A year earlier Ryan would never imagine having been in a dorm room. Even a few months ago, during his stay in Beauregia, he wouldn't have imagined inhabiting another one willingly. But the dorm room was part of his scholarship, and an apartment of his own would've cost extra. Ryan wasn't exactly made of money, so the decision was easy. After three months in England and nearly as long at Oxford University, he was about settled in. Not to mention buried in assignments. He'd ended up deciding on English lit as his major, throwing in some creative writing classes, and music as his minor, and altogether that definitely gave him a lot to do. Honestly, he was quite grateful for that fact. He was in a new country where he knew no one and everyone looked at him oddly because of the rumours and news reports that had made it this far. He'd never been good at making new friends, was really a bit too shy for that, and to add to that he now didn't know which of the people who approached him just wanted to be able to say they were friends with a 'hero'. He couldn't wait for that whole farce to blow over.

It didn't make things any easier that while he spoke to Spencer and Jon at least once a week, often more, he hadn't spoken to Brendon at all, practically. He knew from the other two that the former Prince was doing better, was smiling and speaking a whole lot more again, but Ryan seemed to have a constant ache in his chest that got worse the longer he didn't see or speak to the boy. But at the same time he had never been able to bring himself to pick up the phone and dial Brendon's number, and Brendon hadn't called either. Nor had there been emails, and 'Zeke' had been suspiciously absent from every chat room Ryan could think of. And missing Brendon, and to maybe a lesser extent, every one else, didn't exactly make socialising any easier. So maybe he was back to being the weird, quiet kid he had been in law school, but he didn't really know how to break out of that shell, and it didn't help that most people here were younger than him, which just felt awkward.

He pushed the troubling thoughts away and went back to the empty music sheet shining from the screen on his laptop. Jazz composition. Why the hell jazz? He groaned inaudibly and ran a hand over his face for a moment, closing his eyes, but when he opened his eyes the assignment still said to make a variation over Georgia on My Mind. Ryan didn't want to analyse Dickens' A Christmas Carol, he definitely didn't want to make variations over White Christmas (which, thank God, he hadn't been assigned), and he just didn't want it to be Christmas, period. It was only early December, but the Christmas depression had set in the moment he realized his mother wasn't going to come visit. She hadn't been able to scratch together enough money, and when Tobias had offered to pay, the government had made it clear that she wouldn't get a visa for England for years to come. Apparently they felt cheated out of punishing him and had to make things worse. And Tobias was being kept on assignment and couldn't come either. Christmas was all well and good. At least when you could look forward to spending it with someone you loved, rather than alone in a strange country. adding in solos in the different instruments. He took a breath, rolled his eyes, and started typing in notes. It could be worse. The composition teacher could've decided to follow the flow of his 1800's lit teacher and go completely Christmas.

***

It had taken a whole three weeks of having Jon and Spencer stare at and whisper about him for Brendon to start talking again. They knew that Ryan's departure had hurt him, even though Brendon kept pretending to feel sick, but they'd be damned if they let him wallow in self-pity. Now, three months after the departure, Brendon was normal again, acting like he had in school. Acting like he had before meeting Ryan. Spencer, though happy to see his best friend again, hated seeing Brendon act as though Ryan had never existed and he constantly suggested that he call the other man, or even go visit. Every time it came up, though, Brendon would glare at him and then proceed to give him the silent treatment for a few hours.

Brendon's mood got worse and worse as Christmas approached, and Spencer didn't blame him. He'd gotten news that his mother was still considered missing, when everyone, even Spencer, knew that their family would be safe for the holidays. And so Spencer suggested, once again, that Brendon visit Ryan. "You two can be lonely together," he said one night as he pretended to be busy reading. Brendon was sitting beside him on the couch, curled up with a book of his own. He scowled, but didn't look up from the page. "Neither his mother nor Tobe can get on a plane to see him, but you can, Bren..." he trailed off, momentarily happy to see Brendon looking pensive, like he was actually considering. And then Brendon was standing and heading towards his bedroom without giving Spencer an answer. Sighing, he went back to his reading, only looking up when Jon sat beside him and leaned his head on his shoulder. "Think we can force him to get on a plane? Kidnap him, or something?" Spencer asked, a smile playing on his lips when Jon barked out a laugh.

In his bedroom, Brendon was pacing. He couldn't stand the thought of Ryan alone, especially after everything he'd been through. Brendon, at least, had his friends, and Jon's parents, even, who they were still living with. But Ryan had no one, and he was in a foreign country. Biting his lip, he let out a frustrated noise before sitting down in front of his laptop and entering a travel site to look up the earliest plane to England.

***

Jon and Spencer had seen Brendon off at the airport, smiling at him and promising that they wouldn't tell Ryan, keeping the visit a surprise. This only caused Brendon to roll his eyes, but he hugged them both before he was off. The plane ride had been nearly unbearable and decidedly too long. By the time Brendon was standing in Heathrow, his legs felt stiff and gelatinous at the same time, which was quite a feat. Ignoring all the stores on his way by, which in itself was also quite a feat, he caught the first taxi he saw outside and gave the driver the address Spencer had neatly written down. The driver grunted, gave the slip of paper back, and was off.

By the time Brendon was standing near the Student Dorms, it was rather late at night, and he was feeling more than just a bit nervous. Which didn't make much sense. He was only visiting a friend, after all. Taking a deep breath, he took the steps up to the right building and pushed open the doors, following Spencer's instructions to the right floor and door. Once there, he set his bags down, looked down at the paper again just to make sure, and knocked very softly.

Ryan practically jumped at the sound, messing up the signature he'd been putting on his Dickens paper. His heart was thumping madly in his chest. Ever since the war and the trial he'd been wary of sudden noises and a lot jumpier than he ever had been before. Biting his lip, he got up and crossed the room, cautiously unlocked the door and opening it a crack. It wouldn't be the first time reporters tried to get in and, again, he really couldn't fucking wait for the media circus to find something else to focus on. "Who is it?" he asked, trying to keep the nervous note out of his voice.

"Open the damn door and let me in. Plane rides make me unbelievably tired and cranky," Brendon called, peeking through the opening. He huffed and picked up his bags once again, wincing as the handle cut into his already sore hand, and looked left and right. There was no one else in the hallway, and he was sure he'd gotten the right door. Even the voice had been Ryan's, though he'd sounded much unlike himself. When had he ever been nervous about something like this? Brendon frowned slightly and bit his lip, silently waiting for the door to open. Apparently Ryan wasn't doing so well, despite Jon and Spencer's accounts that he was.

Upon recognizing the voice, Ryan first gave a sigh of relief, and then he felt elation building, forming a wide grin on his face as he hurriedly opened the door the rest of the way. And then he was face to face with Brendon and nerves seemed to unfold in his stomach, so many that there wasn't room for them and they foiled and magnified and pushed until he was nearly nauseous. The younger male looked so much like himself, but more like he had looked when they first met - cold and untouchable. And Ryan had wanted to hug him, just be close and feel the warmth and belonging again, but nerves quelled the impulse. He stood awkwardly for a moment before moving aside, a nervous smile passing over his face. "Hi," he murmured, at a complete loss of what to say or do.

Brendon stifled a sigh and walked into the room. He'd practically saved Ryan's life and then not seen him for months. Didn't he deserve a hug? He bit his lip and pushed that thought to the back of his mind, telling himself that he didn't want a hug, anyway. "Doing homework?" he asked, glancing over at what he assumed to be Ryan's workspace. He let his bags fall to the floor near a closet and turned around to look at Ryan again, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing awkwardly. They both seemed to be fond of awkward at the moment. He cleared his throat and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his gaze sweeping the room. It was rather small.

"Yeah," Ryan muttered, still worrying his lips with his teeth. Then, finally, he pushed his nerves down. Brendon obviously wouldn't have come all the way to England if he had hated Ryan and wanted nothing to do with him. So he finally followed his impulse and took some of the few hardest steps in his life until he was right in front of Brendon. And closing his eyes tightly over a sudden stinging that might come from happiness and relief, or maybe from how large the gap between them felt, he wrapped his arms around the younger male's neck, pulling them tight and burying his own face. His heart was racing again and every nerve in his body was screaming with joy even if the hug wasn't being reciprocated yet, and he still felt so awkward. But at the same time he felt something a bit like home for the first time in months.

Brendon closed his eyes tightly, wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist and inhaling the smell of shampoo in his hair. He could feel himself trembling, which was a bit embarrassing, but he hadn't been so happy in months, and he'd almost forgotten what Ryan felt like in his arms. Tightening his hold, he dropped a kiss in Ryan's hair, marvelling at how normal it felt to do it. He didn't dare speak, knowing that his voice would come out shaky and weak, but he knew that this was enough. It surprised him how easy it was to forget everything they'd been through, all the horrible things Brendon had wanted to say only a few months ago, when he was holding Ryan again. God, he'd missed this and hadn't even realized it.

"I missed you," Ryan found himself whispering, making sure he did it before giving himself time to think it through. "So fucking much." He didn't move his face. His cheeks felt too wet and he wasn't interested in Brendon seeing him cry. The tangled nerves and relief and happiness and fear and guilt and everything else were still churning in his stomach and he really was starting to feel a little nauseous. He breathed in deep, fingers clutching at Brendon's shirt for a moment before he convinced them to let go. Finally he pulled back with a covert sniffle, smiling slightly. "Welcome to England."

Brendon smiled sadly, bringing his hands up to cup Ryan's face, wiping away wetness from his cheeks with his thumbs. "I kind of missed you, too," he whispered, offering a lopsided smile. His heart was switching between thundering in his chest and clenching painfully. Sighing, he let his hands fall away and looked around again, taking the time to compose himself. "So, this is where you live, huh?" he asked, chuckling a bit, though it was clear that he was forcing it. "Spencer and Jon made me promise to tell you they say hi and that they miss you first thing, so. Consider the message delivered."

"Thanks," Ryan muttered, feeling a little awkward again and already missing the feel of Brendon's arms around him, Brendon's hands on his face. "Tell them the same when you..." He took a deep breath, looking away for a moment. "Go back," he finally finished, forcing a small smile. "And yeah," he answered. "This is it." He chuckled hollowly. "Not much, but it's... not really home. It's somewhere to be." He shrugged, searching his mind for something to do. "I need to print another copy since I kind of stabbed it with my pencil when you knocked," he explained as he plopped into his computer chair, clicking print again. "You must be tired," he stated. "You should get some sleep and I can show you around tomorrow, or something. Whatever you want to do."

Brendon looked around once more, wondering if he'd missed something. "You know there's only one bed, right?" he asked, sitting down on said bed and kicking off his shoes. He sighed, his feet already feeling a lot better, and flopped down onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. He placed his hands on his stomach, and closed his eyes briefly. He was happy to see Ryan again, but this visit was going to be a bit... well, weird. For both of them, especially if there was only one bed. Maybe Brendon would have to check into a hotel nearby.

"I'll take the floor tonight," Ryan immediately offered, grabbing the pages as they came out of the printer before picking up his pen and writing his signature again, this time without any damage to either paper or pen or his nerves. "Tomorrow we should be able to find some kind of cot, I think. Don't worry about me." He smiled wryly. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to it. My father used to think that taking away my bed for a week if I didn't behave was a much better punishment than grounding me, because it was much more hardening and character-building." He scoffed before blushing, realizing that he was thinking out loud a little again, and that for all he knew Brendon found it offensive for someone to speak about their father in that way. He liked to think he knew the boy pretty well, but he was well aware that he knew far from everything. Besides, it could be something he had become touchy over after his fathers death. Or maybe he wasn't touchy about it at all. Fuck, he was even rambling in his own mind now.

Brendon's eyes darkened at the mention of Ryan's father and he sat up immediately, glaring at Ryan. He clenched his fists at his sides, surprised that he still felt so much anger towards the man. "Don't talk about your father to me," he finally ground out, closing his eyes. He knew it was selfish, but he hated hearing that someone had hurt Ryan, probably for most of his life, and that there was nothing he could really do about it. Maybe he could hire someone and have George Ross killed...? But, no. DURA's military already didn't like him, or Ryan, and that wouldn't do any good.

"Sorry," Ryan muttered. And then he was at a loss for anything else. There was so much left unsaid between them, but he had no idea how to say any of it, or how to go about bringing it up. He stared at his folded hands for several long moment, licking his lip lightly to soothe the spot where his excessive biting had nearly drawn blood. After a moment of grabbing for words to at least get some of the hidden stuff out in the open, he started: "I was the youngest agent in UBI," he stated tonelessly. "Which was probably why they chose me. I mean, I didn't really have any field experience. It was my first assignment. I was so excited, and then I found out what I was supposed to do." He laughed wryly. "I guess I was too immature to realize that any assignment involves actual people, with actual thoughts and emotions and everything, including the agent. I was supposed to make you fall for me so you'd tell me what was going on in the council, and I was nervous as fuck, but at the same time it seemed pretty simple until I was there. I never expected to like Jon and Spencer, I never realized how many people I was going to hurt." He picked at his nail with a grimace, intently not looking at Brendon. "I never expected to be the one falling in love," he finally added, his voice barely even a whisper. It was the first time he'd admitted it out loud, he realized, and he felt both lighter and heavier for it. "I guess what it all comes down to is that I was stupid and naive and... mentally too young to know what I was dealing with, and I'm sorry."

Brendon sighed and looked down at the floor, trying to think of what he could say. He knew that he wouldn't be able to tell Ryan that he loved him, too, because he didn't know how he felt right now. He was still hurt, and the wounds weren't completely healed yet, and he wouldn't lie to Ryan, even if it meant making him happy. He remembered, vaguely, feeling something like love when he and Ryan had had sex. It had been the morning after, actually, when he'd woken up smiling, completely content with his life. He knew that only the people you love had the ability to really hurt you, because they cut close to home, and he had no doubt that what Ryan had done had been agonizingly painful. He just wasn't ready to say the words out loud, yet. Not when there was a chance that he didn't meant them. "I can't say I feel the same," he finally confessed, though the words came out against his will. "I just... don't know how I feel, honestly, and I don't want to lie to you," he said, biting his lip. "Can you... did you sleep with me because of the assignment, or because you wanted to?" he finally asked, his own voice a whisper. He'd wanted to ask the question, properly, for a while, now, even if he knew he might not like the answer.

Ryan felt like something had burst open inside him and started bleeding profusely, but he fought it down, spinning on the chair until he was looking out the window. Of course Brendon didn't love him. You would have to be stupid to love someone you didn't know and the last thing Brendon was was stupid. And he didn't know Ryan, not really. Just a persona. He opted on ignoring the first few comments, didn't really feel like he had the strength to deal with that revelation right at the moment. "That's complicated," he finally stated, one hand clenching the edge of his desk. "I slept with you because of the assignment," he finally admitted. "But I also wanted to, just not under those circumstances. All the lies and you not even knowing my last name, right?" He sucked in a deep breath. "And I know it was my body, but I wanted so badly for it to be my mind as well, if that even makes sense. You had sex with my body and a person who doesn't even exist, and I couldn't stop wishing it was me."

Brendon remained silent, knowing he had hurt Ryan, but Ryan's next words also had him shutting his eyes against tears. He sighed softly, then reached over to pull one of his suitcases near, unzipping it and rummaging until he pulled out a pair of pajamas. He made his way to the adjacent washroom, changing out of the clothes he'd worn all day and splashing some water on his face. Sighing heavily, he crept back into the room and sprawled himself out on the bed, making sure to keep to one side. "Goodnight," he muttered, though he knew he wouldn't be asleep for a while. He was conflicted about what Ryan had said. He had wanted Brendon, just not then. But he'd still had sex, and it had still been a lie, and it had only been so that he could finish his assignment. None of this made Brendon feel better, even though a soft voice kept telling him that Ryan would have wanted him, and still did, even after the assignment.

It was almost like something else inside Ryan broke when he didn't get any proper response. His whole body seemed to be clenching up. "Gonna go get sheets," he got out before practically running to flee the room, shutting the door tightly behind him. He was a mess, had been since just a bit into the assignment. When he'd first gotten to England they had supplied a psychologist, correctly assuming that he might need some help, but after he had asked the doctor if his father's behavior while Ryan grew up could maybe have made him like boys and the papers the next morning had been filled with speculations about his sexuality and mentions of an abusive past, quickly followed with speculations about his motives for saving the three boys who were all quite a bit younger than him (which he desperately hoped hadn't reached America), he had decided to end sessions. Holding stuff in wasn't that hard when he wasn't confronted with it. Both Brendon's responses and lack of same, though, seemed to have opened a dam in him, no matter how much he knew he deserved it.

He walked briskly through the dorm house and out onto campus where he quickly made for a corner that was almost always abandoned. And there he finally sat down on a bench, legs pulled against his chest as he took deep calming breaths, even as he was aware of the tears on his cheeks and the December cold stinging since he was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He just needed a breather, just for a short while, and then he'd go back.

Though he felt guilty and knew that his lack of response had probably upset Ryan, Brendon simply shoved his face into his pillow and tried his best not to think about it. The plane ride over had him completely knackered, and despite the thoughts rushing through his mind, he was asleep within minutes.

It was probably close to a half hour later when Ryan finally managed to get up from the bench to slowly make his way back inside. He had himself under control again, fortunately. Actually, he mostly just felt numb. He still had to stop for a moment outside his door, though, before he went back inside and took extra blankets and sheets from the closet and pulled his jeans off so he was simply in t-shirt and boxers. Then he rolled himself into a cocoon in the covers, a rumpled up jacket serving as his pillow where he lay down on the other side of the room. Sleep didn't come until less than an hour before the sun rose.

***

When Brendon woke, the sun was directly above them in the sky, telling him that it was sometime around noon. He quietly rose from bed and immediately made his way to the washroom. He'd have a shower before Ryan even woke up, saving himself the awkwardness of taking a shower with the other boy awake just on the other side of the door, which would in turn make him think to the last time they'd had a shower together. Shivering, he turned on the water and set it to the right temperature before shedding his clothes and jumping in. He made quick work of shampooing his hair and soaping his body, and when he jumped out of the shower, it was to realize that he'd forgotten a change of clothes and to look for a towel, assuming that there'd be one in the washroom. Which there wasn't. Gritting his teeth, Brendon went to the door and opened it a bit, peeking out. It looked as though Ryan was still asleep and so, with a deep breath, Brendon hurried out, covering himself the best he could, and quickly pulled out fresh clothes from his open suitcase. Glancing around, he groaned quietly when he didn't spot a towel, and since he didn't want to spend any more time out in the open, he simply grabbed his clothes, as well as his toiletries and ran back to the washroom. Slamming the door behind him, Brendon made sure to stay in the washroom as long as possible, brushing his teeth and his hair, flossing as well as using mouthwash a couple times, mostly to get rid of the blush staining his cheeks, but also so that he had time to dry a bit before dressing.

As he timidly exited the washroom, he vowed to never take a shower again before completely waking up and thinking everything through. He avoided looking at Ryan, though the boy still looked asleep, and sat at the desk chair, staring out the window.

The slamming of the washroom door was what woke Ryan, but absolutely exhausted, he didn't move an inch for the longest time. He supposed it didn't help his willingness to wake that he had absolutely no idea how to deal with Brendon, but finally, after a long while the politeness that had long ago been beaten into him took over. He couldn't leave a guest just sitting around while he was (pretending and wishing to be) asleep. With a yawn, he sat up, stretching and feeling the familiar pull in his left shoulder. He still had a scar, and probably would for the rest of his life unless he opted on plastic surgery, which he didn't see that much of a reason to. Besides, there was something kind of symbolic about it in a way, which made him somewhat hesitant in getting rid of it. "Morning," he murmured sleepily, extricating himself from the center of his ball of blankets. He glanced around them room, and then his eyes landed on the clock over his desk and he did a double-take before swearing loudly. He had a lecture in five minutes, and that was less than the amount of time it took to get there. Groaning, he quickly walked to his closet, swung it open and picking out a fresh pair of jeans, quickly hopping into them before pulling off his shirt without giving himself time to consider the fact that he wasn't alone in the room. He threw on another t-shirt followed by a hoodie, a number or two larger than Hastings would wear, but he liked them better like that. He followed up with socks, shoes and a pair of fingerless gloves before grabbing his books and papers. "I have class," he stated. "You can come if you want to, or you can... hang around, I don't know." He turned around to look at Brendon for the first time that day, managing not to flinch as he waited expectantly.

"No, I'll be here when your class finishes," Brendon answered quickly as he turned around to look at Ryan. He let a small smile grace his lips and made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go," he said softly, and watched Ryan leave. He actually kind of felt like just sitting around right now. Ryan could show him around a bit later, but right now the silence would be good for him. And the distance would probably do both of them good.***

By the third hour alone in Ryan's room, Brendon was getting restless. He'd forgotten to ask Ryan how long his classes were, and since he didn't know when to expect the boy, he'd had to find ways to occupy himself. He'd reorganized his suitcases, which had filled a lot of time, but for the last thirty minutes he'd been doing push-ups. He wasn't very good at them, but he'd taken them up weeks ago when he'd come to the conclusion that exercise helped him think. Often he found himself going for runs when he didn't want to be around Spencer and Jon, because though he loved them, he needed to be alone with his thoughts some times and being inside the house with them wasn't any help. He'd reluctantly taken off his shirt, mostly because he didn't want to sweat in it- old Princely habits he might never fully shake- and was currently right beneath the window, counting between clenched teeth as he lifted his body with his hands. Despite being busy counting, he was thinking about a lot of things, mainly the time he'd spent with Ryan, when they'd become friends and then when they'd started dating. He smiled slightly at the memories and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost within them.***

Ryan had been asked to stay after the lecture only to get a faux-sympathetic speech on being on time, which, honestly, annoyed the shit out of him. It was the first time he'd ever been late, and he knew of many others who were late pretty much every single time. But then again, it had given him a little bit longer away from Brendon. It was odd, how ambivalent he felt about it all. He liked the fact that Brendon was there, and the ache he'd had for the last three months had lessened a bit. But at the same time, he was back to having no idea how to act around the boy, which was a little ridiculous. Brendon was eighteen, not even out of his teens, and Ryan was twenty-four, a grown man. Nothing warranted him being the one acting like a besotted child. But perhaps it was all just because that this morning looking at Brendon had hurt about as much as getting the bullet taken out of his shoulder, except without the relief of knowing that now it could at least get better.

He walked back a bit more slowly than necessary, his feet insisting on shuffling along and his steps getting shorter the closer he got. When he finally pushed open his door he was quite sure it was twenty minutes at least since he'd left the lecture. He entered absent-mindedly, not at all prepared for the image of Brendon working out on the floor, drops of sweat dribbling down soft, pale skin in small rivulets. He'd only seen Brendon so exerted once before, and that hurt too much to think about, so he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat. "Since when do you exercise?"

Brendon grunted, shaking out his sweat-drenched hair. "Since I figured out it was an efficient way of clearing my mind when I need to focus or just-- stop thinking," he said, his voice strained and the muscles in his arms clenching. He did five more before collapsing on the floor, panting harshly. He rolled onto his back, throwing one arm over his stomach, and ran a hand through his hair. "I am absolutely, disgustingly, sweaty," he muttered, making a face and staring up at Ryan, who was decidedly not looking his way. "What's wrong?" he asked, still trying to control his erratic breathing.

"If you don't know I'm damn well not about to tell you," Ryan spat before taking a deep breath, shaking his head at himself. Could it be that he was maybe going a little bit crazy? "Sorry," he muttered, running a hand over his face as he turned away, walking into the restroom where he bent down over the sink and turned on the tap, taking several deep gulps of water and making sure to get some on his face as well to hopefully get rid of the blush he could feel rising. It hurt, feeling like he couldn't say anything of consequence to the boy, hardly say anything at all for the fear of being rebuffed or brushed off, but he knew - now from experience - that it hurt more to actually speak his mind what with how Brendon's reactions had proven to be. And he wasn't in a state where he could take a lot more of that pain, so speaking of inconsequential things really seemed like the best idea. If he didn't put his heart and mind more on the line than he already had, he hopefully wouldn't lose too much more of himself.

Brendon sighed, pushing himself up off the floor and grabbing his shirt before walking the few steps to the washroom. Leaning against the door frame, he wiped his face and hair with the shirt before saying anything. "Christ, Ryan," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm not intentionally trying to hurt you, you know," he said, looking up at the boy in the bathroom mirror, trying to catch his eye. He remained silent for a bit, clenching the shirt in his hands. "Sorry," he finally forced himself to say, thinking that, maybe, he knew what Ryan had been talking about, and that, just maybe, he'd been remembering the night they'd had sex. He had to admit that thinking about it hurt him, as well, and he didn't wish that pain on Ryan, no matter what had happened between them. "And I'm sorry 'bout last night. I just... didn't know what to say, and I figured it would be best if I just kept my mouth shut."

Ryan gave a short chuckle, the bitter sound in it that hadn't been there since they'd been running for their lives. "That's the conclusion I just reached," he stated softly, breathing in deeply. "And I know you're angry and hurt and you have every right to be, but..." He cut himself off, annoyed that he was already breaking the promise he had just made to himself. "Apology accepted," he finally said instead, pulling away from the sink. "Want to see Oxford, then?"

Brendon took a step into the washroom and placed his hand on Ryan's arm, stopping just short of pulling him into his arms. "But what?" he asked softly, still watching Ryan in the mirror and rubbing his hand along his arm soothingly-- or, what he hoped to be soothing. He was angry and hurt, but he didn't want Ryan angry or hurt, if he could help it. He still had things to get over, but if he worked hard enough, he was sure that they could get through it, someday.

Exhaling deeply, Ryan had to keep himself tightly reined in not to lean into the touch like a starved puppy. "But you aren't the only one who got an emotional punch in the face," he concluded, somehow managing to keep his feelings out of his voice. "In probably an entirely different way, but I don't think that makes it hurt less." He grimaced at having most definitely broken it. What was it about Brendon that just made it so hard to hold back? "Sight-seeing?" he asked again, suddenly almost desperate to get out of the stifling, tiny washroom where the atmosphere was threatening to slowly strangle him if he remained.

Brendon sighed loudly and nodded his assent. On an impulse, he placed his hand on the other side of Ryan's head and pulled him closer, placing a kiss on his temple. Which would probably bring out more problems, but all he wanted to do was comfort the boy. "I... might need another shower, though," he muttered, looking down at himself in disgust. "Do I smell?" he sniffed a bit, his brows furrowed in concentration, even when he looked over at Ryan again expectantly. "Oh, and remind me to bring the camera in my suitcase, will you? Spencer'll kill me if I go home without any pictures," he said, smiling slightly as he remembered his friend's threat.

***

It was a week and half before Christmas when Brendon took to holding Ryan's hand while they went out sightseeing. He would press himself close to the other boy, telling himself it was because of the cold, and lace their fingers together awkwardly around thin gloves. Ryan had finished school only a few days ago, and so they spent all of their time in each other's company, which made Brendon happier than he'd been in a long time. They were strolling through a small shopping district, now, and Brendon had leaned his head briefly on Ryan's shoulder when he spotted a bookstore, immediately thinking of Spencer. "I haven't even started my Christmas shopping!" he announced, alarmed. "Shit, what do you think Jon would want? Or his parents!? And there's only a week and some days left!" he moaned and complained, cursing himself. "Alright, well, we need to go shopping, Ryan," he finally said when he'd calmed himself a bit. He turned to Ryan questioningly, looking worried and excited at the same time.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "I haven't gotten around to getting anything yet." He winced slightly. "Not that I have that many gifts to buy, but you know." He mentally counted. "Five," he finally stated. "Including Jon and Spencer. So maybe we could help each other. At least I think I know what to get Tobe." He smiled slightly, looking around the stores while he enjoyed the feeling of Brendon's hand in his. It had been so long, and it was definitely more than welcome. He'd missed this kind of closeness ever since revealing his actual identity. And while the nearly two weeks Brendon had been around had been incredibly hard, the hard times were out shined by the good. There hadn't been any fights per se, but there had been snapping, and there had been more of the painful responses or lack of responses. And while Ryan hadn't shut completely off like he had told himself he would, he did control his thinking out loud a little better, which he suspected was for the best of both of them. In a way they seemed to have started from the get-go all over, but at the same time there was so much shit to work through. At least he felt they had made progress. And when Brendon was in a good mood, it was almost like old times, except minus the lies and maybe with a little less touching. Or a lot, whichever. But those times, and there were progressively more of them, made it all worth it.

Brendon smiled widely and tugged Ryan into the bookstore. "I know that Spencer's going to want a book..."

***

"I'm guessing you never did bake cookies for Christmas," Ryan stated, pulling open the oven in the small kitchen he shared with the fifteen other people on his floor of the dormitory building. He sent a grin over his shoulder, in an unusually good mood, and pulled out the batch of finished bakery. Every Christmas he'd spent with his mother they had baked and baked and cooked and cooked and he'd loved it, mostly because he got to spend time with someone he cared about so much. And he supposed that was what he enjoyed about it now, too. Not to mention the taste of fresh cookies. All in all, it wasn't a tradition he planned on ending. "My mom taught me how," he added unnecessarily, but once again he didn't like any kind of real silence with Brendon. It gave him too much time to worry about what Brendon was thinking, or what the former prince was going to do next. He picked up a cookie and offered it to the younger male with a small smile. "Here, taste."

Brendon bit into the proffered cookie without lifting a hand to take it from Ryan. "Mmmm..." he closed his eyes, obviously enjoying it, and smiled. It was true; he'd never cooked for Christmas, or any other occasion for that matter. His mother would sometimes cook when she was at Grace Cottage, but she didn't do it often and she didn't seem the type of person to enjoy cooking, anyhow. "I think I was banned from the kitchen until a few years ago," he chuckled. "One of our cooks was very particular about what and who was allowed in her domain," he rolled his eyes at the last part, falling silent for a few seconds before screwing up enough courage, finally, to grab the back of Ryan's neck and kiss him hungrily. It was their first kiss that wasn't just a split-second, nervous, peck, and Brendon had wanted to initiate it for a while, now. He still didn't feel all too comfortable, but he couldn't erase the raw need he had for Ryan. It was sudden, and Brendon could still taste Ryan's cookie in his own mouth, but he'd needed it for too long to pass up the chance when he'd screwed up his courage to finally do it.

Ryan felt himself melting into the kiss, hands falling uselessly at his side and his fingers going nearly numb enough to let the cookie drop. He'd managed to lock his knees before they buckled, which, honestly, would have been more than a little embarrassing. But fucking God, it'd been so long and he'd needed it so much. Of course a kiss didn't mean that they were all right and that everything was fixed, but in Ryan's book it most definitely counted as a step in the right direction. And it felt so damn good. Finally, after a few moments for the shock to pass, his body relaxed against Brendon's and his lips started moving, mouth opening pliantly as one arm came up to wrap around the younger male's neck, fingers tangling in his near-black hair. It felt like his brain had shut off, like everything was fading into a colourless haze around him, and he didn't mind it for a second, hardly noticed. At last, something was beginning to feel like home.

Stepping impossibly closer, Brendon slid his hand down to grip Ryan's hip, the other joining as he pulled the other boy towards him, closer, though if they'd been any closer together they would have been the same person. He bit Ryan's lip, a bit harder than he would have normally, and then swept his tongue across it to soothe. He pushed Ryan until his back was pressed against the counter behind them, crushing him against it as he ground his hips down. For a moment, the thought of having hot, angry sex with Ryan flashed through his mind and surprised him enough that he pulled back, gasping, and his eyes wide. His breath hitched as he saw, again, a flash of him and Ryan, sweaty and angry and-- he pushed it away, leaning in again, though the kiss this time was far from as intense and nearly-savage as the previous one had been. He made sure to keep himself under control, brows furrowed in concentration and confusion. He didn't want to hurt Ryan. Did he?

Fighting down the urge to whimper, Ryan simply responded to the kiss at Brendon's pace. He wasn't even sure what it was that had almost torn the sound from his throat, if it were the loss of the intense passion of a moment before, or if it were simply the utter bitter-sweetness of the kiss of now. His eyes were squeezed shut and his free hand had risen of its own volition, settling on Brendon's shoulder where it kneaded unconsciously. Finally lack of air was beginning to make itself felt, and Ryan broke the lip-lock, panting silently as he bowed his head and buried it in the crook of Brendon's neck, his fingers clutching at clothes and skin without his permission. Now that his head was a little less cloudy he was suddenly dead scared that Brendon's mood would change again, that he'd regret it or be angry or find some reason to lash out at Ryan. The tongue that had been in his mouth moments ago could be both honey and poison, as he'd become all too aware, and how much he treasured this moment only made the fear of the next one worse.

Brendon wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist and held him tightly, breathing in the scent of cookies around them. He kissed Ryan's hair, his lips lingering, and sighed softly. He was startled slightly by someone clearing their throat and he turned his head to see someone standing in the doorway, looking sheepish and embarrassed, but also mildly amused. He wondered how long they'd been there. Sighing again, he stepped away from Ryan and grinned, conscious of the girl walking past them and to the fridge, where she took the milk out and poured herself a glass. She stayed for a few moments longer, pretending that it was because she needed to drink, but Brendon could feel her watching. Once she'd left, he chuckled. "Um, okay, then," he said unnecessarily, unsure of what he was talking about. He shrugged and took Ryan's hand, squeezing it before letting go again.

Ryan gave a short, slightly awkward chuckle, feeling cold all over now. Could you seriously be addicted to another person? "Yeah," Ryan muttered, walking back to the counter to put the cookies in a bowl and take out the last batch and setting them out to cool for a little. He couldn't wait for them to get cold so Ryan and Brendon could go back to the dorm room, but at the same time some part of him dreaded it, was nervous enough that his hands almost trembled. "That's Liza," he explained. "Lives two doors down from me. Rumour, not that I pay much attention to that, has it that she's the greatest fag hag this side of York. So she's probably never going to leave me alone now." He winked, attempting to keep calm, or at least seeming it. Then he picked up another cookie and stuffed it in his mouth whole as an excuse not to speak, making a face when his jaw strained.

Brendon was startled into laughter and he brought up a hand to Ryan's face, wiping away a few crumbs from his bottom lip with his thumb. "Good thing she can never have you, then," he mumbled, smiling at Ryan before stepping away once again and letting his hand fall to his side. He snatched up one of the cookies that had been taken out earlier and poured himself a glass of milk, eating the cookie in two bites and then gulping down the milk. "Is there anything better than milk and cookies?" he asked through a mouthful of cookie, then made a face at his absolute lack of manners. Shrugging, he swallowed it down, made an appreciative sound, and then smacked his lips. He looked up at Ryan and smiled again. "Those nearly ready?"

Finally swallowing down the cookie, Ryan looked up, and then stretched out to feel the temperature. "Yeah, I think they're okay," he answered before moving those, as well, from the plate to the bowl. "Come on," he added. "I think I have a jar in the room." He gave a small smile and started to walk out of the kitchen, trying hard to appear a lot more confident than he actually was.

Brendon hummed absently as he followed Ryan to his room. They were only a few seconds from the kitchen when he snagged his arm around Ryan's waist and pulled him close. He was feeling way too cuddly and snuggly, now, after the little episode in the kitchen. It had scared him a bit, that he could think of-- handling Ryan like that. He'd never thought about it before; he wasn't a sadist, as far as he knew. Even slightly brutal sex didn't hold any appeal. And yet the thought had still come, uninvited and unwelcome. He hoped it would pass soon enough and that he would never think about it again. They arrived at the room and Brendon waited as Ryan opened the door before slipping inside behind the boy. "Your room is going to smell so good," he said, moaning a bit and winking at Ryan.

Ryan laughed briefly, shaking his head slightly. "No thanks to you," he declared. "I always took you for someone who likes to learn, but no, you were entirely content just watching." He flashed a smile over his shoulder to take any possible bite out of the words. He crossed over to his desk where the Christmas patterned jar his mother had sent him stood. It was one of the ones that had been in her home since he was small, and which he suspected had come from his grandmother originally. It had been mailed with a note saying that maybe they couldn't bake together this year, but they could still think of each other and remember happier or easier times as they baked for Christmas separately. It had almost had him in tears. Now he was very grateful to have it, and not just because it was convenient storing space. Once he had put all the cookies in the jar, he went back across the room and quickly entered the circle of Brendon's arms once more, leaning against the firm chest. He found it odd sometimes, when he thought about it, that Brendon was the younger one, by several years, and that Ryan still was the one doing the leaning and receiving most of the embracing, but he guessed some of it was his own fault. Not that it really mattered.

Brendon pretended to be affronted until Ryan stepped into his arms and all was well again. "Alright, you're forgiven," he teased. He pulled back a bit and took Ryan's hand instead, leading him to the bed and sitting down. "So, this is weird, huh? Who would have thought we'd be spending Christmas together, of all the times during the year?" he chuckled softly, thinking back to the present he'd bought for Ryan when he'd been in class one day. He hadn't been sure if he was staying for Christmas, but he'd wanted to buy something just in case. He absently wondered if he should call Spencer and Jon sometime soon. He hadn't spoken to them in about a week, after all, and it was thanks to them that he was here, with Ryan. He should probably buy them something extra special for that.

Smiling softly, Ryan leaned in and pressed a small peck on Brendon's cheek, trying not to think too much about what had happened back then. "Jon and Spencer, apparently," he answered, opting on the easy way out of the question. He pulled back a little, reaching down and grabbing Brendon's hand instead as he tried to remember what it was he had planned to do that day before dinner. And then it finally came back to him and he felt like an idiot for nearly forgetting Brendon's Christmas present. He'd seen what he wanted in a window when they'd been shopping but hadn't wanted to buy it with Brendon around, and it would cost more money than he could probably spare, but he was confident it would be worth it. Now he just had to go get it. "You know," he murmured. "I have to go down to the laundromat and get my clothes done. Can you wait here a bit, maybe?"

"Sure," Brendon smiled, kissing Ryan's palm before letting his hand go. "Don't worry, I won't eat the cookies... much," he chuckled and let himself fall back onto the bed, watching Ryan leave.

"There'd better be some left when I get back," Ryan said, mock-sternly, before giving a smile before grabbing his overclothes and keys and heading out the door.

***

What with missing the first bus and the next one being cancelled and downtown being incredibly busy on this, one of the last opening days before Christmas, the whole escapade had taken a lot longer than Ryan had expected. At least it had garnered the hoped-for result, he mused as he looked down at the tiny, neatly wrapped package in his hand. The Solomon's Knot was in sheer, blackened silver and worked as an ornament for a simple leather string, the best Ryan had been able to afford. And he hoped dearly Brendon would get it, get the fact that the Knot was believed to have protective abilities, an old talisman, and that Ryan was trying to say that the younger male had been through too much already and that he'd try to keep more from coming that way.

He stuffed the box back into his coat pocket and rushed out of the bus that had finally stopped, practically tearing through campus, the newly fallen snow coming up in small white puffs around his feet as he got closer to his building. Finally he was inside, up the stairs and outside his room, a broad grin of anticipation still on his face as he raised his hand and pushed the door open in front of him. "Hey."

Brendon, who'd been staring out the window and had seen Ryan walk up to the building, had his arms folded across his chest and a wore a frown that could be seen in the window's reflection. "Where've you been?" he asked, keeping control of the anger in his voice, trying to keep it as light as possible. He couldn't believe that Ryan was lying to him again, though. He thought his heart would shatter when he'd seen Ryan trudging up to the building, instead of being down in the small laundry room on this very building.

"Doing the laundry," Ryan answered as nonchalantly as he could, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. His smile was gone and he was suddenly feeling very anxious. There was something in Brendon's expression he didn't much like, something that indicated another mood change, and he found himself swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat.

Brendon bit his lip and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe it! Ryan was fucking lying through his teeth, and he probably knew he'd been caught. He wondered what Ryan had been doing. Visiting someone else? He hoped not. The thought just made him angrier, and more hurt, and Brendon couldn't stand the thought of Ryan with someone else. They were supposed to be getting better! "I thought there was a laundry room in the basement?" he asked, as calmly as he could, but remained facing the window.

"It's broken," Ryan stated immediately. If there was one thing he had become very practiced, and very good, at, it was lying on his feet. Pauses would give it away, and he couldn't really see why he was so desperate to hide that he'd been buying Brendon's Christmas present, but you weren't supposed to tell stuff like that, were you? "Had to go to the laundromat downtown." He shrugged slightly, but he couldn't make his legs move forward, nor move his arm so he could put his hand on Brendon's shoulder. It was as though a sudden cleft had broken out between them, and Ryan didn't know how to cross it, was afraid to by now. He was already too tense, ready to recoil from a verbal beating, and it was all he could do to keep his voice from trembling.

Brendon chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head. "Wow," he said, finally turning to face Ryan. He threw his hands up into the air and took a step forward. "I can't believe you're fucking lying to me! I can't believe you're doing this again!" he yelled, his whole body trembling with anger. He hadn't meant to yell, he really hadn't, but it just hurt too much that Ryan would do this, that he would start this again, after everything they'd been through. He scrubbed his hands over his face, still shaking his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. Did he really mean that little to Ryan?

At the heightened note in Brendon's voice, Ryan did feel his feet start to back up, even as his body started with every word. By the end of those few sentences he was back by the door, his back pressed firmly against the cool wood and his fingers holding onto the doorframe in an effort to stop them from trembling or racing into his ears to keep the sounds out. "I'm not," he whispered. "I'm not. I'm not like that anymore, this is nothing like it was."

Brendon shook his head, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a second before letting his hands drop to his sides again. "Why the fuck should I believe you?" he asked, louder than was necessary. "You're still lying to me-- I don't know why, and I don't want to know why, and I cannot fathom why you would do something like this after everything you did-- everything you did to us! And not just you and me! Spencer and Jon, and my whole fucking country!" he yelled the last word, then stood, motionless and panting, watching Ryan push himself against the door. Did he think Brendon was going to hit him? Christ. "And if the machines really are broken, why couldn't you have come up and told me? Not that I'd have believed you anyway-- you realize you didn't bring any clothes with you, right?" he spat, sneering before turning away once again, just his face this time.

Ryan gulped. That was really the one thing he hadn't considered. Why the hell had he thought up a half-assed lie and not been thorough with it? He knew better than that. Closing his eyes for a moment, he finally decided to just go with the truth. That was supposedly always the best policy anyway, right? "I was getting your Christmas present," he muttered weakly. "I just wanted to keep it a secret. I'm sorry."

Brendon stared at Ryan, his eyes traveling down the boy's body, and then he looked back up and nodded. "Right, okay, yeah... that is a much better lie. Too bad a present seems suspiciously fucking absent as well," he sneered, taking another few steps so that his face was only a few inches from Ryan's. "I wish I'd never fucking met you, you fucking lying prick! I don't even understand why the hell you still want to do this to me!" he yelled, and immediately realized that he didn't mean the words. But they had come out, and he was in no state of mind to think of taking them back. He was panting again and looking at Ryan was beginning to hurt, so he turned away and let his head drop into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut against his own words and Ryan's actions.

The hurt ache in his chest came first, but realization quickly followed, and Ryan's breathing got harder and heavier and more painful with each passing second. He knew his eyes were wet when he looked at Brendon, but he was too immersed in himself to care. 'You deserved that', a part of him said. 'Why won't he believe me?' another asked. "What the hell are we doing?' a third demanded. 'How can we hope to have any kind of a relationship like this?'. The rest of him was just in pain, drowning in it, it felt like. The hurt worse than the bullet in his shoulder had, and he felt them make a few new cracks in the foundation that kept him standing, adding to the cracks upon cracks that had formed ever since Brendon showed up. If a few weeks were this bad, how would he survive the rest of his life? The good times might be good, but perhaps he hadn't been right in thinking that they made up for the bad. He was crying, he realized, biting back sobs in a sheer effort of will. Then he walked to his closet and opened it, pulled out Brendon's bag and starting to quickly toss the younger male's clothes in it, blinking aside tears to see properly. He wasn't sure at all if he'd gotten it all, probably hadn't, but he zipped the bag anyway and kicked it to Brendon's feet before looking up to meet the boy's eyes. "Get out," he whispered, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. "Don't come back, please. Just don't." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the neatly wrapped box. He could get two hundred and fifty quid if he went back and returned it, but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. Instead he went to the bag and placed the box carefully down on top before opening his door, holding it open and looking expectantly at the former Prince.

Brendon looked up when Ryan told him to get out, tears shining in his eyes. He watched as the boy packed his things, choking out sobs and shaking his head. He kept pleading, telling Ryan 'no', but it was no use. He looked down at the small present on his bag and covered his face with his hands once again. When he was met with silence, he hesitantly took the handle on his bag, held the present close to his chest, and walked out the door, turning around to look at Ryan. He bit his lip, unable to say anything, and knew he looked a right mess but couldn't bring himself to care.

The moment Brendon had moved through the door Ryan adverted his gaze, shutting the door and locking it, and it felt like he was solidifying the whole worlds that now seemed to lay the distance between them. He stood, staring at the door for long moments that may have been hours, he wouldn't have been able to tell. Finally his knees crumbled and he found himself on the floor, but he didn't quite have the strength to pull himself up. Instead he simply curled up, pulling his knees to his chest and telling himself, over and over, that it was for the best.