Author: Indy Baggins Title: Rain Pairing: Colin/Ryan Rating: PG Summary: It always rains in Vancouver. Author’s comments: Happy Birthday Emma! *laughs* I wrote most of this fic two years ago, but now it finally has an ending. It’s old-school Colin/Ryan, first-time romance, set in the middle eighties in Vancouver. Beta-duty was done by Cae-thank you! *hugs* Enjoy! The rain is tickling the window, tiny streams of water dancing in erratic spurts over the glass. Colin unconsciously follows them with his eyes, lost in thought. It’s nearing evening, the rain causing it to slowly grow dark outside a couple of hours early. He has been home for a while, sitting on the couch and looking out the window with a mug of tea halfway towards his mouth, his thumb playing with the handle, the paper forgotten on his lap. It always rains in Vancouver. As the phone rings he startles, because he hasn’t been expecting it; yet he can’t help but feel like he was, somehow. When he picks up the receiver he hesitates before saying “Hello?” “Colin.” He doesn’t talk to Pat often, in fact barely at all. Like always, she sounds sad but composed, as she asks “Is he with you?” A sinking feeling settles in his stomach, the edges of his fingertips white against the plastic receiver as he holds on too hard. He doesn’t even pretend not to know what she is asking, and answers a “no…” that he hopes sounds defensive, but knows to be too soft to carry much of anything through the creaking of the phone line. “Oh.” Her breath hitches for a second, words catching before they are said and Colin finds himself looking at the window again, doing nothing to fill the awkward pause until she murmurs “Thank you” and breaks the connection. If he feels slightly vindictive after that, and a little breathless, there is no one there to call him on it. She has called him before, Pat. Ryan cheats on her, they all know it, and so does she. It’s when she finds out that she yells, and Ryan walks away. Sometimes he comes to Colin’s with a smile and a six-pack, and those are the times they disconnect the phone and watch hockey re-runs until they fall asleep on the couch, heads leaning together. Those are the times Colin likes. Or loves, even. The fights he prays for them to have. But the times Ryan doesn’t come by… Those are the ones that scare him. The way Ryan doesn’t look him in the eyes for days afterward, the way he will shy away from his touch. He knows those are the fights that are about him. A bit later Colin is throwing on his jacket as the door to his apartment falls shut behind him, taking the stairs in a hurry. If nothing else, and that’s the thought that makes him smile, makes him feel smug, at least he knows where to find Ryan. Once outside, the wind grips his body and he puts his hands deep in his pockets, the rain spotting small drops of water on his face. He looks to both sides and crosses the street, the cars driving by slowly whooshing spurts of water over to the side of the road. He walks fast, feeling a kind of reverence for the spectacle of rapidly moving clouds over head, the slow darkening of the sky and the grey buildings. The air seems filled with oxygen and he breathes in deeply, revelling in the feeling of being right there, and more importantly, about to see Ryan. As he reaches the park he turns away from the designated path, vaguely aware of the feeling of grass under his sneakers, and that the rain is slowly starting to soak through his jacket. The pond in the middle of the park seems austere, no birds or children around, just the water, the cool surface disturbed by a constant shot fire of raindrops. As he rounds the corner of the tree line he feels almost afraid to watch, but then what he has set out to find is right there, a small desolate shape on one of the white benches by the water side. As he moves closer he deciphers the long frame of Ryan, hands near his face, bony knees sticking out in dark-wet jeans, and he can’t help but grin, because it’s so Ryan. When he goes to sit down on the wet bench Ryan looks up, hair plastered flat to his face by the rain, looking astonishingly young. There is a look of accusation in his eyes. Colin knows he hates him for being able to find him where Pat can’t, and that, at the same time, he loves him for it. Colin meets his gaze head-on though, and has to resist the urge to hug the crap out of him. “Hi” he offers. As fast as the old annoyance of Colin not being Pat has surfaced, it is replaced by gratitude as Ryan smiles at him and consciously leans in to paste their shoulders together. “Hi”. “What are you doing?” Colin asks, more for the sake of hearing Ryan’s voice than for the answer itself, but Ryan grins in reply and turns his head to the sky, looking upwards, the rain touching his face and rolling over it. So Colin smiles and mimics him, the sight of billions of raindrops moving in faster and faster making him dizzy, but he continues to watch, until he no longer knows which part is rain and which sky, all one blurry mess of movement and water. When he moves his head upright again he gets hit by a vague wave of dizziness before the pond comes into focus again, the drops still disturbing the surface, only now the wind has come in, and small waves have started lapping up to the shore. He can see from the corner of his eye that Ryan is looking at the pond too, the approaching darkness giving an odd glow to his pale face. After a few minutes, Colin moves his cold, almost numb hand to touch Ryan’s and absent-mindedly plays with Ryan’s fingers a bit before he speaks the words he does every time, “Ryan… she wants to make up, go back,” inwardly cringing both at how gentle he sounds and how much it hurts him to say those words. Because he knows Ryan will listen to them, he does every time. Suddenly, he can’t stand the monotony of it anymore, the endless circle of Ryan leaving Pat, coming to him and going back, always the same, a little more jaded every time they all go through it. He loathes himself for it, for lying every single time, for still caring so much. So he adds “…or not.” Ryan laughs, cynical, breathless, a comforting movement to his side, and asks “Not?” Colin fixes his gaze on the little ringlets of water that skirt over Ryan’s jacket and traces one with his finger before shrugging “You do have a choice…” Ryan turns to really look at him then, his dark gaze jumping in one movement from Colin’s eyes to his feet and back. “What would you do?” Colin looks at the sky again, the pond, everywhere but at Ryan. “That doesn’t matter” is all he can think to say, the hitch in his throat painful, and gets up. He starts to walk away from the pond, from Ryan, knowing that he said what he was supposed to, that his part is played now, and three steps away from the bench he is already thinking about home, willing Ryan away. He hasn’t expected Ryan to follow him, but still he hears the rustle of Ryan getting up and walking towards him, even over the rain, and stops abruptly when two hands still him from behind and turn him around. Ryan is unexpectedly close then, and he suddenly realises it’s almost dark. He can’t see Ryan’s eyes as they are hidden in shadows, his face a mask of light and shadow. He focuses on the white puff of air that Ryan breathes as he speaks, rain drops clinging to his lips, and maybe that’s why the meaning of Ryan’s words doesn’t register right away. “She says you’re in love with me”. It’s an honest question, almost as if he has never given it any serious thought before that moment and Colin hates him even more right then, hates him for even asking. He closes his eyes, regaining his composure, and he sounds almost normal when he says “I’m going home now.” He knows that for it to be a plausible lie he will have to move, pull himself away from the loose grip Ryan’s hands have on his jacket, but he doesn’t do it right away, waits the second he hopes will give Ryan the answer to what he wants to know and then turns away, hardly violently enough for Ryan to lose his grip. Ryan just takes the one step with him, and suddenly he is even closer, their breaths mingling, and in a flash second Ryan leans in and presses his lips against Colin’s. Colin instantly curses that it’s too dark, that he is so cold that he is hardly feeling anything of the only kiss he is ever going to have, and he spends a couple seconds in stunned silence after it, waiting for Ryan to turn away this time, waiting to be left. Instead, Ryan looks at him, eyes making rapid jumps, his thoughts showing and moves closer again, lips touching for an even briefer moment than the first time, a flash of feeling and then he is gone. Colin realises Ryan is trying to pry a confession from him, to get to the truth he apparently wants to hear. “Ryan, I…” he speaks, hoping to convey something he isn’t quite sure of, but when Ryan moves in again Colin thinks “fuck it” and pulls him into a real kiss, pries his tongue over half-numb lips, tangles his fingers in short, wet hair and drags him into a couple dizzying seconds, relishing in the startled sound from Ryan and how he breaks their kiss half-way through, panting. “Colin, this can’t…” “I know” Colin says, his mood suddenly ecstatic, and he consciously moulds his voice into the one he uses on stage, looking Ryan straight in the eyes when he says “I just thought that if I get one kiss, it’d better be a good one.” He can see Ryan’s defences break, slowly, a smile entering his eyes and then Ryan mumbles “…crazy” looking somewhere towards the grass at their feet, and Colin agrees. It doesn’t matter if Ryan thinks it’s him being crazy, or the kiss, or the entire universe, in that moment he knows it to be true. He feels the need to hug Ryan, to hold him, but instead he turns away and starts walking in earnest, fast strides in sodden sneakers over the grass. As he sees Ryan just standing there though, looking lost and wet and not following anymore, he yells “you coming home with me?” and he sees Ryan light up. Once Ryan catches up they walk close, shoulders bumping at every step, the sound of their plastic jackets rubbing against each other loud enough to be heard even through the constant pitter-patter of the rain, the grey noise of the wind and the resonating thuds of their footsteps once they are walking on the wet asphalt again. Once in a while a car drives by, the big rush of sound disturbing their silence, but neither cares enough to move to the side of the road. As Colin opens the door to his apartment, Ryan sneezes quite loudly, and Colin can see him shiver. Inside they leave small puddles of water to soak the carpet with every step, and Colin shrugs of his jacket, fingers painfully cold. Different than the absolute comfort they usually have around each other, Ryan just stands there now, like a sudden stranger in his living room and Colin wonders how long he was out there in the rain. How many hours it took Pat to call him. Eventually he manages to take off his shoes, still making little sopping sounds with every step he takes, drops of water landing on the floor with every movement, and grabs some towels and clothes at random. By the time he hands them to Ryan, he is shivering and he can see Ryan is no better off, accepting them with a silent “thanks”. Decision already made, he pushes Ryan into his bathroom and tells him to take a hot shower. When he goes into the bedroom and starts stripping his cold, clammy clothes he can already feel a bone-deep tiredness fall over him, although it’s just nearing eight pm. When he passes by the bathroom there is the sound of water running and heavy clouds of steam are rising up from the half-opened door, and he’s thinking of Ryan again, wondering for how long he will stay this time, if he will be gone in the morning. By the time Ryan comes out of the bathroom he looks red and warm and clean somehow. Colin is making coffee in the kitchen and only stumbles twice when he pours a cup for Ryan and reaches over to give it to him. It’s when he silently goes to get extra blankets for the couch and brushes past Ryan that he feels the pure desperation of knowing Ryan will be right there for a while, so terribly close, and right when he will dare to reach for him, he will leave and go to her again. He briefly wonders if that’s the exact way Pat feels as well, before he corrects himself. Pat is Ryan’s, the one he sleeps with and holds and comforts. All he gets is the privilege to Ryan’s thoughts every once in a while. A hug, a touch maybe. He knows it’s not much, it never has been, yet it’s always enough to make him dream at night, waking up with Ryan’s name on his lips. He has long ago stopped feeling guilty about loving Ryan. Wanting him. Now it’s just a secret, just one of the many he lives with. He knows it will never happen, he does, but as he holds the folded blankets in his hands he knows he still hopes too, with every single touch he hopes for more, and it’s driving him crazy. He drops the pile of blankets on Ryan’s lap, and sinks down in the couch next to him. Ryan has turned on the tv, and is watching a non-descript hockey-game, the players swirling around on the ice. There is a cup of coffee ready on the table for him and he takes it gratefully, nursing it between his hands before taking a careful sip. When the taste hits him, he scrunches up his nose and looks at Ryan. Ryan shrugs, seemingly unimpressed, bony shoulders drowning in Colin’s shirt. “It was in your closet…” Colin doesn’t speak after that again, sipping on his alcohol with coffee, looking at the tv and later at the now dark window, the flickering light of the tv reflecting their faces in it. He knows Ryan isn’t watching hockey either, but he doesn’t care. He knows Ryan is studying him, can see his eyes flicker from the corner of his eye as he takes another sip, already feeling the warmth of the drink spreading through his body and coloring his cheeks. He doesn’t look at him though, not even when Ryan tries to catch his eye in the window reflection. Instead he just closes his and tries to ingrain the moment into his mind, the strong taste of coffee and alcohol on his tongue, Ryan’s presence thrumming and real somewhere to his side. Ryan leans in so close he can feel his breath on his cheek, and a drop of water falling from his hair on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, and tries for annoyed but his voice betrays him again by being a whisper when he asks “What?” Ryan moves his arms around him then, and he knows it’s a question again so he accepts, letting his head slide down until he’s resting on Ryan’s bony chest, listening to the soft ca-thump of his heart. Ryan’s hands have connected around his back, and start stroking slow circles there, intimate somehow, and Colin finds himself relaxing into the touch. Ryan smells like soap, and shower, and a little like Colin himself as the soft cotton of his shirt is under his cheek. He’s warm, the heat of him warming Colin too, the slow chills finally subsiding. He thinks he’s falling asleep, he’s so sure he is, to the back ground murmur of the tv and the slightly uncomfortable crick of his neck, until Ryan moves his head and touches his lips to his brow. It’s not even really a kiss. He tells himself it isn’t, allows himself to relax into Ryan’s arms once more, thinks away the slow burn that has started in the pit of his stomach. When Ryan kisses him again and he rises up to meet him half-way, it’s not even decided yet. Both of them could still back out, and he fully expects them to, only it doesn’t happen and his lip catches Ryan’s. Ryan’s mouth is soft and wet, pliant and gentle and he doesn’t dare to move too much and do much of anything but hold on to the edge of Ryan’s face, his fingers skimming his jaw. Ryan’s body feels endlessly warm when he’s crawling on top of him, and he can feel him smile against his lips. Finally he speaks, “You can’t…” “Shhhhh,’ Ryan whispers into his ear, and he believes him. He shudders when Ryan’s hands skate over his chest, trail lower, wrap him up in heat and so, so much feeling. Later on he cries, with Ryan kissing the tears off his cheeks, but he doesn’t make any promises, neither of them do. Ryan leaves before dawn breaks, the rain still assaulting the windows, a slow pitter-patter in a dimly lit room. Colin stays under the covers, but sees every movement Ryan makes, his naked back a white shadow in the barely-there morning light, his hands certain and steady as he collects his clothes and balls them up to his chest, smoothing the comforter before he comes to sit back down on the sofa bed. Neither of them speak, but Ryan grins a little before he gets up again, dresses and walks out the door. Colin finds himself smiling sadly in reply long after he’s gone.