The Longest, Bestest Sleepover

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BRENDON'S P.O.V

Ryan had been staying with my family and I for about a week now. I couldn't complain. I loved having Ryan around, but I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I felt as if I had taken the Ross' son. Even though it was, in fact, his decision to leave. I don't know. Maybe I was too soft. My conscious often weighed heavier than my ego. Well, what ego I did have. 

I rolled over in my bed, Ryan was sound asleep. He looked so cute. I admired him silently as he slept. He needed his rest, so I didn't wake him. We both had been swamped lately. Prepping for college, taking exams, getting letters of recommendation. I may have failed to mention this earlier, but were seniors. So excuse me if I don't sound as enticing as I usually would. I'm under a lot of stress. You have no idea the pressure I've been under. 

"Dum-du-du-duum—du-du-dum-duum. Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you" I sang in a whisper. This caused Ryan to stretch and yawn. I dodged his little balled up fist. He looked at me whilst trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He wrapped his slender arms around my neck. I could see every little bruise, every cut that marked his delicate skin. I rolled on top of him ever so lightly. I didn't want his frail body to feel any pain. 

"Morning Ry"

"Mm-hm. Let's make a baby" He nuzzled my neck.

"What!?" Did he mean it? Was he honestly ready for this? If so, Woo hoo! I mean, not that we could really make babies together, but, man. We could always try. You never know. Maybe Ryan could conceive. 

"Let's make pancake babies, with syrup and everything!"

"I don't know how to cook" I admitted. 

"But I do dear boy"

" Ok sir. Lead the way"

"Let's get cleaned up first. I can taste random crap on my tongue"

I sat patiently as I waited for Ryan to finish making breakfast. He requested that I not help, because once I tried to bake brownies. And it didn't turn out too well. I didn't want to put them in the oven and wait 20 minutes, or however the hell long it takes to bake brownies. Instead, I put them in the microwave for 2  minutes. It cooked them much faster than the oven would have. Sadly, the brownies were burned so badly, they looked and tasted like chunks of coal. People hadn't let me in their kitchens ever since. I honestly don't think the brownies burned because I'm a bad cook. No, I think it's because I have bad luck with microwaves. It's true. I'm not insane. Microwaves, lockers and goats hate me. I've had too many bad experiences with them to just brush it off. 

Ryan set a stack of pancakes down in front of me. I dove right in. I was so freakin' hungry. Ryan still ate more than myself however. I just didn't get it. At the rate he eats, you'd think he'd have a little more meat on his bones. Instead, he looked like a starved model. 

"Brendon, what are we doing today?"

"Umm...*gulp*. We could go see a movie"

"Oh. I was just checking to make sure that we didn't have any plans"

"How come?"

"I need to—Well my dad said: 'you need to hurry up and get the rest of your shit out of my house'".

I could tell he wanted to cry. I knew, no matter how much distance Ryan got from his dad, the abuse wouldn't stop...unless someone intervened.

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