U up?
Dallon would lose his shit if he found out that Brendon's texting his ex, but right now he doesn't give a fuck. It's 2am, he's lonely, he's pissed off, and Ryan's the only person he can see being awake right now. When he's upset he tends to self-destruct a little.
Once the message reads delivered, it almost immediately changes to read, and Brendon can see the little bubbles that indicate Ryan's typing.
What do you want?
He expected this. Ryan may have messaged him first, but he can almost guarantee that message wasn't sent while sober. Brendon, however, is sober, if not an absolute moron for what he's doing, and it's understandable that Ryan would be shitty as a knee-jerk response. It still stings a little, though.
Another text pings through a few minutes later, just when Brendon's all but given up.
Sorry, that was uncalled for. I've had a bad day, and I wasn't expecting you to want to talk to me.
It's okay, I know what it's like to be messaged out of the blue. I should've known. Sorry.
Touché, Brendon. In my defence, I was high when I sent that, but by the time I realised, it was too late, and you didn't say anything, so I assumed that I was off the hook. I guess not
I think I was in a state of shock, to be honest.
I would be too if I were you, honestly. I'm surprised you didn't call the cops.
Oh yeah, and say what? 911, what's your emergency? Hi, please help, my ex-boyfriend is dope-texting me again
Okay, first off, it was one time, and second, I'm not sure dope-texting is a thing.
Sure it is, it's like drunk-texting, except high off your tits
I - don't know what to say to that
You don't have to say anything at all, it's okay
Brendon can't believe that he forgot how easy it is to talk to Ryan. His heart is beating fast and his palms are sweaty, and he's not sure if he's feeling like this because he's talking to Ryan again, or because he's not meant to be talking to Ryan. He doesn't care either way, because it feels nice. Nothing is expected of him, not like there is when he talks to Dallon - Dallon expects him to talk a certain way, say certain things, use certain phrases, but Ryan won't get upset if he says a word he never normally says, or accidentally forgets kisses on the end of the message.
They talk until the sun starts to rise, jumping from one topic to another and never staying on one for too long. They avoid talking about Dallon, Pete, each other, their relationship, and why they're texting, but they still find things to talk about. Ryan talks about the new dog his mom got, and Brendon talks about the song that's been in his head all week. Ryan asks Brendon if mimes mime using the toilet, and Brendon asks Ryan if he's ever seen a UFO.
Brendon falls asleep just after 6am, and when he wakes again a few hours later, he's disoriented and the house is silent. He rubs his eyes, checking the time: 11:14am. He panics, leaping off the bed - he starts work in forty-five minutes.
He rushes around, throwing on some clothes, brushing his teeth and using the bathroom before grabbing his phone and keys and practically running out the front door. Luckily, it doesn't take him long to walk to the library, so with some breathless speed-walking he manages to get there with two minutes to spare.
Thankfully, instead of demanding he get to work right away, his boss laughs and tells him to take a breather before he starts. His boss is chill; a woman in her sixties with glasses and long, blonde hair. She's firm but fair, and the nicest boss Brendon's ever had. He's hardly ever late, so when he is, she often lets it slide. Apart from that one time when he was an hour late. She didn't let that slide.
Once he's got his breath and stopped sweating, Maria gestures to a trolley overflowing with books, and he grins. This is his favorite task, and he loses himself in it within a matter of seconds. While gliding through the aisles with his trolley, Brendon is never more at peace. He doesn't think about Dallon, or Ryan, or the fact that he's about to fall asleep; it's just him and his books and the soothing quiet that the library offers.
~
When Brendon arrives home, the first thing he notices is the smell of chicken pot pie - his favorite meal. He takes off his denim jacket and hangs it up, taking his bag into the main room with him. The dining table is set for two, using Dallon's best cutlery, and the vase that Dallon's mom gave them when they moved into the house together is in the middle, overflowing with brightly colored tulips.
He can hear music in the kitchen, along with Dallon humming, and he sets his bag down on the couch before knocking on the door. He's fully expecting Dallon to continue ignoring him for the rest of the day, even the evening, but it seems as though he's wrong. Unless Dallon was making a romantic meal for himself and someone that wasn't Brendon, of course.
The door opens and Dallon stands there, his face red and his hair sticking up. He's wearing the novelty apron that Brendon had gotten him last Christmas, a black one that read World's Worst Cook in white lettering. Dallon smiles shyly, reaching for his phone and turning down Iron Maiden.
"Hey," he says, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I didn't realise the time, sorry." He clears his throat. "Listen, Bren, I - I'm sorry. About yesterday. I shouldn't have been so defensive, I spent all night thinking about it and -" he takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was wrong of me to talk to Mikey about Ryan without talking to you about it first. And I understand that you don't want to talk about it right now, but if you do want to talk about it, then I'm here, okay?"
Brendon's lower lip trembles, and he fiddles with his sleeve. "Is this what this -" he gestures to the table and the mess in the kitchen. "- is all about?"
"Well," Dallon shrugs. "It's been a while since we had a date or anything, and I fucked up pretty badly, so I just - I wanted to do something nice, y'know?"
Brendon steps forward and throws himself at his fiancé, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face against his shoulder. It takes less than a second for Dallon to hug him back, holding him tightly and making him feel safe like his hugs always do.
All the way home Brendon had been thinking about what the atmosphere at home would be like after yesterday, and it had made him so anxious he thought he was going to throw up on the sidewalk. Clearly he hadn't given Dallon enough credit though, because nowhere in his anxious brain did he expect this.
"I love you," Brendon murmurs into Dallon's shoulder, his voice muffled by his shirt. "With everything I am."
"Fuck, baby, I love you too," says Dallon, nuzzling his cheek against Brendon's hair. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"
Brendon scoffs, leaning back and eyeing Dallon playfully. "You're gonna have to do a lot more than make me dinner and buy me flowers, Mr Weekes."
"Oh yeah?" Dallon arches an eyebrow, his eyes darting from the younger man's eyes to his mouth and back again. "Dinner's almost ready, but the evening is ours to do what we want," he grabs a handful of Brendon's ass, biting his lower lip. "What did you have in mind?"
"Let's take a bath," Brendon says, enjoying the way his fiancé's eyes light up. "Together, of course. I want candles and bubbles and soft music and you."
Instead of replying, Dallon kisses him hard, his arms tightening around Brendon's slim frame. Brendon kisses back, tangling his fingers in Dallon's messy hair and biting on his lower lip, making him moan. They're just about ready to take it to the bedroom - or even just the couch - when the timer on the oven goes off, beeping loudly and slamming them back to reality slightly harder than necessary.
Dallon licks his lips and smiles, his cheeks flushed as he extracts himself from Brendon, who giggles to himself, taking his place at the dining table. All is as it's meant to be, he thinks to himself while he waits for Dallon to serve dinner; they're back to how they were, and yesterday was just a tiny blip, even if the vibrating of Brendon's phone is trying its best to tell him otherwise.
~
A week passes without much happening, and against his better judgement, Brendon is still texting Ryan.
They're only sending memes and the like to each other, not a whole lot in the way of conversation (except when Ryan won't stop talking about his mom's dog), but Brendon still wouldn't like Dallon to find out. He knows exactly how he'd react.
Brendon and Dallon both have the day off, but the weather outside is god-awful, rain lashing against the window, so they've decided to stay inside and watch a movie or two instead of their original plan, which was to go for a long walk alongside the river. Brendon is desperate to watch Monsters, Inc. for some reason, and Dallon indulges him, microwaving some popcorn and digging out the Star Wars cups they got from the cinema last year from the back of the cupboard.
They share the couch, Brendon's feet in Dallon's lap, the bowl of popcorn balancing on Brendon's knees and their drinks on the coffee table. Brendon presses play and the movie starts, and he sinks into it, thinking of nothing else but Mike Wazowski.
While Dallon's choosing the next movie and getting more drinks, Brendon's phone buzzes, startling him. It's Ryan, sending him another meme, this one about ducks. He chuckles to himself just as Dallon walks in with two Star Wars cups full of Pepsi, his eyebrow arching quizzically as Brendon types laughing emojis as a reply.
"Something funny?" he asks, moving Brendon's legs so that he can sit down.
"Naw, just a dumb meme Frank sent me," Brendon replies, still looking at his phone. Ryan replies (It's fucking true though, right?! You can't tell me that it's not, B, you just can't) and Brendon can't help but grin, ignoring the frown his fiancé throws his way.
"You sure it's just a meme?" Brendon nods, locking his phone and looking up at Dallon, who folds his arms. "Let's see."
Brendon's heart jumps a little but he stays cool. He shakes his head. "You wouldn't get it," he says, getting to his feet and setting his phone on the coffee table next to his drink. "I'm gonna go pee, you decide what you wanna watch yet?"
"Almost," Dallon replies, watching him go.
Brendon doesn't think about the fact that he left his phone behind while he pees; he's only gonna be five minutes, he doesn't need it. He washes his hands, humming under his breath, before leaving the bathroom.
"Hey babe," he says going back into the living room. "I reckon we should -" he stops at the fury on Dallon's face, and for a second he doesn't know why.
But then he sees what's in Dallon's hand: his phone. The realisation hits him like a punch to the gut.
Dallon's snooping through his phone.