on the edge of Brendon’s seat before starting the car. Brendon didn’t say anything else, but his fingers didn’t shake as they poked through the cellophane and started bringing M&Ms to his mouth.

-

They didn’t stop until close to ten, Ryan allowing the telltale heaviness of his eyelids to determine when he was no longer fit to keep driving. He pulled off at a Motel 6 and reached across to touch Brendon lightly on the shoulder. Brendon jerked awake, ripping off the sunglasses that still perched on the bridge of his nose.

Ryan sat back, allowing Brendon to collect his whereabouts and relax, as if this were a perfectly normal, everyday type of thing to have to wait for someone to do, before turning off the car.

“We’re in Oklahoma,” Ryan told him later in the motel room, as he wrestled with the stuck zipper of his well-worn suitcase. “Made good time today.”

Brendon just nodded, taking the clothes Ryan held out to him without responding. Ryan quickly changed after Brendon disappeared into the bathroom and flopped down on the bed with his cell phone in his hands. He was surprised to see a text message waiting for him when he woke up the screen, his pulse quickening when he saw who it was from.

Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Are you safe? How’s it going? Look don’t be mad, Jon says I shouldn’t say this but I feel like I have to – eventually you might have to accept that he’s gone. We all might have to. You can’t live like this for the rest of your life.

“Does he know?”

Ryan jumped, too lost in his thoughts to realize Brendon had been standing in front of him long enough to glimpse the name at the top of the screen. The phone slipped from his fingers to rest screen-first against the mattress. Brendon followed the movement with his eyes and for a moment Ryan caught a glimpse of the person that used to live behind them, thinking Brendon was going to reach for the phone and insist on reading the rest of the text. But he didn’t, just perched stiffly on the edge of the bed and stared down at the device lying between them.

“Does Spencer know?” he repeated. “Jon? Zack? How… how many people know?”

Ryan heard the rising panic in his tone and sat up, scooting closer to where Brendon sat. “Those three,” he said carefully, “plus Pete. So probably Patrick too, I’d imagine. And that’s it,” he rushed to add, noting how Brendon’s hands had begun to shake. “They only know because of the investigation, and because of me leaving. I pretty much dropped off the grid and I didn’t want them to worry. More than they were already going to, anyway.”

Brendon was quiet for a minute. “It didn’t… get leaked? Released to the press? The internet?”

Ryan shook his head. “The police did a really, really good job of keeping it quiet. Trust me. I’ve got Google alerts on for all our names and pretty much anything remotely related to any of us. The only thing that comes up when you look for it online are articles about you being missing. No one else knows, Bren. I promise.”

Brendon stared down at his hands, twisting them together in his lap. Ryan longed to reach out and pull him close, soothe the anxiety from his trembling form. “Spencer’s actually the only one who has my new number, besides the lead officer on your case. I call him once a month or so and he texts me to check in.” He nodded down at the phone. Brendon hesitated before his fingers inched over and curled around the device.

Ryan watched, trying to read Brendon’s slack expression as his he read Spencer’s text. Brendon was quiet, lowering the phone after several long minutes. “You made this your life,” he murmured. “Your whole life. For thirteen months and nine days.”

And about twenty hours, Ryan’s brain added automatically. Outwardly, he sighed, hearing the dejection in Brendon’s voice. “I would have done it for thirteen more,” he said. “And thirteen more after that. As long as it took to find you, that’s how long I would have done it. No matter how much it worried Spencer, no matter what anyone else said.”

“Why?” The question hurt Ryan, hurt almost as much as the despondent look on Brendon’s face. He reached over and slipped his fingers between Brendon’s, relieved when Brendon didn’t pull away.

“Trying to live a normal life not knowing where you were, knowing you weren’t safe, would have driven me insane. Not having you made everything else worthless to me. Music, money, fame, normalcy, sanity, I…” He shook his head, feeling tears rising to the corners of his eyes. “You are worth more to me than anything else. I did what I had to do and I don’t regret it at all.”

Brendon chewed his bottom lip. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice so low Ryan had to lean closer to hear. “I never said… I can’t even say how much I…”

“Brendon.” Ryan cut him off, his tone gentle but firm. “First, okay, you’re… you’re welcome. And second, I don’t ever want you to thank me for this again. Okay?” He saw the confusion, the flicker of hurt, cross Brendon’s face and hurried to elaborate. “You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to make that perfectly clear. You don’t owe me, or anyone else, anything at all. You could move to fucking Australia and never speak to me again – I’d be fucking sad, you know, but you could – and it’d be your right, because you don’t owe me anything. You’re free to do and say whatever you want. I just want to make sure you know that.”

Ryan had been so wrapped up in his speech, in making sure each word came out the way he wanted it to sound, that he didn’t notice until he was done the tears streaming unchecked from Brendon’s eyes. Alarmed, he brought his free hand to Brendon’s chin, gently turning his face up toward Ryan’s own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, a deep frown creasing his brow. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“N-No, I…” Brendon took a deep breath. “It’s, um… it’s been a long time since… since someone, uh… since I was treated like a-a… a human being… is all…”

As if it were possible for Ryan’s heart to be broken any further than it already had, he felt the familiar sharp pain of his insides shattering as he pulled Brendon into his arms without a word. He clutched the other boy close, allowing him to cry as tears dripped from his own eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said, when Brendon’s sobs finally reduced themselves to sporadic sniffles. “It’s over now. It’s all gonna be okay.”

-

Ryan was the first to wake up the next morning, a tiny smile gracing his lips at the sight of Brendon’s peaceful expression. He watched the rise and fall of Brendon’s chest, content to bask in the tranquil moment as the sun struggled to peek through the edges of motel curtains.

After a while he realized he had never responded to Spencer’s message from the day before. He reached for his phone and tapped out a quick response to let his friend know he was okay. He neglected to address the latter half of the text, nor did he mention the fact that the reason for his absence was currently curled up next to him in a motel bed. He needed to talk to Brendon first, let the other boy decide how he wanted to handle the commotion that would inevitably follow his return to the real world.

He felt Brendon stirring and set his phone back down. He was startled when, instead of waking gently as Ryan had several moments before, Brendon’s eyes popped open and he sat straight up, back rigid. His hands flew to his face, and it took a moment for Ryan to realize he was checking each of his fingers in quick succession, as if expecting them not to be there. His wide eyes glanced about the room before meeting Ryan’s worried gaze.

“Are you okay?” Ryan whispered, as Brendon sank back into the mattress.

“Yeah,” Brendon mumbled. He followed Ryan’s questioning gaze to his lowered hands and flushed. “When I was…” He took a deep breath. “They’d say they would cut off our toes, or our fingers, while we slept, if we… misbehaved. And one day, this girl, she woke up screaming… all of her t-toes…” His eyes squeezed shut. “She told me she… she used to be a d-dancer...”

Ryan’s stomach clenched. Brendon took a few moments to compose himself and return his breathing to its normal pace. “Sorry, I just… forgot…”

“It’s okay. I know. It’ll take time.” He took Brendon’s hand between both of his, pressing his lips to Brendon’s knuckles. “We have all the time in the world.”

-

By the third day of driving Brendon had loosened up a bit, no longer tensing up every time he got out of the car or had a slight interaction with any human who wasn’t Ryan Ross. He still hadn’t smiled, though, much to Ryan’s dismay – not a real, genuine, Brendon Urie smile, at least.

They were leaving a rest stop in Arizona, April sun warming their shoulders, when it happened. An overexcited Labrador puppy, straining against its leash, bounded up to them and immediately jumped into Brendon with an excited yip. Ryan’s shoulders stiffened, eyes darting over to gauge Brendon’s reaction.

The surprise that crossed the other boy’s face disappeared within seconds. His hands ruffled the dog’s short fur, and as his fingers were received with frantic, sloppy puppy-kisses, Ryan saw it spread over Brendon’s face: a smile. And then, as the elderly woman at the other end of the leash apologized, he laughed.

Laughed.

Ryan felt like his insides would burst hearing it. He’d been blissfully unaware up to that point of just how much, just how fucking much, he missed the sound of Brendon’s laugh. He hid his broad grin as they got back in the car, but once they had returned to the highway and the corners of Brendon’s mouth fell back into place, Ryan followed the instinctive urge to bring that gorgeous smile back to Brendon’s face.

“Do you remember how you basically spent half of Panic’s first tour trying to convince Zack to let you get a dog to bring on the road with us?”

Ryan’s heart leapt when he saw Brendon’s lips curl upward again in his peripheral vision. “It was a good idea!”

“It got to the point where every time you even looked at him he’d be like ‘No! Shut up!’” Ryan laughed, joy buzzing in his chest when he heard Brendon chuckle along.

“I still think he would have been less stressed all the time if he’d had a dog to pet.” Brendon’s smile faded and he looked down at his lap. “All of that… I guess it’s kind of… over now, huh?”

Ryan’s expression sobered as well. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. Brendon was quiet, gazing solemnly at the road ahead of them.

“What now?” he asked finally. “I… Everyone’s going to expect something from me now, and I… I don’t... What do I do now?”

“Whatever you want,” Ryan replied, not missing a beat. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks you should do, what people expect. Take care of yourself first.” He hesitated before adding, “And if you’re worried about people being surprised by whatever that ends up being, well… you’ve always kind of been more inclined to say ‘fuck it’ than care what other people think anyway, B. It’ll work out.”

Brendon sighed, staring out the window at the blur of sand and mountain passing them by. “Yeah. I guess.” He tilted his face upward, accepting warmth from the sun’s rays as they poured through the tinted window. “Everything’s going to be so…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Different, Ryan finished silently, glancing sideways at the other boy. Crazy. Hard.

“I know,” he murmured. He reached across the space between them and took Brendon’s hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Brendon nodded, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. “Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“You said before that we… have time.”

“I did. Yes.”

Brendon’s gaze shifted to Ryan’s face, ready to gauge the other boy’s reaction as he said, “We should take a vacation.”

-

And that was how they found themselves, a great deal of hours later, lying on a beach in the southernmost part of California, a layer of motel towels beneath them and their barren toes curling in the sand. The soft din of waves hitting the shore washed over them, along with the sound of Ryan’s fingers pulling gentle notes from the acoustic guitar in his lap. Brendon’s eyes had lit up as soon as he unearthed the instrument from the mess that was Ryan’s trunk, looking like a piece of his world, the one that actually made sense, had fallen back into place.

Now, he laid his head back against the ground, one arm resting beneath his skull for support. His dark doe eyes stared up at the stars as he listened to Ryan’s quiet strums turn from abstract plucking to a repetitive melody. He shifted positions just enough to look at Ryan. “You wrote that.”

“Yes,” Ryan replied simply. Yes: for the first time in thirteen months, eleven days, and about twenty-two hours, Ryan had written something, felt the familiar buzzing in his brain and itching in his fingers as word and refrain came together like a puzzle in the back of his mind.

Brendon sat back, eyes returning to the sky above. “Can I hear?” His words were shy, as if unsure whether he was allowed to ask such a question.

Ryan blushed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “’Course.” He cleared his throat a couple of times, trying to ignore the grit in his neglected voice as he played the chords and softly sang: 

Leave the waves at the ocean
And keep them all in a picture
Leave the sand in a suitcase
And take the days as they come

We’re goin’, goin’ goin’ very far…  

I need to take a vacation, if this is settling down
Then why aren’t you here?
I want a big celebration the night we get back in town
And I hope you’re all there…

He trailed off with a final, unsure strum. Brendon’s features were relaxed in a wonderfully serene expression, and he opened his eyes as Ryan finished. The older boy ducked his head. “It’s not perfect,” he mumbled.

“It is,” Brendon contradicted quietly. Ryan looked back at him, skin tingling in a way he hadn’t felt for a very long time. Brendon’s alabaster skin fairly glowed in the soft moonlight. Ryan didn’t think he’d ever see a thing more beautiful as long as he lived. He set the guitar on the towel next to him and sank down next to Brendon. They fell silent, bathed in the calm roar of the tide.

“Today I saw cancer, cigarettes, and shortness of breath,” he heard Brendon whisper beside him.

With a start, he turned his head to see Brendon staring back at him with shining eyes. “Brendon…”

“This is why I walk to the ocean,” Brendon continued, and Ryan could practically feel their heartbeats accelerating in time with one another. “Swim with jellyfish. I may never get this chance again.” He took a deep breath, dark eyes searching for something – Ryan wasn’t quite sure what – in Ryan’s. “This is why…”

The next line hung unspoken between them, dancing in the chilled night air. Ryan couldn’t breathe as Brendon’s face inched closer, closer, closer to his, and he felt Brendon’s soft lips meet his own. His eyes fluttered shut and he just barely suppressed the moan that rose from his throat. His entire body pulsed with longing. All of the time they had lost was unraveling between them, slipping and sliding out of their minds like a thief in the night as Brendon deepened the kiss.

Ryan fought to control himself, letting Brendon’s lips lead his until the other boy pulled away. They stared at one another, panting in unison, and Brendon flicked an unfallen tear from the corner of his eye before raising a cautious hand to Ryan’s face. Ryan leaned into the caress as Brendon’s fingers stroked his cheek, his forehead, his hair. They said nothing, reading everything they needed to know in each other’s eyes: Brendon’s uncertainty, his instinctive fear at the thought of where a kiss may later lead; Ryan’s reassurance that this was all he needed, that whatever Brendon was able to give was all that he would more than gladly accept.

Brendon moved closer and Ryan’s arms curled around his body. They breathed each other in, soaking the moment into their skin.

“I think,” Brendon said, lips brushing against Ryan’s ear, “we should get a dog.”

Laughter bubbled up in Ryan’s chest, joined after a short beat by Brendon’s own gleeful giggles. Ryan planted a row of kisses along Brendon’s brow. “Whatever you want, B. Whatever you want.”

All of the hurt, the worry, the pain and the panic that had followed Ryan around like a demon in a bad dream was falling away; he felt the weight of it leaving his chest and disappearing with the tide, replaced by the bliss of love and being loved. The countless days he had spent cursing and crying his frustrations as Brendon slipped, again and again, just out of his grasp, evaporated from his mind as he saw the future stretching out before them, pages and pages of a novel he had all the time in the world to finish reading. And for the first time in thirteen months, eleven days, and nevermind how many hours because he didn’t need to keep track anymore, Ryan Ross was finally, inescapably, unequivocally…

Happy.