Title: The Opening Departure
Author: Marianna [insunshine]
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: Ryan, Brendon, Spencer, Jon, Bill.
Word Count: 1765
Summary: Brendon has this thing. Brendon has this thing, where he tilts his head back, laughs and says, well, at least, if this what we've amounted to at least, at least we can tell them we were happy.
Disclaimer: If, in twenty years, the boys lives are like this, I can't really be held accountable, can I?
Author Notes: Couldn't have been finished without two of my very favorite girls, so major, MAJOR thanks to xthebackseatx and fallingfortruth. They seriously both deserve awards for their awesome. The title, of course, is also not my own, but the name of a track by the band Aiden. They're fantastic. You should check them out.




They are happy.

Brendon has this thing. Brendon has this thing, where he tilts his head back, laughs and says, well, at least, if this what we've amounted to at least, at least we can tell them we were happy.

And the thing is, try as hard as he might [and Ryan's might is formidable], Ryan can't always make himself disagree.

--

It's the third wedding in a two week time span, he thinks later on, that really does them in.

--

Despite all evidence to the contrary -- and because he's been around Brendon for far too many years to count, Ryan has seen, lived through and become part of said evidence, Brendon is not a romantic.

Sure, he'll leave little notes and flowers on Ryan's pillows if he's up early enough, and he's perfected the art of making the most basic of breakfast foods, so that on the birthdays and anniversaries which he's also remembered -- because his mind is a steel trap, Ryan will have something to munch on before the take out gets there, but he.

They don't do that.

They don't spout flowery I love you's at each other, don't hold hands in public unless one or both are limping, and despite their exclusivity, Ryan wonders sometimes if it's really because of the something special between them or just a force of habit.

He doesn't think about it too often, and no one bothers to question whether Ryan is the romantic one.

He hides it well.

--

It's the wedding's fault though. Ryan totally blames the wedding, he has to, because his brain will actually explode if he blames himself, and Brendon, well, Brendon is different.

For once in his life, Brendon actually isn't to blame.

--

"That was really nice," He says, and they're standing in the mouth of the church, leaning against the pillars like younger men and Ryan is on his eighth cigarette of the morning. "The bride was gorgeous." Brendon's eyebrows are waggling, and Ryan has to move his hand in front of his lips to keep his smile from the sunlight.

"You do realize that the term bride is negated because they were both men, right?" He's not trying to dampen the mood, he really isn't, and he doesn't, because Brendon just shakes his head and grins.

Ryan has spent a lifetime seeing the way Brendon's lips curl over his teeth. It's not enough time.

He doesn't think it ever will be.

He is characteristically silent.

"Dude," Brendon mutters, and Ryan almost laughs. There are some things that never change, no matter what the times, and for better or for worse, Brendon is one of them. "Dude, seriously, Ross? Bill had flowers in his hair. Flowers, man. I'm pretty sure he counts as the bride especially considering--"

He's laughing as Ryan pulls him closer, laughing as Ryan tosses his unfinished [his barely started] cigarette onto the smooth marble, tugging Brendon forward by the lapels.

"Especially considering?"

Brendon's eyes have gone a little unfocused, and he's silent, but still moving, still animated, unable to keep still, if only for just one second. This is what Ryan likes best about him. He's never shared this information, but this is a wedding, a wedding and Ryan wishes he could say he's never seen Jon look so happy.

Spencer is suspiciously absent. No one has mentioned this.

Ryan kisses Brendon.

In public, with at least one hundred of their nearest and dearest and maybe not so familiar friends milling around the church steps, greeting the happy couple.

No one even blinks.

--

They don't fight. Not anymore, they don't fight, and they have a nice little house in a nice little part of town, and they don't fight.

Ryan has learned to curb his tongue.

Brendon has learned nothing.

At this stage, Ryan is afraid of loss. The loss, the big one.

They don't talk about it, but it's obvious when Ryan clings closer at night, when Ryan presses his forehead against the curve of Brendon's shoulder, when he moves faster, harder, moaning the words on a silent breath, when Ryan doesn't let go afterwards. Brendon has always been a snuggler; after so many years of exposure, Ryan has picked up the habit.

Ryan is afraid that if Brendon leaves now, he'll never come back.

Brendon has never made him any promises.

--

"I'm thinking Cambodia," Jon's voice is disembodied, because Ryan is half bent in his closet, half not. He doesn't even know what he's looking for, just that it's here, that he needs to find it. He's channeling Brendon and he knows it, and Jon knows it, and the old lady next door who thinks they're all brothers knows it too.

Ryan doesn't doubt this.

He can't help himself.

"I'm thinking you're fucking nuts," He mutters when he slumps to the floor dejectedly, his knees hitting the smooth wood paneling, rough. He winces, and Jon's face floods with concern.

"Come on, man. Take it easy." Ryan rolls his eyes, because come on. Come on, seriously, he's not that old. He's not old at all. Forty is the new thirty is the new twenty. He's fine.

"Jon Walker," Ryan's tone is more cutting than it's been in years. Jon doesn't even blink, which makes Ryan feel like a knife, rusty with lack of use and age. He tries to mind. "You are, in actuality, a year older than me." He narrows his eyes pointedly.

Jon laughs.

"I am in much better shape, though, man. My husband is in far better condition than yours." Ryan's throat is closing and he doesn't even know why, because it's not like the closet was that dusty, and dust is the only thing he's allergic too and it's not even. He and Brendon are not -- it's never been that way with them.

"So Cambodia?" He asks weakly, and Jon smiles. It's a little tight, because out of everything he's ever seen and everything he hasn't, Ryan knows that Jon hates seeing him upset.

He is not upset. He is so far from upset he doesn't even know where the line is. He's fine, he really is.

Just fine.

"Bill wants a baby that will match his car." Ryan's face pales, and his eyes widen, and he's practically like, gasping for breath, because what? What? That sentence did not exist a second ago, and it certainly cannot exist now, because what?

Jon laughs like he fucks, warmth and geniality and happiness radiating around him like a quilted blanket. Ryan tries not to stare. Tries not to remember.

"God, you're so fucking easy," He's ruffling Ryan's hair like Ryan is a dog, a Labrador retriever or something, like one of Spencer's old dogs. Like one of the dogs they had together.

Bill is allergic.

Ryan thinks Jon misses the dogs more than he misses Spencer. Wonders if Jon misses Spencer at all.

"Cambodia?" He asks again, and Jon shrugs. The tension is audible now, thick and tense in the air, and Ryan wishes he hadn't asked. Wishes that things hadn't ended up the way they had. Wishes.

He's too old for that.

"We. There should be Beckett-Walker babies, don't you think, Ross?" His eyes are smiling, and this is an olive branch, this is something, and Ryan takes it gladly, because it's easier than talking about all of the things that aren't.

"Please tell me you're not--"

"Bill's car is red, Ross."

Ryan laughs until he can't breathe.

--

The fourth wedding in two weeks is what saves them, but Ryan can't. Ryan doesn't think he needs saving, and Spencer is just the fall guy.

Ryan hates it.

Ryan hates it and he hates her, and he hates that Spencer got married without telling him, that he broke the bond, that this girl is young and blonde and pretty and not what Spencer needs at all. Brendon hates Ryan when he's like this, and opens his arms to Spencer's pretty young wife; opens his heart.

Ryan bares his teeth and tries to make it look like a smile.

--

"I don't get it."

"You don't have to."

"You don't love her."

The words are harsh like whipping wind, but Ryan doesn't wish he could take them back. He can feel the blood coursing through his veins, he feels alive, in this argument, in this moment, and he's missed Spencer more than he knows how to say. More than anything.

"I don't," The words are even and Ryan believes him. Spencer's eyes aren't even guarded, his mouth is slack and his shoulders are slumped, and Ryan knows this means that Spencer has missed him too.

"You don't," It's not a question.

Spencer shakes his head and Ryan feels his fists clenching because god, god dammit -- and this is dumb, god, this is dumb, but why not him? He loves Brendon. He doesn't love anything in the world as much as he loves Brendon, and he's been waiting.

Spencer's brow arches, and oh. Oh god.

Ryan seriously needs to monitor his brain to mouth filter.

"Why don't you tell him that?"

"Why did you marry her?"

The room is silent, and Ryan's arms are stretched across his chest, tight, but there's no tension here.

"I didn't want to be alone anymore."

Spencer's brand of self preservation is completely different than his own.

--

They are happy, they are.

Brendon makes him breakfast sometimes, has mastered the most basic of modern breakfast foods, and it's enough. It's OK. They have their nice little house, in their nice little part of town, and Ryan is happy.

It's enough.

--

"Hey, so I was talking to Spencer--"

"You shouldn't do that. He puts ideas in your head." Ryan is drinking coffee. There's an unopened pack of cigarettes on the table, and he's reading the paper. They've got a companionable silence going on. It's nice.

Ryan thinks he could stay like this forever.

He refrains from saying the words out loud.

"I was thinking we could get married," Brendon says, casual like, leaning his weight against the wicker chair by Ryan's shoulder. His eyes have fastened themselves to the air by Ryan's ear.

Ryan can't breathe.

"Are you crazy?"

"It's very possible."

"You want to marry me." It's a question even though it isn't phrased like one.

"I think we've been living in sin too long, Ross. You can't be my kept boy anymore. It's not right."

Ryan snorts indelicately. "Except for how I'm older than you," he mutters, and Brendon laughs.

"My kept man, then."

Ryan can't breathe.

And then he can't breathe some more.

Brendon kisses him, sliding his hands across the weathered planes of Ryan's skin, breathing for him.

Ryan says yes.