Reflecting Equation - 5. Interlude: Here in Your Bedroom

Sleep was a mesh of dark shapes and images that came confusingly and terrifyingly quick in chaotic dreams. Comfort was an elusive drug, and Ryan was awake before his thoughts even processed the fact. He wiped at his cheeks where his tears have left the skin there dry and scratchy.

He felt like a baby crying himself to sleep and thinking things that can’t be. Ryan shivered, rubbing at the skin above his wrists. He wanted to—he doesn’t know what he wanted. He wanted to… change the past, turn back time. More than that he wanted to just scream at the sky and demand a do-over.

Ryan stood up and stumbled to the mirror above his dresser. He grabbed a towel from the counter and scrubbed at his face, erasing the evidence of fitful sleep. It had been years since he’d cried. When he discovered that crying only egged on the bullies in grade school, he perfected masking his face.

His fingers touched the corners of his eyes and he sleepily wondered if he had wrinkles. These days he felt forty, and not seventeen. He was too serious. He thought two steps ahead all the time, and often felt like his classmates were kids rather than peers. Crazy since he was mostly in senior level classes, as a junior, and he could feel the derision of the students. Beatings had been regular and often before he bulked up.

Even now he still sat in the back of the classroom, head down, quiet and invisible. But they don’t snicker anymore as he mumbled out an answer or roll their eyes as he gets back exams, A’s marked in red with condescending and glaring red ink. They might not know why they felt a chill down their spine after staring into his eyes, but he did. It was human nature to fear things that are dangerous.

Ryan only had on a pair of pajama bottoms and his chest was bare. He ran a finger over his pecs and the skin was soft and the firm muscles were hard beneath his fingers. He still couldn't help but see something else. The him of before, pre-Chosen, too skinny and pale skin. His fingers clenched and he scowled at his reflection. He felt stupid.

The door opened and he scrambled away from the mirror. His father entered through the doorway and stopped, wearing a thoughtful and concerned expression that only made Ryan turn away from him and stomp to the bed. He sat on it and turned away from those searching eyes. He felt small and exposed under that gaze and he hated it. His arms crossed over his chest unconsciously.

“Hey, buddy,” Benjamin shot a nervous glance at his son, before covering it with a shaky smile. It fell after a moment and he sighed, “I’m worried about you, Ry. You alright?”

Ryan shrugged. “I’m fine, Dad.”

That’s not true at all. His emotions were all over the place. But his face was a mask, cold and empty and blank as a canvas. His father couldn't see that’s he was suspended in mid-air, hopelessly spinning around and drowning in the nothingness that felt like dying.

His father sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to rest on Ryan’s shoulder. They both pretend to ignore the flinch. “Look, I-I know I’m not around a lot. But I do notice when my kid is hurting and—you’re hurting badly. Is this about Killian? Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing happened,” Ryan muttered, his voice shaking and he pretended that his throat was just sore.

Benjamin looked at him and his face was sad and drawn with shared heartbreak. It was the same expression he wore after discovering the bruising on Ryan’s neck and arms after one hard day at school, back before they moved out here.

“Oh, baby. C’mere.”

He tugged at Ryan’s wrist and pulled the boy into his arms. Ryan burrowed into the warmth, shoulders shaking and his eyes burning with held back tears. His dad smelled of fabric softener, cologne and faintly of cigarettes. It was comforting and familiar and it felt wonderful.

“You want to talk about it?” his dad said softly into his hair.

Ryan couldn’t find his voice if he wanted. His face felt hot and it was taking everything he had not to start bawling and just ask why. He felt inadequate and humiliated, like some joke. He could only shake his head because if he said Killian’s name he would lose his mind. The silence was keeping him sane.

He let his dad hold him for a long time, longer since they’d last been in the same room in what felt like forever. Strong fingers slid through his long hair. It was comforting and it became a little easier to breathe. Ryan didn’t even notice falling asleep until he was dreaming.

In the dream he was a kid again, twelve years old and smartest in his class. His glasses felt heavy on his face and he’s dressed in an oxford and khakis. He looked like he was going to church rather than school. Around him were classmates, faces as clear as he remembered. Cruel grins and mocking laughter came from all around, as they taunted and pushed him and make him feel like crap until he cried and begged them to stop. Killian appeared amidst the circle of jeering kids. He’s wearing a tee-shirt and jeans and aviator glasses, looking cool and leaving Ryan feeling ridiculous in his outfit. He reached out for him, like a dying man, and the boy arched an eyebrow and turned his back.

It felt like a knife plunged into his heart.

Ryan awoke with a gasp and he grabbed at his chest. He sucked in deep, gasping breaths and his lungs felt tired and burned, like he had run twelve miles and was close to an asthmatic attack. Finally, it passed leaving him a weak, sweaty mess.

The room was dark. A glance at the clock revealed that it was late. Almost midnight and there was nothing in the room but his loud breathing and the light of the moon streaming through the window. He blinked away tears. This was the most he had cried in years.

He couldn’t help himself. Something inside felt broken. Was it his heart? It felt like it. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable and every beat hurt. Killian had broken up with him and in the process, broke his heart.

This is it, Ryan couldn’t help but think. After everything. This is how I’m going to die. I will not live past this night.

Fresh tears stung his eyes and then he’s standing up before he realized it. He was filled with a sudden hatred for Killian. How dare he throw them away? This hate felt long lasting and stronger than the feelings of depression. It was swift and consuming and he reveled in it. Ryan held on to it because he was tired of crying, tired of wishing things that could not be.

Ryan fell stupidly in love. Killian was everything he wasn’t. Bright, perfect, cool and all the things he would never be. He gambled on love and lost. Humiliation made his pulse quicken. It boiled his blood. Here, he felt like that little kid again whose glasses were wrong for his face and was constantly tripping over his own feet.

His eyes were blissfully dry, out of tears and too burned out to cry. This anger was like a drug. His gaze settled on a giant movie poster tacked on the wall. Star Trek was the first movie Killian had taken Ryan on a date. He’d bought the poster as a souvenir from the mall that same night, handing it to Ryan with a surprisingly shy smile and warm eyes.

Ryan surged forward, riding the violent crest of rage. He tore into the poster on the wall and snatched it down ripping it in the process. He grabbed a box from beside the dresser and dumped the old clothes inside on the floor. He was going to donate them to charity for community service hours at school. Now, the torn halves of the poster went inside, followed by a scuffed soccer ball and a tight gray tee that Ryan had taken from Killian to wear to bed. It still smelled like him.

He was breathing hard, angry. But he didn’t care as he moved around the room like some crazy person. He was aware that he looked insane, but he was beyond that now. All Ryan wanted now was any trace of Killian gone, out of sight and incapable of haunting his waking thoughts.

A sob made its way from his throat and he didn’t cry. Tears didn’t come. It’s more out of ache than anything than self-pity or sadness. He was in denial and he knew it. At least the anger was better than being pathetic and hopeless. He was never going to fall in love again. There was no way he could fathom feeling like this again ever in his life.

Ryan filled the box and stared at it for a long time, huffing and fingers clenched in fists. His entire relationship in a box and it was like a catharsis, a Pandora’s box of sin and trapped emotions. He picked up the box before he could lose his nerve.

His father always left his car keys on the kitchen counter. Ryan was backing the Benz out of the drive and speeding down the road, and the man was not the wiser. He slept on, unaware of his son driving the empty roads, fingers gripped tight on the wheel and face set in stone. Ryan looked like a stone angel.

Even at night, the houses in the affluent neighborhood Ryan entered still screamed money and class, reflections of the owners who dwelled inside. Killian’s house was no different, he thought, as he parked in front of the expensive plot of real estate. The house that was more like a manor than anything, and it was lit up by lawn lights with a newly painted exterior, and the smell of freshly cut grass was still sharp. It made him sick.

He parked the car a little away from the house and slid out. Ryan gripped the box tight as he trudged out across the lawn and around the side of the house. He found his target and grabbed a handful of pebbles from the rock décor and launched them at the window above.

It didn’t take long before the window slid open. The rocks fell from his hands and Ryan rocketed through the air with the box in his arms. He was through the window before it even completely opened, and in the room in a flash of color.

“Ryan!” Killian jumped at the boy that suddenly appeared in his room, “How? What are you doing here?”

He saw the box in Ryan’s hands—what it was filled with, what it meant. They stared at each other for a while, Ryan with his cold face and Killian with his heavy breath, mouth open. Killian pressed his lips together and looked down at Ryan’s sneakers.

“So this is it? All of my shit is in a box and you’re done,” Killian said, eyes still on Ryan’s feet.

Ryan couldn’t keep the derision from his voice. “You were done first. It happened earlier today. You should remember.”

He didn't want Killian to see how badly he hurt him. He turned away from those green eyes. There was no way he could look at them and ignore the way Killian’s staring at him, like he’s regretting so many things, like Ryan was worth something, like he mattered. He didn’t matter enough if Killian broke them.

“Ryan, please,” said Killian softly, eyes glimmering. “Don’t be like this. I-can’t take you being mad at me like this. It hurts.”

“You didn’t mind hurting me when you broke up with me,” said Ryan. A damn was breaking in his chest. It took effort to be this cruel to Killian. It made his insides feel on fire and winter cold all at once.

Killian’s voice trembled and his first words broke before he regained his breath, “I didn’t want this. Not this—wall between us. I did this so we can be happy.”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“Fine, if this is how it’s going to be,” Killian muttered. His face was pinched tight with something that looked like weariness. He took the box from Ryan’s arms and roughly set it on the bed, jostling its contents. “Thanks for bringing my stuff.”

Ryan didn’t know if it was the faux indifferent emotion on Killian’s face, eyes shining with sorrow or the shattered tone of his voice. But he was crowding Killian’s space like a lion cornering his prey. Killian's eyes widened, lips parting in shock, as Ryan backed him into the wall. His body hit solidly and he looked into gray eyes that were dark with unreadable emotion.

“Damn you, Killian Morris,” Ryan muttered, voice shaking with careful control. “Goddamn, you.”

His body shook as he held back all the emotions that had him tethering on the brink and falling, falling, falling. Ryan was on the edge of space and was slipping into the maelstrom that was his emotions.

Killian stared at him with dilated eyes. “R-ryan?”

Ryan leaned down till their noses brushed and their foreheads pressed together. His arms came up on either side of Killian blocking him in. Killian pushed against the arms, but he found that it was like moving steel, hard and unmoving.

“You promised never to break my heart,” said Ryan, voice whisper soft. “You told me that day on the beach. Do you remember, Killian?” He leaned closer, pressing them together—chest to chest, groin to groin. Killian gasped and nodded with pain and arousal warring in his eyes. “We’re broken up. Fine. I’ll go with it. Everybody has their stupid moments. You just know this,” Ryan closed the distance between their lips until they were a centimeter apart. “This isn’t over. It’ll never be over.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed him. His tongue delved into Killian’s mouth like he was hungry, like he was writing his name against his tonsils. Killian went limp under the kiss and he began to kiss back, and then it was over before he could fully return it.

Ryan pulled away, eyes nearly black and his hand pressed against Killian’s chest, the palm resting over his heart. Killian shuddered under the possessive touch that felt hot like a brand, marking him, claiming him all the way to his soul.

“I just can’t give up on you,” said Ryan thickly, throat tight. He stared at him, intently and determined. “You belong to me.”

Killian swallowed.

The hand that wasn’t over Killian’s heart grabbed the boy’s limp hand and placed it over his own heart. Ryan mustered a watery smile. “And I belong to you.”

Ryan released Killian’s hand and stepped away from the other boy. Killian stood frozen against the wall. He tried to speak but Ryan was looking at him softly and with sweet affection. It made him tongue tied. It was screwing with his head and his heart.

Ryan shook his head and his hair fell in front of his eyes. He pushed his bangs up and looked up at Killian through his eyelashes. “I’ll see you around…” He looked like didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, then. “Friend.”

One second he was there and the next he was gone. Using his abilities he sped through the open window like some superhuman in the comics. Leaving the room empty except for the moonlight that highlighted the lone figure in the room.

Killian touched two trembling fingers to his lips and thinks.