The flight back to the states, back to Utah was long. Too long if Brian really wanted to admit it to himself. He wasn't able to sit still, and often found himself bouncing his leg, or twiddling with his thumbs in his lap. He had just walked out of his own wedding. Or stood it up, rather. His father was going to be pissed, but at this point in time, he didn't care anymore. Brian was completely and truly done with it all. He was ready to be happy; he was ready to be with Brock. And in just a few short hours, he'd see him again after all these months of no contact. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. All there was left to do now, was to sit and wait on the never ending flight.
Two hours turned to three.
Three turned to four.
The flight dragged on and on.
Brock still hadn't been out of bed that day, and hell, it was nearly over. Clouds were rolling in, and soon it began to grow dark. It would be time for bed again in a few moments, and for once, Brock was glad. He could just go back to sleep, ignore the fact that Brian was probably a happily married man now. His chest clenched at that thought, and he decided not to let it cross his mind anymore. He wasn't going to sulk; it was done and over with... And now? It was time to forget. So he pulled the covers overtop his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep. He wasn't particularly tired, he just didn't want to be conscious enough to where his thoughts would haunt him.
When the plane landed, Brian was refreshed and ready due to a small nap he had taken. Still in his tuxedo, he grabbed his bags and headed out to hurriedly catch a cab. It was late now in Utah, but that didn't matter. He knew Brock would probably be asleep, but this task was of dire importance. He had to see him; he had to try and beg for forgiveness so that the older man would take him back. Ultimately, he had his fingers crossed, because deep down, he knew that he and Brock might not ever get back together. As he climbed into the back of the cab, the Irishman prayed that that wasn't the case. He gave Brock's address, and that's when the inner turmoil and anxiety began.
Brock felt like he hadn't slept for long, when a knock on his front door caused him to jolt out of bed. His heartbeat sped up, because it was late, and he had no idea who would be at his house in these hours. For extra protection, he grabbed his phone and had 911 ready to dial just in case. Slowly, Brock made his way down the stairs, when the person on the other side of the door knocked again. It was nearly one in the morning, and nobody he knew of was coming to visit him. So ultimately, he was confused. Brian on the other hand, just waited and waited. He didn't want to say anything because he knew if the older man heard his voice, he wouldn't open the door. Knocking twice was good enough.
When Brock finally made it to the door, he opened it without a second thought, and that was when his heart felt like it was going to come up his throat in chunks. His phone clattered to the ground because he had dropped it, and it felt like everything in that moment was in slow motion. It was Brian. And looking at him right there? Well it was like meeting him and seeing him for the first time all over again. Brock felt like he was being crushed by a ton of bricks. Those baby blue eyes, that perfect hair, and worst of all? He was dressed in his tuxedo. It made butterflies swarm around in his gut. Brock was absolutely speechless, so he just stood there, at the door, half asleep, mouth agape and in shock. Hell, maybe he was dreaming.
"Ever heard of a runaway groom?" Brian's Irish lilt broke the silence, eyes shining with unfallen tears. Seeing Brock and not being able to embrace him hurt more than anything in the world. It was so different this time than any other time they had ever met. So foreign, so awkward and unsure... Ultimately, Brian knew it was his fault. This whole mess in this relationship was his fault; and it was about time for him to take responsibility for it. He could have stood up to his parents long ago, but he didn't, and now? Now he was suffering the consequences of not being with Brock. It was probably the worst thing he would ever have to endure.
"Don't do that," The older man's voice cracked when he spoke, trying not to make eye contact with Brian.
The Irishman's face fell; Brock was damaged, broken, and it was all his fault. He couldn't even imagine what the older man had endured these past months while the two were separated. He didn't even want to think about that aspect. Is this what his life had come to? Being weak? Not living a daily regular life? "Do what?" He inquired, standing dumbfounded on his ex boyfriend's front porch, hoping he would let him in. This was just like last time, except the circumstances were oh so certainly different. Brian didn't know if he was coming out of this with Brock by his side or not. The thought made his heart pound, and his stomach twist with fear. "Brocky-" He tried to say, but was immediately cut off.
"Don't use your charm to pretend like everything's okay." His voice was quiet. He was too tired to fight, too weak from all of this bullshit.
Hearing those words made Brian's chest ache. Words might not work this time, hell, what would work this time? "Brock..." He trailed off. "We need to talk, can I come in?" It was worth a shot to ask, and he was nearly pleading now. But the cat had his tongue, and in his head he was trying to figure out just what he was going to say, but he could think of nothing. Only the man standing in front of him with hurt etched on his face and scarred permanently deep in his heart. This situation was going nowhere, and he could tell that Brock had his guard up. He could tell from his stance, from his tone of voice...
"No." The older man answered. "It's almost one in the morning, whatever you need to say to me, you can say it here." Inside, Brock was coming apart at the seems. He was fighting oh so desperately to hold back tears. Looking at Brian like that, begging, pleading, with shiny blue eyes was such a sight to see. His heart was racing, his palms were sweaty... Never in his life did he think he would have to deal with something like this. "I'm tired Brian, I'm so tired." He got out, finally looking up at him, making eye contact. Brown met blue, and both men were sure they could feel a jolt of electricity pulsing through their veins. "So please, make it quick." He finished.
"I didn't get married. I never showed up to the wedding."
Silence. The only thing that could be heard was a cicada or cricket out in Brock's tall grass. And now that the truth was out, Brock was crying. Big, heavy tears ran down his cheeks as the two stood there staring at each other. He wanted to fall into Brian's arms, wanted to sob into his neck and let it soak up the tears... But he wouldn't. He wouldn't and he would never do it again. "You can't keep doing this to me!" He shouted, bringing his palms to his face so he could rub his wet eyes. "It's not a game Brian! You don't just bounce back and forth whenever you please... I loved you! Fuck, I love you." He hiccupped once he calmed down, and he could see a few tears running down the Irishman's cheeks as well.
"Brock..." He whispered. "I love you too. I want to be with you."
"You had that chance, twice." He replied almost immediately. "And you hurt me twice, you fooled me twice." Brian felt like he couldn't breathe; he felt like something heavy was sitting atop his lungs, deflating him, and he honestly didn't know what else he could say to turn this situation around. This was it, it was over. And when he failed to reply, Brock spoke again. "Don't you see?" He inquired. "Nothing between us is ever going to be the same, so just go." Those were his final words, and their eyes burned into one another before Brock took a breath and shut the door. When Brian couldn't see him anymore, he laid on the floor and cried; the sobs shaking his whole body. But it was time to let go, once and for all.
Brian was taken aback. But he would always oblige to Brock's wishes. So, with a final look to the house, he bid a silent goodbye before beginning his walk down the sidewalk to wait for a cab. He would get another flight back to LA, and life would go on. And he knew Brock was right; nothing was ever going to be the same.
