Brock waited and waited inside the back seat of the cab, hoping that Brian's chat with his parents were going well. However, he knew that it wasn't when he heard his boyfriend screaming. He couldn't quite make out what he was saying, as his voice was muffled... But he was hurt, and Brock could oh so easily tell. His heartbeat faltered if only slightly, and for a moment, he contemplated going in to make sure everything was okay. The yelling was one sided, so at least he knew that Brian's parents weren't in there grilling him over something. And again? He couldn't help but to feel like this was his fault; maybe he should have had never come on this trip with the younger man. But Brock knew better, and he knew he couldn't continue to think like that.
So, right there in the back seat of the cab, he tried to clear his head and think of good, positive things. It proved to be a challenge, but he couldn't even wrap his head around what Brian and his parents could possibly be talking about inside. It seemed as though he and Brian would go through trial after trial when it came to this relationship. Brock knew that Brian had promised him after this trip that things with them would be normal once and for all, but now? Brock didn't think that their relationship was ever going to be normal. It was dysfunctional and it always would be. It was a paradox though, because it was something that the older man both loved and hated.
"Look," Brian stood up from the couch and couldn't make eye contact with his parents. "I have to go, Brock and I are going to miss our flight." He felt embarrassed, ashamed... And now he had to go back and face his boyfriend all red eyed and flustered. God, Brock would be able to tell that he had been crying; it wasn't something that he was looking forward to. But without a goodbye, he took a deep breath, rubbed his crystal clear eyes, and headed back outside, slamming his parent's front door in the process. This was shit, everything had gone to shit. How was he going to tell Brock what his parents had just told him? He couldn't, he just possibly couldn't.
When Brock saw Brian exit the house, his heart broke a little more. His hair was messy, and his face and throat splotchy, probably from yelling... And his once bright and sunny eyes were now hazy and blurred with the unfallen tears that the younger man had somehow managed to hold in through that confrontation. He was a mess, and Brock didn't want to bring it up as he watched Brian climb back into the cab with him. Immediately, they linked hands, and not a word was said as the driver began to take them to the Dublin airport. The Irishman's hands were shaking, but Brock only rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb, hoping to calm him down and ease his ever growing nerves.
Finally, when the airport came into view, the older man decided to speak. "I heard you yelling..." He trailed off, voice gentle, coaxing even. He didn't want to invade Brian; didn't want to probe when he knew that it was none of his business. But, Brock knew that the younger man loved him, and if he wanted him to know about what had happened, he would tell him eventually. But maybe now just wasn't the time. They were in a cab with a stranger, getting ready to head into a crowded airport. This was something meant to keep between themselves, something meant to be discussed in the privacy of their own home, or at least when they were alone together. "Are you okay?" Brock gave his hand a squeeze, letting his chocolate orbs soften as soon as he made eye contact with his boyfriend.
Brian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head hurt, and looking at Brock right now was making his chest ache with infinite fever. He couldn't do this, at least not now. Not ever. He loved Brock, loved him with everything in his being. And now? It was all being thrown away once again for his god awful parents who didn't want him to be happy. His mind was cluttered, hell, he couldn't even think straight at the moment. It was too much. "Brocky," His voice was hoarse. "I don't want to talk about it right now... Okay, it's complicated, please..." Brian's eyes were tired when he spoke. "When we get home."
The older man nodded, completely understanding. "It's okay Bri, whenever you're ready." It was a complex subject, Brock was sure of it. That's why he wanted to give Brian his space, he wanted him to feel comfortable in confiding in him. But deep down, Brock knew that something was wrong, or something was going to go wrong. Brian's energy just wasn't right; his shoulders were slumped and his face read no expression. He wasn't sure what, but something had gone down during the talk with his parents. Had they disowned him? Or was it something much worse than that? Brock couldn't even fathom to think of what was going on with his boyfriend at the moment.
The cab pulled into the airport parking lot to drop the couple off, and the two men grabbed their bags and headed inside hand in hand. With each breath that Brian took, he felt like his chest was caving in. With each second that passed, he felt like he was counting down the imminent doom that was inevitable to come. He'd break his promise to Brock, and not only to Brock, but to Evan and the rest of the guys as well. He vowed to never hurt Brock again, and yet, it was going to happen. At the end of the week? Or should he do it sooner? It was going to be hard either way, but Brian just shook his head. He didn't want to think about that right now, so he focused on the weight of his boyfriend's hand in his own. It was calming to say the least.
The plane ride was long, ten hours long to be exact. So, for the most part, the couple slept. Of course, the occasional snack and bathroom break interrupted their bouts of sleep, as well as small conversation here and there. But, they never talked about Brian's parents. They were avoiding the elephant in the room like no other, and the Irishman was glad that Brock was leaving it be. He wasn't ready to rip the band aid off yet. "I love you, okay Brock?" Brian's voice was low as he turned his head to look at the older man in the window seat beside him. His eyes were lidded, as they were both ready for sleep again.
"I know," Brock replied, his tone of voice the same. "And I love you too."
"I know." Brian nodded.
"What do you want to do when we get home?" Brock changed the subject, closing his eyes fully, knowing that there was still so much of this damned flight left to go. Both of them were tired, both of them were broken, and both of them knew that a storm was coming. And whether they were ready was still unknown. Brock just knew that whatever had Brian so torn up, couldn't be good for him either. He wasn't prepared, but would they ever be?
Brian sighed, kissing the tip of his boyfriend's nose. "I just want to be with you, Brock."
The older man nodded, his eyes still closed, "Okay."
"Okay."
When their plane landed in Utah, they did just that. After grabbing a bite to eat at some place quick, the two nested back at Brock's house, very jetlagged from the long flight. Tiredness lingered in their bones, even though it was the middle of the day, and even though they had slept nearly the whole flight. However, none of that mattered, because they spent the rest of the day tangled in Brock's sheets, making the bed a mess, and falling asleep afterwards. Their bodies were weaved together as they slept, the sweat between them acting as a glue. When Brian did finally wake, the clock on the older man's bedside table read nearly four in the morning. That's when reality came crashing down on him. No longer would he be able to do this with Brock; no longer would he be able to kiss and hold him.
And suddenly, his chest was tight and he couldn't breathe properly. His eyes filled with tears and he didn't want to wake Brock up, so he left the bed, put on his clothes and headed downstairs. His boyfriend didn't need to see him break down, he didn't need to see him coming undone at the seems. For the second time that day, Brian sobbed. His heavy tears landed on Brock's kitchen table as he sat there with his head buried in his hands. What was he going to do? He was going to break his boyfriend's heart whether he waited to tell him or not... So why was he so scared to hold off on doing it? Maybe he and Brock should have just ran away like they talked about a few nights ago.
"Brian?" Brock's voice was loud in the dark kitchen as he stood in the doorway, watching the Irishman cry. He had never seen this part of Brian, and it worried him. It was also a scary feeling, one that made your stomach jump from out of nowhere. This meant that something big had happened, something unexplainably horrible.
"Go back to bed Brock... I'm fine." He had managed to stop crying for a second or two to get out that shaky response.
The older man shook his head, moving to sit down beside his boyfriend. "Brian, you're sitting in my kitchen, crying... You're not fine." He reached to grab his trembling hands, hoping that he would open up, share the burden that would tear them both limb from limb and shatter their hearts all while deflating their lungs. He wanted to know. "Talk to me, please..."
Another round of tears blurred Brian's vision, and he held in a hiccup, unable to make eye contact with the man he loved. He shook his head, "You're going to hate me." And that statement was true. Brian wasn't sure how Brock would ever forgive him for what he was about to say. But he had to do it, it wasn't a choice, and he'd rather not procrastinate all week so it could drive him insane inside. He sniffed, staring down at the ground, waiting for the older man's reply but got none. When Brock didn't say anything back, Brian ripped the bandage off. "Brock... We have to break up."
