Ryan stands in the queue, waiting to buy his and Brendon's tickets, his heart slapping wetly against his ribs. There are a fair few people milling around waiting to buy tickets or food, and he's pretty sure that every single one of them is wondering why the hell some freaky young man is somewhere so normal. He doesn't meet any of their eyes, choosing instead just to glare at the floor.
Brendon, on the other hand, seems perfectly content amongst the crowds. He looks around at everybody who passes, inspecting them and smiling at them when they meet his eye. They always smile back. It's beginning to make Ryan feel like an idiot; he knows that nobody would smile at him, if their gazes crossed.
"What film do you want to see?" Brendon asks, breaking him from his glum thoughts. Ryan starts at the sound of the voice, and looks up, to find himself staring straight at Brendon's dark eyes. He goes red.
"Um. It d-doesn't really matter. Whatever you w-want."
Brendon shrugs, and turns his gaze to the screen, and then takes Ryan's hand in his own. Ryan tenses, staring at the fingers entwining with his, and it feels as though his heart has skipped a beat. Brendon glances at him, smiles, and squeezes his hand, as they move forward to be served.
Ryan doesn't really listen as Brendon orders tickets for some cliché romantic comedy. He doesn't particularly care what he's about to sit through, because his strange, beautiful housemate is leading him towards the cinema screen by the hand, and it's kind of hard to form any coherent thought right now.
"Let's get to the back," Brendon whispers, as they enter the dark screen room. Ryan nods, numbly, and they make their way towards the back of the cinema. He's not exactly sure why, but he's even more hot and flustered than before, and he's not even thinking about who could be staring and judging him.
They settle into a pair of empty seats in the back of the cinema, as the adverts flicker across the screen. Ryan's palms are sweating, and he feels humiliated, because Brendon hasn't let go of his hand yet. On the arm rest, their fingers are entwined, Ryan's longer and paler.
From the moment Brendon had passed out his doorstep, all those weeks ago, Ryan had felt something. As he's gotten to know the boy better and better, the feelings have done nothing but increase, and though he's not quite sure how to label the ticklish flutterings he feels inside, he knows perfectly well that he's ridiculous. Why is he even bothering to think about Brendon in that way?
After all, Brendon is Jon's. It's obvious. Even though he's evidently promiscuous, his heart seems destined to lie with the older, protective man. Ryan may get the odd flirtation every now and again, and even the odd cuddle, but he knows he can never possess all of Brendon. He wants to hate Jon, he really does, but the man is nothing but kind to him.
But, he suddenly scolds himself, why is he even thinking of Brendon in that way? Even if Brendon was totally free of being in love with somebody else, he'd probably never look at Ryan in that way. Who would? He's a shy, stuttering freak, and he wouldn't be worthy.
At these thoughts, he begins to panic, again. The cinema seems smaller, and there are a fair few people, and he's damn sure that one of them is whispering something about him. He shifts, restlessly, in his chair, tempted to just run away. He can't stand being with so many strangers in the darkness.
Just as he makes up his mind to stand up and go home, where it's safe and comfortable, Brendon turns to him. He releases his hand, and instead takes to rubbing a circle into his wrist, with a finger. "Are you okay?"
"I'm j-just - I'm not used t-to --"
"I know," Brendon sighs, sympathetically, and moves his soothing touch to his forearm, instead. Ryan's skin tingles, and he can feel himself, somehow, relaxing. "You're okay, though. You're with me! What could go wrong?"
"Um. N-nothing, I g-guess."
"Exactly!" Brendon smiles, evidently pleased Ryan agrees with him. "It's not as though someone's going to come and say anything bad to you. Especially as we're alone, at the back. They'll know what we'll be up to, and they probably won't want to interrupt.
Ryan's eyes go wide, and he chokes, a little. "W-what will we be up t-to?"
A small, soft smile comes across Brendon's lips, and he leans impossibly closer, his breath hot upon Ryan's face. Ryan's breath hitches, as Brendon's hand strays lower, coming to rest upon the top of his thigh. In a seductive, tempting voice, he murmurs, "Whatever you want from me, you can have, you know."
Just about instantly, Ryan grows hard. As he feels the swelling in his jeans, and realises that Brendon is leaning over him, their lips a moment apart, the familiar swell of panic rises through him, and he stands up, practically knocking Brendon out of the way.
"I-I have to - t-to go, I c-can't --"
He shakes his head, giving up with his explanation, and half-runs down the steps, and out of the screen room. He doesn't care that people stare at him as he sprints past, his cheeks burning and his jeans tightening. He just needs to get home, as quickly as possible. Home. Where, he suddenly realises, Brendon will inevitably return to.
Ryan tries his hardest not to remember his offer - "Whatever you want from me, you can have, you know." - but God, he does. It runs through his bone marrow and his veins and his flesh. He grows to hate his mind and body even more, and he doesn't stop running until he reaches the house.
By tiring himself out, he hopes that he can forget that beautiful, ridiculous moment that he's just ruined.
