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Title: Before the Dawn
Author: Clay
Pairings: Ryan/Colin, Greg/Chip, Ryan/Greg, Colin/Jeff
Rating: NC-17 for later chapters
Summary: Greg tries not to live in the past but love and temptation have a funny way of coming back around again. Betaed by Lyndsey; original concept by Clay and Lyndsey.
Word Count: 3,093
All Chapters
Chapter Two
“Okay, he fractured his meta—metatarsal I think the nurse said. He’ll be fine,” Drew was saying, but he wasn’t looking at any of them now, his eyes cast down at the clean but worn floor of the hospital’s waiting room, the pathway bleached white in places from repeated use. On the other side of the room a woman coughed, sounding close to death, her frail body bent nearly in two, small-boned hands clutching at her knees as she perched in the hard-backed blue chair, her husband or lover or pimp or whoever the fuck he was at her side, rubbing her back in large, gentle circles.
Greg ran a hand across his face and turned away when he was sure he saw blood smatter the pale knees of her jeans.
He twisted in his own chair now, his back and thighs cramping from sitting for so long, to look down the row of chairs, each fastened to the next with a long, steal bar beneath the seat, as though someone would actually want to steal one. A rerun of Law and Order played quietly on a television set high on the wall, the volume down so low that only the familiar notes of a scene change were audible. Below it sat a large aquarium filled with colorful fish. It was the only cheerful thing in the room, and as if the residents didn’t look ill enough, the rows of fluorescent lights lent everything a slightly sickly glow. The room felt of death and stank of vomit and bleach, and Greg gave up trying to find a comfortable position and merely wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe through his mouth.
“I feel so silly for panicking,” Drew was saying now, and Colin came up to him, laying a hand on one thick shoulder and squeezing gently.
“There’s nothing silly about worrying over a friend,” he told him.
Drew gave him a grateful smile and nodded his thanks, then turned to look at the row of seats behind him. They were scattered with trash, discarded tissues and candy wrappers. An overturned, cardboard Coca Cola cup sat in a pool of something pink on one seat at the far end, and he thought better of sitting down.
The waiting room doors grated open with a creaking groan, washing them in the heady scent of car exhaust and the pale odor of the lilacs perched to either side of the door. Ryan stepped inside, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The stench of cigarettes was still cloying to him alluringly, his hair glowing a faint red around the edges, back-list from the flashing lights of an ambulance waiting just outside.
He went over to Colin and Drew, and the three spoke in low tones, Drew filling Ryan in on all that had passed. After another moment, Drew turned to the rest of them with a weary smile, mock-ordering them to get home and get some sleep. For many of them, tomorrow was a work day, the last taping of the season, and Drew was offering to take Chip home himself.
But Greg stayed right where he was. The credits for Law and Order were flashing across the television screen now, simple white text on a black backdrop. It was just a fractured bone, nothing serious, but the coldness had yet to leave him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disturbed by the whole ordeal.
“I’m going to go see him,” he said suddenly, the words leaving his lips without thought as he brought himself to his feet.
The others paused, watching him, and it was Wayne who stepped forward, pressing a hand to his back in an effort to steer him toward the door.
“He’ll be out soon,” he assured Greg. “They probably won’t even let you in.”
But Greg ignored him, pushing past to make his way to the nurse’s station, Drew’s soft “Let him go” following behind him.
It took some persuasion, the nurse’s argument similar to Wayne’s protest, that he’d be out in twenty minutes and that Greg would only be getting in the way, but Greg knew that twenty minutes in a hospital ended up closer to two hours when all was said and done, and finally his persistence won out, the nurse directing him through a pair of double doors with a weary sigh.
Chip was seated on the edge of a thin hospital bed looking tired but no worse for wear, his ankle dressed in stiff, white bandages. The curtain around his “room” was drawn back, and he sat, hands clasped in front of him, his legs swaying to and fro like a bored child. He grinned brightly, however, upon catching sight of Greg and scooted over immediately, making room, but Greg declined, instead opting to stand before him, looking Chip over with a small smirk.
A full minute passed, and Chip just watched Greg, waiting and then raising his eyebrows nearly to his hairline at Greg’s continued silence. “Hi?” he offered eventually when it seemed Greg could spend the remainder of the night like that.
Greg blinked, then scoffed and shook his head, looking Chip over. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.”
Chip was still grinning as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Oops,” he said, his grin widening.
“Dumbass,” Greg returned fondly.
He gave in then, hopping onto the bed beside Chip, his hands clasped in his lap. Chip immediately leaned into his warmth, laying his head on Greg’s shoulder with a berated, “You know you love me,” and Greg’s arm stole around his waist on instinct.
His other hand stayed limply in his lap, and his brow furrowed as he studied the creases in his skin and the slight yellowing of nicotine around his nails.
“I thought you were really hurt,” he said quietly.
He felt Chip lift himself away and then familiar fingers were on his chin, steering his head to the right as Chip met his eyes.
“Wait,” Chip said, the tone sardonic, but the bright curiosity in his gaze unmistakable, “let me get this straight. You were actually worried about me?”
“Of course I was worried,” Greg retorted, his lips dipping down slightly. “Don’t act so fucking surprised.” He jerked his head out of Chip’s grasp, locking his stare on a stethoscope hanging by the bed.
Chip’s laughter echoed in the small, barren space, and Greg found his body coursing with a sudden, irrational anger.
“Well, knowing you—“ Chip started, but Greg cut him off, slipping off the bed to land heavily on his feet, glaring now and meaning every inch of it.
“I’m not this fucking heartless bastard you want to make me out to be. I actually—“
“Whoah! Whoah, hold on!”
Chip was still smiling, and Greg wanted to slap him.
“I honestly didn’t mean anything by it,” Chip continued. He reached out a hand and Greg stepped forward to take it out of habit, cursing himself even as his mouth relaxed, oddly comforted by the touch. “I was just playing,” Chip said. He smiled up at Greg, and Greg found himself moving closer still. “Now calm down and give me a kiss.”
The slightest smiles tugged at the corners of Greg’s mouth. “Ordering me around now?”
“I’m broken,” Chip agreed with a nod. “I have that right.”
Greg didn’t bother answering because then he was leaning down, pressing a chaste kiss to Chip’s lips, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. Chip’s fingers danced along the nape of his neck, caressing the soft hair there, and Greg pressed yet closer, the touch recalling nights past, stirring memories and his arousal in equal parts; then suddenly Chip was drawing away with a mischievous smile. “I’m fine,” he said, unprompted, then, with a smirk, he reached out, slapping Greg’s ass lightly. “Now go away. I have to get my pants on.”
Greg laughed, obediently taking a step back even as he aimed a playful leer at Chip. “Sure you don’t want me to watch?”
Chip laughed, himself, and slipped off the bed as well, cringing slightly as he accidentally put weight on his bad ankle. Greg almost stepped forward again, but Chip was still grinning, shaking his head, and Greg forced himself to take a deep breath and stay put.
“Dirty old man,” Chip said, hopping awkwardly to where his clothes sat folded on the bedside table. “That’s why I love you. Now go. You’ll just be bored waiting here.”
Greg almost argued, but as the seconds ticked by, he figured that Chip was ordering him out for his own good. Even with their levity, the tension hadn’t left his shoulders, and the pain was starting to get to him. It coupled with the lingering remnants of his headache, and he had to admit that getting out of the white washed building would be a great relief. Besides, seeing Chip hurt was having an odd effect on him, and another twinge of pain had him nodding and backing out of the makeshift room.
“I’ll be in the waiting room.”
He didn’t wait for Chip’s response but turned and started away; the further he walked, the more the coldness from before returned, settling deep inside him and leaving him mildly disturbed and almost deliriously conscious of his surroundings. He needed to get out of there, and by the time he reached the double doors, he was almost running.
He didn’t spot Drew in the waiting room, but he didn’t let that bother him and simply kept moving forward. The vague twilight L.A. afforded waited just outside the automatic doors, and he made a beeline for them, rushing past an elderly couple on their way in, and bursting out into the comforting scents of smog and cigarette smoke. But rather than calm him, there was just a sudden craving, rapidly followed by the realization that he hadn’t had a smoke since before the taping, nearly twelve hours prior.
Fishing in his pocket for a squashed pack of Kools, Greg turned a sharp left, heading away from the light and the activity—and nearly ran headfirst into Ryan.
Startled, he clenched his fists and just stared.
“What the fuck are you still doing here?” he ground out when he found his voice again.
Ryan blinked at him, then smirked, his own cigarette bobbing between his lips. “You’re welcome,” he said, causing the cigarette to shake more emphatically, dropping ash to the wind, and it whipped past Greg, spattering over his dark slacks in spots of grey and white.
When Greg just stared at him, Ryan sighed and moved back, leaning against the pale, concrete wall. “Drew remembered that he has an early meeting tomorrow morning for the other show. He was going to get you two a cab, but I offered to stay and give you a ride.”
“Oh,” Greg replied dumbly. “Yeah. Thanks, then.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head down, ultimately uncomfortable and entirely unsure as to where tonight’s erratic emotions kept rising from. He looked down, finally unclenching his fist, only to find that he’d crushed his cigarette in his surprise. It had been his last, and he sighed heavily, thankful for the small comfort of something so inane to focus on for the moment.
Suddenly a cigarette was thrust under his nose, and Greg jerked his head up to see Ryan offering him a Malboro with a slight smirk.
“You look like you need one,” he offered, and Greg took the cigarette carefully,
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
In seconds it was lit, the thick smoke filling his lungs, bitter poison to calm his shattered nerves, and he felt the tension in his shoulders fading slowly. They smoked in silence. Greg moved to stand beside Ryan, closing his eyes and pressing back into the cool concrete. Ryan finished his cigarette and lit another, and when Greg finished his own, Ryan was right there, offering him a second without a word. Greg took it with a nod and closed his eyes once more. He could feel Ryan’s gaze on him, heavy with questions, but he ignored it.
“You look like shit,” Ryan said after another few minutes had passed.
Greg opened his eyes, smiling darkly, though he still wouldn’t meet Ryan’s eyes. “Gee, thanks,” he muttered sarcastically.
“I just meant....” Ryan trailed off, and Greg saw him look away out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
Greg snorted, his smirk broadening. “Why the fuck would it be?” He looked to Ryan then, only to find that Ryan had turned back and was watching him in return, his lips pursed.
“I just thought—“
“You thought wrong, buddy.” He took a languid drag on his cigarette as Ryan’s brow furrowed.
“Then what’s with...” he started uncertainly, gesturing along the length of Greg’s body, “...this?”
Greg rolled his eyes and looked away. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Greg sighed, lifting his cigarette to his lips again. “You could mind your own business.”
“Hey.” There was a light anger in Ryan’s tone now, and it seemed to calm Greg, to clear his thoughts. “I was just—“
“Just what?” Greg shot back, but there was no malice in his own tone, just a challenge, and Ryan’s gaze darkened and shuttered. “Just thought you’d play psychiatrist? I never asked for your help.”
“You know what? Never mind. Never-fucking-mind, okay?”
Ryan was turning away, done, but Greg was far from finished. His head was clearing in sudden, startling bursts, and he went with it, needing to know where this moody anger was coming from, needing to know what he was doing lashing out at his friend, at his lover, apologetic but unable to do more than ride this wave through.
“No.” Greg grabbed Ryan’s sleeve, twisting his fingers in the night-cooled material. Ryan jerked his arm away, but he stopped, looking back with a glare.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” Greg continued. “This is what’s wrong.” He swung his arm out, gesturing to nothing in particular before bringing it back and jamming his thumb into his chest, barely avoiding charring the material with the remains of his cigarette, still burning bright orange in the dim light. “I’m what’s wrong. I wasn’t supposed to care!” The pieces clicked into place one after another, and Greg heard his voice raising almost excitedly. “I’m not supposed to be so fucking worried about him! I wasn’t supposed to fall in love—“
He ground to a halt, the words reaching his lips before his brain. He stood, dumbfounded, and Ryan stared at him. Ryan’s scowl had all but disappeared now, and as Greg watched, it was replaced with a smile, small and sardonic.
“Pardon?” Ryan said around a laugh, and Greg turned away.
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Are you serious?” Ryan persisted, following him a few steps, but then Greg was spinning around, and Ryan took a step back, grinning wickedly.
“Drop it, Ryan.”
But Ryan shook his head. The smile slipped from his lips, and he watched Greg earnestly now. “Come on, Proops. You realize falling in love is a good thing, right?”
“A good thing?” Greg shot back. His anger was fading only to be replaced with a deep seated feeling of discontent. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, a warning. He was far too weary to trust his mouth right now, but he couldn’t back down. “Ry, love sucks. It’s a mistake. It brings nothing but misery and heartache, and I’m better off without it. I’m better off alone. I can handle myself, but this—but him—“ He gestured toward the building again and then shook his head and relaxed back against the wall, running his hand through his hair. “No. It’s not fucking worth it. It’s never worth it.”
Ryan nodded slowly and moved to stand beside him. “It’s not all bad,” he said, looking out into the night, and Greg wondered what was on his mind, suddenly feeling ill. “It brings companionship, trust, passion. I think we’re at our best when we’re in love. Fuck it.” He grinned suddenly, turning to watch Greg, backlit by the light pouring out of the hospital windows, his face in shadow save twin points of light glittering in his eyes. “Falling in love is fun.”
Greg watched him silently for a moment, suddenly finding himself drawn back in time, remembering a moment, a night he’d all but forgotten, and before he had a chance to think on it, he whispered, “Only when the person you love loves you back.”
Ryan smiled quizzically. “But Chip—“
And that was it. Blind fury rose in Greg’s throat like bile, sharp and sour. He took a step forward, his face contorted, peering up into Ryan’s suddenly wide eyes.
“I thought I was in love with you once,” he spat. “Look how great that turned out.”
For a few, long seconds, Ryan just stared at him. “You’re in love me.” It was said low, emotionless, more a death sentence falling from his lips than a question, and then Ryan’s eyes were narrowing dangerously, and Greg shivered, the whole of him frozen to the core, but now he felt light-headed, almost giddy, and he turned his head away.
“Let’s drop this now, Ryan.”
“Don’t.”
Pure confusion had Greg turning back. “Don’t?”
“Don’t,” Ryan repeated. “Just—“ He shook his head violently, shoving away from the wall and turning to face Greg properly. His teeth were bared, his glare just on the border of hatred, and Greg moved back instinctively. “Don’t wait for me.”
Greg stared at him, then broke the night with a bark of laughter, a mocking anger still coating every word. “Wait for you? You think I’m fucking waiting for you? Like I’d bother, Ryan. I wouldn’t dare break up the ‘dream team.’ I’ve got better things to do with my life.”
“You have Chip,” Ryan agreed, his voice still dark but unreadable, and Greg could only stare at him incredulously.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I have Chip.” He sighed, suddenly bone-tired and started forward, shoving past Ryan with a tight, angry smile. Ryan moved back without protest, and Greg was glad. He’d had more than enough for one night. “I’m going to go check on him,” he said, too tired to keep up the game.
“He’s not some consolation prize,” Ryan called out just as Greg reached the automatic doors.
Greg paused in the doorway, turning to aim one last glare at Ryan. He shook his head in disbelief. “Get over yourself,” he spat out, then disappeared inside.
Author: Clay
Pairings: Ryan/Colin, Greg/Chip, Ryan/Greg, Colin/Jeff
Rating: NC-17 for later chapters
Summary: Greg tries not to live in the past but love and temptation have a funny way of coming back around again. Betaed by Lyndsey; original concept by Clay and Lyndsey.
Word Count: 3,093
All Chapters
“Okay, he fractured his meta—metatarsal I think the nurse said. He’ll be fine,” Drew was saying, but he wasn’t looking at any of them now, his eyes cast down at the clean but worn floor of the hospital’s waiting room, the pathway bleached white in places from repeated use. On the other side of the room a woman coughed, sounding close to death, her frail body bent nearly in two, small-boned hands clutching at her knees as she perched in the hard-backed blue chair, her husband or lover or pimp or whoever the fuck he was at her side, rubbing her back in large, gentle circles.
Greg ran a hand across his face and turned away when he was sure he saw blood smatter the pale knees of her jeans.
He twisted in his own chair now, his back and thighs cramping from sitting for so long, to look down the row of chairs, each fastened to the next with a long, steal bar beneath the seat, as though someone would actually want to steal one. A rerun of Law and Order played quietly on a television set high on the wall, the volume down so low that only the familiar notes of a scene change were audible. Below it sat a large aquarium filled with colorful fish. It was the only cheerful thing in the room, and as if the residents didn’t look ill enough, the rows of fluorescent lights lent everything a slightly sickly glow. The room felt of death and stank of vomit and bleach, and Greg gave up trying to find a comfortable position and merely wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe through his mouth.
“I feel so silly for panicking,” Drew was saying now, and Colin came up to him, laying a hand on one thick shoulder and squeezing gently.
“There’s nothing silly about worrying over a friend,” he told him.
Drew gave him a grateful smile and nodded his thanks, then turned to look at the row of seats behind him. They were scattered with trash, discarded tissues and candy wrappers. An overturned, cardboard Coca Cola cup sat in a pool of something pink on one seat at the far end, and he thought better of sitting down.
The waiting room doors grated open with a creaking groan, washing them in the heady scent of car exhaust and the pale odor of the lilacs perched to either side of the door. Ryan stepped inside, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The stench of cigarettes was still cloying to him alluringly, his hair glowing a faint red around the edges, back-list from the flashing lights of an ambulance waiting just outside.
He went over to Colin and Drew, and the three spoke in low tones, Drew filling Ryan in on all that had passed. After another moment, Drew turned to the rest of them with a weary smile, mock-ordering them to get home and get some sleep. For many of them, tomorrow was a work day, the last taping of the season, and Drew was offering to take Chip home himself.
But Greg stayed right where he was. The credits for Law and Order were flashing across the television screen now, simple white text on a black backdrop. It was just a fractured bone, nothing serious, but the coldness had yet to leave him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disturbed by the whole ordeal.
“I’m going to go see him,” he said suddenly, the words leaving his lips without thought as he brought himself to his feet.
The others paused, watching him, and it was Wayne who stepped forward, pressing a hand to his back in an effort to steer him toward the door.
“He’ll be out soon,” he assured Greg. “They probably won’t even let you in.”
But Greg ignored him, pushing past to make his way to the nurse’s station, Drew’s soft “Let him go” following behind him.
It took some persuasion, the nurse’s argument similar to Wayne’s protest, that he’d be out in twenty minutes and that Greg would only be getting in the way, but Greg knew that twenty minutes in a hospital ended up closer to two hours when all was said and done, and finally his persistence won out, the nurse directing him through a pair of double doors with a weary sigh.
Chip was seated on the edge of a thin hospital bed looking tired but no worse for wear, his ankle dressed in stiff, white bandages. The curtain around his “room” was drawn back, and he sat, hands clasped in front of him, his legs swaying to and fro like a bored child. He grinned brightly, however, upon catching sight of Greg and scooted over immediately, making room, but Greg declined, instead opting to stand before him, looking Chip over with a small smirk.
A full minute passed, and Chip just watched Greg, waiting and then raising his eyebrows nearly to his hairline at Greg’s continued silence. “Hi?” he offered eventually when it seemed Greg could spend the remainder of the night like that.
Greg blinked, then scoffed and shook his head, looking Chip over. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.”
Chip was still grinning as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Oops,” he said, his grin widening.
“Dumbass,” Greg returned fondly.
He gave in then, hopping onto the bed beside Chip, his hands clasped in his lap. Chip immediately leaned into his warmth, laying his head on Greg’s shoulder with a berated, “You know you love me,” and Greg’s arm stole around his waist on instinct.
His other hand stayed limply in his lap, and his brow furrowed as he studied the creases in his skin and the slight yellowing of nicotine around his nails.
“I thought you were really hurt,” he said quietly.
He felt Chip lift himself away and then familiar fingers were on his chin, steering his head to the right as Chip met his eyes.
“Wait,” Chip said, the tone sardonic, but the bright curiosity in his gaze unmistakable, “let me get this straight. You were actually worried about me?”
“Of course I was worried,” Greg retorted, his lips dipping down slightly. “Don’t act so fucking surprised.” He jerked his head out of Chip’s grasp, locking his stare on a stethoscope hanging by the bed.
Chip’s laughter echoed in the small, barren space, and Greg found his body coursing with a sudden, irrational anger.
“Well, knowing you—“ Chip started, but Greg cut him off, slipping off the bed to land heavily on his feet, glaring now and meaning every inch of it.
“I’m not this fucking heartless bastard you want to make me out to be. I actually—“
“Whoah! Whoah, hold on!”
Chip was still smiling, and Greg wanted to slap him.
“I honestly didn’t mean anything by it,” Chip continued. He reached out a hand and Greg stepped forward to take it out of habit, cursing himself even as his mouth relaxed, oddly comforted by the touch. “I was just playing,” Chip said. He smiled up at Greg, and Greg found himself moving closer still. “Now calm down and give me a kiss.”
The slightest smiles tugged at the corners of Greg’s mouth. “Ordering me around now?”
“I’m broken,” Chip agreed with a nod. “I have that right.”
Greg didn’t bother answering because then he was leaning down, pressing a chaste kiss to Chip’s lips, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. Chip’s fingers danced along the nape of his neck, caressing the soft hair there, and Greg pressed yet closer, the touch recalling nights past, stirring memories and his arousal in equal parts; then suddenly Chip was drawing away with a mischievous smile. “I’m fine,” he said, unprompted, then, with a smirk, he reached out, slapping Greg’s ass lightly. “Now go away. I have to get my pants on.”
Greg laughed, obediently taking a step back even as he aimed a playful leer at Chip. “Sure you don’t want me to watch?”
Chip laughed, himself, and slipped off the bed as well, cringing slightly as he accidentally put weight on his bad ankle. Greg almost stepped forward again, but Chip was still grinning, shaking his head, and Greg forced himself to take a deep breath and stay put.
“Dirty old man,” Chip said, hopping awkwardly to where his clothes sat folded on the bedside table. “That’s why I love you. Now go. You’ll just be bored waiting here.”
Greg almost argued, but as the seconds ticked by, he figured that Chip was ordering him out for his own good. Even with their levity, the tension hadn’t left his shoulders, and the pain was starting to get to him. It coupled with the lingering remnants of his headache, and he had to admit that getting out of the white washed building would be a great relief. Besides, seeing Chip hurt was having an odd effect on him, and another twinge of pain had him nodding and backing out of the makeshift room.
“I’ll be in the waiting room.”
He didn’t wait for Chip’s response but turned and started away; the further he walked, the more the coldness from before returned, settling deep inside him and leaving him mildly disturbed and almost deliriously conscious of his surroundings. He needed to get out of there, and by the time he reached the double doors, he was almost running.
He didn’t spot Drew in the waiting room, but he didn’t let that bother him and simply kept moving forward. The vague twilight L.A. afforded waited just outside the automatic doors, and he made a beeline for them, rushing past an elderly couple on their way in, and bursting out into the comforting scents of smog and cigarette smoke. But rather than calm him, there was just a sudden craving, rapidly followed by the realization that he hadn’t had a smoke since before the taping, nearly twelve hours prior.
Fishing in his pocket for a squashed pack of Kools, Greg turned a sharp left, heading away from the light and the activity—and nearly ran headfirst into Ryan.
Startled, he clenched his fists and just stared.
“What the fuck are you still doing here?” he ground out when he found his voice again.
Ryan blinked at him, then smirked, his own cigarette bobbing between his lips. “You’re welcome,” he said, causing the cigarette to shake more emphatically, dropping ash to the wind, and it whipped past Greg, spattering over his dark slacks in spots of grey and white.
When Greg just stared at him, Ryan sighed and moved back, leaning against the pale, concrete wall. “Drew remembered that he has an early meeting tomorrow morning for the other show. He was going to get you two a cab, but I offered to stay and give you a ride.”
“Oh,” Greg replied dumbly. “Yeah. Thanks, then.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head down, ultimately uncomfortable and entirely unsure as to where tonight’s erratic emotions kept rising from. He looked down, finally unclenching his fist, only to find that he’d crushed his cigarette in his surprise. It had been his last, and he sighed heavily, thankful for the small comfort of something so inane to focus on for the moment.
Suddenly a cigarette was thrust under his nose, and Greg jerked his head up to see Ryan offering him a Malboro with a slight smirk.
“You look like you need one,” he offered, and Greg took the cigarette carefully,
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
In seconds it was lit, the thick smoke filling his lungs, bitter poison to calm his shattered nerves, and he felt the tension in his shoulders fading slowly. They smoked in silence. Greg moved to stand beside Ryan, closing his eyes and pressing back into the cool concrete. Ryan finished his cigarette and lit another, and when Greg finished his own, Ryan was right there, offering him a second without a word. Greg took it with a nod and closed his eyes once more. He could feel Ryan’s gaze on him, heavy with questions, but he ignored it.
“You look like shit,” Ryan said after another few minutes had passed.
Greg opened his eyes, smiling darkly, though he still wouldn’t meet Ryan’s eyes. “Gee, thanks,” he muttered sarcastically.
“I just meant....” Ryan trailed off, and Greg saw him look away out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
Greg snorted, his smirk broadening. “Why the fuck would it be?” He looked to Ryan then, only to find that Ryan had turned back and was watching him in return, his lips pursed.
“I just thought—“
“You thought wrong, buddy.” He took a languid drag on his cigarette as Ryan’s brow furrowed.
“Then what’s with...” he started uncertainly, gesturing along the length of Greg’s body, “...this?”
Greg rolled his eyes and looked away. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Greg sighed, lifting his cigarette to his lips again. “You could mind your own business.”
“Hey.” There was a light anger in Ryan’s tone now, and it seemed to calm Greg, to clear his thoughts. “I was just—“
“Just what?” Greg shot back, but there was no malice in his own tone, just a challenge, and Ryan’s gaze darkened and shuttered. “Just thought you’d play psychiatrist? I never asked for your help.”
“You know what? Never mind. Never-fucking-mind, okay?”
Ryan was turning away, done, but Greg was far from finished. His head was clearing in sudden, startling bursts, and he went with it, needing to know where this moody anger was coming from, needing to know what he was doing lashing out at his friend, at his lover, apologetic but unable to do more than ride this wave through.
“No.” Greg grabbed Ryan’s sleeve, twisting his fingers in the night-cooled material. Ryan jerked his arm away, but he stopped, looking back with a glare.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” Greg continued. “This is what’s wrong.” He swung his arm out, gesturing to nothing in particular before bringing it back and jamming his thumb into his chest, barely avoiding charring the material with the remains of his cigarette, still burning bright orange in the dim light. “I’m what’s wrong. I wasn’t supposed to care!” The pieces clicked into place one after another, and Greg heard his voice raising almost excitedly. “I’m not supposed to be so fucking worried about him! I wasn’t supposed to fall in love—“
He ground to a halt, the words reaching his lips before his brain. He stood, dumbfounded, and Ryan stared at him. Ryan’s scowl had all but disappeared now, and as Greg watched, it was replaced with a smile, small and sardonic.
“Pardon?” Ryan said around a laugh, and Greg turned away.
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Are you serious?” Ryan persisted, following him a few steps, but then Greg was spinning around, and Ryan took a step back, grinning wickedly.
“Drop it, Ryan.”
But Ryan shook his head. The smile slipped from his lips, and he watched Greg earnestly now. “Come on, Proops. You realize falling in love is a good thing, right?”
“A good thing?” Greg shot back. His anger was fading only to be replaced with a deep seated feeling of discontent. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, a warning. He was far too weary to trust his mouth right now, but he couldn’t back down. “Ry, love sucks. It’s a mistake. It brings nothing but misery and heartache, and I’m better off without it. I’m better off alone. I can handle myself, but this—but him—“ He gestured toward the building again and then shook his head and relaxed back against the wall, running his hand through his hair. “No. It’s not fucking worth it. It’s never worth it.”
Ryan nodded slowly and moved to stand beside him. “It’s not all bad,” he said, looking out into the night, and Greg wondered what was on his mind, suddenly feeling ill. “It brings companionship, trust, passion. I think we’re at our best when we’re in love. Fuck it.” He grinned suddenly, turning to watch Greg, backlit by the light pouring out of the hospital windows, his face in shadow save twin points of light glittering in his eyes. “Falling in love is fun.”
Greg watched him silently for a moment, suddenly finding himself drawn back in time, remembering a moment, a night he’d all but forgotten, and before he had a chance to think on it, he whispered, “Only when the person you love loves you back.”
Ryan smiled quizzically. “But Chip—“
And that was it. Blind fury rose in Greg’s throat like bile, sharp and sour. He took a step forward, his face contorted, peering up into Ryan’s suddenly wide eyes.
“I thought I was in love with you once,” he spat. “Look how great that turned out.”
For a few, long seconds, Ryan just stared at him. “You’re in love me.” It was said low, emotionless, more a death sentence falling from his lips than a question, and then Ryan’s eyes were narrowing dangerously, and Greg shivered, the whole of him frozen to the core, but now he felt light-headed, almost giddy, and he turned his head away.
“Let’s drop this now, Ryan.”
“Don’t.”
Pure confusion had Greg turning back. “Don’t?”
“Don’t,” Ryan repeated. “Just—“ He shook his head violently, shoving away from the wall and turning to face Greg properly. His teeth were bared, his glare just on the border of hatred, and Greg moved back instinctively. “Don’t wait for me.”
Greg stared at him, then broke the night with a bark of laughter, a mocking anger still coating every word. “Wait for you? You think I’m fucking waiting for you? Like I’d bother, Ryan. I wouldn’t dare break up the ‘dream team.’ I’ve got better things to do with my life.”
“You have Chip,” Ryan agreed, his voice still dark but unreadable, and Greg could only stare at him incredulously.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I have Chip.” He sighed, suddenly bone-tired and started forward, shoving past Ryan with a tight, angry smile. Ryan moved back without protest, and Greg was glad. He’d had more than enough for one night. “I’m going to go check on him,” he said, too tired to keep up the game.
“He’s not some consolation prize,” Ryan called out just as Greg reached the automatic doors.
Greg paused in the doorway, turning to aim one last glare at Ryan. He shook his head in disbelief. “Get over yourself,” he spat out, then disappeared inside.
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