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As a child, he would look up at them with wide eyes and ask, “How much do you love me?”

He never got an answer.


no one falls gracefully;

The wind is freezing, icy water pelting against his skin, savage and unyielding. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and keeps walking, under streetlights and black clouds. Inside every shop he passes, people are closing up, cleaning, locking doors and calling their family to say: I’ll see you soon and I love you. The glow shuts off and, one by one, all the windows go dark.

He turns a corner and a hand wraps around his wrist. He jumps, startled, and Brendon says, “Hey, shh, it’s just me.”

He nods, throat dry, and they keep walking. Four blocks down, they stop outside a door, heavy music vibrating from the inside. Brendon squeezes his hand, and they go in.

There aren’t a lot of people, but Pete’s new band is playing and a small crowd has formed around the stage. The music is all drums and bass, thick beat flowing through the floor. Brendon says, “Do you want a drink?” Ryan doesn’t. He never does; Brendon knows that, but asks every time, all the same.

They sit down, and when Pete spots them, he grins for a long moment, bass held high. He drops it back down and spins, jumps around like always, and everyone is screaming.

Brendon leans in close, asks, “Will you dance with me?”

Ryan thinks for a long moment, says, “It’s not a love song.”

Brendon takes that as a yes.


(tired eyes and tired minds)

Brendon says, “Lie down, hey – ” and Ryan spreads his legs.

He chokes out, “How much do you love me?”

Brendon says, “More than you’ll ever know.”


(pretend with my memories and photographs)

Ryan sits on the bench with his notebook for hours, watching people walk by, coffee and hands held tight. He sketches them quietly and writes about everything – another night alone in the city, pretty dreams and secret names, lights going out and staying that way. He calls Brendon and they stay on the phone – not saying anything, silent, like always – for an hour and a half.

He stands up and goes to the train station, rides to the city and stands in the rain.


(I hate the way you say my name, like it’s something secret)

“Are you going to come back tonight?” Brendon asks. He leans against the kitchen counter and watches Ryan shove a pack of inking pens into his bag.

“How much do you love me?” Ryan asks quietly. Brendon almost misses it.

“What? A lot, you know that. What does that – ” Brendon sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just want to make sure you’re going to be safe, okay?”

On his way out the door, Ryan says, “I’ll see you later.”


(when fear shows up at your front door)

Ryan comes home smelling like cinnamon and cigarette smoke. Brendon fits his fingers over the bruises on his hips, smiles sadly. He says, “It’s only in your head.”

Ryan says, “I know.”


(wish you were here)

When the snow starts falling, Ryan asks, “How much do you love me?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ry,” Brendon says. “Not ever.”

Ryan’s pretty happy with that answer.

Ryan/Brendon for :iconrecklessabandonment:
~ 600 words D:

There are three ways you can look at this, basically.

I. It's just plain weird. Which is normal for me, actually, and might be easiest on everyone's brains (not that anyone else has a smallish brain like I do. whatever.)

II. Why do I always write about Ryan seeing ghosts? Also: why do I always kill Brendon? Seriously. I always write Brendon as falloverdead and Ryan seeing him as a ghost, and all kind of shit: Ryan going crazy, me going crazy, the people across the street going crazy ..

III. Prostitution. That's what I was thinking about when I wrote this, tbh. And if you're wondering who Ryan came home smelling like, it was TomRad, because I love him to death, `kay?
missxscissorhands Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2007
Ugh. Shut up.

another night alone in the city, pretty dreams and secret names, lights going out and staying that way.

Yeah. Quit it. :heart:
RecklessAbandonment Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2007   Writer
I adored this. Amazing.
prettyninja Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2007  Hobbyist Writer
Oh, I'm glad! ^^
& thank you ♥
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Submitted on
December 24, 2007
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