Friday
6:56 PM
auditorium, backstage
The balls of my feet are like trampolines on the black, wood floor. I hate this play. I hate this play so much. I'm going to tell that cute girl on the newspaper staff to totally bash it and maybe they'll cancel the rest of the shows. I feel weak. I peek out at the audience from a dark spot behind a curtain and the bright lights are already making me woozy. I take a deep, staggered breath and it hitches in my throat when I feel soft skin touch my hand. I look down and see dark skin accompanied by milky-white fingernails that are bitten to the verge of their breaking point. I smile at Travis and he warmly returns one back. A thin line of eyeliner is beneath his eyes, as on mine. Mine is probably thicker though because I am much paler.
But I love the way Travis and I contrast. Like a black and white film, we're something classic. Not soon to be forgotten.
I bite my lip somewhat excitedly, somewhat terrified. "Are you rea-"
I feel a tap on my shoulder and both Travis and I turn around, quickly dropping hands unnecessarily. It's Ryan.
I plunge into a hug with Ryan, like I always do. He just has a way of calming me down. It always works, like a charm. "Oh, Ryan, I'm so glad you came!"
"Oh, shut up," he says quietly but still grinning as I pull away. "You knew I'd come."
"I mean back here! Before I went on," I say, taking Ryan's hand gently in a way of saying thanks. He knows I appreciate everything he does for me, more than anything in the world. I glance at Travis and he smiles. Unlike all the other boys, I don't see a hint of jealousy in his eyes. Finally, a boy that understands the exceedingly misunderstood relationship between Ryan and I. I'm not letting this one go.
"William," Ryan suddenly says seriously. "You'll never guess who's sitting in the fourth row."
"Well, I could just look out myself, but I'm guessing...a gorgeous, brown-eyed brunette with adorable, pink, pouty lips and maybe a tiny, little redhead of arm candy?"
Travis snickers and I grin. Ryan isn't so amused. "Yeah. Can you believe it?"
"Yeah..." I say, not quite following. "He has every right to-"
And the lights go out. I take a deep breath and feel for Ryan in the darkness. "I gotta go. Thank you for coming back here, babe." I kiss him on the cheek and I hear him smile before his footsteps begin to fade away. Then I turn to Travis and do the same. Just because.
- - -
As we all bow at the end of the show, I make it a point to quickly spot Travis' thick head of hair and grab his hand. He grins at me and then we walk off stage together, still hand-in-hand. I intentionally stray away from the rest of the cast with him, and soon we're deep in the shadows of the back curtains. Even though it's pitch black, Travis' brown eyes still pierce me violently. I smirk invisibly, and I run my hand through his thick, textured hair. Eventually I find the perfect moment to kiss him. It feels so perfect.
I pull my lips away though as I hear little footsteps approaching from my left, but I don't remove my hands from his sharp hips. I know what Travis is probably thinking: "Oh great, Ryan again." And I can't help but think it as well. But our assumption is incorrect; shy, little Anna from drama class tells the two of us that we need to go to the makeup room to have our makeup taken off. Anna does this every year - she always tells herself she's got the courage this time to actually try out for the play; she might even have a few lines, she tells herself. But every year she just ends up as the makeup girl. And that's what she becomes known as at this time of the year: "makeup girl."
I inform Anna that I prefer to take it off myself when I get home. Is it so wrong for a guy to want clean skin? Not many people see the clean side of William Beckett. Maybe only one person, actually.
She nods, still bright red from when she first found us. I grin. I know nothing about that girl, but it's like I can trust her. Who is she going to tell Travis' and I's little gay secret to? No one. She doesn't have the guts to tell anyone.
So I kiss Travis again one last time on the lips. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Call me," he suggests instead with a smile, and he walks off.
I stand there with my hands in my pockets for a minute, smiling to myself. I realize I won't get to see Travis tonight, so I head outside of the school to find Ryan. It's pitch black. All I can really see is the massive swarm of people that came to see... me. All descending to their cars. I frown, feeling a little lonely, when this is supposed to be my night to shine. Brighter than the new moon that's risen in the dark blue sky.
I'm about to go back into the auditorium, but all of a sudden, I'm tackled by a lanky figure in the darkness and a scent that I know belongs to Ryan. I grin and hug him close. He congratulates me loudly on my performance, and I thank him profusely.
"I guess I should get going home then..." he says quietly, almost sadly. Well, it's not even almost. I know this is a silent plea to let him stay with me, to take him away from his "family," like I have that power or something. But I give in anyway. Our brown eyes connect and I can't help but tell him to hop in my car and turn on the heater.
As we drive to my house though, I'm a little confused, I suppose. Ryan isn't saying a word, and his head is rested on his fist, his eyes opening and closing, like window shutters. Usually when Ryan wants to stay the night with me, it's because he wants to play around a little. The little whore. But maybe this time he really does want to lay in my bed, tuck my hair behind my ear, say "Sweet dreams, William," and go to sleep. I would never mind such a thing. He's a cute sleeper.
Brendon had to be out of his mind.
I open the front door of my small house for Ryan, and he smiles weakly. I'm still confused. "You okay, Ry?"
He keeps walking, past the living room, past the kitchen, and to my bedroom. I sigh, and I shut the front door behind me. Ryan knows he can do whatever he wants in my house. My parents are both always gone, doing things that I'm not even sure of anymore. So usually the house is maintained by me, therefore it isn't the most welcoming environment, but once you get used to it, it's a comfortable place to be in.
I turn toward my bedroom and as I reach the doorway, I have to stop. Stop and smile at the boy laying in my bed, so at peace with everything, at the moment. I feel kind of fatherly, like I'm watching my son, reminiscing on things we used to do together and things we have yet to do. And then my smile fades because I realize it's so true that I'm probably the closest thing Ryan's ever had to a father. There was Mr. Urie, or "Brother Urie", when Ryan and Brendon's flame was still burning, but he was always busy. He barely had time for his own six kids, let alone his son's boyfriend/disguised best friend. I know Ryan always looked up to him.
I toss my thick, brown hair out of my face and then take off my shirt, throwing it on the floor. I quietly pull the covers off of Ryan's fragile frame so I can join him beneath them. He seems to wake from his light sleep, and he doesn't even open his eyes again as he says, "William?"
I finally settle beneath the sheets, and I reply, "Yeah?"
"I love you," he says in a broken, sleepy note of his voice.
A tiny smile reaches my lips again. "I love you, too, babe." I kiss his forehead and then close my eyes myself, not really very tired, but Ryan's scent is like incense, and it relaxes every muscle in my body. I mistake his soft skin as a pillow, his silky hair as a blanket, and I fall asleep.
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