The Five Times I've Seen Ryan Ross Cry

The Time His Dad Passed

The third time was at his dad's funeral. It was quiet, small, lonesome. Just like the man deserved. Ryan didn't look any different at all--straightfaced, unwilling to show emotion. But as soon as it was time for him to give his eulogy, he stormed off. Which of course I followed him. I found him sat at a park bench down the street.

"Ryan," I said gently. He remained seated at the same place on the bench, looking coldly at the ground. We weren't officially together, but we still talked, hung out, hugged, kissed, whatever. We never confirmed--or denied--anything. I sat next to him and tried to see what he was seeing. He was looking at a puddle from last night's downpour on the ground.

"I'm angry," he whispered, as if I wasn't meant to hear. And I didn't think I was meant to hear that, so I pretended as if I didn't. He continued, "I'm angry because I miss him. He doesn't deserve to be missed, yet I do. He abused me. He called me names. He made me just as fucked up as he was. He took me down with him on his sinking ship of misery and I miss him."

I took my eyes off of the puddle to look at Ryan, who had tears forming in the ducts of his eyes. And for once, I didn't have anything to say. I couldn't help him. And he just leaned on my shoulder. I rested my head on his and we just sat there together. My hand grabbed his and our fingers intertwined.

After a few minutes of silence, I finally said, "You still have to give your eulogy."

He buried his face into the crook of my neck and said into my skin, "I can't." I didn't know what to say to that. I nodded. It seemed like the boy was making me speechless countless times today.

I turned to him and said, "Ryan, look at me." He looked up, his eyes lifeless and dull.

"It's okay to miss him. Sometimes, we miss the people who hurt us. And I know it sounds stupid, but we do. We do because...when they hurt us, it shows at least that they feel something toward us. It's a sign to show that we aren't numb. But what we have to realize is that...that's the wrong kind of feeling people are supposed to give us. When you see someone, your heart is supposed to flutter a-and...you're supposed to feel this warmth spread in your chest. Your breath is supposed to hitch and you feel your fists tighten. You get scared, but not because you fear the person. You're afraid because you care about that person so much. And they care about you. A--" I was about to go on, but I was cut off by Ryan's lips crashing into mine. And he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my neck as if I were the last thing in the world and he was clinging on to me.

He leaned his forehead against mine and I felt the wetness of his tears drip onto my cheeks, like he was sharing his pain and suffering with me so we could both hold it together. And he finally whispered with a shaky breath, "I love you." His words hung in the air, but not like they were a burden. It was as if he had said the three words that would set himself and myself free. Because we had been so afraid to say it. So I pulled him closer, our noses brushing and my breath ghosting over his lips. My dark chocolate eyes reaching his hazel. I couldn't bring myself to look away because I saw his fear, the fear of saying those three words. And I knew he meant every. Single. Word.

"I love you, too."