Oneshots | Ryden

Souls Like The Wheels

When Brendon loses his memory, Ryan clings to what's left of him.

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Brendon always has a tendency to be late. He gets caught up in what he's doing, oblivious to anything else but the moment, so often, time slips by him.

Ryan, on the other hand, Ryan always tries to be on time. Early even. If he has someplace to be: an appointment, a meeting, hell, even a showtime for a movie, he gets anxious as the clock ticks closer and closer to the time, always fearing that he won't make it. Ryan hates being late, but it's something that he has started to expect. After two years of dating Brendon, even if most of that time was under the radar, he has learned to calm down a little bit when they show up somewhere five minutes late.

Still, when he looks at the clock and its fifteen minutes past the time that Brendon promised that he would come pick him up, Ryan gets a little annoyed.

He dials Brendon's number again quickly, the digits seamlessly flowing as he types them in and groans when it goes straight to voicemail. Again. Ryan thinks about leaving a message, but he hangs up instead angrily when Brendon's stupid voicemail comes on: the one where he talks in a ridiculous voice that when Ryan isn't so upset is yeah, maybe a little bit adorable.

They're supposed to go to dinner at a restaurant that actually requires reservations, and even though Ryan told Brendon to come pick him up a half hour before their seating time, he knows that they won't make it now and sighs, wondering if he should call the restaurant and see if they'll push back the reservation.

Ryan walks across the room and settles down into his comfortable couch, grabbing the remote and turning the television on to some stupid sitcom that he doesn't really pay attention to. He doesn't want to appear like he's waiting for Brendon when his boyfriend finally barges through the door, breathless, wheezing to catch his breath and explain why he was late, so Ryan turns the sound up and brings his feet up on the couch to relax.

Hobo jumps up and curls her body around Ryan's leg, and he absentmindedly pets her head, irritation still flowing through him, spiking up every time his eyes meet the clock and another minute has passed by.

When the clock passes by the half hour mark, Ryan just shakes his head and mentally says goodbye to the romantic dinner that he had planned with Brendon. Even if, by some miracle, Brendon shows up in time for them to still get a table, now Ryan's romantic notions are all but squashed. The key in his pocket suddenly feels heavy, and Ryan lifts up his hips to pull it out, along with the note attached, before he puts it in the drawer of the side table. He won't give it to Brendon tonight, not when he's aggravated at him. Ryan knows it's a big step, and he won't have Brendon's inconsiderate ways or his own irritation spoil the moment.

Hobo is warm against Ryan's leg, her breathing evened out, and Ryan knows the she has fallen asleep. He wonders if maybe he should just retire to his room. Lock the door and ignore the thudding knock when Brendon actually shows up. He won't even have to put on the deadbolt if he doesn't want to. It's not like Brendon has a key to his apartment.

Ryan sighs and stretches out a little bit, and Hobo stirs. He hates that he's sitting in front of his television watching some stupid show from the 90s where the clothing choices are always fluorescent. He hates that Brendon does this to him - hates that he loves Brendon so much that he'll sit there on the couch like a sixteen year old girl who got stood up. He briefly wonders if he should break out the ice cream.

When Ryan looks at the clock again, now forty five minutes past the time that Brendon had promised that he would come by, Ryan's fingers inch towards his sidekick, and he doesn't care if he seems wound up - he dials Brendon's number again. As he listens to Brendon's cheery message, Ryan tries to calm himself down. He knows that it'll do no good leaving Brendon a screaming rant. That'll only send the other boy into a pathetically sad kind of funk.