A/N: Ah, my second story up in less then, what, twenty minutes? Unlike the last one, I know what catagory to put this in. I originally had it on Fanfiction, but after some minor cutting I decided to put it here. This is a slash story, meaning guyxguy pairing, so if you don't like that sort of thing...eh, read it anyways, it'll be good for you.

Minor Disclaimer: I do not own, the lyrics used in this story. Kelly Clarkson owns Beautiful Disaster.

The words he never says

He drowns in his dreams

I look over at the figure tossing restlessly in my bed and I can't help the sigh that escapes from my lips. The covers and sheets that I try so hard to keep straight are tangled around his body as his arms and legs push in and out as if to ward off some unknown attacker

An exquisite extreme, I know

He's as damned as he seems.

I learned long ago not to bother him as he sleeps. However, I find it hard not to reach over to calm his shudders when his nightmares do not fail to even scare me, but I control my urges nevertheless. I pull a book from the table beside my bed and I begin to read words that would soon be forgotten by morning as I try to block out the groans and gasps coming from the boy that is sleeping so close to me.

But more heaven than a heart could hold

And if I try to save him

My whole world would cave in

It isn't long before he awakens in a startled mass of cold sweat and shallow breaths, and for a moment he looks over at me, bewilderment and exhaustion written on his features. He never remembers the nightmares, only the fear that is brought by them and he pulls his knees up to his chest as if to protect himself from some villainous evil.

He's so beautiful to look at and for a few seconds I forget the fact that he hates it when I stare. I quickly turn my gaze away from him but not before I notice a small cut etched into his shoulder, most likely from where his nails had dug in sometime during the hellish dream.

"You're hurt." I say softly, as not to upset his already emotional state.

I startle him from his reverie and his eyes cut to me sharply before inevitably falling to his shoulder. His eyes are laced with mild interest as he studies the scratch. I lean in and place my lips against his skin, much like a mother might do to a child. I can not see his face but I know that a small smile is tugging at the corner of his lips and for a moment he allows his hands to rest on my waist, but soon he becomes uncomfortable in his own skin and he says those words that I've heard so often before.

"Quit being a faggot, Anthony." he says quite harshly as he pushes me, perhaps even harsher than he intended to. His intent is to hurt me. I know it, and I am sure he is aware of it, but I've heard the phrase so many times now that it just leaves me empty as I watch him pull on his pants and climb out my window to head back to his own house, his own bed.

It just ain't right

It just ain't right.

He's sitting across from me in English class and I am not surprised that his gaze never meets the several that I throw his way. They never do. He turns around in his desk to flirt shamelessly with Gabriella. He knows what he's doing and he knows that I am watching, that is why he leans in further over his desk to whisper something in her ear that causes her to giggle and blush a deep shade of red. I grasp the pencil that I am holding so tight that it breaks in two in my hand and I have to will myself to look away. He does it on purpose, of course. He doesn't give a rat's ass about Gabriella and the poor girl is the only one who doesn't know it, and yet whenever I am around him he continues to use his undeniable charm on the opposite sex. I'm not sure why he does this but I have a feeling that he just wants to prove to me that he's not a queer like I am. I guess fucking a queer doesn't count to make you one anymore.

Oh, and I don't know

I don't know what he's after

But he's so beautiful

He's such a beautiful disaster.

He's walking with his cronies again and it takes all that I have not to sneer as they walk past me. One of them, Jason I think his name is, quite suddenly turns to me with a disgusted look on his face and says, "Hey fag." It comes as no surprise when he joins in on their laughter, even going as far as to give Jason a high five. What does surprise me is when he looks over his shoulder at me. His expression is…apologetic, and for a moment I forget that he's hurt me.

And if I could hold on

Through the tears and the laughter

It's late, and the persistent tapping pulls me from my dreams. I pull the curtains back to find him standing on my balcony. I open the doors and he walks in without waiting for permission. He knows that I wouldn't say no to him anyways. He smells of alcohol and sex and, against my will, my heart breaks ever slightly from the things that are to be expected.

He doesn't waste anytime as he pushes me roughly against my peach colored walls. His fingers entwine painfully into my hair as he pulls my head back to leave small bites on my neck and collarbone. The words aren't meant to be said and I curse myself as soon as they emerge from the confines of my mind.

"Why do I let you do this to me?"

I'm not sure if he actually heard me, but if he did he does not show it. He continues to hold me by my hair as he starts to one-handedly unbutton my nightshirt. I can not help the tears that begin to fall from eyes. One of them accidentally lands on his cheek and he stops abruptly. His hand untangles from my hair as he looks at me in wonderment and, if I'm not mistaken, concern, before he leans in and begins to kiss away the tears that he doesn't even understand.

Would it be beautiful?

Or just a beautiful disaster?

He's rough that night and I laugh bitterly to myself as I remember that I can count on one hand the times that he's ever been gentle. After he finishes he collapses in my arms, his breathing is heavy and his body is a blanket of sweat. I find it ironic that he is always the one to fuck me and yet I am always the one to end up holding him in the end.

He's magic and myth

As strong as what I believe

A tragedy with

More damage than a soul should see.

Sometimes I have to sing to him to get him to fall asleep. Its amazing to think that someone who is so much like a child has the unbelievable ability to break me. I run the tips of my fingers gingerly through his light brown hair, and I lean in to smell the fragrance that it gives off. It isn't long before his rhythmic breathing is moving the arms that I have wrapped around him. I take some pride in knowing that the nightmares do not come when he is wrapped in my arms.

There is no justice in the pride, however. He has told me on several occasions that I mean nothing to him. That I am just a phase. Just something that he needs to get out of his system. Even though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that these words are lies, it doesn't change the fact that they continue to cut me every time he says them.

But do I try to change him?

So hard not to blame him

Hold on tight

Hold on tight

He leaves before I wake up and I would think of myself as a one-night stand if I didn't know that he would be back. I pull myself up and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I head into my bathroom and I pull off my clothes before I can step into the shower, I notice the several bite marks and bruise that are left on my chest and hips and for some reason I feel like crying again. There are so many questions that I could ask him , but I never will, mainly because I know that he will not answer if I do, but that doesn't change the fact that I do have them. Why does he treat me the way that he does? Never in my entire life did I think that I would grow up to be someone's sex toy, and even worse, never did I think that I would be willing to do it. Oh how wrong I'd been. I sit in the shower that day instead of stand. I know that it's pathetic but the effort that it would take to stand would be far too much. I close my eyes as I feel the warm water run over my body and I pity myself for realizing that that is the only source of comfort that I can find.

Oh, and I don't know

I don't know what he's after

But he's so beautiful

He's such a beautiful disaster

And if I could hold on

Through the tears and the laughter

Would it be beautiful?

Or just a beautiful disaster?

I've tried to break it off with him several times. When it gets too much to bare I convince myself that I would be much better off without him. It takes a lot to work up the strength to tell him to 'fuck off' but every time I do he ends up doing something that I would have never expected from him. Whether it is a small caress or a light kiss on the cheek, it serves its purpose and I am reminded all over again why I love him. Why I let him do this to me. Yes, life is hard with him but without him there would be no life at all. God, I'm an idiot.

I'm longing for love and the logical

But he's only happy hysterical

I'm searching for some kind of miracle

Waiting so long

I've waited so long.

He's yelling again, and for the life of me I can't understand why. I'm not sure if he even knows why he is angry. I think that I am an outlet for his frustrations. I once read somewhere that people get the angriest at the people they love because they don't have to worry about whether or not that person is still going to love them in the end. I'm not sure if that is true but it makes me feel better to believe that it is.

I am shaken from my thoughts as he begins to rant about how I've fucked up his life and how I should just leave him alone, and no matter how much I want to, I do not point out the fact that he's the one who keeps coming around. He says that he hates me and the he wishes that I would die, and this time I don't stop the words as they fly from my mouth.

"Yeah, well so do I."

His look of rage drops immediately and is replaced by something that I've never seen before. His eyes start to glisten and, if I'm not mistaken, a tear slides down his cheek. He walks over to me and says the words that I've never heard directed at me.

"I'm sorry."

He's soft to the touch

But frayed at the end, he breaks

He's never enough

And still he's more than I can take.

He's in my arms now, curled into a trembling ball. He seems so small when he's like that even though he is bigger than I am. More tears flow from his eyes as he continues to repeat 'I'm sorry'. I wonder why I ever let someone so fucked up be my whole world. I kiss him softly on the top of his head as I continue to soothe his cries.

"I love you."

It's quiet and at first I'm not even sure that I heard it, but it makes my heart stop and speed up at the same time. I have said it to him many times, usually earning a glare, but never once as he been the one to say it. I pull him closer to me and he lets me do so. I'm almost positive that after tonight everything will go back to the way that it always has been, but I relish in the fact that I now know for sure that his cover is all an act. It makes the pain that I endure even more worth it, and I can't help but actually feel happy for a moment, even if by tomorrow he goes back to calling me a worthless fag.

"I love you too, Ryan."

Oh and I don't know

I don't know what he's after

But he's so beautiful

He's such a beautiful disaster

And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter

Would it be beautiful?

Or just a beautiful disaster?

He's beautiful.