Fic - Summer Breeze

[shandi-mai.livejournal.com]

Hi.

I just got back from a hellish shift at work and read the argument posts from the link Sess gave me, and kinda felt bad for not posting anything on here for like, ever. I must admit i did get a bit daunted by this comm for a while just coz i wasnt confident enough about my writing to let so many people read it. But *shrug* here goes :) I hope you all like it.

Title: Summer Breeze
Pairing: Brad/Ryan
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Dont own anything or anyone.
Notes: Ryan's POV.



Summer Breeze

I remember the first time I saw him, locking eyes across a crowded room as the cliché goes. He was quiet but confident, surrounded by conversations with people he barely knew. Catching his eye wasn’t hard. I’m so used to this game by now that it became almost second nature. And I thought I knew what I was doing, I thought he would be like all the others; an easy lay. But staring into his eyes, deep chocolate brown and as tempting as the most exquisite treat, I felt my surety waver. He held my gaze with his, studying me, a small smile on his lips and a challenge on his face. After a moment I wanted to look away, but I knew I couldn’t. I was captivated. He hadn’t said two words to me, but he had me completely; this beautiful, unaffected boy. I couldn’t recall the last time this had happened, if it ever had. When someone drew his attention he finally looked away, his face softening into polite conversation. I watched him talk and laugh, I couldn’t help it. The corner of the room where I stood suddenly felt colder, as if all the heat had been drawn away from me and towards him, coating him in waves that I longed to touch.
If only I could.

Becoming friends with him was easy. He was open and talkative and fun to be around. We would spend whole days together, walking around parks and shops, laughing and joking, before meeting up with the others in the evening for drinks. It was always the same. We would arrive together but never leave, drink together and touch each other, but never for long; a hand on a shoulder there, a brush of his finger’s on mine when he leaned forward to speak. I would have gone the whole world for him, and I wondered if he ever noticed. At the end of the night he would usually leave with someone, a pretty young thing with charm and a smile that would keep him warm until morning. While I went back to my hotel room alone, and left drunken messages on my wife’s answer phone.

We spent the whole summer like this, laughing together, playing together, becoming close. He would tell me about his family and I told him about my kids, showing him pictures that I kept in my wallet. Being around him was like being high, a heady trip that lifted me up and kept me soaring, even through the pain I felt over never really having him the way I wanted. I never told him how I felt, that whole summer. He could dazzle my world into perfection with just a smile, but he was oblivious to the hold he had over me.

We were invited to a party towards the end of the season. An all expenses paid, overly extravagant studio shindig with all the booze and entertainment that money could buy. I always felt out of place at those things, preferring to hang out with my friends than suck up to the bigwigs, but I played along well enough. It was nearing 2am when I felt a hand touch my arm and a familiar voice whisper in my ear. His breath was warm on my neck and it sent tingles down my spine. He pulled me out of the room and down a corridor where we broke into a run, giggling and looking behind us. We banged open a fire door and finally escaped into the cool evening air. I leaned up against the wall, the rough brick scratching my bare arms, my eyes settling comfortably on my companion. He was grinning, staring up at the stars above us and breathing hard. When he turned to look at me his eyes were bright and alive I couldn’t help but smile back. I drunk in his image as I paused to really live this moment, to capture it so perfectly in my mind that I would never forget it. He reached for me then, taking my hand and leading me across a deserted parking lot, the breeze warm and soft on our skin.

We ended up sitting by a fountain in a nearby park, the moon high above us reflecting rippling light in the inky water. We talked a bit, but for the most part remained blissfully silent, enjoying the surroundings, our lives, and each other.
When he leaned forward and kissed me, I had to stop from pinching myself to check whether I was dreaming. It was all so surreal, but achingly glorious; the feel of his lips against mine, his tongue, the hand that he brought up to gently touch my face. I leaned into him, holding his shoulders for support. I hoped he couldn’t feel me shaking. After a little while he pulled away and stared at me, his smile brilliant and his eyes hooded in shadow. I hugged him and he kissed my neck, whispering in my ear meaningless words that I will always remember. We walked back to the hotel slowly, hand in hand, the end of the summer just a breath away in our heads, and in our hearts. I wished it could last forever.

But it couldn’t. The next time I saw him it was a few days before I flew back to the states. He was laughing and joking around with another of the performers, and there were yet more people gathered around in this room and the next, all saying goodbye and making plans. We had no time alone, but even if we had I don’t think it would have been different. He glanced at me once and smiled warmly but I turned away, walking out of the room without looking back. If he felt bad for me leaving that way, he has never said. And I will never ask.

My time apart from him was spent in anticipation of seeing him again, and anxiety over what I would do. I threw myself into other work, busying myself with meetings and shows and projects. I became more committed to my family than ever before, spending a lot of time with my wife and kids. Looking back, my wife always remarks on how that was the last good time we had together, before things began to go wrong, and I always agree. Although I know in my heart that in reality, I occupied my time dreaming of another, and my lovely wife was the furthest thing from my thoughts.

When the day came that I would see him again, I couldn’t relax. I felt myself on edge from the moment I woke up in my stuffy hotel room, and no amount of coffee and nicotine would quell the uneasy fluttering in my stomach. I felt like a lovesick teenager again and the idea made my face redden and I cursed myself for behaving that way. I hadn’t thought this kind of thing could ever happen to me; I thought I was stronger. But it just goes to show that however stable you think you are, sometimes things come along that knock you clean off your feet. I didn’t ask for this and I didn’t want this. On some level, I wished I had never met him. And so it was that when I saw him again, I was aching for a fight.

I had just finished an afternoon taping at the studio when he arrived, walking into the green room in casual jeans and a shirt. His hair was shorter than before and he appeared calmer, more subdued, but he was still beautiful. I ignored him, even when he called my name. He had to come right up to me to get my attention, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off and turned to glare at him, watching as his smile melted into confusion. He stared at me as I faced him, the space between us becoming an impenetrable barrier neither of us wanted to cross. I could see that he wanted to reach out to me and for a moment I felt bad, guilty even, but I had neither the will nor the energy to lighten my mood. I turned back to my locker and continued to collect my things, attempting to block him out until he finally gave up and left my side. I could hear him moving about the room, opening his locker to put things inside. I sighed, closed my locker with a click and turned to face him. I called his name and he spun around, his expression soft and a smile tugging at his lips, and I suddenly knew what I wanted to say to him. It was all there on the tip of my tongue, a story waiting desperately to be told. And I almost did, until the door opened and another person stepped inside and looked around the room, his eyes lighting up as they came to rest on the love of my life. My mouth hung open in an unspoken question. A few words were exchanged between them before they walked out together, leaving me alone with a shrug and an apologetic smile for comfort. I closed my eyes and sunk down onto a chair, running my hands over my warm face, my mind whirling. A dull ache began to spread itself throughout my chest, bringing with it a sickening sorrow that stung my eyes. I don’t remember how long I sat there, but it was long enough for sorrow to make way for regret, and regret to make way for anger. By the time I left the green room and began traversing the studio corridors towards the exit, I was practically seething.

Walking to the hotel I clenched my fists at my sides, my mind dredging up pictures of him that tricked my eyes, staining the very images of the world around me. At that moment it was like I couldn’t breath, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. I wanted to hurt him, make him see how much he was hurting me. Make him understand. It was like a heavy rock, hard and unforgiving, had settled over my heart and blocked out everything that I called my own; my personality, my happiness, my soul. I hated my love for him with everything I had left and at that moment, I wanted to destroy him.

The plan was simple and I reviewed it in my head as I walked the dark red hotel corridors that led to his room. It was still relatively early evening, a low dusk just ready to fall, and I hoped he would be alone. I knocked twice on his door, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, feeling nervous but excited, liberated. It took a while for him to answer the door and I almost gave up and headed back. I often wonder how things would have been different if I had left, or what would have happened if things had gone differently that night. I wonder if he would ever have been able to forgive me for what I had planned to do.

When he opened the door it took a moment for me to gather the courage to look up at his face. Slowly raising my head I took in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and lightly tanned skin. Finally lifting my eyes I was shocked to see his own red-rimmed and swollen and at first I wondered whether he was stoned. He looked at me, almost through me, one hand resting on the wall at his side and the other still holding the door open. He sniffed then and closed his eyes, lowering his face to the ground and I realised with a deafening thud that he was crying. Still rooted to the spot on legs that felt lead-filled and utterly useless, I watched as he turned and walked back into the room without a word, leaving the door open behind him. After a pause to gulp in air, I followed him.

Closing the door behind me I took a moment to gaze around. The room was neat except for the bed, which was unmade with sheets lying at odd angles and pooled on the floor. Thrown onto the middle of the bed were a black jacket, a black wallet and a handful of assorted coins and notes. Next to these objects was a blue bag, the shapes of the items inside clearly visible through the thin plastic. I stepped over to the bag and touched it, noting the clear bottles with a frown. Looking past the bed I saw the balcony was open, but there was no sign of my friend. Forgetting the large alcohol collection, I hurried over to the glass door and swung out into the chilly night air. Gasping with relief, I found him sat on the ground, his back up against the wall, staring out at the city. His hand was wrapped loosely around a bottle of Jack Daniels, already half empty. I watched him for a moment in silence, unsure of what to say. I knew I had to say something soon, to break the deathly quiet that was hanging over us, but in the end it was he would broke it first.

As he talked, I sat down next to him with my back against the wall, staring out at the city. He told me stories of his childhood, tales of happiness and laughter as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. I took the bottle off him and placed it on the ground, putting my arm around him as he sobbed. We stayed that way for a long time.

~x~

Ryan looked up from where he had been perched on the hood of his car. Above him the sky was a clear blue broken only by the occasional white fluffy cloud. In the trees next to the parking lot birds chirped merrily to each other, their happy tunes carried by the wind to Ryan’s waiting ears.

He stared straight ahead upon a field of green and grey, a mournful landscape of quiet, peaceful solitude. He watched as a figure slowly made its way through the standing stones, treading a careful path over freshly cut grass. Soon he was at Ryan’s side and looking back, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. Ryan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

‘You ok?’ He asked. After a slight pause, Brad turned and looked at him, a beautiful smile lighting up his face.

‘Yeah,’ He sighed, reaching up to take Ryan’s hand in his from where it still rested on his shoulder. ‘Every year it gets a little easier.’

Ryan nodded, remaining quiet and letting Brad have another moment, all the time he needed. After a while, Brad turned to him.

‘I was just thinking about the day I found out that he’d died.’

‘Me too.’ Ryan replied with a nod, squeezing Brad’s shoulder.

‘I never thought anything could hurt that much. It was like it was too painful to even breath. I was so lost, I didn’t know what to do or who to turn to.’

Brad trailed off, looking up into Ryan’s eyes, his expression soft and warm.

‘But then you were there. I don’t know why you were or what you wanted, but I couldn’t have got through that night without you.’

Ryan closed his eyes, feeling the hot rays of sun warming the skin of his back. The smell of the grass and the fresh summer breeze filled his head and he breathed in deeply. From a nearby branch a small bird took up a new song, it’s lilting notes carried softly on the warm air. Ryan opened his eyes and smiled.

‘I was there because I love you.’

And in his heart, he knew it was the truth.

END