It was a scorching summers night, and Ryan was awake, though the green glowing number of the digital clock showed 3:46. He pushed his pen against his bottom lip, unable to remove the events of the past evening from his mind. Brendon. It hurt to think the name. Remembering the feelings that had almost brought him to tears. His feeling of betrayal, as if his heart had been slashed in two. It shouldn't have been like that. Ryan curled into a ball and rolled onto his side. Propping up his notebook against the hotel pillow, he closed his eyes and imagined how it should have been. He would have been there, not Spencer. Spencer would have been lounging by the pool with Jon, laughing and talking over the latest encounter with a crazy fan.
And it would have been he, Ryan, who led Brendon down the dark corridors of the building, and up the secret stairwell back to their room. They would order room service (tea for him, red bull for Brendon), and lock the door tight and crawl beneath the sheets. He would set down his drink before even touching it, and pull Brendon close, for a secret. He would whisper him secrets until there were no more words, only emotions. He would let his feelings for Brendon burn through his body and erupt through his lips in a blaze of passion. And Brendon would say that he needed Ryan right now; that he wanted more. And Ryan of course, would oblige, cradling Brendon's fragile hips and shuddering with pleasure. Then, through the open window would waft the warm sticky air, and the sounds of Jon and Spencer making their way up from the pool. They would go faster, in a blaze of pure adrenaline, knowing that if they were caught, it would be the end of the secret, the end of the band. Ryan would dive into his bag for the balm, biting off the cap and applying the mess to his fingers. Giving Brendon his way, as always. Pushing his way into the person he loved, showing him how much he cared. Listening to Brendon bite back a scream, and then feeling him quake beneath him. Collapsing onto the bed and holding the gaze of those warm, sweet, brown eyes. And falling asleep to the music of his heartbeat.
He penned the words furiously, ripping pages in half and tossing them to the floor, swearing under his breath. He didn't want to write about any more hurt. That was the first album. Never again. Never again would he express pain through his art, now that he'd experienced it. Now that he knew real hurt. Time for a change. He started with a fresh sheet of paper, and turned to face the window, watching the moon. It was glowing with a joy he'd once understood. It reminded him of how he felt when he first saw Brendon. His first true love. He pressed pen to paper, letting blue ink form the words, "When the moon fell in love with the sun." Smiling for the first time that night, he fell asleep.
The next morning, he awoke to a banging on his door. He opened it and was shocked to see Brendon, with red eyes and dishevelled hair. He'd had a late night too. And for the first time, he saw pain in Brendon's eyes. It mirrored the pain he'd seen in his own last night, as he passed a hall mirror. And suddenly, Brendon was in his arms. And he knew that he'd never let go.
All was golden in the sky.