Brendon had passed out. It was a symptom of a panic attack for him, although he wasn't panicking this time. That, of course, didn't mean that he didn't make Ryan panic. They didn't understand this at all, and they didn't quite know what was wrong. So they tried everything in their arsenal from warming wax to essential oils to physically shaking Brendon. But nothing worked, and Brendon stayed unconscious. They refused to leave his side, though. And, to be honest, they thought that would've been an easier feat than it turned out to be. They waited, and waited, and waited. Ten minutes turned into a half an hour, which turned into four. And Ryan didn't have any technology, or anything to do to pass the time, really, which explained why when Brendon finally woke up, it was to singing.
"Dès le premier jour, ton parfum enivra mon amour
Et dans ces instants
J'aimerais être comme toi par moments
Mais depuis ce jour
Je n'ai qu'un seul et unique regret."
"What are you singing?" Brendon asked quietly, his voice hoarse from just waking. Ryan was tempted to spring up and celebrate, to scream 'FINALLY! YOU'RE AWAKE!!!'. But that wouldn't be, well, Ryan-ish. They held pride in how cool, calm and collected they always seemed, even though that may not be how they always were on the inside. Smiling gently, they let their gaze drift away from Brendon, just for a moment, as they spoke.
"Just a little something my parents used to sing to me. They wrote it for each other, and then sang it to me when I couldn't sleep growing up. It's still my favorite song."
"That's so sweet." Brendon rubbed his eyes for a moment, yawning before querying "How long was I out?"
Ryan's eyes flickered back to Brendon. "Four hours."
"Really?"
"Really."
"So that whole witch thing was a dream? Huh."
"No, no it wasn't."
"No?"
"No."
"No??"
"I am very much a witch, Brendon."
"I thought only girls could be witches."
"Well, no. That's just a sexist tale men made up to villainize women."
"Oh."
"My father was a witch, my mother was a witch... It's more of a family thing, really. Witchcraft is complicated. You see, anyone can practice witchcraft, but specifically witches are different than everyone else. Humans can become witches, and witches can become human, but they are not the same thing. For-" Ryan paused, realizing they were rambling, falling silent.
"No, go on," Brendon started, sitting up a bit to prop himself up on his elbow. "I wanna hear about it. Tell me everything."
Ryan's eyes lit up and they smiled, just a tiny bit. No one ever wanted to hear about this sort of thing, not from Ryan at least. It was new and exciting to have someone actually care about what they have to say.
"Well, no one really knows where witches come from. Some people think we're just humans blessed by angels, others think we made deals with angels. Anyway," They took a deep breath, Brendon realizing he was definitely in for a long rambling session. "We have something in our bodies that's different, almost like magic, but real. It's more scientific than the usual description of magic. We can harness it, but not all choose to. It's what separates us from humans, and we can use it up if we're not careful. That's why I choose to use mostly the traditional witchcraft practices, more along the lines of Wicca and Paganism. I am a witch who practices witchcraft. Those don't always correspond, and more often than not, they don't."
"Oh. So you're like....an X-, uh, -person? X-Person?"
"What the applesauce is that?"
"You know, like, X-men. But I'm respecting your identity. Although, to be honest, I don't know why it's called X-men. There's X-women too!"
"I'm sorry...what is an X-man?"
"You don't know what the X-men are?" Brendon cried, sitting up a bit. He brushed his burnt umber hair back out of his eyes, the stygian nature of his features so contrasting the blinding light behind his eyes. Brendon was just like a ball of energy. He was a puppy. And Ryan was a cat. But the kind of cat that could tolerate a puppy, and even kind of like it, even if they wouldn't quite admit it.
Ryan cracked a little smile, faking a sigh and pressing the back of their hand to their forehead, faking a reaction worthy of a soap opera. "Alas, I do not."
Ryan let out a little giggle. Brendon's heart fluttered. "O-Oh. I could show you, if you want! Um, do you have a place where you buy books? Or do you have any comics?"
"No. I don't leave the house, really."
"I could-"
"Neither do you." Ryan cut off Brendon, raising an eyebrow at him. The other blinked a few times, coming back to reality and nodding.
"Right. I don't really leave the house either. Too bad. I'll have to show you sometime then. Comics are...amazing."
"You can tell me about comics if you'd like."
"Oh!! I can!! Well, they're like, drawings. But they tell a story. And they have words on them."
"Words? On pictures? You mean like the cinema?"
"The what now? I haven't heard anyone call it that besides my grandparents or some shit." Ryan let out a little chuckle, rolling their eyes at Brendon's little jab to their speech patterns.
"The cinema. I talk with a mix of 1920's slang and random things other people have said to me. My parents strictly talked in a weird, almost gangster-like language that only living in Vegas for all of your life can bring." They reminisced, sighing contently as they stared dreamy-eyed.
If you googled the definition of heart eyes, and scrolled past all the pictures of Dan Howell, you would find pictures of Brendon looking at Ryan right now.
"They were both raised by witches, and their parents before that, and their parents before that. Witches have always loved using old slang and talking like the olden times. We just kind of...have a thing for vintage. I do imagine that if I ever have kids, they'll be punks, scenes or emos. Now that would be sick."
Brendon let out a little snicker, Ryan raising an eyebrow to him. "So what, you don't know what a comic book is but you know what a scene kid is?"
"Well, of course. I was an emo. Except I learned that from some of my friends. I mean, look at the way I dress! I'm not quite sure I ever left my emo phase." They gestured to their outfit, black fabric galore tacked onto their thin, androgynous frame. Brendon couldn't help but stare for a moment, his heart fluttering once again. Everything felt new to him. Different. He looked at them as he had looked to many suitors before, but this was so much different. He saw something in them, a beauty inside of their soul he'd never bothered to look for before. Sure, he'd been with many people, seen everything from skinny to heavy, tall to short, masculine to feminine, but there was just something about Ryan... They defied every standard, and in their rebellion, was grace. They were magic, both figuratively and literally, and Brendon was absolutely spellbound.
"Wow. I was an emo- Well, I guess I've moved to a dad fashion-goth fluid style as I've gotten older, but I do miss those days."
"Dad fashion? What's that?"
"You know, like Hawaiian shirts over a white undershirt, cargo shorts, sandals. It's what I wear around the house. You know, what your dad would wear."
"My father wore suits around the clock. I'm pretty sure he slept in them."
"Oh."
"Mhm."
"Well, then, I'll just have to show you sometime."
"I could make you some of these, um, Hawaiian shirts if you'd like. You'll have to help me, but I could sew some in no time!"
"Really?? That'd be so dope!"
"Isn't dope drugs?"
"Y- It's- Nevermind." Brendon looked down at his hands, shaking ever so slightly as he picked at a hole in his pants nervously. He hadn't really noticed it, since he was always shaking or bouncing- But now it did make sense, the spike in anxiety, his inability to focus more so than usual. He'd both been without meds for a while, and been off Ecstacy too. His beautiful high, his escape from reality. He'd been away for too long, and every molecule in his body was starting to ask for it. Soon it would turn to begging, and he knew it would be torture. He couldn't leave the get more, even though he knew he would need it soon enough.
He unconsciously furrowed his brows in worry, and Ryan noticed, taking his hand gently and kissing the back of it. Brendon's heart fluttered again, and so did Ryan's. They were complete opposites in love: Brendon, a whore by society's standards, a serial lover, someone who hates to be tied down and Ryan, new to love, a fawn in the headlights of affection Brendon shone from his eyes. It felt like, for a moment, their hearts beat in sync.
But of course, that's medically impossible.
Ryan looked away, dropping Brendon's hand and clearing their throat.
"Anyway, what were we talking about?"
"Hawaiian shirts. Dad fashion. You wanting scene kid kids."
"Oh. Yeah. Right."
(A/N)
This chapter is so fuckin short and so fuckin tERRIBLE I'M SO SORRY GUYS
I didn't write all summer and I'm so unfocused but I just wanted to get this out there. My sincere apologies to anyone who even bothers to read this book.