one more troubled soul » petekey

Sixteen

"If you look into your own heart,
and you find nothing wrong there,
what is there to fear?" 
- Confucius

It's dark when traffic finally lets up.

 Pete had almost started to forget they had even been on a road trip at all. Everything on the highway had been startlingly quiet for a long time. There had been a sense of hopelessness draped across all four lanes for what seemed like days. Far ahead though, cars starter to murmur to life, and red and yellow lights washed over the pavement. It was time to go.

Dallon had fallen asleep at his wheel a long time ago, face smooshed up against its dark leather. Brendon and Ryan had found a haven in the trunk of Pete's car, Brendon's head wedged comfortably in the crook of Ryan's neck. Ryan was a still and sturdy statue, careful not to disturb him, but was a dull and nervous red from head to toe.

Pete had been thinking about how to propose to Mikey when the car engine beside him revved. He shook himself reluctantly from his train of thought. He looked at Mikey, who was nose-deep in the CD insert of the Ramone's self-titled record, glasses perched on the very edge of his angular nose. Pete nudged him gently. "Looks like we're outta here."

Mikey smiled in reply, dropping the insert on his lap and then craning his neck to look behind him. "We've gotta break up the lovebirds," he laughed. Pete's head rose slowly from Ryan's neck, eyes sleepy and faded. He murmured something incomprehensible, to which Ryan quietly agreed to.

Pete started his own car and the old clunker came to life loudly. He had sort of missed its rapturous hum. Its lonely, untuned song of adventure and mischief wrapped around his shoulders like a heavy blanket. He took a moment to relax in its familiarity before hopping out of the car and circling back. Brendon and Ryan were exchanging phone numbers.

"Come on, you two," Pete said. "After this long, I know for sure this traffic isn't gonna wait for you."

Ryan glared at Pete, unamused, but was suddenly pulled into a hug by Brendon, who looked almost as if he had tears in his dark eyes. "Oh!" Ryan exclaimed, exhaling with a laugh and nervous cough. He shyly hugged Brendon back, thin, pale fingers finding a home on his shoulder blades.

"Maybe when both of our trips are over, we can meet up again!" Brendon said, and it landed on hopeful ears. Ryan smiled and nodded, quiet in his true remorse. "We'll text all the time, and like, talk about everything and like..." Brendon pulled back and lifted the dying daisy out of his shirt pocket. "I'll frame this!"

"Press it first," Ryan replied calmly. "Keep it fresh." He took the flower from Brendon and gently placed it back where it came from, then grabbed his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Call me and I'll walk you through it. You'll need a book. A cup of water. Some tweezers. It's easy, it's very eas—"

Brendon kissed Ryan's cheek enthusiastically, cutting him off. Ryan's peaceful facade suddenly melted to reveal his boyish anxiety, dressed in a flushed face and brown eyes as wide as the moon. He fumbled backward, desperately catching himself on his palms twisted behind his back. His face twisted into a myriad of unreadable emotions before his cheekbones settled gracefully into quiet happiness. He cracked a smile. "See you around."

"Absolutely," Brendon said, hopping out of the trunk. His shoes met the pavement like a long lost lover. His dark hair bounced and floated lazily on his head with every movement. "Bye, Ryan."

"B-Bye!" Ryan sputtered out, then directed his gaze at Pete, who was staring at him with his arms crossed and a smirk painted delicately on. He raised an eyebrow. "Shut up," Ryan grumbled, crawling out the trunk and into the backseat. Pete laughed and felt his heart feel tight in its inadequate cage. He wished he could ever have given his away just as easily.