[ SWEET TALK 101 ] [ Ryan Ross & William Beckett ] .003

Just say something. Speak up for once in your life. Get out of your little shell and get back all these people you love.

My conscious isn't a very nice thing. It yells at me, tells me what to do, and never tells me what I want to hear. But it's times like these that it just plain confuses me. It's telling me that I love you, but I don't see how that's possible. I probably haven't said more than one hundred words to you. Not even that.

Brendon and Spencer and Jon though...They're my band. They've always had my back. And here they are outside my door, each of them picking up their feet to get back to the elevator that brought them here...that brought them five stories higher than they would like to be.

You, I can tell you're holding back. You want to stay. I want you to stay too. But we both know that we're making everyone feel inferior. I've already made Brendon and the others feel as if I don't want them anymore. They think I just want you. I may be wrong. But that's really the only explanation I can come up with.

My stomach is in so many knots, I think I might be sick. The feeling cascades upward into my throat, and I feel it clench inward. Then it's my eyes, filling with more pointless tears. Say something now.

"I don't know what I did."

My voice is cracked, weak, and desperate. Everyone turns around to look at me after I break the silence, and I get that uncomfortable feeling of being in the spotlight, trying to read the minds of four different people at once. I bet you could do that but I can't.

And you'd think I'd be used to the spotlight.

You're the first to even react. You step back through the open doorway and pull me to you, laying my head in your chest. Certainly deja vu. You cradle me in you arms, and I can just barely see over your shoulder that Brendon is glaring at us. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I did and now I don't know what to do. I am in one of those situations where every option simply seems useless. And since I don't plan on choosing one of my options, I decide to just stay here in your arms...and hope everything will go away on its own. Maybe if I close my eyes tight enough the band will be gone but still love me. Maybe when I open them they'll still be here and still hate me. There's no way to know. Because I'm out of options. You seem to be my only one, and every detour your fingers take through my hair makes me think I chose the right one.

Brendon, he looks adorable. With his jealous, disgruntled face. I feel bad for him. I feel bad for you too though. I feel bad for me.

Brendon speaks up. "Don't you dare hurt him, Beckett."

You let go of me and turn around to face Brendon, looking amused. "Me hurt George?"

I almost stomp my foot...but stop myself. Yeah, I'm childish and stubborn when it comes to my name.

"I think I should be the one watching out for him," you say. "After this..." You point out the bite I left on your lip, then pull the collar of your shirt over your shoulder, revealing an abnormally large hickey on your neck. My eyes widen, not remembering having done that at all.

"Woah, I did that?" I say, studying it harder.

But you have clearly reached your goal. Brendon is glowing with envy. It's bouncing right off his skin. "You know what-" he starts and takes a quick, unexpected step toward us.

"Let's go, let's go," Jon says firmly as he and Spencer both hold back Brendon, before he can reach you and do whatever he was planning on doing. I'm scared now. No one's answered my question. What did I do?

"Jealous, Brendon?" you say menacingly, tilting your head again to show off your deep red and purple hickey.

"William!" I exclaim in slight shock. Brendon makes another violent movement toward you and now I'm totally lost. "Brendon! What is your problem?!"

"YOU!"

"What did I do?!" Maybe the question will get through this time.

His jaw moves up and down, trying to get the words out. "You..." Then he drops his shoulders and shakes his head, looking defeated. Right before he puts his hand over his face, I can see his eyes are glossed over. Brendon turns around and walks between Jon and Spencer. They both look at me regretfully. I can't identify a single emotion in their eyes. It's all so blank. And I'm so perplexed beyond belief.

Before I know it, my band is gone. The door is closed and I'm left alone with you again. You look at me in awe. Neither of us know what is going on. We are just two boys. I tried to fix that whole thing about my band hating me. But what am I supposed to do, really? They're being insensitive bitches. This is not our fault.

"I have to go," you say quietly and run a hand through your thick hair as you turn around to head for the door.

"No, you don't," I protest. I run before you and back against the door so you can't leave. "I don't know what's up with Brendon. I don't know what any of this is about. But you don't have to leave because of it."

You stare at me for a second then shake your head. "No, Ry. I have to go." You step forward but I still hold the door protectively against my back. "Really." You're standing right next to me with your hand on the door knob, our bodies touching. I have to make you stay. I can't be alone. I don't like me when I'm alone.

I press my lips to your neck. I don't know why I want you so bad. I'm thinking it is how your hand can sign-language the letter 'C' and wrap it around my waist, holding tight. You roll your head back, and I assume it's out of pleasure, but you're really backing away. No more sign language. No more body language.

I think you might be mad or irritated, but you're smiling. You are so goddamn confusing. "What?" I ask shyly.

"Tell me you have Xbox and I'll stay," you say grinning.

But I pout. I am a Nintendo kid. And I regretfully tell you just that.

"Nintendo's rad too!" you say excitedly as you go over to the small living room and flop on the couch. "What systems do you have?"

I think. I haven't played video games in the longest time. "I lent my Game Cube to Brendon...but I've got the old school NES mostly set up," I said, grinning as I remembered. "It's under the TV somewhere; go ahead and start it up. I'll be right back."

You get up from the couch as I leave the room, heading toward the kitchen. The bowl of frosted shredded wheat still sits forgotten on the kitchen table. I pick it up and stir it around. It looks more like wheat pudding now. But I take a bite of it anyway as I head back to the living room. You're sitting right in front of the TV, a controller in one hand, the system in the other, looking at each in confusion. You look like a little boy on Christmas morning that's trying to put his gifts together himself, considering his father was too hung over to show him how.

Wait, that was me.

I quickly clear my head and put the bowl down on the coffee table. "Here, I'll do it." I take the devices and hook the controllers to the machine accordingly, and the television screen brings up the menu screen of Mario. You pout at me. "You cheated."

Your bitterness is soon gone though as we start playing. I haven't played in forever and I suck. I look at you every once in a while, and your reactions and giggles make me smile. You're really, really cute when you're happy.

"Ahhh, you killed us, Luigi!" you say in defeat, throwing your controller on the floor in front of you.

"Sorry!"

And you get even with me by springing onto me and tickling me to death. More mind-reading. Tickling is at the top of my very short list of weaknesses. Oh, but William, I think you may just be helping that list grow a bit longer.

"Okay, I give up!" I gasp through all my laughter. You finally stop, though you've still got me pinned down on the floor, a huge smile on your face. It's so beautiful. Did I really put that there?

I can't help myself. My tongue likes to out-run my thoughts in the race of doing what makes sense. I lift my head slightly and say quietly in your ear, "What do you say we go to my room?"

It couldn't have possibly been the vodka I had when I woke up. You don't stop smiling, although it's turned into a different kind of smile. Not quite worse or better, just different. "Actually, it's late," you say sweetly as you sweep my hair out of my eyes. "I should probably get going, kiddo."

You're not mad. That's good. You peck my lips, then once again for good measure, I suppose. Then you get up off the floor, but I stay laying there, and I watch you walk to the door. You stop once you get there and look back at me. You smile at me, and I smile back. And finally, after all that that door has been through tonight, it has opened and closed for the last time, taking you away.

Well, William, you did it. You got me to smile. Maybe not for the whole world, but for you. And that is practically synonymous.
How close is close enough?
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