"I'm not scared."
That's all Brendon says when they shut the bedroom door behind them. Ryan can't help but silently agree; Brendon doesn't look scared. He looks terrified. With a sigh, the quieter boy walks over to the window. The air is tense in here, stifling. He goes to slide the window open before realising that Jon and Spencer are still conversing in the yard. He looks down at them and knows that he doesn't want to hear their conversations. He keeps the window shut, instead turning to face the room.
"I'm not scared," Brendon repeats, more quietly. He nervously plays with the cuff of his shirt sleeve, face pale. He meets Ryan's eyes. "I'm not."
"I know," Ryan whispers, sadly. What can he do? If he's honest, he's not half as scared as Brendon and Jon seem to be. He thinks they're overreacting a little; surely no man would track them down within a night all for the sake of losing a customer, right? He walks slowly over to Brendon and tenatively smoothes some of the boy's hair from his eyes. Brendon meets his gaze, eyes wide and terrified. "You'll b-be okay."
"But what if he finds us? He'll kill Jon, and it's all my fault. I should've ... I, I can't --"
"It's not your f-fault," Ryan interrupts him, in as stern a voice he can muster. Brendon just stares at him, lower lip trembling. "It's n-not. You had t-to stop seeing him. It w-was killing you."
Brendon makes a small noise of disagreement and pulls away. He looks restless, fidgeting madly, eyes darting incessantly across the room. Ryan watches him, gut churning. He has no idea what to do. He's useless, absolutely useless. As usual. Sighing heavily, he sits on the bed, watching Brendon wearily. His boyfriend starts rummaging around the wardrobe, restlessly, and then the drawers. Ryan doubts he's looking for anything specific, but rather he's trying to distract himself.
Ryan lies back on the bed. Dimly, he wonders when life got so weird. Sure, he was never content with it in the first place, but now? The script is dramatic enough for a movie. Still, it's worth it, isn't it? He has Brendon. That magical, bizarre boy who passed out on the doorstep and firmly won a place in Ryan's heart, perhaps forever. He opens his eyes to examine his boyfriend and smiles, instinctively, before sitting up and frowning, heart race picking up dramatically.
Brendon is holding up a locket, staring at the picture inside with a confused expression. Not just any locket, but Ryan's locket, usually hidden away underneath his pillow. "I ..." Brendon pauses, tilting his head to the side as he examines the picture. "Who is this?"
Ryan snatches it from his grip and stares at it, evne though every millimetre of it is committed to his memory. There is his cousin, in all of his youthful beauty, all dark hair and big lips. He closes the clasp and puts it around his neck, the chain cold against his skin. "Nobody."
"It's obviously somebody," Brendon replies, sitting next to Ryan and looking curious. He meets Ryan's gaze and the younger boy knows he could never, ever deny his boyfriend anything, even this knowledge. "Tell me? Please. You know everything about me."
"But I ..." Ryan shakes his head, withdrawing a little more into himself. "N-Nobody knows about it, except Sp-Spencer."
"Please," Brendon asks, eyes wide and imploring. Ryan bites his lip. He never wanted to let Brendon know any of this, he never wanted to let anybody know about this. His cousin, that horrible house, those cold fingers ...
"Okay," Ryan says, breathing deeply. "But I ... it's w-weird, okay?"
Brendon doesn't answer but instead sits up straighter, looking attentive. Ryan takes his hand and stares down at their entwined fingers, the familiar nerves swirling around his midriff.
"When my p-parents found out I was g-gay at 14, they freaked out c-completely. They sent me t-to therapists and stuff b-but obviously it didn't w-work. Um, I have t-this cousin who lives in California who I d-didn't get to see m-much but I had, um, this h-huge crush on him."
He waits for Brendon to say something about how disgusting it is, how revolted he is, but he merely frowns a little and says, "Carry on."
"Well, um, he offered t-to take me in f-for a summer and my parents agreed. He's three y-years older than me and I r-really liked him, and, um, that's him in the p-picture, and I was sixteen and, and ..." Ryan closes his eyes and remembers, remembers the drinks poured down throats and the lines drawn up nostrils. "He was into d-drugs, more than you, I th-think. None of the f-family knew."
Brendon makes a small noise. "So that's why you hate drugs and stuff so much? Because it fucked up your cousin?"
Ryan nods, shyly, and the words physically hurt him to say. "It ... it made him c-come onto me one night and I-I didn't want to, because he was really d-drunk, and I didn't want to go very far and he told me t-that I was a sinner and there was only one w-way to save me, and - and --"
"Shit," Brendon says, in a hushed voice. "He raped you?"
Cheeks burning scarlet, Ryan looks down, fingers still on the locket. "Well. I-I ... I guess. I, think. It was h-horrible and my p-parents didn't believe me when I c-called them, so I called Spencer and his p-parents agreed to let me in." He pauses, and swallows hard, before meeting Brendon's eye. "I'm s-so scared for you. You - you kind of, d-dance with d-danger and I don't want y-you to get hurt and --"
"I'm not going to get hurt," Brendon laughs, smiles, genuinely, and Ryan's heart swells. "I promise you. I'm fine. I'm here, alive, and I'm yours. I'm okay."
Ryan smiles and leans forward to kiss him, insides fluttering when Brendon moves his hand up to cup Ryan's jaw. Those three words are on the tip of Ryan's tongue, brought out by the utter liberation he feels at finally letting out his secrets, when they both here the crash of the front door being kicked in downstairs.
They freeze and look at each other.
Footsteps on the stairs, obnoxious laughs, vulgar shouts. Ryan can't move, can't think, because shit, if he does, he'll realise what's inevitably about to happen.
I love you he thinks, desperately, but he can't bring himself to speak.
He grabs Brendon's hand just as the bedroom door slams open and his gaze is met by the barrel of a gun.
