"Wilted Flowers in Early Hours" for of_gardenias

[draconica-nova.livejournal.com]

Title: Wilted Flowers in Early Hours
Pairing: Greg/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,364
Summary: …a fractured relationship of ‘if’s and ‘but’s.

Author's Notes: End of Summer Fic Exchange - Written for the lovely of_gardenias  who asked for Greg/Ryan romance. Hope you like it! ^_^


~~~

There’s a tremendous din surrounding me, some of this new age music that I don’t think I’ll ever understand, and across the crowded room I can see Greg sitting at the bar all alone. My heart instantly aches at the sight and I’m thankful for the dim lighting of the party, otherwise someone might’ve noticed my bottom lip quiver helplessly.

I think Greg knows that I’m watching him, even as I am engaged in a group discussion with several other people. It’s always been him. He flicks his gaze to me briefly and gives a small smirk before chugging another mouthful of his beer, which ironically leaves my mouth dry. I need to talk to him tonight, to hear his voice that’s just for me. Even if it’s only for a few moments. I need it.

As if he can read my thoughts he turns to me completely and I do the same, mindful that there are others who are trying to talk to me but barely caring. Greg holds up a small box in his hands and it takes me a few moments to see against the flowing light and shadow that it’s a cigarette packet. He makes a subtle point toward the fire exit next and takes a final mouthful of beer before sliding off of the stool and slinking his way through the many people between the bar and the door. Trying to hold back a grin, I make my excuses to the others and follow him like an infatuated puppy.

The sudden change from warm room to chilly night distracts me for a moment and I wrap my arms around my chest tightly. It’s at times like these when I really envy Greg and his ability to wear a full suit and still manage to look utterly attractive, even in a muggy room like that one.

He’s leaning against brick and lighting up a cigarette expertly. For a moment, I am entranced by the way the little flame from his lighter illuminates his handsome face. I swallow hard as he takes a long drag and blows it through pursed lips in great anticipatory tension. His head turns leisurely towards me, eyes twinkling behind thick glasses, and sighs with a slow smile. The sight warms my heart more than the image of blossoming flowers decorated with glistening dew in the early hours.

“I thought I’d rescue you,” he says, opening the packet towards me. “Even though you’re really cute when you’re helpless.”

I’m not sure if the faint thudding I’m hearing is the music from inside or the sound of my heartbeat flaring at his words. “Thanks,” I reply ambiguously as I accept a cigarette. “I’m glad we’re out of there, actually. I’d really like to talk to you.”

“What about?” He’s eyeing me cautiously but I simply smile back at him.

“Everything, anything. I just want to spend time with you.” I shuffle my feet and reach out to hold his free hand, rubbing my thumb over his palm. It’s such a shameless ploy and he can see that, which pleases me.

“God, I love you.”

I look up at him, curious. “You do?”

Greg chuckles around his next drag and tilts his head slightly. “Of course I do.”

“Really. So you’ve told Jennifer?”

Suddenly, his grin fades and the burn rising from my unsmoked, lit cigarette has distracted him. He can’t look at me, and it hurts. “No. Not yet.”

Somewhere along the way our hands have become untangled. “Why not?” I’m on the verge of sounding like a whiny child, but I don’t care.

He’s shaking his head. “There’s never been a good time.”

“That’s bullshit,” I mutter loudly as I grow frustrated. “Anytime is a good time.”

“It’s hard, Ryan. I love her.”

“I loved Pat,” I defend, “but that didn’t stop me from making this decision.” I gesture between us in order to symbolise what we have – a fractured relationship of ‘if’s and ‘but’s. I slump my shoulders in defeat. “I hate having to share you.”

He sighs and flicks his cigarette to the floor. “I know.”

I swallow hard and drop my own cigarette, which has now burnt to the end without me even taking a puff. There’s a pause as I shuffle my feet timidly. “They’re talking about starting up Whose Line in America next year.”

With a slight smile he turns to me, a familiar gleam in his eyes. “And?”

“Come on, Greg. You know what I’m asking.”

“That’s right, I do. Ever wonder about that? We can read each other like fucking books and we still can’t get this right.”

I don’t know if it’s the music, the drinks or this conversation, but I’m starting to get a headache. Greg’s eyes are softer now; catching the moonshine like a looking glass catches the vainglorious. When he raises his warm hand to my cheek I want to tell myself sternly not to cry.

“What do you want me to say, Ryan?”

I lick my lips nervously, then answer, “A promise. A promise that no one will get hurt.”

He looks surprised at the request at first, then lowers his head and goes completely silent for a few moments. Finally, he looks back up at me, a small smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes, I will do the American Whose Line.”

He knows full well that’s not what I was asking. For the first time in my life I think I actually hate him for putting me through this. I want to be able to let loose, tell him how much I fucking love him and want to be with him. I want to be selfish enough to tell Jennifer myself that she can’t have him anymore. It sounds pretty ironic but I know only Greg can give me the courage to be this way.

Despite everything, I lean down and kiss him, fisting my hands into his jacket and pulling him up those extra few inches so that he can meet me halfway. My tongue is instantly in his mouth, tasting him intimately. There’s a fine line between playful and needing, and perhaps I’ve crossed it.

At that moment, the fire exit opens behind us to let out a gush of sweaty warm air, party music and Brad, cigarette between his lips and his hands fishing out his lighter. He spots us immediately and pauses. “Oh, hey guys. Sorry to interrupt, I’ll… go somewhere else.”

It must look so amusing – both of us flushed pink, my hair all over the place and Greg’s glasses steamed up to the point where they’d need their own windshield wipers.

“No, it’s okay.” Squeezing Greg’s hand quickly in a goodbye, I straighten above them both and stuff my trembling hands into my pants pockets. “I was just going, anyway.” I smile to Brad and make my escape, slinking past and back inside the spinning, happening room.

Avoiding eye contact with anyone, I walk straight on with my sights set only on my hotel room upstairs and a good night’s sleep. It feels like everyone is looking at me, whispering to each other and wondering why the jovial, funny one suddenly looks so deadbeat. Wonder on, pilgrims. If you ever find out why, please let me know.

I kick off my shoes and tumble onto the bed still fully clothed, although I left my heart downstairs.

In a moment of distraction, I blink up at the simple décor ceiling and study the pattern. It looks like two grapevines entwined together, crawling up the walls and onto the ceiling, repeated all around the room. England sure has a strange taste in design.

It intrigues me for about two minutes before I give up trying to find where the wallpaper joins up and heave myself onto my side so that I can look out of the window instead. The moon is halved in the sky and seems choked by cloud. Is this how life is when Greg’s not around?

I curl up on the bed as I begin to drift off, hugging a pillow to my chest and not even reacting when a few tears run down my face.

FIN.