Oneshots | Ryden

Souls Like The Wheels

The message beeps and Ryan takes a deep breath before telling Brendon in his usual monotone to call him back. "I'm just wondering where you are," Ryan says, just a little passive-aggressively. "We've missed our reservations," he reminds, and then, because he can't help it, he adds, "I guess I'll see you soon. Love you, Bren."

Ryan sets the phone down next to him, hands scratching at Hobo's ears, and he's not watching the television, not really, so it doesn't make any sense that it's on, so he shuts it off and leans his head back against the cool leather of the sofa, letting his breath out in one quick burst and his bangs flutter up before they drift back down, tickling his forehead. From this angle, he can't see the clock, and even though he's angry at Brendon for being so late, for being so inconsiderate, it's really not that unusual, so it's not like Ryan is surprised. Despite all of Brendon's little quirks, his less attractive qualities, Ryan loves him.

Next to him on the arm of the couch, his sidekick goes off, and the vibrations resonate through the couch before Ryan snatches his phone up. He doesn't even check the screen, assuming it's Brendon, and he can't help how instantly his anger melts away.

"I thought you were standing me up, asshole," he says, smiling just a little just for the sheer fact that Brendon is on the other line.

But then there's a cough, a clearing of a throat, one that isn't Brendon. "Mr. Ross?" a voice asks.

Ryan flips his phone over and looks at the foreign number, his stomach sinking for a reason that he doesn't quite know why yet. Panic is coursing through him strangely and he tenses up. Maybe it's the way the voice sounds, a little crackly and rough. Maybe it was the way he coughed, or the way that he said Ryan's name, but Ryan knows that something is wrong.

"Mr. Ross?" the voice repeats again, and Ryan can hardly focus, but he takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, hoping that the words floating around in his head are wrong.

He doesn't know how to verbalize what he's thinking, what he's fearing, so all that comes out is a choked and quiet "Brendon?"
---
Brendon's coma lasts for seventy one hours and Ryan's not exaggerating when he says that it's the longest seventy one hours of his life.

By the time that Brendon finally wakes, groggy and disoriented, Ryan is a mess, curled up in one of the deceivingly stiff chairs up against the wall of the room. He's been there since the call - unyielding when the hospital staff tried to convince him to leave. Legally, he didn't have a right to be there, not really, but Ryan didn't care and ignored the harsh words reminding him of visiting hours. The only thing that mattered was that he was with Brendon.

It is the grumbled groan that wakes Ryan from his restless slumber, and while Ryan had been waking up on and off for the last several hours, each tiny noise bringing him back from the brink of sleep, the second Ryan snaps back into consciousness, he knows that this is different.

Brendon is sitting up in the hospital bed, looking around blearily. Considering that he was in a car accident, one serious enough to land him in a coma, there are few scars marring his face. His hair is a little matted: messy and dirty, but he's awake and Ryan hurriedly scurries out of the chair because Brendon is awake and beautiful, and while he had tried to keep hope, in the past couple days, the past endless hours, Ryan couldn't stop the terrible thoughts from sinking in. The what ifs.

It doesn't take Ryan long to make it across the tiny room, and in no time he's kneeling next to Brendon's bed, legs unable to hold himself up, and he leans against his boyfriend. "Thank God," he all but sobs, his head burrowing against Brendon's chest. "Thank God you woke up."

He isn't one for over exaggerated emotions. In fact, usually Ryan keeps what he is feeling in check, but just then, he can't help it as his breath comes out in happy stutters.