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Title: A Different Kind of Pain
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Greg, Greg’s POV
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “...we can’t start over...”
Author’s Notes: This is what I get for listening to music while I’m trying to nap. I had to get up and write it immediately. And it’s not a real story. It’s also really, really short. But yeah. Here it is.
Word Count: 697
“Look,” I say, taking a step toward him, one hand outstretched the way you would approach a snarling dog or your captor as he rambles on about God, a smoking gun in his hand, “Ryan...”
I don’t know exactly what I plan on saying to him, maybe an apology of some sort.
All I know is that I’d never seen him like this, broken, curled in on himself and - fuck - crying. Not once in the decade that I’d know Ryan had I seen him cry, and it's fucking scary.
“Just shut the Hell up,” he snarls. He’s still refusing to look at me. “Just...” He makes a noise, a half groan, half growl, and turns his face into the couch. “Just go away.”
“Ryan...” I sit beside him, and he closes his eyes. I don’t know how to deal with this. Instinct tells me to hold him, but nature has me hanging back. It’s not my place. It’s not what he wants from me.
“Do you want me, um...” I absently search a pocket for my cigarettes, but they’re halfway across the room. “...do you want me to get someone?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I just sit there awkwardly and watch him. He opens his eyes, lifting one finger to trace a crease in the worn leather couch.
“I was in love with you. Did you know that?”
Of course I knew, but I’d never wanted to admit it. I never wanted to love him. I never wanted to deal with it and all that came with it. I always thought that he’d be happier without me.
“Look,” I say again, and now I have to avert my eyes because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I always had been and always would be in love with him.
But before I can get another word out, he’s over me, pushing me back into the cushions and pinning me down, his mouth over mind, hard and desperate and salty from tears. I can’t even think; I just kiss him back. I cling to him and try not to think about how much I’d missed him.
When he pulls back, he’s breathing heavily and can no longer meet my eyes.
“Just go away.”
“Ryan...”
He’s curling up again, drawing away from me. I don’t blame him. I deserve it.
“...we can’t start over...”
He nods and then bows his forehead against his knees.
“...but we could try something new.”
He stills, then, but doesn’t look up.
And I know I’m asking for a lot, for his forgiveness, for his trust, and I don’t deserve any of it. I don’t know if I can live up to any promises or if I’ll ever be good enough for him.
But I could try.
When he finally looks to me, there’s no hope in his eyes. He’s weary, almost dead, and I know he still loves me. And I hate him for that. And I hate myself for doing this to him.
“Ryan...” I scowl and wish I could say something else.
I wish I could tell him how hard it was to drive him away. I wish I could take back the last few years. I wish, in a way, that Colin had been enough, that he would have forgotten me by now and I could go on with my life as it was before we had met.
I wish I could tell him how scared I am.
And I wish, when he unfolds himself and wraps his arms around me, that it didn’t feel so fucking good, that I had the strength to not immediately hug him back. Because I can’t do this. I can’t let him in. He’ll destroy me. If I let myself be in love with him, if I let myself give everything to him and he decides that I’m not enough, then I’ll be left with nothing.
But when he pushes me back down on the couch and rests his head against my shoulder, his arms around me calming me in a way that nothing else ever had, I think that, maybe, it could be worth it.
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Greg, Greg’s POV
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “...we can’t start over...”
Author’s Notes: This is what I get for listening to music while I’m trying to nap. I had to get up and write it immediately. And it’s not a real story. It’s also really, really short. But yeah. Here it is.
Word Count: 697
“Look,” I say, taking a step toward him, one hand outstretched the way you would approach a snarling dog or your captor as he rambles on about God, a smoking gun in his hand, “Ryan...”
I don’t know exactly what I plan on saying to him, maybe an apology of some sort.
All I know is that I’d never seen him like this, broken, curled in on himself and - fuck - crying. Not once in the decade that I’d know Ryan had I seen him cry, and it's fucking scary.
“Just shut the Hell up,” he snarls. He’s still refusing to look at me. “Just...” He makes a noise, a half groan, half growl, and turns his face into the couch. “Just go away.”
“Ryan...” I sit beside him, and he closes his eyes. I don’t know how to deal with this. Instinct tells me to hold him, but nature has me hanging back. It’s not my place. It’s not what he wants from me.
“Do you want me, um...” I absently search a pocket for my cigarettes, but they’re halfway across the room. “...do you want me to get someone?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I just sit there awkwardly and watch him. He opens his eyes, lifting one finger to trace a crease in the worn leather couch.
“I was in love with you. Did you know that?”
Of course I knew, but I’d never wanted to admit it. I never wanted to love him. I never wanted to deal with it and all that came with it. I always thought that he’d be happier without me.
“Look,” I say again, and now I have to avert my eyes because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I always had been and always would be in love with him.
But before I can get another word out, he’s over me, pushing me back into the cushions and pinning me down, his mouth over mind, hard and desperate and salty from tears. I can’t even think; I just kiss him back. I cling to him and try not to think about how much I’d missed him.
When he pulls back, he’s breathing heavily and can no longer meet my eyes.
“Just go away.”
“Ryan...”
He’s curling up again, drawing away from me. I don’t blame him. I deserve it.
“...we can’t start over...”
He nods and then bows his forehead against his knees.
“...but we could try something new.”
He stills, then, but doesn’t look up.
And I know I’m asking for a lot, for his forgiveness, for his trust, and I don’t deserve any of it. I don’t know if I can live up to any promises or if I’ll ever be good enough for him.
But I could try.
When he finally looks to me, there’s no hope in his eyes. He’s weary, almost dead, and I know he still loves me. And I hate him for that. And I hate myself for doing this to him.
“Ryan...” I scowl and wish I could say something else.
I wish I could tell him how hard it was to drive him away. I wish I could take back the last few years. I wish, in a way, that Colin had been enough, that he would have forgotten me by now and I could go on with my life as it was before we had met.
I wish I could tell him how scared I am.
And I wish, when he unfolds himself and wraps his arms around me, that it didn’t feel so fucking good, that I had the strength to not immediately hug him back. Because I can’t do this. I can’t let him in. He’ll destroy me. If I let myself be in love with him, if I let myself give everything to him and he decides that I’m not enough, then I’ll be left with nothing.
But when he pushes me back down on the couch and rests his head against my shoulder, his arms around me calming me in a way that nothing else ever had, I think that, maybe, it could be worth it.
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