Fake Plastic Trees [oneshot, 3,218 words]
Jun 15, 2011 02:29
Title: Fake Plastic Trees
Author: sexontoasties
Pairing(s): Ryan/Brendon
Rating: PG
Summary: Ryan feels a twist in his heart, because god, what he would give just to hear Brendon sing. To hear his voice. To hear him laugh. To hear him cry. To hear him gasp. To hear his own name fall from those lips.
He shakes his head because he hates thinking about things that he knows will never, ever happen.
POV: Third person
Beta: the_black_disc0
Disclaimer: All fake. Title belongs to Radiohead.
A/N: Based loosely off of the episode 'True Life: I'm Deaf'
The sense of touch:
Soft fur brushing the tips of his fingers as he pets the neighbor’s dog. Cold wooden floors as he gets up in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water. Warm skin pressing against his own, raising goosebumps and making him shiver even though he’s not cold at all.
The sense of sight:
Dull brown and orange leaves blowing across the driveway, signally autumn’s beginning. Bright colors flashing across the television screen as he tiredly eats his cereal, watching early morning cartoons. Deep pools of chocolate irises staring back at him, blinking slowly in the darkness of his room as they’re huddled under the covers.
The sense of smell:
The bittersweet scent of those weird bamboo air fresheners his mom is addicted to buying and placing randomly all over the house. Humid, wet air filling his nose as he walks to school after a nightly storm. The sweet smell of fruity shampoo as he buries his face in soft, dark hair.
The sense of taste:
Warm, metallic drops of blood when he bites his lip a little too hard. The exploding sweetness of those freshly grown oranges his mother buys him from the market in the springtime. Salty tears cascading down his cheeks and catching in the corners of his mouth before gentle thumbs can brush them away.
The sense of sound:
Silence.
--
“Can you feel that?”
Ryan nods as he presses his palms harder on the lid of the baby grand piano. Brendon plays a single note, and a soft vibration runs through the palms of his hands. It’s not enough, not nearly, so Ryan slowly lowers his head until his ear is pressed flat against the sleek wood. He closes his eyes.
Brendon plays.
It feels like his eyes are shaking inside his skull. Electric and steady, a low thrumming with an erratic beat. He concludes Brendon’s playing Bach, because Brendon would talk for hours after his weekly piano lesson about how Bach is going to be the death of him. Ryan thinks this piece sounds pretty deadly.
He opens his eyes about halfway through and they land on Brendon’s face. Chin lowered and eyes darting back and forth across the keys, intent and dark. Intimidating and pulling at the same time. He looks up when the song ends and catches Ryan’s eyes, half lidded and focused on the rumbling that was soaking into his skin. Ryan stands upright again and signs,
“What was that?”
Brendon turns sideways on the piano bench and smiles as he says with his hands, “Solfeggio by Bach. But you knew that didn’t you?”
Ryan smiles, small but still there. “I had a hunch. When you play Bach for me I kind of feel like the world’s ending.”
Brendon laughs and runs a hand over the top of the piano. “Yeah. Bach tends to evoke that description a lot.”
It’s hard sometimes, Ryan thinks as he watches Brendon pluck a few random keys on the piano. He was born this way, so he doesn’t exactly know what he’s missing, but with the way Brendon talks to him about music, the passion and brightness and sadness and everything in between, Ryan sometimes feels like he did experience it once before, and now it’s gone.
Someone taps his arm, and he glances up at Brendon, who smiles and pats the piano bench, nodding his head for Ryan to sit next to him. Ryan shuffles over and plops down, their shoulders pressing together, warm and familiar.
“Play something,” Brendon signs, smiling encouragingly. Ryan eyes him and gives a short laugh, shaking his head.
“I can’t play the piano.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Brendon reaches down and grabs Ryan’s hands, running his thumbs briefly over the other boy’s knuckles before placing them on the piano keys. Ryan gives Brendon a hesitant look, but then presses a random white key with his pointer finger. Brendon grins.
“That’s an A,” he signs, and then, “Go ahead. Make some music.”
Ryan turns back to the piano and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and runs his fingers along the cool keys before pressing all five fingers down at the same time. He can feel something running through his skin, and he opens his eyes. Then he plays.
He presses random notes, random chords, because he still doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he presses softly, and presses harder, he bangs on the keys, and he can’t hear anything but when he looks at Brendon and sees him laughing, Ryan’s eyes glow because even though he can’t hear it, he’s making noise. He’s making music.
He’s maybe flailing a little, and he jumps when he feels a hand on his arm. He looks over and sees Brendon beaming at him, eyes glittering in amusement.
“Don’t break my piano now,” he signs jokingly, but Ryan blushes anyways, retracting his hands carefully and gripping his thighs. Brendon rolls his eyes and reaches down to thread his fingers through Ryan’s, cheeks tinting pink. Ryan looks at him fondly, lips twitching on a smile, and thinks, I made music with him.
--
Brendon’s been Ryan’s neighbor since he could walk and talk. He never really was concerned that Ryan never spoke or responded back when Brendon would yell for him across the street, wanting to play four square or Adventurers.
When he was ten years old, Brendon’s mom explained to him that Ryan was born deaf, which means he can’t hear anything and he doesn’t speak because he can’t pronounce things very well. Brendon asked if there was any way he could communicate with his best friend, and his mom had gotten this glint in her eyes and smiled.
She enrolled him in a sign language class at the community center two days later.
--
The bathroom mirror has fingerprints all over it, but Ryan just looks past the dirt and grime and stares intently into his own eyes. He takes a breath and pushes noise from his lips, moving his mouth in the shapes he thinks are right. He can’t hear what he’s trying to say, but he keeps talking. It feels weird, his tongue feels heavy and unfamiliar in his mouth.
“Mom,” he says, “Dad. Ryan.” It comes out more like ‘muh’ and ‘dahd’ and ‘ryhan’, the words thick and loosely pronounced. He squints at himself, a small frown on his face, and says,
“Bruduhrn.”
He doesn’t know if it’s right, most likely it’s not, but he feels a bit better. It feels nice, saying that name. He repeats it a few more times, and when he turns and sees his mother standing in the bathroom doorway, he pauses and blushes, embarrassed.
His mom just smiles at him and reaches out to brush some hair from his forehead.
“It’s time for bed,” she signs, fingers quick and deft from years of learning. Ryan was born deaf, so once the doctors told her, she bought every sign language book in Border’s and hired a lady to come twice a week to help her. She really is the best mom Ryan could ever ask for.
Ryan nods and moves to get past her, but before he goes his mom stops him and signs a quick, “I love you,” to him. She always likes to remind him of that.
--
“I’d rather live my life deaf than blind,” Ryan signs shyly, swinging his legs from his place on the kitchen counter. Brendon raises an eyebrow and wipes his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder. He picks up a potato and starts peeling it, eyes still locked on Ryan’s.
He finishes peeling and signs, “Why is that?”
Because I’d never get to see your face.
Ryan shrugs and picks up one of the peelings that fell onto the counter next to him, running his thumb over the damp skin. Brendon doesn’t say anything else and goes back to making dinner. When Ryan looks back up, he sees the younger boy’s mouth opening and closing, body swaying back and forth, and Ryan knows immediately that he’s singing.
Ryan feels a twist in his heart, because god, what he would give just to hear Brendon sing. To hear his voice. To hear him laugh. To hear him cry. To hear him gasp. To hear his own name fall from those lips.
He shakes his head because he hates thinking about things that he knows will never, ever happen.
--
It’s always kind of awkward eating dinner with Brendon’s family, because he has two younger sisters who don’t realize yet that Ryan’s can’t actually hear them, so they think he’s just being an asshole. Brendon’s tried explaining it to them before, and he thinks they know what being deaf means, but they still take offense when Ryan doesn’t respond to their questions.
Brendon’s parents are pretty nice about it. No one but Brendon actually knows sign language so if they want to ask Ryan something it usually goes through Brendon first. All in all, it’s usually a painfully slow and uncomfortable affair, but Ryan smiles politely and nods and tries to ignore the sting behind his eyes when he sees everyone laughing at something Brendon’s father said. Ryan of course didn’t hear the joke, but forces a smile anyways.
Later, Brendon drags Ryan up to his room and pops a movie in his laptop, making sure the subtitles are on before settling back against the bed, pressing himself against Ryan. Ryan runs a hand through Brendon’s hair and lets out a breath as the movie begins.
Ryan skims his hand down until it’s pressed against Brendon’s heart, feeling the steady bump bump bump of it, and he closes his eyes and smiles sadly into Brendon’s hair.
At least he has this.
--
“Ryan, I have a surprise for you,” his mother signs to him over breakfast one morning. Ryan looks at her questioningly, prompting her for more information, but she just smiles and tells him to be ready in ten minutes.
Over the past few weeks, Ryan felt like the world was eating him alive. He’s 18, and school’s going to be over in a few months and then there will be college and jobs and a life. Ryan never really thought about those things, because honestly, he’s terrified. He wants to leave and be independent, but on the other hand he wants to just clutch his mother around the waist and never let go.
There’s also Brendon he’s been thinking about. Brendon’s only a junior, so he won’t be going to college with Ryan which he’s kind of crazy scared about. He needs Brendon.
He gets ready like his mother told him to and by 3 o’clock they are in the car, driving to some unknown destination.
Ryan looks over and sees his mother fiddling with the radio, and he quickly averts his eyes. The trees are especially green today.
--
When they pull up to the doctor’s office, Ryan doesn’t think much of it. She probably just acted excited and happy because she didn’t want the visit to be as depressing as usual. Most visits they just check up on him, make sure he’s fine, and then off he goes. He’s sick of the grey spaces.
The thud of his feet trekking across the carpet, following after his mother, are silent to his ears. He stuff his hands in his pockets and raises a confused eyebrow when they pass the office they normally go into for his checkups. They continue on and get in an elevator, and that’s when Ryan turns to his mother and signs,
“What’s going on?”
She just smiles at him and reaches over to grab his hand, watching the elevator lights glow as they climb higher.
--
Ryan doesn’t tell Brendon. He wants it to be a surprise.
When the younger boy texts him and asks if they can hang out today, Ryan tells him that he’s feeling sick and that maybe tomorrow they can hang out. Brendon sends him a sad face, and Ryan bites his knuckle on a grin.
Today’s the day of his surgery.
It’s been two weeks since the surprise doctor’s visit, and Ryan’s said thank you probably three times a day to his mother since then. He can’t believe this is really going to happen.
Apparently, there’s this thing called a cochlear implant, which is something that is surgically implanted into the head, and then activated shortly after the healing process is done. Ryan was skeptical at first, insisting on doing research and seeing if it actually worked. The reviews were positive, but he didn’t say yes until he suddenly thought of Brendon and how much he would give to hear the boy’s voice. It was something he knew he needed to experience to be able to die happily.
And now it’s actually going to happen.
--
Ryan stays home for a week after the surgery to heal, rejecting Brendon’s offers to come and see him and bring him soup because Ryan had told him he’d come down with a stomach bug. Ryan really misses Brendon, but he knows that once the implant is activated he can go see Brendon and hear his voice, and that’s definitely more than enough to keep him going.
There’s a thick bandage wrapped around his head, and he feels like his brain is filled with warm, pulsing fluid, but he can’t keep the smile off his face as he looks at the television, the cars driving outside, his mother, and thinking about how soon there won’t be silence anymore.
But most of all he’s looking forward to hearing Brendon sing to him.
--
The doctor’s doing something and Ryan forces himself to stay still, not to twitch or move or fidget no matter how much he wants to. He’s gripping his mom’s hand tightly, and she’s watching carefully, waiting.
Suddenly, there’s a high pitched screech, a low buzzing, and then silence. He looks at his mom, but then suddenly he hears,
“Can you hear me, Ryan?”
He whips his head back to the doctor, eyes widening because fuck, he heard him. The doctor smiles at Ryan’s frozen expression and nods towards Ryan’s mom. Ryan turns to his mother.
She leans forward and says tentatively, “...Ryan?”
Ryan doesn’t bother being quiet as he starts crying into her arms.
--
Everything is so loud. He’s suddenly hyper aware of everything that actually makes noise around him. The whistling of the wind, the whooshing of cars driving by, the crunching of dead leaves under his sneakers, the click of his mother’s heels. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
On the car ride home, his mother is talking to him about the quick stop they’re going to make. She’s talking a bit too fast and Ryan hasn’t quite gotten used to her voice, but he nods and sits back as they pull into the parking lot of a homey looking two story house.
They step out of the car and Ryan follows his mom to the front door. When a short, chubby women in her mid-thirties answers, she smiles and reaches out a hand,
“Hi, I’m Glen, you must be Ryan.”
She talks slow and clear, and Ryan likes her.
“She’s going to help you with your speech,” Ryan’s mother says, guiding him inside the house. “I thought I’d just introduce you real quick before we head home.”
Ryan nods, but then stops. He taps Glen on the shoulder and she turns to him, smiling. Ryan scratches the back of his neck but then signs,
“Can you teach me something real quick today before I leave?”
--
Ryan flinches when he rings the doorbell and hears the high pitched ding of it echo through his ears. He’s still not used to it, and he feels like there’s too many things going on at once. He fiddles with the scarf around his neck before the door finally swings open, revealing Brendon in a pair of pajama pants and too-small white tee shirt. His hair is sleep-mussed, and Ryan smiles as he signs,
“Just woke up from a nap?”
Brendon smiles and nods, signing back, “I’m glad you’re feeling better! Come in!”
Ryan’s fingers are shaking slightly as the make their way up to Brendon’s room, and once the door closes behind them and Brendon seats himself on the bed, Ryan takes a deep breath and signs,
“I wasn’t sick.”
Brendon gives him a confused look and starts to move his hands, but Ryan shakes his head, stopping him.
“I wasn’t sick. I was healing from surgery.”
Brendon’s eye widen and he quickly signs, “Oh my god, Ryan, are you okay - “
Ryan holds up his hand again, and this time, instead of signing anything back, he looks into Brendon’s eyes and simply says,
“Breh....Brehndahn.”
The name comes out slowly and it feels weird, but good. Ryan practiced for an hour before he came over today, and in his mind he’s secretly thanking Glen for being so patient with him. Brendon’s name is really hard to pronounce, okay.
Brendon’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes flick up and lock with Ryan’s. It’s quiet, just the two boys staring at each other wordlessly. Brendon swallows and signs,
“You said my name.”
Ryan blinks and flushes, nodding.
Now Brendon’s eyes are wide and surprised, big and overwhelming and Ryan wants to look away but he can’t. He can’t, and when he fails to say anything Brendon stands up and walks over to where Ryan is standing by the door.
“Say it again, Ryan.”
And Ryan closes his eyes and forces himself to whisper,
“Brehndahn.”
He opens his eyes when he feels a hand come up to touch his cheek, and he sees Brendon smiling at him, cheeks wet and eyes bright.
Ryan swallows and says slowly, carefully, “I cah heer nohw.”
Brendon gasps, and Ryan, well, Ryan hears it. He hears the soft, quick intake of breath and he steps closer to Brendon.
“Sahng fahr me?”
Brendon blinks back the moisture in his eyes and reaches down to grab Ryan’s hand before he tentatively starts singing.
His voice is soft, but gradually gets louder, his eyes closing with the energy. Ryan feels himself freeze, and before he knows what’s happening he’s tugging Brendon close and pressing their lips together, abruptly cutting off the song.
“Ryan,” Brendon breathes into the older boy’s mouth, and fuck, his voice is deep and smooth and warm, and Ryan never knew his name could sound so good coming from someone else’s mouth. Ryan makes a strangled noise and wraps his arms around Brendon, burying his noise in soft hair, tears rolling down his cheeks rapidly.
Brendon brings his hands up to clutch at the back of Ryan’s shirt, taking shuddery breaths and breathing heavily into Ryan’s neck, making the skin damp and warm.
Ryan just holds the younger boy in his arms, listening to the gasps and breaths and noises, and presses his lips to Brendon’s forehead.
Brendon pulls back and wipes his eyes, beaming, before taking both of his arms back and crossing them over his chest. Ryan recognizes the simple gesture and he laughs and pulls Brendon back in, whispering,
“I lahv oo too