Ryan slid down the hill, stumbling as he hit the bottom. Brendon reached out and steadied him with a laugh.

"Don't die on me." He patted Ryan's shoulder before continuing to the bridge.

Ryan laughed, hoping his nerves didn't show through it. He shook the can in his hand as he followed Brendon to the pillars that once held up the bridge.

Spray paint covered a lot of the cement surface, even stretching up where it didn't seem possible. There were so many different art styles and colors decorating it, but there were also a lot of dicks. In fact, Spencer was in the process of painting one in bright red.

"True craftsmanship." Brendon said, kissing the tips of his fingers before flicking them away from his mouth. "A master at work."

Spencer took a break from his art to dramatically bow.

Brendon laughed and spun to Ryan. His eyes flickered towards the can Ryan still held. "Sticking with the glitter?"

Ryan looked down at the can in his hand. "I like glitter." He said with a shrug, "I can make it work."

Ryan looked up to find Brendon grinning. "I like your style." He said with a nod. He dropped his dufflebag and crouched down to unzip it. After a moment of rummaging around, he pulled out three cans. He popped back up and looked at the wall. "Open canvas..." He said softly, almost to himself. Ryan almost felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but Brendon was quickly grinning again. "Have at it!" He exclaimed before running forward.

Ryan laughed. He ran up to the graffiti covered pillar, looking it up and down again once he was close enough to reach out and touch it.

The gap where the road once went over reminded him, again, of his mother. The way her eyes used to light up when she told him stories, before she lost all of her energy. The way she was so expressive with her movements as she spoke. She loved to tell him about this bridge and traveling across it before...

Ryan looked down. Before her health decline. Before she lost her ability to walk on her own. Before she wasn't able to climb up the stairs to tuck Ryan in at night. This bridge reminded him of everything before.

Tears weilded in his eyes. He missed those days when it didn't hurt her to smile. He missed his mother before the illness sunk into her bones.

Ryan shook the spray paint can. He missed her so much in that moment; he had a clear picture of what he wanted to paint.

Some time later, Brendon walked over. He had a smear of yellow across his forehead and a mixture of darker colors covering his hands.

"How's the tagging going?" Brendon asked, crossing his arms with a grin on his face.

Ryan let out a breath, stepping back from his work. A glittered eye with a teardrop spilling from its corner looked back at him. It was hard to make out if you didn't know where to look, but Ryan felt a sense of satisfaction looking at his first piece of graffiti.

"It's so faint."

Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from replying with just like her.

"I like it." Brendon drapped an arm over Ryan's shoulder. "Do you have a name for it, Picasso?"

Ryan smiled, "Yea... Hey, Look Ma."

Brendon pulled him close in an one armed hug. "Awesome! Wanna check out mine?"

"Sure." Ryan nodded. He released a soft breath once Brendon pulled his arm away. He followed Brendon a bit further down the wall to have his eyes widen with surprise at what he saw.

A huge exclamation point stretched up about ten feet up the wall. It was red, outlined in black, and decorated with yellow bulbs.

"Woah!"

"I went for a less than subtle approach." Brendon winked.

"How did you get up so high?" Ryan asked, still in awe of the scale of the creation.

Brendon shrugged, "Just balanced on Spencer's shoulders before he bounced."

Ryan turned to Brendon. "Does your masterpiece have a name?"

A devious grin crossed over the dark haired boy's face. "Panic!"

Ryan couldn't help but laugh. "I love it."

"Good, because if you hated it, you were going to need a new ride home." Brendon winked. He then spun on his heels and started towards the hill where his truck was parked.

Ryan looked on the ground for the duffle bag Brendon had brought, but it was gone. The light was also fading. Ryan didn't realize how late it had gotten. He hurried after Brendon.

Once both boys were up the hill, panting as though they had just run a marathon, they looked back at their artwork.

Brendon's exclamation point looked amazing. It popped against all of the other colors because of its bold, black outline. A few feet away, Spencer had made a heart shape out of dicks. It was oddly beautiful. On the other side of Brendon's work, though...

"Oh, wow!" Brendon exclaimed, pointing to it.

It had seemed pretty weak up close but, with the sun's lowered position in the sky, everything about it shimmered in the light. The tear looked as if it was slowly pouring out of the eye and down. The eye felt so real and full of life as it sparkled.

Ryan felt tears welding up in his own eyes. "Hey, look..." He choked, quickly trying to cover the weakness in his voice with a cough.

Brendon didn't notice, or thankfully chose to ignore it.

---

Ryan was quiet on the ride back to his house. The image of that glittering eye in the light of the sunset just struck him in a way he couldn't have imagined. It was the vibrancy his mother had lost after all this time. It was a flash of his childhood before...

"Thank you." Ryan said, softly, staring out the front window.

Brendon cast him a quick glance. "For what?"

"Today..." Ryan looked down, rubbing his palms against his legs. "It was... Just, thanks."

Brendon was quiet for a moment. "Gunna be hard to top tomorrow, eh?"

Ryan chuckled. "Yea, you're gunna have to really work to top it."

Brendon pulled the truck over, having somehow already made it to Ryan's home. "Challenge accepted." He grinned.

Ryan smiled. "See you then."

"Later."

Ryan climbed out of the truck and shut the door. He gave a small wave before making his way up the driveway to his front door.

The house was warm when he stepped inside. He could smell spaghetti, most likely curtisy of Patrick's mom. He skipped going into the kitchen to check, however, and instead went into the living room.

His mother looked so small in that chair under all of her blankets. Ryan wasn't sure if she was even awake. He walked over to the couch and sat next to her, curling his body next to the armrest. He looked up at her, catching her eye.

"Hey, baby." She croaked. Her voice was so different from before. "How are you?"

Ryan smiled. He reached out and took her hand. "I'm okay, are you?"

She just smiled.

"Mom?" Ryan felt hesitant to ask what was on his mind after hearing how bad her voice sounded today. He didn't want to put her through unnecessary pain.

"Yes, baby?"

Ryan shut his eyes. The image of his glitter crying eye filed the darkness. He could almost hear traces of his old mother in her words. "Can you tell me a story of the old bridge? The one that collapsed?"

He kept his eyes shut, but felt his mother squeezing his hand. "Of course, baby, I'd love to."