Almost three years and a half. One thousand and forty seven days, if you were to count them, which was something Xavier had stopped doing a long time ago. He had done it at first, when he thought Ryan would change his mind and come back, because, surely, he wouldn’t just stay gone, he wouldn’t truly leave. He’d come back, suitcase in hand, and tell Xavier he was sorry for leaving, and Xavier would give him no shit for having left, just welcome him back in and act like it hadn’t happened at all. But about three weeks in, the man realized that Ryan really had left this time, and wouldn’t come back on his own, but he was too proud to beg him to stay, when he hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place. And if Ryan wasn’t happy anymore, then he was within his right to search for something, someone that did make him happy. And that was the end of it.
The news of Ryan’s wedding hit Xavier like a ton of bricks. They never ran in the same circles or had the same group of friends, so after the breakup, it was easy not to cross paths. Xavier was at the grocery store, at the checkout line, absentmindedly looking around when he spots it in a magazine. “Joseph Sinclair is engaged,” read the headline. “Well, good for him,” Xavier thinks. But there’s a picture, and it’s a familiar face, and it surely can’t be, it fucking can’t be, but it is. He bought the magazine, and he would stare at the goddamn engagement announcement so hard that he could burn a whole through the pages. Read the feature so many times that he learned the words by heart. He knew Ryan was never coming back, he’d learned that soon after the man had left him, but marrying someone else still felt like betrayal. How fucking could you.
Like all things in life, with the passing of time, you get used to it, it becomes such a part of your life that you hardly notice it anymore. Eventually, he threw that worn magazine out, a couple months before the wedding was set to happen, and life went on. So, one thousand and forty seven days since Ryan had left, life was very different. Xavier was now living with someone new. His name was Mark, and he was a doctor. He was tall and gorgeous and kind hearted, and he made Xavier happy.
There was a fundraiser for the hospital where Mark worked at, and he always insisted on dragging Xavier to these events. He didn’t mind, for the most part, he just hated having to put on a stuffy suit, watching Mark talk up rich people into donations, and getting judged by everyone in the room. “He’s an artist,” Mark would tell people when asked about Xavier. And the standard reply usually was, “Oh, so he’s unemployed?” But Xavier was a trooper, so here he was on this night, all fake smiles and politeness, arm in arm with Mark. He slips away for a moment to get another much needed glass of champagne—these type of events should really invest some in jello shots—and bumps into someone in his distraction. “I’m sorry, I was ju-” Ryan. That’s Ryan O’Callaghan. Sinclair, now, of course. That just looks like his Ryan, but it’s not. “Oh my god. Ryan, hey,” he says, hands moving awkwardly because what the fuck do you do. Go in for the hug? Too eager. Shake his hand? Too detached. So he just fucking flails for a moment and then just stands there, staring. He clears his throat. “How you’ve been?” How’s married life been treating you? Not that I’ve been keeping up or anything.
@fckinmuses
