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Chapter Text

By the end of freshman year, they were broken up. It was April and New York was finally crawling out of its winter slumber. The chill departing, the spring showers starting. They'd spent spring break together just the two of them in Italy. Their friends wanted to go to Cancun but they wanted to do something more intimate. So they basked in the Mediterranean sun, both coming back several shades darker. Ryan thought he could count the number of freckles on Jake's face with his eyes closed.

That's roughly when Jake realized it. Though he didn't say anything at the time. He waited until now, in April. He was awake having not slept well the night before and listened to the soft splatter of rain against his window keeping time with the pitter-patter of his heart. It was hot in the university-furnished twin-sized bed that now held two overgrown boys. Ryan's bare legs poked through the comforter, creating an escape valve for the heat that was trapped between their bodies.

Jake stared. The closely cropped blond hair that still managed to splay this way and that; the lines that were just starting to become etched into the pale forehead (Jake often warned Ryan about his frown faces freezing into place); the thin lips that he loved to run his tongue across and taste; the aquiline nose that he frequently bumped against when they fought for control. Actually, from where Ryan's head was nestled against Jake's should he couldn't see much more than the head actually. But his imagination was as good as ever.

"You're thinking too much," Ryan drawled softly, "it's waking me up." To prove it he turned his head toward Jake and opened his eyes. Gods those eyes. Even in the dimness of the curtain-drawn room, Jake could still see the blue. Like the Mediterranean.

"Sorry babe," he murmured. It had to be today.

It happened at brunch. Ryan watched as Jake picked morosely at his eggs. They'd gone to a nicer café near the park, taking a window seat to watch the citizens and tourists of the city splash by in rain boots and colorful umbrellas.

"Hey," he called softly, "tell me."

Ryan looked up.

"My forehead can't take it anymore," Ryan said and smiled. His eyes turned down even more when he smiled, and Jake would forever think that was the sexiest expression there could ever be.

Jake took in a small breath. "I've been thinking… I, uh, I think—"

"—you want to break up with me?" The smirk was practically plastered on Ryan's face.

Jake stared, he was sure his eyes bulged a little. "No! Well, not exactly, I just think… I think we need a break?"

Ryan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, still smirking. "You've been thinking it since we went to Italy together."

Years later, Jake would think that it was amazing how he said that without a trace of accusation. It was simply, for him, a declaration of what was true. For both of them, though of course Jake didn't know that at the time.

Jake sighed, put down the fork, and gave up on the food altogether. "Ryan, you know how I feel about you. I just think… I mean I look around at the other couples that started dating in high school and go through college... They never gave anyone else a chance, never explored who they are. And now they're in a relationship that's just comfortable and easy. I don't want that for us."

Ryan sipped his water silently, narrow eyes watching Jake talk.

"We both deserve better… I mean we deserve to give ourselves better. We need to grow as individuals, experience new things for ourselves, we need—"

"—space," Ryan finished, full of seriousness. Jake winced and waited for the anger. Maybe they'd relive The Beatdown. "Jake, I get it. I do, I really do."

Jaked gaped, "that's it?"

Ryan laughed, "what'd you expect? I hope you think I've matured a little more than to kick you ass right here and right now."

Jake had nothing to say to that.

Ryan fished in his wallet and put two twenties on the table. "Come on, guy," he said pulling at Jake's wrist.

Jake looked up questioningly.

"My flight is in five hours. We'll break up at the airport. Until then, I'm going to fuck you silly." The smirk was back.

They didn't say anything on the subway ride to JFK. Pressed together on the crowded subway, Jake only took comfort in Ryan's warmth, knowing it was the last time he'd feel it.

They didn't say anything when Ryan checked-in. Jake pretended to guard the screen from prying eyes, while watching the information he'd long since memorized typed key by key into the small touchscreen, but they both knew that wasn't necessary.

They didn't say anything at the gate. They just hugged and Ryan clapped him on the back before flashing another smile so beautiful Jake had to silently strangle the part of him that wanted to pull the other back in and say stay.

It was only when Jake got home that he realized they never said anything about keeping in touch, visiting home, or anything practical like that. It was only when Jake plopped facedown back into his bed and desperately breathed in the last scents of Ryan that he wondered if he would ever forgive himself for choosing to experience such heartbreak.

Incidentally, they needn't have worried about bumping into each other at home. Jake spent most of the summer training abroad. Roqua hooked him up with a pro-trainer in Brazil and while his roommates thought he was going on some exotic vacation with drawn up images in their heads of Christ the Redeemer and the dense Amazon, Jake had to explain to them that he was more likely going to be spending ten hours a day being worked and beaten to a pulp, and then recovering whenever he had a chance.

He was only home for a week, and between his mom fretting over his injuries and catching up with Charlie, who was getting to be quite the tennis powerhouse and had daily practice of his own, he almost never made it outside the house.

Christmas of that year, Ryan wasn't home. His father had just landed a big client in Asia and flown the entirely family out to celebrate for the entire holiday. He heard when hanging out with Baja that Ryan was less than thrilled, but couldn't exactly say no to the man paying for his education.

He and Baja were talking again, more than that, friends. She and Max were the few people at home that knew about him and Ryan. She took it surprisingly well, something about the beauty of a very liberal arts education exposing her to the world. Max took it less well, saw it as a personal betrayal, and didn't speak to him for months. Even now they were on shaky terms.

Baja brought home a guy that she'd met taking a few classes at UPenn. She was nervous because he was only in the States for school, and would most likely have to return to his home in Argentina after graduating. Jake met him a few times and he seemed nice enough, very shy. Though perhaps it was the language barrier, he was still uncomfortable in crowds with English coming from every direction. He and Baja spoke in Spanglish, and with their daily practice, she was one of the best students in advanced Spanish at Bryn Mawr.

Jake brought home a girl as well, and for a moment when driving her home to meet his family and passing Ryan's mansion, wondered if Ryan was with someone as well. Baja didn't really keep in touch with him so she didn't know. And since Jake never hung out with Ryan's other friends, he was left in the dark. He realized then that they'd never really been out to their friends when they were still living in Florida. And even though he's since told Baja and Max, he wondered if Ryan had told Eric or the other guys, and how they took it.

Charlie loved his new girlfriend. She was in many ways, everything Ryan was not. She was exotic: a quarter Chinese, half Native American, and another quarter "American mutt" as she called it. She was not a college athlete, but instead on the student senate, president of her sorority, and, even as a sophomore, rumored to be the best candidate for student body president. She was a business and political science major and wanted to change the world. Last they talked, Ryan was still undecided and Jake remembered thinking he sure took his sweet time considering all his angst in getting into a school. It didn't hurt that Jenny was also an avid tennis player, though as she put it, for recreation only. Still, Charlie couldn't stop commenting on how good she was and how much potential she had, and followed her movements around the house with a longing look until Jake smacked his head.

She made him happy for nearly the whole school year, but come April, he was dating someone new. A guy this time, a relationship that lasted for all of two months before Jake realized they wanted very different things in life. He was starting to seriously consider going pro, and would be back in Brazil to train. And the other guy wanted to commit the next decade after school to becoming a doctor.

By the time junior year drew to a close, Jake had slept and dated his way through, as one of his fraternity brothers gently put it, enough men and women to put a Roman emperor to shame. And that one comment reminded him again of Ryan and he wondered when he became the slut out of the two of them, before remembering that there wasn't a two of them anymore. But in all honesty, aside from these moments here and there that were inevitable, Jake was rather pleased at how well he'd managed to get over Ryan.

He called senior year the year of champions. Charlie was starting the school year back in Florida number one in the state with strong letters of interest already coming in from colleges even though he was only a sophomore in high school. And though Jake lamented that MMA was still not recognized by the NCAA as an actual sport, there was no doubt that he had the potential to go far with the sport. He was Columbia's finest delegate in TKD and capoeira, in whatever smaller, regional competitions they'd send him to.

Just before winter break, they sent him to a TKD competition hosted by USC. He jumped at the opportunity to take a break from the miserable winter in New York. With his coaches' strong voices of support, he even got the professors of his last few classes to agree to let him take the finals by proxy on the USC campus instead of at Columbia.

He figured he'd be flying home to Florida anyway, so he packed light. A suitcase full of clothes for warmer weathers. He stepped off the plane and immediately replaced his black down jacket with a light hoodie. This is more like it.

He picked up his rental car and drove to the hotel to drop off his luggage before heading back out and making a beeline for Santa Monica, having fond memories from when Ryan would take him. He parked a few miles south of Santa Monica proper and took off his shoes readying for a run. Sand running was great for an all around workout, and he planned to go eight miles in a loop before heading back to eat, study, and sleep before the competition tomorrow. He had a rule, no fighting the day before a competition, but running always helped him relax and get his mind in the zone.

He took off at a slow pace and just genuinely enjoyed himself. From behind blue shades he watched the dogs chasing waves, other joggers and walkers, kids running around and building sand castles. By the time he got to the workout stations he slowed a bit and headed over. This place always made him feel like a kid, and part of him wondered if an adult playground might not be such a bad business idea.

There was a crowd by the rings so he headed toward the climbing rope where there was one guy currently on his way down. Jake paused for a moment to admire the guy's musculature. The guy was turned away from him and taking his time climbing down, drawing out the muscle extensions and intensifying the workout. By the time he made it three quarters of the way down, Jake's heart jumped. The sun was no longer in his face and he could see clearly the shape and form of the back muscles. The way the golden blond hair formed a peak at the nape of the neck from which a thin gold chain was hung. He'd recognize that body anywhere. If it hadn't been for Ryan, Jake probably would have lived life as a normal, straight guy. But something about Ryan drew him, inexplicably and undeniably. In the time they were together, he learned the contours of not just a man's body, but Ryan's body. Even when he was with other guys, he always looked for and failed to find a comparable form.

This body in front of him, he knew, even from a good dozen yards away. It was like he was suddenly wearing binoculars, he was seeing every details of that perfect bronze skin. The beads of sweat that he remembered tasting. The freckles dotting the upper shoulder, specks he used to kiss and keep count. He could hear the breathes, in and out in twos and threes. When the man finally touched down on the ground, it was soft, gentle, controlled—just as Ryan always liked.

Ryan perked up, hearing footsteps draw closer and turned around. He was momentarily stunned. Of course he recognized the face. Jake wore his hair in a close crop now, and his eyes were hidden behind brilliant blue shades, but he would recognize that face anywhere.

"Jake." A declarative statement. No guess.

He took two steps forward and so did Jake. They met in a crushing embrace, not of lovers, but of old friends reunited.

Jake turned inward toward Ryan's neck and breathed deep. There was an ease to the motion and sense of familiarity that not one of his relationships had erased. He resisted the temptation to place a kiss. He no longer had a right, not having been a part of Ryan's life for the last few years.

Ryan pushed Jake out in front of him to get a closer look. He laughed, "Man you're even bigger now! What happened to you?"

Jake didn't say anything and just grinned like a little kid. He was melting under that smile. The sexiest one he'd ever seen.

"Come on, are you busy? Let's get some Chinese, and you'll have to tell me what you're doing here!"

Over bao, they caught back up on each other's lives. Jake told him in proud tones about the TKD competition. Ryan laughed and told him he'd be there in the crowd tomorrow. Ryan told him that he'd been taking up krav maga, not seriously and not competitively, but it helped him keep his skills sharp while relieving the stress from school. He was surprised that Jake considered going pro while he himself was decidedly not going to pursue the sport. Instead, he was majoring in performance arts and trying to break into acting by being a stunt double. Jake was equally surprised that Ryan would leave the MMA world and teased whether Ryan had the acting chops to take off Hollywood. Ryan gave him some spot on puppy eyes that twisted Jake's insides and he thought maybe Ryan was right.

By the time they parted, it was several hours into the evening. Back at Jake's car, they hugged again and Ryan placed a light kiss on Jake's forehead. "See you tomorrow, Tyler." A smirk and then he was gone.

It was 3am before Jake could fall asleep that night. He couldn't focus on anything but Ryan. Seeing him again, touching him again. And that kiss. What did it say about their relationship that this man had such a hold on him? Even after he thought Ryan no longer occupied a place in his mind, just one afternoon brought it all back. He found himself praying the morning would come faster so he could be on campus at USC, with Ryan who promised to come. But the night never passes quickly when you want it to. So he tossed and turned, and didn't even remember falling asleep until his alarm blared to life in the empty hotel room and he woke up with Ryan's smiling face etched into his brain.

The final rounds were challenging. Jake was tired, ill-rested, and his coach sensed it. During the final round he went and fetched a can of Red Bull, offering it to Jake. "I fucking told you to sleep early kid, damn what the hell's the matter with you? Now you good to get back in there or what?"

Jake pushed off the Red Bull. "Fine," he breathed against the mouth guard. His right side ached. His opponent had hit him right in that tender spot in the ribs. He needed to focus. Needed to kick this guy's ass so he could prove himself to Ryan.

Back in the match he dodged several attacks and didn't bother to hit back. He was looking, scanning for a weakness. It was what the new guy in Brazil taught him. When they get you down, let 'em think they own it. Let 'em go all out. You take it easy and just watch. Find where they're trippin' up and kill 'em. He moved his head to the right and raised his left arm to counter a kick. There! When the guy roundhouse kicks with his right, he drops his left arm too low. Too low to block. He stalks around, waiting for the next opportunity.

"Don't back down, Tyler." A voice calls from the crowd. Ryan's voice.

The guy powers up a kick and strikes. Jake's left arm shoots up to counter again, but then simultaneously he swings his right arm and pitches forward, twisting his torso to maximize the force of the punch. Direct hit. He feels the air leave his opponent in a rush as he falters and clutches his side. It's over rather quickly after that.

Ryan touches his right side and even though Jake winces a little at the touch, he's still flushing from feeling Ryan's fingertips ghosting over his skin.

"Rib's not broken this time. Guy doesn't hit so hard?"

Jake laughs, "no one hits like you," then pauses for dramatic effect while producing a smirk of his own, "you hit like an asshole."

Ryan smirks and smacks Jake upside the head. "You love me, though."

Jake freezes. And there it is. There is that truth staring him in the face. Ryan just realizes what he said and his forehead is bunching up again. But when Jake looks up at him, it's with a crystal clear sincerity that he murmurs, "yeah, I do."

He cancels his plans to go back to Florida. Ryan is taking an intensive acting seminar over the break and Jake doesn't hesitate to agree when the other asks him to stay. His mom is beyond annoyed until he explains it's about Ryan. Charlie is miffed that he won't be getting a present, until Jake promises him two when he finds time to go home in the spring. One from him and one from Ryan.

When Jake finishes his final test at the center in USC, he drives full speed over to UCLA where Ryan and a few friends are sharing an apartment for their last year. Ryan has a couple of days off so he shows Jake around. More adventurous as seniors, they drive along the highway 1 to Santa Barbara, where the gaggles of beautiful women that Ryan and his friends normally hang out with are shocked the minute he introduces them to Jake as his very best friend. Ryan just smiles and smiles, it feels good to have Jake back in his life.

They spar on the beach sometimes, drawing crowds of onlookers that every once in awhile display flashes of concern before they realize that the two men are only practicing. Ryan introduces Jake to his krav maga club, and Jake would spend his free time there during the days when Ryan was in his seminar. Many elements of krav were already familiar to him, but admittedly he had spent more time on TKD and capoeira, so there were certainly some new tricks to try.

The first time they sparred Ryan got Jake on his back with a crazy takedown move and straddled his hips with a smile, "if you want to be the best…" he said lazily pointing two fingers at himself and grinning. Jake laughed and pushed him off.

They fuck almost every night. Either Jake's coming back from the club and his testosterone is running high, or Ryan just nailed a scene and wants to celebrate. It's only after one morning when Jay, Ryan's suite-mate from freshman year that Jake still somewhat remembers, comments about how paper thin the walls are that the two of them dial down the activities a little bit.

When school resumes in January, Jake reluctantly pries himself out of Ryan's arms the day of his flight. It's 5am and he needs to be at the airport for an early flight. They have sleepy slow sex one last time in the shower before Ryan drives him to the airport. They don't say anything the entire time, but this time there's no mistaking where they stand when they kiss at the gate.

They talk once, maybe twice a week. They're both independent adults now. And this, Jake muses one evening, is what he wanted. He wouldn't want to be in a relationship where two people are so co-dependent, they hate the other for binding them so close, but they're no longer brave enough to try out what freedom feels like.

By the end of the semester they're fully caught up on the last few years. Both Ryan and Jake laugh about how much they've switched roles. Jake wants to pursue the spectator sport full time, though as he's always reminding Ryan, acting may not be very different. Jake was in a fraternity and Ryan was not. Perhaps overly sensitive to the stupid jock stereotype, he got an apartment off-campus with Jay and a few of his other buddies. They've formed their own little clique over the years.

To Jake's surprise, Ryan only went out with two other people since they broke up, each time ending the relationship in a few months. Jake wonders if Ryan can see the blush through Skype when he mentions that he can't remember how many people he's gone through. Ryan smirks dryly and Jake protests, "that's what I needed to get over you!"

Ryan tells Jake that he eventually told his parents. His stepmom was actually supportive, but his father found it difficult to react. Ryan shrugs it off. His father was always distant, so this doesn't make any difference. Eric knows, and surprisingly took it extremely well (Jake forgets, but he thinks Ryan mentions Eric had a cousin who was gay, or something like that), though none of Ryan's other buddies did. Jake mentions Max's reaction and Ryan can barely hold back a snort.

They both head back to Florida for spring break. When they show up at Jake's house, both are warmly welcomed by Jake's mom. Charlie, on the other hand, gives Ryan a big hug after Ryan presents a state-of-the-art racket, and then pointedly ignores Jake after he forgot himself to get a present for the kid. Jake is too surprised to say anything but Ryan just smirks and mouths, the best. And while neither want to do the crazy spring break again (Ryan went the year before to Los Cabos and Jake went with his fraternity to Cancun), they do take a roadtrip down to the Keys. Just the two of them. Like Italy, but not like Italy because this time, neither of them are hesitant about anything.

The second to last day of break, they're back and telling stories of sea turtles and bioluminescent waters over dinner at the local greasy burger joint they all used to frequent in high school. It's Ryan, Jake, Baja, Max, Eric, and Rhodes, a guy Ryan knows from UCLA who happens to be visiting some friends of his in Florida. Surprisingly, they all get along. Any beef between Eric and Jake was via Ryan anyways so that wasn't a problem. Max finally got over, whatever he was having trouble with, and even though he didn't say anything directly to Ryan all night, he at least lost the perpetual death glare. Baja is nice to everyone, and she flat out tells Ryan how much better of a person he is, earning a gawk from Jake and a polite thanks from Ryan.

He has a picture of them framed in his bedroom from that night. Years later he'll look back and realize it's the last picture of him and his friends from high school in one place all together. They're still young, still so fresh. And when he graduates, that photograph is the only memento he takes out to the West Coast.

Chapter Text

"Watch your back!"

Jake whirls around and barely dodges the fist that comes flying from the guy in red behind him. Then he swivels again and catches a foot from his left. It's 5-on-1 at krav at the club and he's never felt this level of intensity before. Most fights he's been in are 1-on-1, maybe 3-on-1 max.

"Tyler, defense up, all times!" Ryan yells. Jake gets frustrated and turns a roundhouse kick at the nearest assailant, sending him flying.

"Woah stop!" Ryan calls out and the other four guys around him back down. "The hell are you doing, Jake? Fists only!"

"Fuck off," Jake murmurs under his breath, then rudely stalks out of the circle ramming his shoulder into Ryan as he walks by.

The blond turns with a frown and watches his partner head off toward the locker room.

"All right guys, free spar, back to it," he barks before rolling up his sleeves and walking off himself.

Jake has his hands pressed against the shower tiles letting water flow full force down upon him when he hears footsteps come in. He knows it's Ryan.

"Jake, buddy, calm down man, what the fuck."

He doesn't say anything, lip curled in defiance.

Ryan sighs, "you know I just want you to be prepped for the test next week. The main man isn't going to go any easy on you and I'm not either. Stop taking it so personally guy." He steps into the stream, wraps his arms around that chest he knows so well, and moves to kiss Jake's neck but the other turns brusquely.

"I know, I know. It's just, I'm not used to this OK? You playing coach and all. Feels like—"

"—no man, fucking don't say it. This isn't high school and The Beatdown. I'm not the same asshole trying to beat your ass down. I'm just trying to help you, OK? I'm not trying to be—"

"—the best?" Jake laughs. "Yeah, you just are."

"Jake, don't be a bitch about this. There's nothing to be jealous of and you know it. So cool the fuck down." Ryan says with a glare as he steps out of the shower stall and picks up a towel. When the locker room door slams shut again, Jake closes his eyes.

It's late when he gets in. Jay looks up from the dining table where he's studying for grad school exams and doesn't say anything. Jake sighs, dumps his bag on the couch, and heads upstairs where he knows Ryan is probably already in their bed.

He pulls off his clothes and crawls under the covers.

"Sorry," he whispers as he presses a kiss against Ryan's shoulder.

"For what," comes the exasperated reply in the night.

"Being a dick," Jake admits and scoots closer, wrapping an arm around Ryan's firm chest. "I know I get like this, I'm just… used to being good, that's all."

Ryan turns so that they're face to face.

"Jake, you are good," he says softly. "You're better than me already and you know it. The only reason I'm a level higher at the club is because I've been there longer. The main man sees the potential in you. We all do. And we want you to get far. Crazy far, guy. Me? I want to see you take home the UFC someday championship. And I want to help you get there, be there. You get that?"

"Yeah," Jake sighs. "Yeah I do."

After graduation, Jake moved in with Ryan and his friends. Ryan was looking to break into Hollywood and there wasn't any other place in the world he could really live. He got himself an agent, took on some headshots, and then started the arduous process of audition after audition. A few small-time roles, mostly because they needed his fighting talent.

For Jake, it was an easy decision once he found the perfect trainer. He could train anywhere, Roqua had already said to him that he'd taught the guy everything he could. If he wanted to go pro, he'd need some advanced training. And as long as Vitor wanted to live in Brazil, he'd need to find someone stateside. Turns out, and Ryan didn't even know, the guy who headed up the krav maga club used to be a UFC heavyweight champion several years ago. Jake wasn't in the same weight class, but still, here was a living, breathing, teaching, and infinitely accessible coach. Joining the club was easy, and with his background and stated intent, Jake knew he could quickly advance and start serious training. But his coach insisted he go through the proper regimen, so he spent a year working his way up the levels. From basics to advanced. On the weekends, Ryan sparred with him, always one level up so he could master the more advanced techniques before everyone else. He also found a local muay thai club and started picking up those skills as well, polishing up his kicks especially against a bunch of wire-thin Asian guys who, despite all appearances, could shatter bone with their feet when they wanted to.

But as much as the training was intense and grueling, he found himself constantly pissed off. He was furious the first time the krav guy told him he had to work his way up. Only Ryan whispering in his ear that he'd help him get there twice as fast kept him calm. Whereas training used to de-stress him, it seemed to be constantly fueling his aggression these days and not even running helped him relax.

For his 24th birthday, Ryan took him on a surprise trip. He'd just landed a small but meaningful gig with actual screen time opposite some big names in Hollywood. Not more than a few minutes, but enough that he got to fly his partner to Greece for filming. The two of them laughed and played for two weeks after all the scenes were shot on their own dime. They swam in the Mediterranean, and chased each other in Santorini. Jake felt like a kid again and it physically pained him when he saw the sprawl of LA come into view the night they flew in.

More months of training flew by and Jake felt his agitation rise again. He was improving but something felt off. Like he wasn't improving fast enough. Or he wasn't getting good enough. He kept watching fights on their TV at home and became annoyed the second someone knew a move he didn't.

"What the fuck is wrong?" He demanded one morning as they sparred on the beach.

"What? What? What, Jake?" Ryan said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Why are you doing this? Why are you spazzing out? It takes years to win a championship and you're already better than anyone else I know, and you're learning faster than anyone at the club, and you're getting your private sessions with the coach. What the fuck more do you want?"

"I don't know!" Jake said, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming.

"Fuck, man." Ryan said, "we can't keep doing this. You want to go home?"

"No," Jake panted. A small part of him whispered a caution but the larger part of him shrouded in some kind of unnamed, undefined rage pushed forward. "Fucking just… attack me!"

"No," Ryan said, crossing his arms. "Not when you're in one of these fucking moods. Calm the fuck down, Tyler!"

Jake growled low in his throat and charged at Ryan, tackling him to the ground before mercilessly striking his torso.

Ryan recovered from his surprise in a moment, and started countering. At one point his left foot struck up and pushed Jake's heavy body off. He bounced up first and stared at Jake, "the fuck is wrong with you asshole. You want to get your ass beat? Is that it?" Not even he believed it, but Ryan had his own rage stirring inside from months of Jake's bullshit, and he surged forward, kicking at the brunette repeatedly.

Jake dodged and countered a few of the hits but then stumbled in the sand and the next kick sent a jolt of pain up his right side. Damned ribs. He flew into a fury and grabbed the foot that came toward him next and twisted. Ryan yelped and fell back into the sand. They grappled for a bit before both got up again, panting.

"What the fuck, Jake… you're losing your mind man, calm the fuck down, I won't say it again!"

But Jake was beyond listening. He heaved a few deep breaths and the charged again. Like a bullfighter Ryan narrowly dodged, then used Jake's own momentum against him by landing a solid palm strike to his exposed back. Jake crashed into the sand.

Ryan's mind was whirling. What was happening? He really didn't understand. It was as if Jake was unraveling before his eyes. Jake's technique was getting sloppy, blinded by his rage, and Ryan just couldn't understand where all of this was coming from.

Jake bent over the sand, his head between his forearms. The arch of his back rising and falling with every forced breath.

"Jake," Ryan called again trying to reason with him, "come on man, please. Let's go home, we can talk later if you want OK? Just, I don't know how to help you, and you're not letting me."

I don't need your help.

Ryan comes closer and Jake's mind screams a warning. It's too late. Ryan's hands are on his arm, and he's finds himself being pulled up when he suddenly strikes. The crosscut lands hard and he hears the crack before he sees Ryan fall, ungracefully and without control, hard into the sand. So unlike him.

Jake's standing and breathing heavily. His eyes are unfocused but some part of him is screaming. Ryan flinches. He hasn't felt pain like this in awhile. Not since his Beatdown days. Not since he quit the spectator sport that now has Jake by the balls and won't let go. But he remembers what it's like. And he takes it. He doesn't scream or cry as he cradles his left arm, the one he'd used to help Jake back up, to his chest. He knows there's a fracture somewhere. He stands.

"They just want us to kill each other," his face is deadly serious. No smile, no smirk. "that's what you told me once, Tyler. Congratulations."

He walks off without a second glance behind him, toward his car, which he'll take to check himself into the hospital. Then head back to his apartment where he'll call in sick for his next audition. Then to his room where he'll look at all of Jake's stuff, all of their stuff, and wonder where the hell it went wrong.

Back on the beach, Jake is closing his eyes.

It's Tuesday when the plane touches down in Florida. Charlie's picking him up from the airport and he doesn't say anything. Just grabs the bag off the carousel and heads toward the car, Jake in tow.

They make small talk. Charlie is back home from Virginia where he got a full ride for tennis. He remembers talking on the phone with him (he now wants to be called Chuck, and when Jake repeats that with some incredulity, Ryan's laughter echoes back all the way from the kitchen). Their mother was so proud, two kids with full rides; she did her job all right.

Eventually though, his nosy kid brother is still just that. "What happened with Ryan?"

"Charlie—" he groans.

"—Chuck," comes the quick reprimand.

Jake rolls his eyes, "you know I'm never going to call you that. But I can at least agree to not call you Charlie in public. Deal?"

"Fine, now stop avoiding the question. What happened with Ryan?"

Jake sighed, "I happened."

Roqua told him, that one time when he bit back "oh, so it's my fault?!", to calm down. Vitor said the same (with a few more colorful flourishes added in the mix). So did the coaches at Columbia. They all said the same really, the message was always there. You have a lot of anger, boy. And it comes out when you train. He never thought anything of it. So he got pissed, big deal. He chalked it up to testosterone. Who doesn't get angry when they're losing? Look at the fighters on TV, hear the way they talk, they're all just a bunch of raging animals. But that's something he never wanted to be.

He'd freaked out before. Hit too hard, thrown in some nastier combinations that weren't technically allowed. But he'd never lost so much control. Not like that. He didn't go back that night. When he finally cooled off a few hours later, the sun had completely set and it was just him lying on the cold sand in the darkness. He crawled up, grabbed his clothes and walked to the nearest bus station where he sat all night. Mostly with his head in his hands, not falling asleep, but trying to sort out what was the matter with him. Where was all this anger coming from?

By the time mid-morning rolled around he caught a bus to the club, thankfully Ryan doesn't go until the afternoon, and said he was taking some time off. The coach looked at him with not a hint of surprise and just said, "come back when you're really ready." Jake nodded stiffly and left.

He knew Ryan had already left the apartment too but Jay would probably be home, studying. When he came in Jay asked him why he looked like total bum. Jake didn't reply immediately, just went to his and Ryan's room and took a long, hot shower. He came out, packed the few things that he'd brought with him. Mostly clothes and electronics; Ryan already had the place fully furnished. His hand lingers over the photograph that he brought from home that now sits proudly on the nightstand, but he doesn't pick it up. Instead, Jake turns and heads downstairs with his carryon trying to not look at Jay's puzzled expression.

"Hey, I'm going to take-off for a few weeks. Sorry, man, just… something came up."

He was out the door before Jay had a chance to ask questions.

He was embarrassed. He couldn't face Ryan again, wouldn't; not until he had better answers to give. No more excuses. He wouldn't be the weak one in their relationship.

He camped out at the airport for a few days waiting for the next cheapest one way back home. Still set him back $400, but could've been a lot worse. He called his mom to say he was coming home for a bit but left the details vague. Charlie immediately knew something was up, so volunteered to pick him up. What a clever kid.

"Hey," Jake says grabbing Charlie's wrist. "Don't tell mom, OK? I just, I don't want her to worry yet."

"Yeah fine, but promise me, man, you'll do something about this. It's not healthy."

"I know, I know. I promise. I'm not going to train again until I figure it out."

On Wednesday he was at Roqua's. The man was leaving in a week for a now-annual tradition of going back to Brazil, but Jake knew he needed a perspective that only his longest coach could provide.

The man gave him some good things to think about. And by Friday night, he was looking up plane tickets again. He stayed for the rest of the holiday. Hung out with family; he had missed Charlie, missed his mom. Max was now living in New York, attending some special film program and wasn't around. Baja was back, and even though she was hesitant about being able to visit him, since her family hadn't seen her in a year and she was only in town for three days, she still made the time. So at midnight on Sunday they're at a bar talking. He asks her what she thinks the problem is and she tells him with all the wisdom of a girl with two upper-division psych classes under her belt, that maybe he's secretly angry at Ryan still. Angry at the way he'd been humiliated as the new kid. Brought into a world he never wanted to see. And now he felt trapped somehow, and it was Ryan's fault.

He doesn't have to think too hard about it to know it's not the right reason. It's a good theory, but he knows that he has nothing but love for Ryan; that much is clear, still clear, despite what may have happened. Any hate had long since dried up and been blown away by the strength of their devotion to one another. Those winds that never died even when he was sleeping with half the Greek system at Columbia. She leaves him with twenty to cover her part of the tab and a kiss on the cheek. You'll get through it, Jake, I have faith. Before he leaves, to his surprise Eric takes a seat down next to him and they chat a little. Two acquaintances, not sure where they stand with each other, but enough to know the niceties are safe. Jake knows it's coming so when Eric asks about Ryan he has the lie prepared. Ryan's doing a shoot and needs total concentration, so I'm going to focus on my training a bit back home. Eric nods, not that he wouldn't have been believed. Jake knows the two of them don't talk on a monthly basis, there's no way he'd be found out. Eric invites him over to join his friends, but Jake murmurs a no thanks and gets up to head out. Eric claps him on the back and wishes him a good night.

At some point before he packs his suitcase to leave home again, his mom throws her hands up in the air and tells him to call her if he needs any money. Charlie is a bit more sympathetic and says he'll deal with their mom on his behalf.

At the airport, Jake wonders for a moment when his life turned into cross-country trips, but this is one he won't complain about. He's going to fix himself. Fix this, whatever it is. And then he's going to get Ryan back.

Chapter Text

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer screams into the microphone.

"Welcome to the UFC's welterweight semifinalist round! Tonight we pit the unstoppable Jake Tyler against the undefeated Frederic St. Pierre! Each fighter…"

Jake blocks out the noise. He always finds the announcers frankly annoying. One day they'll run out of hyperbole, and then where would they be? He's sitting in his corner. Vitor is sizing up his opponent from the side and he hears him in his head. That St. Pierre's tough, but you're better. I know it, I see it. He's not so good on the floor, so take 'em down then out.

Jake scans the front rows of the octagon. No sign of Ryan but Charlie is sitting at the edge of his seat next to a few of his friends, eyes wide with excitement. Jake chuckles to himself. It's good that mom didn't come. She said she wouldn't, it would give her a heart attack every time the opponent landed a hit.

He faces Jean who gives him a grin and a nod. Jake breathes like he was taught. One, two, three. Hands up. Eyes focused. Mind calm. He feels the peace wash over him. The kick comes faster than he expected but he's ready. And he fights.

"I just want to raise a toast to my big brother."

The crowd collectively awws and Jake rolls his eyes. "Someone I always looked up to, despite the years of nougie torture and name-calling." Charlie's friends laugh at that.

"Despite the lack of respect for little old me, despite the forgetting of presents and birthdays."

"Hey!" Jake protested.

Charlie raises a hand in mock defensive pose and Jake laughs, "but in all honesty, Jake Tyler is a wonderful man, and I just want to congratulate him on his win tonight, give him early congratulations as future champion, and say happy early birthday, because… well… because I'm not going to be here on his actual birthday in a week!"

The bar erupts in cheers and roars and Jake doesn't even mind the beer sloshed on his shoulders from everyone raising a toast in unison. There are banners hung up everywhere. The ones that the spectators brought back from the match were by now pretty beat up and disgusting, but the owner of the place made her own and hung them up places. Welcome back home, UFC champion, Jake Tyler!

The attention is a little unnerving but Jake takes it in stride. Charlie coached him a little on it after he won his first national tennis championship, the second youngest ever. But Charlie's match wasn't at home, in Florida, where half the town chose to attend and many flew home just to attend. Reminiscing about those Beatdown days, even though the competition locally now was banned after a riot broke out and several spectators were injured. Still, the ones that were the biggest aficionados bought tickets and Jake thought he could pick out several faces that were familiar from several years ago.

He drinks with them until it's past two in the morning and then Charlie's girlfriend Anne, designated driver for the night, drives them back home. Jake curls up in his bed, he's a bit long for it now and his toes just dangle off the edge but he's too tired to care. Charlie wishes him a goodnight before he and Anne head off to his old room as well.

Jake wraps his arms around his pillow, imagines it's Ryan, and promptly falls asleep. His last coherent thought is a wish that there's no hangover tomorrow.

He wakes to the smell of something amazing. His mom's cooked a surprise, since she didn't want to go out last night, she promised they'd celebrate at home. Charlie and Anne come downstairs when he's already seated at the table to the fullest spread the Tyler house had ever seen.

"Ma!" Charlie says with eyes open, "I don't even think you went this all out when I won!"

"Oh, please, dear. When you won, we flew out to see you and treated you to the nicest restaurant in the whole city."

Charlie laughed, "yeah I guess that's right."

They eat for hours. It's Saturday and sunny and the kind of day where nothing has to get done. They talk about the championship round, it will be held in Cancun in two months, both Charlie and Anne are flying out to see him fight. They talk about his future plans and Jake realizes he wants to stop after he wins. It's been roughly a decade into his fighting career, all in, and he read somewhere that if you master a skill every decade, you can live several lifetimes. He tells them that for his 30s he's thinking of writing. They gape at him.

"But… you've never written anything!" Charlie sputters.

Jake laughs, "yeah, well, I'll need to learn first. I might go back to school, take some seminars something."

Anne is the one who recovers first, "well, I think that'll be nice, it'd be wonderful to show kids these days the diversity of career choices they have and that being a fighter doesn't necessarily mean you're not literary."

Charlie barely claps his hand over his mouth in time to stifle the laugh and their mom glares at him.

"If you put your mind to it, I'm sure you'll find something that you like," she says diplomatically.

"Uh, which reminds me," Charlie says, daring to open his mouth again. "How's the movie going? Shame Ryan had to get back."

"Yeah, the Hollywood life is hectic, he's got just a bit under two months of shooting left. We're hoping it doesn't go over so that he can come to Cancun and we can do some vacationing in Latin America after the championships are over."

"How were your scenes?" Anne asks eagerly. Ironically, Ryan is the lead in a movie about MMA. It's not a huge, fancy Hollywood production, but as Ryan said to him, it's a lead in a movie, who cares? They needed someone to do the actual fight scenes and while Ryan fit the role, the other actor, Sean Faris, wasn't so experienced, so Ryan suggested they use Jake for some of the more complicated scenes. It worked out well that Jake and Sean looked very similar. The director even marveled that they barely had to use any editing to make sure that the audience couldn't tell the difference.

"With how long Ryan and I have been sparring, they couldn't have asked for an easier shoot. It took less than five takes total," Jake said.

"What's it called again?"

"Never Back Down. I thought it was cheesy, but, hey what do I know about the industry? I'm just the dumb jock." Jack said sarcastically.

"Well," Anne concluded, "I can't wait to see it!"

It's later in the week and he's back at Roqua's after hours. The gym would be in an uproar if the hometown hero showed up, so Jean said he could train at night if he promised to lock up when he finished.

They sparred a little, and Jean commented on how much improvement he'd made. They were taking a break, sipping water, when Jean asked him about his training.

"How is Vitor?"

"Amazing, foul-mouthed, as usual."

Jean laughs, "yes, he never was a very polite man. But he is one of the best, and I'm glad he's on your side."

There was a long pause and Jake wondered for a moment if Jean, in his older years, was getting emotional.

Finally, the other nodded his head and looked over at Jake, "I'm proud of you, Jake. Really. You had some dark spots, and you broke through yourself."

Jake grinned, "well, I had a little help."

"But it was your will. And that's why you'll win. I know it."

Jake was starting to blush. "I had a lot to fight for. And thank you Jean. If it wasn't for you, well, none of those would have ever happened I suppose."

Jean laughed deep in his throat, "don't be so sure, life has a funny way of finding you. All right kid, I'm going to get some paperwork done. These new students you know… they're demanding," he said with a wink.

They both stood, and Jake pulled Jean in for a hug. "See you soon."

The month before Jake's final, he found himself in a front of a familiar set of nondescript wooden doors. When they opened, he bowed deeply.

So, the man smiled, "you've come back to see me, the month before your match. Are you here to spar?"

Jake smiled and pulled the other into a hug. "Naw, just here to see how everything is going."

"I have a student, kind of reminds me of you, you want to teach him a thing or two?"

Jake grins, "always," as the other leads him inside. The student is stretched out on the floor huffing. Immediately, he sees Jake headed toward him, and almost on instinct, spits out a "Fuck you."

"You know," Jake says, "I used to say that, I used to be a lot like you."

The kid looks at him warily—face full of rebellion and annoyance as he stands back up. "I was young and cocky…"

The kid snorts and goes for a punch. Jake easily dodges.

"…and like most teenagers, I was angry. I had a lot to be angry about." He counters a kick.

"I was pissed at my dad though I didn't know it. I was pissed at my mom. I was pissed at my little brother. Deep down I never forgave them for a lot of shit they did to me." Three quick jabs in succession come at him, and one nearly scrapes his side.

"When I discovered fighting, it tapped into this part of me, this angry monster that I didn't ever know existed." A flying sidekick that Jake neatly sidestepped, before tripping the kid immediately when he landed.

The kid did a kick-up and scowled at him.

"The more I fought…" two more punches he countered, "the bigger and badder the monster became, and the angrier I was. Soon I was so angry, the minute I lost I would lash out." Jake trips him again and the kid lands on his back with a thud, winded.

Jake walks around him and the kid is avoiding his gaze. "I hurt a lot of important people that way. Really bad." He reaches down to give the kid a hand, and the kid slaps it away, gets up himself, and starts with a straight kick.

Jake leans back, grabs the leg, and throws the kid several feet away.

"But then I came here, and Master Fong," Jake nods to the wall where the other man is standing, "taught me two important things."

"One," Jake says as he marches toward where the kid is struggling to get up again, "is that if you want to get anywhere in life, you need to control that monster. And you can't control until you figure out what's going on in here," he points to the kid's heart and head. "It's just like a game, figure out what makes the monster tick, and then you can control it. And then you can harness its power. And then you can win."

"And two," he says, lowering himself until he's eye level with the blue eyes that are just a few shades lighter than Ryan's and very narrowed in rebellion, "is that even when you've figured out the monster, and you're now a champion, there's always someone better. So, stay down." He says, pushing himself up using the kid's shoulder as emphasis.

The kid looks at him and wrinkles his nose.

"Okay then," Master Fong's voice cuts in, "please thank Mr. Jake for the good sparring session. We will pick back up your forms from last class…" he nods to Jake who takes his leave.

"Too personal for you?" the master says when the kid leaves.

"You're right, I can see it all over his face. He's got some real anger. At what I don't know, but it's something he should work out now."

"Do you think it will be easier for him than it was for you?"

Jake pauses and winks, "well, he's younger, fewer years to think about."

The master laughs. "Perhaps. Well, come now, let's see how you'll win that championship!

The past two months felt like two weeks, Jake complained as they walked around Cancun the day before the final match.

"Eh you'll do fine, don't be nervous about it," Ryan said. "Vitor told me himself that Carlos would be an easy opponent."

Jake moaned, "Vitor lies about everything!"

They're eating tacos sitting in front of the stands with plastic lawn chairs. He ordered three but Ryan stole one away, claiming he needed to be light and on his toes for the match.

Jake steals it back. "I'll be light enough after our jog this afternoon, come on it's just one taco!"

They fight and Ryan wins by stuffing the entire taco in his mouth. Three hours later, they're doing a sunset jog up and down the expansive beach that spans across the Hotel Zone. It's not prime vacation season, but there are still decent sized crowds in front of each resort. Volleyball games and bodyboarding. Drinking games and sunbathing.

At the end of the run the sun has set and the daytime crowds are being replaced by nighttime ones. Bonfires light up and music starts to play. They find a secluded section of beach, no hotel immediately next to it, and spar a little. Just to relieve whatever stress Jake might still have.

Fifteen minutes into the match, he lets Ryan take him down with an easy throw.

"What's this, Tyler? This better not be how you plan to win against Carlos!" He says with a surprise.

Jake sighs and throws his head back against the sand. "Nah, I'm just tired."

Ryan lies next to him and they're both staring up at the sky. It's never dark enough to see the stars in Cancun, but it's still nice. The warm breeze is just cool enough; the sand, fine enough; and the noises far away enough that they each get lost in their own thoughts for a while.

"You know," Ryan starts after a moment, "we haven't sparred on the beach since…"

"…yeah," Jake replies. He's all too familiar with the memory.

"You never told me what you did that night, why you left. I mean, I figured it out, but we haven't really talked about it before."

"We haven't?" Jake responds.

Ryan shakes his head. "We talked about your training with Master Fong. How you met him, how he taught you to look inward, how he righted you out. But not about the beach. How long were you out that night, where did you go?"

"Well, I was too much of a coward to face you. To see the damage that I'd caused. So I sat out the night at a bus stop. Just thinking. I wanted to know why I was so angry all the time, and I didn't come up with anything smart so by the time the sun was rising I knew I had to get some professional help.

Ryan nods softly, "you know, you left your picture."

"I think I wanted to leave you my hope."

Chapter Text

Jake was curled in a ball on the ground, clutching his stomach and ego. Master Fong had knocked him out with one fist to the stomach. He'd always look back and think of that as the hardest punch he'd ever felt. The man had a fist like iron.

"Are you learning?" The voice taunted him. "Do you feel yourself getting angry? Good, then take it out. Fight me. Who are you fighting? Who are you angry at?"

For the first week he had no answer to give. He just fought when provoked. He struck out at every opportunity but Master Fong steadily beat him back. By the second week, he was finding a pattern. And by the third week, he was able to articulate a name.

A month later and Jake was fighting all of his demons at once. I hate you, mom, for moving us away, he said punching the bag. I hate you, Charlie, for making me follow you while you fulfilled your dreams, he said delivering a kick. I hate you, Baja, for pulling me into your crazy world, he said with a palm strike. I hate you, Max, for the way you're encouraging everything with that stupid camera of yours, he said with a an elbow strike. I hate you, Ryan, for being so perfect, he said sending a knee into the midsection of the bag.

Three months into the training, and Jake finally hit the core of it all. I hate you, father, for leaving me.

Master Fong pushed him harder than ever Vitor, but in very different ways. The minute he identified his demons, Fong made him meditate. Gone were the bags, replaced with candles and dimly lit spaces. Jake hated it. Fight with his demons, that he could do. But confront them, talk with them, that was infinitely harder.

But every day for months, Jake forced his body to be still. He dove inward and fought the rage that emerged the moment he started training in earnest for The Beatdown. When he finished the training and Master Fong proclaimed him a more balanced martial artist, he felt a moment of near pious purity.

And then it was time to tell Ryan.

It was a lot harder to get Ryan's attention again than Jake had hoped. In the months since he'd left, Ryan had picked up a few TV shows and gotten busier, spending most of his time shooting in Vancouver. He'd also started dating again. A girl he met on set of a comedy, Jay told him with some sympathy one evening when they were on the phone.

"Sorry, Jake, man. I think Ryan didn't hear from you for such a long time, he just didn't know what to expect."

He'd hung up annoyed, but not exactly surprised. He told himself anything could have happened in the half year or so that they'd been apart. And it was largely his fault for not getting in touch at all, but as he explained to himself, he wasn't sure what he would say until he knew he was fixed.

Not that he had a lot of time to chase lost lovers. Vitor called him, mentioned that he was finally moving to America, and that Jake would be his best student. He'd set a date, that's the championship you gonna fight in and you gonna win. You in?

With not a lot of other options to go with, Jake could hardly refuse. And so he began training in earnest, and Ryan fell just a little farther from his mind. The two of them constructed a series of movements that combined the best of what he'd learned: the speed of muay thai, the grace of capoeira, the strength of TKD, the adrenaline of the street, the will of kungfu, the energy of krav maga, all emerged in the way Jake fought. Vitor declared him unstoppable with the arsenal that he'd picked up. And looking at himself in the mirror of a hotel room in the small city where he would fight and easily win his qualifying round, Jake felt like a new man.

In the year that he fought, he didn't have a lot of time for much else other than concentrating on his form, his technique, and his general health. He would call some old friends and talk. He surprised himself with how much he talked with Charlie about their dad. It was therapeutic in a way since Charlie had been too young to really remember the man.

And every once in awhile, he would think about Ryan. Ironically, he mused, it happened a lot in the ring. He would hope to hear Ryan's voice urging him on, spurring him to victory as it did that one time at USC. He would fantasize that Ryan still followed UFC enough to know that Jake was climbing fast. He imagined them running into each other at the end of a match. The thought of make-up sex in the locker room a better turn on than anything he could find on the Internet.

But Jake knew better, and it didn't happen. He knew Ryan was following his own dreams, from playing the cocky kid Kevin on The O.C., to supporting roles on the big screen. And from what Jake heard, he was still dating the same girl and the two of them were getting serious.

He thought about reaching out. At the very least, if this were to be the end for them, he wanted to tell Ryan that he was sorry, and that he was a better man now. He deserved to give him that much. Still, he never found the time or the guts. Why bother him anyway? Jake reasoned with himself. He's already moved on, no use dragging old demons out of the closet again.

It's the spring when Jake is on a plane south. Vitor's given him a week off, and he's timed it with Charlie's break so the two of them can spend some vacation time together. Not that Jake would admit it, but Charlie and he have similar tastes when it comes to traveling. They both go for the exotic adventures over easy tourist destinations, which is why they're both headed to Bolivia. One of the poorest countries in Latin America thanks to a dispute with Peru and Chile that left it largely landlocked, Bolivia has not attracted the same levels of tourism as its neighboring cousins, Charlie reads to him on the plane. For the two of them, that means a chance to really get off the beaten path.

The only touristy thing they're going to be visiting are the great salt flats of Uyuni. So it's with a healthy dose of shock that Jake points out a familiar blonde to Charlie when they arrive in the tourist van.

Charlie follows his finger and his eyes widen. "That's not seriously Ryan is it?"

Jake groans and thinks about the probability of it being Ryan, but there's no denying that it is. Even Charlie recognizes him. They're still in the bus and the tour guide is now gesturing at them to get off and explore with everyone else. They have two hours here to watch the sunset.

He follows Charlie outside. Ryan is still a few hundred feet away and hasn't noticed them yet. Charlie nudges him, "it's a sign don't you think?"

Ryan gets out, looks around, and whistles at the view.

For miles in either direction beyond their tourist van, he sees sky on top, sky on bottom. The thin layer of water covering the ground is a perfect mirror and the sky today, their tour guide proclaims, cooperated wonderfully.

He reaches into his bag for the camera and nods to Jay and a few of his other friends. "Unreal, eh?"

He's glad they made him do this. Jay even handed him a ticket and said, roomie trip, no arguments, checked with the girlfriend and you're coming. This is the first stop. They'll spend two days in Bolivia, then drive by caravan through into northern Chile to checkout the sprawling Atacama Desert, then onto Santiago where they've planned a few days of cultural tours and parties before Jay and the others board a flight back to Los Angeles and Ryan has a separate flight that takes him back up to Vancouver to wrap up some shooting.

Ryan takes off his flip-flops and sinks his feet into the cool salt water. He splashes a little and watches the mirror quivering a bit near his feet, but then stilling almost immediately. He grins and waves to Jay and the others. "You're right guys, this is pretty awesome."

He's so distracted he barely realizes someone from one of the other recently arrived buses is headed right toward him. And when he notices he frowns and then steps back a bit in shock. Jake?

And yet, there was no mistaking the brown hair, the confident strut, and the smile that Jake seemed to be making an effort to keep up when he saw that Ryan noticed him too.

It was an awkward reconnection for both of them. Ryan's roommates quickly noticed, and after a rapid round of introductions, everyone else quickly dispersed. Ryan and Jake stood around for a moment. Jake mourned the stiffness of the silence, the distance between them that was never there before. He hesitantly asked if Ryan wanted to walk around a bit, see the sights. With their other companions gone, the two of them started off, heading toward the center of the salt flats.

They talked in bits and pieces. Jake started with an apology, but that just sounded weird given how long they hadn't seen each other. So he cut himself off and just asked Ryan how he was doing. They talked about his career, TV shows and movies and red carpets. Ryan brought up his girlfriend just the one time and didn't look up in time to catch the grimace that passed across Jake's face. They talked about Jake and he was right; Ryan hadn't been following MMA and didn't know Jake was competing. He was still going to krav, but by now it was mostly to keep his skills sharp in case he needed to do any of his own stunts. Ryan told Jake about Jay and his friends, and Jake talked about his mom and Charlie.

At some point, Ryan gestured to Jay and the other guys and mentioned that he should probably head back to see his friends. Jake agreed, but as Ryan turned, he pulled the other's arm and said, "hey, it was good to see you. I'm sorry I haven't reached back out, but… I'd like it if we could talk again, just, as friends, ok?" Ryan just said ok and flashed that sexy smile.

They keep in touch by phone and email. Not as often as Jake would like, and with not enough words and sentences that mean something beyond how is it going, but it's something. Ryan tells Jake about an upcoming premiere that he's going to attend and while watching the live red carpet show from his apartment, he sees Ryan's girlfriend for the first time. She's gorgeous and Jake is immediately jealous of the easy way in which the two of them talk and interact on screen. They've acted together on two different shows now and clearly have a strong rapport.

Charlie asks him one time how he feels and he just shrugs and hopes his little brother can hear the meaning through the phone. It is what it is. What I made it to be.

The next time they see each other is almost half a year later, after Jake got knocked out in a surprise takedown. The match ended his run that season and while he didn't fly into an angry rage, he did fly home feeling like a small child who was given his favorite toy at Christmas only to be told a week later that he couldn't play with it anymore.

That's how Jake finds himself back in Florida. Vitor insisted he get into training for next year immediately, but Jake wants a break. He sees Ryan at the grocery store, and the two of the laugh about how they're always running into each other. Turns out Ryan's home to help pack up the mansion. His dad is moving the family's home base and while Ryan personally doesn't care since he's already living in Los Angeles, he does want to come home to collect the things he still wants to keep. Left totally up to his dad, there'd be nothing remaining by the time he visited the new home.

They meet for a few lunches here and there. Jake invites Ryan to the train with him and Roqua sometime. Ryan shows up the day before his flight back to the West Coast. He still fights well and Roqua commends him on keeping up his skills and even picking up a few new moves from the krav club. They talk about Jake's previous season. Jake blushes about not even making it to the semi-finals, but Ryan just tells him it's a fluke, and that he'll do better next year.

By the time Ryan's getting on his plane the next day, Jake is already telling Vitor he's ready to train.

Before long, the UFC season is starting again and Jake doesn't hesitate when Ryan asks him to give a list of upcoming fight dates and locations, just in case he's near one for work. Ryan makes it out to one match. It's in San Diego and Ryan figures Los Angeles is close enough, so he and Jay and a few roommates drive down. He doesn't bring his girlfriend and they don't talk about her when they go out and celebrate Jake's win.

Vitor falls in love so much with the West Coast he decides to move. Vitor finds a nice condo and opens up an MMA gym, by the beaches in Orange County. He thinks it'll be great to take the students sand running every morning. Jake follows him and rents an apartment with a friend of a friend from Columbia. He's back to jogging on the beach and musing at how it has happened that four years after he left, he is back to SoCal.

Jake invites Ryan and the guys to his housewarming, and Ryan invites Jake to his birthday celebration. At the party is the first and only time he ever sees Ryan's girlfriend in person, though he makes a point to not be close by when she is and Ryan doesn't try to introduce them.

Three matches into the year and Jake is feeling good. His mashed-up movements and combinations are smoother than ever. The announcers praise his ability to jump from a krav style defense to a kungfu-based flying kick that no opponent has been able to dodge. When there are just seven people vying for the championship title and Jake is still undefeated, Ryan invites him out for dinner.

It's just the two of them, and when Jake thinks about it, it's the only time that it's been just the two of them since they were last dating. They're at a small restaurant out in the suburbs of Los Angeles; it's half empty and the waiter pays them extra careful attention, and though Ryan scoffs, Jake swears the waiter is trying to remember from what TV show or movie he's seen Ryan before.

"I broke up with her."

Jake stops cutting with his knife just for a moment. Did he hear correctly?

"I broke up with my girlfriend, Tyler."

Jake wonders if Ryan will call him out for terrible acting, so he doesn't look all the way up when he makes the appropriate, I'm so sorry to hear, comment.

Ryan sighs and leans back, "you know she's the only person I've gone out with since you left. And I thought we were going somewhere. It was really great, until you showed up again."

Jake has the decency to look ashamed but really his heart is pounding with very different reasons.

"It's always been you, Tyler."

Jake swallows and stills.

"Jake, can we…" Ryan stops and Jake sees the muscles of his forehead working furiously. "Can we try it again?"

Jake tells them immediately the next day. Charlie groans and calls it the longest courtship ever, and his mom just says I have no idea what you kids are doing these days and he thinks he can hear her head shaking from side-to-side.

The beginning is slow. Their movements have changed and their patterns are different. They have to relearn each other. But still, they have a head start. Jake is quick to tell Ryan about what happened, he wants Ryan to know that he is new and improved. Ryan just says I know and grins. He talks about training with Master Fong, a Shaolin kungfu monk that Roqua knew was based in the US. He talks about spending months training in internal martial arts, meditation, mind and body exercises, and breathing. He talks about realizing that he had bottled up all the anger that came when his dad died and left him, and then burying that bottle in an ocean of responsibility. To his mom. To Charlie. Fighting, though, drained his inhibitions until the bottle rose to the surface again. The Shaolin training helped him take control. Ryan is silent through the story, and only comments at the end that he wished he'd known how to help.

Ryan comments at how big the sprawl of SoCal is; it's impossible to see everything. So they take a staycation in Malibu one weekend and hike in the mountains. They yell into the canyons to catch echoes and jump into the rivers to cool down.

When Jay finally graduates from his PhD program and moves up to San Francisco where he's found a sweet job offer, Ryan seizes the opportunity to ask Jake to find a place together, just the two of them. Because, he reasons, the new roommates were Jay's friends of friends, so it didn't make a whole lot of sense to stay once Jay left.

They found a place in Santa Monica, both knowing they'd always want to be by the beach. When they move, Jake takes the photo out of the bedroom and puts it in the middle of their new living room. Ryan hugs him from behind and kisses his neck, and he sighs. This was worth the wait.

"Carlos is flagging, ladies and gentlemen! One more hit could be the end of his reign!"

Jake distantly hears the announcer, but his focus is completely on his opponent. Carlos still looks stable, but Jake can tell by his movements that he's putting more weight on his right foot after absorbing a vicious kick with his left shin. Jake grins. He knows what'll win this. He pushes forward, a series of quick jabs and strikes to get Carlos back on the defensive. He finds an opening and strikes with the heel of his palm, connecting solidly with Carlos' chest. Carlos roars and falls back.

Jake hears Ryan clear and distinct, "you can win Tyler." He doesn't know if he's imagining nor does he care. He turns and delivers a flying roundhouse kick that strikes Carlos at his unprotected flank and sends him flying. The crowd erupts onto their feet and begin applauding. Jake laughs when he sees Vitor smiling at him.

The announcement makes it official. Jake is the new champion! The announcer takes his right arm and raises it to the sky while the crowd is chanting. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake sees Ryan in the ring. His memory is a bit shot and his head hurts from the pounding Carlos gave it so he's not sure if he's seeing right or not. But then there are screams that come from the audience and gasps and he knows he's not seeing things when Ryan gets on one knee. He doesn't think he fully processes the moment because Ryan's not saying anything, justing smiling that damn smile up at him expectantly. Jake feels like he's high, like this moment just carries on forever in between the shouts from the crowd. He isn't sure if he actually says the word yes, but he definitely feels himself nodding his head vigorously. Ryan smiles even wider, if that's possible, and slips the solid band on Jake's hand. The crowd roars as Jake pulls him up for a kiss. He wonders if it's all right that there's some blood on his face still, but Ryan probably doesn't care about that at the moment.

He still isn't lucid enough to catch the announcer getting back into form and screaming a secondary congratulations into the microphone. He's not sure if he's actually smiling in any of the photos. There are so many flashes he doesn't know how to deal with it. But Ryan goes into red carpet mode and smiles and kisses him and hugs him and puts on a show all at the same time.

By the time they wake up in the morning there are hundreds of messages from friends and family. They tap through and respond to a few, and leave the rest to the autoresponders that will faithfully reply while they're touring South America. There's also a media flurry that's erupted. Not that he nor Ryan were ever not out, but both of them kept their personal lives rather private, and Ryan isn't so famous. The scandal comes and goes, lasting a little longer than the normal fifteen minutes. Jake knows it'll pick up again—they're getting married after Never Back Down comes out, and since the proposal hit every Hollywood news outlet for three days straight, the producers have made it very clear that Jake will get his own special part in the movie in addition to being a stuntman. But he doesn't think or worry about that or anything else. Vitor's already whining about his ill-timed decision to quit the sport, and the UFC President almost has a heart attack when Jake told him his decision after the congratulations ceremony.

He does worry, however, about the little things. Like whether he and Ryan packed enough mosquito repellant for their trek through the rainforests in South America. Ryan comes into their hotel room with a spring in his step.

"We are all checked out, the taxi is waiting to take us to the airport. Are we packed?"

Jake frowns, "yes, we might want to buy some more bug spray—"

Ryan laughs, "—don't worry about it, guy. I'm sure we'll be fine. If I remember correctly, you're tastier to the mosquitos, so as long as you're with me, I'm good."

Jake glances over at him darkly as he zips up the final piece of luggage, "Sacrificing me to save yourself. How classic, Ryan."

Ryan just smirks and leans in for a kiss.

"This is the start of a good vacation, eh?"

"A pre-honeymoon," Jake retorts.

"Yes… though wait until you hear what I'm thinking for our actual honeymoon!" Ryan starts toward the door.

Jake raises an eyebrow. "Save it for the plane on the way back, babe. I'm not sure I could handle more excitement right now," he says with a smile.

Ryan opens the door and sunlight fills the room. He holds it open for Jake to file through with their luggage and then lets it fall closed. Outside, he catches up to Jake and reaches out to take his hand. Ryan grins and the sun catches in his eyes. And Jake's heart lifts a little because his mind is finally working again and this is the happiest he's ever felt. They don't say anything on the way to the airport… there's no reason to anymore. By the time the plane takes off, Jake has already nodded off. His head is on Ryan's shoulder, and there's a smile dancing on his lips.

Chapter Text

1.

They're both dressed in identical tuxedos and standing next to the groom. When the vows are said and Charlie leans in to kiss Anne, Jake has tears in his eyes. His hand slips into Ryan's easily and Ryan clasps it tight.

2.

The surf is pounding against the beach when this picture is taken at their school's ten year reunion. They're crammed into the shot and none of them will say this is the best selfie ever. But Baja will upload it to Facebook, they'll all like it, and they'll all secretly print out a copy to put up on the fridge.

3.

Jake takes her to the premiere, and she graciously answers questions about his childhood without being too revealing (for which Jake is very relieved). When they reach the end of the carpet, one photographer captures the perfect moment of her hugging both her boys.

4.

It's a wild weekend with the three of them, and Ryan is in semi-disbelief that it's happening. But sure enough, here, in their apartment, are two Brazilians and one Chinese man debating the right way to play poker. Jake just shakes his head and thinks everyone's gone senile.

5.

There's a girl in the distance, too out of focus to really see properly, but it's clear from her posture that she's on a mission. She carries two gloves with pride and though they're a little big for her, she's determined to convince her fathers that this will be the year she takes up boxing.