129 - c
continued from part two
Gerard is surprised, more than a little, when Spencer comes to see him, just after they get offstage. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with Spencer, it’s just that they aren’t friends - Gerard would count Ryan as a friend, Brendon too, but Spencer - Spencer has left distance between them, and Gerard is sure that it’s purposeful.
So when he answers the knock on the door and Spencer is standing outside with his hands clenched into fists, bottom lip bitten red, Gerard knows immediately that something is wrong. Why Spencer is here, though, Gerard has no idea.
“Can I come in?” Spencer asks, and he sounds drained, weary, so Gerard steps back, lets him climb the stairs and collapse on the couch.
“What’s up?” Gerard asks, settling on the couch next to him.
“Brent’s leaving,” Spencer says. Just like that - no preamble, no explanation, no nothing. Gerard is actually not that surprised - not about Brent, not about Spencer. Brent was never on onstage, not that way Brendon always is, not even the way Ryan is.
As for Spencer, he seems like the kid who rips the Band-Aid off, just to get it over with.
“Shit,” Gerard says. “I’m sorry.” He feels awkward, because - he doesn’t have any idea why Spencer is even here to begin with. “Are you - is everything okay?”
Spencer had been studying the fraying edge on the cuff of his hoodie, but at Gerard’s words he looks up. He tries on a smile, but it just reminds Gerard of Ryan - he’s trying too hard to make it look real.
“I wouldn’t put things that way, no.” He pauses, and it’s clear that Gerard has nothing to say to that. He’s really not sure what there is to say, exactly. Spencer bites into his lip briefly, and then says, “Sorry. This isn’t really your problem at all. I don’t even know why -” He cuts himself off and sighs. “That’s a lie. You had to kick out your old drummer, right?” he asks. Gerard finds himself impressed by the toughness this kid puts forth - he shouldn’t be surprised. He did see them, that first time at the practice space.
“Yeah. Matt,” Gerard says. It’s kind of a touchy subject, and he thinks that Spencer knows this. He’s back to chewing on his lip.
“How did you deal with that?” he asks - it’s the kind of question an interviewer would ask, and he’d give some bullshit answer and they’d move on. This kid, though, deserves some honesty.
“I didn’t - I mean. It wasn’t a good time, for me. Y’know? I’d just done the whole ‘becoming-not-an-alcoholic’ thing - or, at least, started to. I wasn’t any help when the Matt shit went down. Sorry,” he says, shrugging. Spencer just nods, his shoulders still tense, too close to his ears to be comfortable. “But,” he adds, “that was us kicking Matt out, ‘cause he was fucking useless. Brent’s just - leaving, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says.
“Then this is what’s better for him.” Spencer looks like he wants to say, yeah, but what about what’s best for the fucking band?, his nose scrunched and his eyebrows furrowed, and Gerard doesn’t know. He doesn’t. He’s not used to being the mature one, the knowledgeable one. He relies on Brian for that, more than not. Brian and Ray. “You’ll make it,” Gerard says, not only because he believes it, and he does, but - because the kid needs to fucking hear it. “You’ll make it, because you’re too fucking good not to.”
“You’re fucking right, we’ll make it,” Spencer says, his voice vehement. “If I have anything to say about it.”
Gerard can see why Ryan relies on Spencer so fucking much.
+
Gerard calls Brian on the phone, just after Spencer leaves - he’s not sure it’s his place, really, but. Brian fixes things. It’s what Brian does.
He gets the voicemail, Brian’s voice slow and sarcastic, saying, hey, this is Brian’s cell - as you can see, I’m too fucking busy to answer right now. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back. Gerard sighs.
“Brian,” he says, “this is Gerard. I figured you’d want to be kept updated, but I can’t - uh. Just, you might need to come back down here, okay? Just. A heads up.”
Gerard hangs up and looks at his cell, running a hand through his dirty hair. Someday, someday, he’s going to learn not to be so fucking cryptic over the telephone. At least Brian is used to it.
+
Ryan knows he should be talking about this - explaining to Brent that he’s not really angry so much as fucking terrified, figuring out the changes they’re going to have to make with Brendon, but. He figures he can wait until Spencer gets back from wherever the fuck he went. Right now, Ryan is giving himself the space to freak the fuck out.
“Fuck,” he says, out loud. He’s standing in the parking lot behind some truck stop somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, with his arms wrapped around his torso. Tomorrow they get to sleep in hotel beds, maybe, but tonight it’s the floor of the van, and Ryan’s not sure he can take that right now. Not right now.
He wants to scream, a little, but there’s no way to do that here without attracting attention, and. Ryan never wants that kind of attention. He’s just not sure what the fuck they’re going to do.
“You okay?” Mikey’s voice behind him, and Ryan almost wants to laugh, because the one time he just wants to be left alone is the time Mikey fucking Way decides to initiate contact - not the truth, precisely, in either respect, but Ryan’s feeling melodramatic enough not to care.
“Okay is a relative term,” he says, and his voice is even flatter than usual. Mikey’s behind him, silent and still - Ryan can’t even hear him breathing. It’s almost like he’s alone, but Mikey speaks again.
“I’m taking that to mean ‘no’,” he says. He doesn’t sound anything but serious. Ryan’s glad, because if there’d been even a tinge of amusement in Mikey’s voice, Ryan’s not sure he wouldn’t have decked him then and thought about the consequences later. Ryan’s not a violent guy, but he can feel the possibility of his dreams crumbling around him, and even sinking his fingernails in and holding on as tight as he can might not be able to keep them together. He needs this, needs it, but there’s nothing he can do but wait. He’s never been good at waiting.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, his voice, once again, harsher than he means it to be. “No.”
“You want me to leave you alone?” Mikey says, and there’s no reproach in his voice, no anger, but Ryan doesn’t know if he’d even be able to tell if there was. And he doesn’t - that’s not what he wants.
“No, don’t,” he says. He can hear the desperation in his voice, and even though he knows most people can’t tell anger from happiness when he speaks, he feels utterly transparent. “Please,” he says, and he hates that he says it.
“Okay,” Mikey says. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.” It’s not a question, or, at least, it’s not obviously one. Ryan answers anyway.
“Not really. I’d actually like to not think at all, if it is at all possible.” He manages to laugh, but the sound is like glass breaking - fragile and sharp.
“Sit down,” Mikey says, and Ryan turns to face him. “I can explain Doom Patrol to you, if you want.” It takes Ryan a few long moments to understand that Mikey’s trying to distract him, however odd the attempt might be.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’d like that.”
+
Spencer comes back to the van around two AM. Ryan knows because he checks his cell when the door opens. He’s been lying awake since midnight, waiting.
“Ryan?” Spencer asks, his voice soft, so as not to wake Brendon or Brent - or Ryan, had he actually been sleeping.
“I’m awake,” Ryan says, voice almost a whisper. He sits up, pushing the blanket off of his thighs. Spencer is backlit in the open doorway, the lights from the street leaving his face in shadow. Ryan, though, doesn’t really need to see Spencer’s face to know what he’s thinking. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, and it sounds like he’s not even lying that much. Ryan is relieved. “We’ll figure it out, Ryan, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, even though he knows no such thing. He’s not fooling Spencer, he knows, and he’s trying, but he’s still Ryan. He’s still himself.
“Liar,” Spencer says, exasperated affection in his voice, and Ryan reaches over and grabs Spencer’s wrist, pulling him down. Spencer’s knees hit him in the thigh before he rights himself, squeezing in next to Ryan on the seat, half on top of him. Spencer’s breath is warm against his left ear, and Ryan looks at the ceiling.
“I believe it when you tell me things, Spence,” Ryan says, and he means it. Mostly, at least. He believes Spencer more than he’s ever believed anyone else, anyway. Spencer huffs a laugh, and the movement stirs Ryan’s hair, blowing it into his eyes.
“I’m telling you that we’ll figure it out.” His voice is firm, certain, and, for now, that’s enough.
+
Bob’s in the kitchenette already when Gerard stumbles in, half-asleep and severely caffeine-deprived. The other three are still sleeping - he can see Ray’s hair, through the gap in the curtain, and Frank tends to snore. Mikey, well, Mikey is always the last up, simply by virtue of when he goes to sleep.
“Morning,” Bob says, and hands Gerard a cup of coffee. Gerard gratefully drinks half of it in one long gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Hi,” he says, eventually. He sits at the table, and watches Bob pour himself a bowl of dry cereal - he doesn’t like it soggy, so he doesn’t even bother to use milk at all. “Did you actually convince Brent to leave?” he asks. He doesn’t mean it as a judgment, because, well, Bob actually tends to avoid conflict wherever possible. Why would he start purposefully causing issues now?
“Convince is a strong word. He’s not a performer, Gerard. You know that.” Bob puts his bowl on the table and slides in across from Gerard, who shrugs.
“Yeah, but they could’ve kept him longer, anyway. He was fine, for now.”
Bob snorts. “I guess, if you want it to end in a huge argument - you know how it goes. People hold on too long, it gets harder to say goodbye amicably.” Bob shrugs like he knows, and he probably does. He’s seen more than a few band members leave for one reason or another; Matt’s not even the best example. “Figured at least this way, the kid might actually still want to be in the business.”
Gerard nods. Bob doesn’t get talkative much - it’s not often that he actually has a strong enough opinion to bother. When he does, though, Gerard tends to listen to him, if for no other reason than that he’s thought his shit through.
“You really going to teach him?” Gerard asks. Bob shrugs again, and nods while he finishes chewing.
“If he really wants to learn. I figure he’ll have the time, at least until the tour ends.”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, and swallows the rest of his coffee. He wonders if Ryan or Spencer are going to blame Bob, but he can’t see that happening. They’re both too smart to think blame can rest on one set of shoulders. “You’re a good dude, Bob.”
“Saved your ass more than a few times,” Bob answers. It’s totally the truth.
+
Brian calls Gerard back halfway through a marathon of Romero’s Dead series, and the ringing startles him, making him jump. Ray laughs, but Frank says,
“Jesus, Gee, answer your fucking phone, we’re missing the shopping montage.”
Gerard hops relatively gracefully over the couch and goes into the bunk area, sitting on the floor.
“Hello?” he says.
“Took you long enough,” Brian says, and he sounds vaguely amused. Gerard wonders if any of the Panic boys have called him yet. He’s betting on not, and he should’ve probably just left the whole thing up to them. He’s really not always good at minding his own business.
“Uh, yeah, had to leave the lounge. Romero-a-thon going on, and Frank was going to kill me if I made him miss any more.”
Brian laughs, and the sound makes Gerard smile, looking down at his bare feet on the cluttered floor.
“Wouldn’t want to miss any gruesome horror, I guess,” Brian says. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“No! No, it’s okay,” Gerard says, and then feels like an idiot. “I’ve seen them all about fifty times anyway. Zombies are the way to go.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing.” He pauses for a second, and Gerard can feel where the conversation is going to be serious. He tries not to let his shoulders tense, and sits up straighter. “Anyway, what was that phone call about last night?”
“Uh,” Gerard says. “I don’t - look. Call Ryan or Spencer, okay? It’s their thing.”
“Gerard,” Brian says, his voice low like it is when he knows he’s not going to like whatever is going on. Gerard used to hear that tone all the time, the warning in the tenor of his speech. He hasn’t in awhile, not since rehab and Bob, but it still makes him tense up like he’s in trouble.
“I can’t! I just didn’t want you to walk in blind,” Gerard says, and he listens to Brian sigh.
“You’re such a troublemaker, you know that?” Brian says, and Gerard lets out a breath. He’s not in trouble this time.
“I’ve been told,” he says, relief plain in his voice. “Sorry.”
“You’re mostly worth it.” He can hear the smile in Brian’s voice, and he wonders if, somehow, that might be the start of forgiveness.
He hopes so.
+
Brian calls Ryan’s cell about half an hour before they’re due onstage, and Ryan already knows what this is going to be about.
“Hello?” he says, his voice already too harsh - he sees Spencer glance over at him, looking up from the magazine he’s pretending to read. Ryan just shakes his head.
“Ryan? It’s Brian,” Brian says.
“Hey, uh.” He doesn’t know what to say, exactly.
“Gerard called me - he said something’s up, but wouldn’t tell me what. You have any idea what he might be talking about?” Brian sounds just this side of angry, frustrated maybe, though Ryan’s not quite sure.
He balls his hands into fists in his lap, and he says, “Brent’s leaving. The band, I mean. Brent’s leaving the band.” Spencer’s not even pretending to read anymore, and Brendon is leaning against the wall, watching Ryan. Brent is looking at his lap, guilty, and Ryan half wants to shake him, say, how the fuck can you do this to us?, but. Brent was honest, and Brent’s his friend. Brent doesn’t want to abandon them, even if he is.
“Okay,” Brian says, eventually. His voice is slow, like he’s calculating, and Ryan’s not sure what that means. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“We haven’t really had the chance to talk about it yet,” Ryan says. “It’s a hotel night tonight, though, so -”
“Okay. I’m going to fly down, okay? I’ll take a red-eye or something, see you tomorrow -” he cuts himself off, and Ryan can hear the soft sounds of him typing, probably bringing up flights and airfare prices and their schedule for the next few days. Ryan tries not to feel relieved.
“Yeah?” he asks, and Spencer raises his eyebrows at what sounds like hope in his voice, but Ryan doesn’t care.
“Yeah, Ryan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
+
That evening, Brent goes onstage with them for maybe the last time, ever. It’s a good show, a great one, maybe their best to date, and Ryan tries not to feel like he’s saying goodbye the whole way through. He looks over at Brent during their last song, and Brent is looking back at him, hair swept over his forehead and hanging, straggly, over his eyes. Ryan smiles at him, tries to say, hey, I know, it’s not your fault, without actually having to say it. Brent smiles back at him, relief in the set of his shoulders, and Ryan thinks that maybe this won’t fuck up the band beyond repair, won’t fuck up their friendships beyond repair. Maybe.
He’s not hoping, not yet, not ever, but he’s not steeling himself for the crash and burn, either.
Brent ducks his head back down over his bass, and Ryan plays his chords and doesn’t think about this night ever ending.
+
They’re all in one hotel room, two to a bed, and Ryan throws his stuff down next to Spencer’s without thinking about it. Brendon sits on the edge of the bed he’s going to be sharing with Brent, and watches as Spencer investigates the room. Brent excuses himself to shower and - Ryan’s relieved, but not surprised. He knows that if he were Brent, he wouldn’t want to listen to the conversation that has to happen now. The door is barely closed behind him when Brendon says,
“I don’t want another bass player,” his voice utterly serious. He’s not looking away from them, meeting their eyes in turn.
“Brendon,” Spencer starts, his voice that we can’t always get what we want tone, neutral and organized.
“No,” Brendon says. “I know all the bass parts. I swear I do. I can play them.”
Ryan hasn’t even thought of that, and, given the silence on his part, Spencer hasn’t either. But -
“What about the piano?” Ryan asks. “How can you do both?”
“We’ll figure it out - I can alternate during the songs, I think, or. I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. But face it, guys, we don’t have time to audition for another bassist, and we don’t know anyone who’d fill in.”
“I don’t want to do auditions,” Ryan says, thinking back to how hard it was for him to even accept Brendon, who knew Brent, before they were even signed. He’s not sure how he’d ever manage to find someone suitable and trust him or her at the same time.
“Okay,” Spencer says, and when Ryan glances at him, he would bet that Spencer is thinking the same thing he is.
“I can do it, I promise,” Brendon says, and he’s so earnest, his face so open, eyes wide and pleading, that Ryan can’t help but nod.
“I believe you,” Ryan says, and finds that he does.
+
Mikey had elected to share with Gerard, giving Frank the single, and Bob and Ray the other double. Frank, Gerard figures, is going to want to call Jamia the moment he finishes showering. They pretty much all agree that listening to Frank get it on with his girlfriend over the phone is not what they want out of life.
Gerard actually decides to shower, figuring that the hot water isn’t something he’s going to get again for a while, and by the time he’s done, Mikey’s already in his pajama pants, lying on his back on his bed. He’s got his arms under his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. Gerard pulls on a new pair of boxers and a relatively clean t-shirt before flopping down on his own bed. He shifts onto his side so that he can look over at Mikey, sharply angled in the half-light.
“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Gerard asks, reaching off the bed so he can grab at the sketchbook lying on top of his backpack. He’s left a pen wedged in the spiral-bound spine, and he pulls it out, opening to a fresh page. He wants to sketch Mikey’s face before he forgets the way the light cuts across his skin.
“Does Ryan remind you of me?” Mikey asks, and then continues, his voice quiet, but not soft. “Because we’re not that similar, you know.”
“I know,” Gerard says, even though the similarities are there - superficial, yes, but there all the same. “You’re Mikey, I couldn’t ever confuse you with anyone else.” Gerard laughs, but it’s the truth.
“I like to watch because I don’t always want to say what I’m thinking,” Mikey says, almost like he’s talking to himself. “He has so much to say, he’s just afraid to say it.”
Gerard makes a vague noise of agreement, thin black lines on the page in front of him. He knows - he listens to Ryan’s words.
“I wonder what he’d say, if he didn’t think we’d shun him for it,” Mikey adds, a minute later.
When Gerard glances back up at Mikey’s face, he’s smiling.
+
Gerard is out in front of the hotel, smoking, when Brian pulls up in a taxi. It’s early, yet, but Gerard couldn’t sleep, lying awake listening to Mikey breathe - he figured he’d get something out of his sleeplessness and wait for Brian to arrive. He’s gone through about five cigarettes so far, but he stubs out the one in his hand, half-finished, as Brian slides out of the cab. He looks sleep deprived and care worn, but the smile that tugs on the corner of his face isn’t fake. Gerard can tell.
“Hi,” Brian says, after he pays the taxi. He puts his duffle on the curb, and Gerard takes this as his cue to hug him. He’s not expecting anything back - he’s expecting the normal Brian response of ‘don’t lean in, but don’t pull away’ - so he’s surprised when Brian’s arms come up around his back, hooking into his shoulder blades and holding tight.
“Hi,” Gerard says, voice slightly muffled by the top of Brian’s head. He always forgets that he’s taller than Brian is - like Frank, Brian broadcasts enough personality to effectively seem much bigger than he actually is. He huffs and pulls away, taking a step back. Gerard smiles. “See, this is why you shouldn’t leave. We fall apart without you, you know.”
Brian laughs. “I can see that. How’re the kids holding up?”
“They’re keeping it together,” Gerard says, shrugging. He’d last seen Ryan after the show, and he’d been pale and wide-eyed, but Gerard can’t blame him.
“Okay, I guess I can’t hope for anything better than that,” he says, sighing and scrubbing a hand through his hair. Gerard can see in his face that’s preparing himself to march right up to Panic’s room and knock on the door, so Gerard puts a hand on his arm, tugging until Brian looks at him.
“You have a little time. Breakfast first?” Gerard asks. Brian opens his mouth, probably about to say, I can’t, I have to get this over with. “Look, just have some coffee or something. You look like you’re about the keel over, dude.” He can see Brian processing, rearranging his schedule to fit this in, finding the time.
“Okay,” Brian says, finally. “But you’re buying.”
“Fine, man, whatever it takes,” Gerard says. He means it.
+
When Ryan wakes up, Spencer and Brendon are gone, and Brent’s sitting up in his bed, watching the television.
“They went to get coffee and stuff,” Brent says, and doesn’t look over. Ryan sighs. He pulls himself up, leaning against the headboard and tugging at his t-shirt until it’s straight. Brent’s not looking over at him, and Ryan knows, he knows that he’s a really awful friend, and that Brent doesn’t usually hold it against him, but Brent kind of has a reason to, right now.
“I’m sorry I’m such a shitty friend,” he manages to say, eventually. Apologies aren’t something he’s ever been particularly good at, but he knows that they’re necessary sometimes. As much as he might feel like Brent is abandoning them - as much as Brent is abandoning them - it’s not exactly Brent’s fault.
Brent laughs, though, softly, and says, “Dude, you’re Ryan. I knew how this would sound to you.” He pauses, and looks over at Ryan, his expression something close to amused. “You’re actually taking it much better than I thought you would. I was expecting there to be yelling.”
“Came kind of close for a while there,” Ryan says, and he doesn’t know how he deserved these people who understand how his mind works and don’t blame him for it. “Would’ve been a mistake, though. I’ve known you too long for that.”
“Yeah,” Brent says. “Want to pick the channel? I think there’re cartoons.”
Ryan laughs - he’s actually surprised they’d managed to have as serious a conversation as they had.
“Sure,” he says, and waits for Brendon and Spencer to get back.
+
Gerard wonders if he’s violating some confidentiality clause in his contract or something, sitting here listening to this conversation. He figures probably not, or else Brian would’ve kicked him out, but it still doesn’t seem quite like he should be here. He had seen them get signed, but he’s still not Panic’s manager or contract liaison. He takes a sip of his coffee, and tries his best to remain invisible.
Brian had called Ryan’s cell halfway into breakfast - Gerard was, at the time, almost surprised it had taken him that long. Panic stumbled into the restaurant about fifteen minutes later. Gerard’s about halfway through his stack of pancakes, and on his third cup of coffee, while Brian has yet to really start on his eggs. He’s been mainlining coffee since they sat down, though, and Gerard thinks that he looks more aware, if still slightly ragged around the edges.
“We can do it,” Brendon says, holding a Starbucks cup between both hands. Gerard’s not really surprised that, out of all of them, Brendon is the one with the strongest feelings about the music.
“Look,” Spencer says, “if we ever get to the point where we need another musician, we’ll hire someone for the tour. You can help us with that, right?”
Brian nods, but doesn’t look exactly happy about it. “It’s just going to fuck you guys over for a few shows, until you get everything figured out.“
“So we’ll fuck up,” Ryan says, speaking up for the first time. “It’s still what we want to do.”
Brian sighs. “Whatever,” he says. “You know I’ll help however I can.”
“Yeah, Brian,” Gerard says. “We know.”
“You shut up,” Brian says, and points a finger at Gerard, who grins. “Fine, have it your way. No auditions. Start figuring out your changes, we don’t have much rehearsal time between now and sound check.”
“Yes, sir,” Brendon says, and laughs.
+
Brent drives to the next venue, so that Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon can sit in the back with their instruments on their laps, figuring out what’s going to have to change.
“So after the verse, the piano starts up, right?” Spencer asks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. It slides back out, falling in front of his eyes and he makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, “but the bass part doesn’t cut out.”
“The piano’s more important,” Ryan says, firmly. “We’ll keep the piano onstage. Think you can switch mid-song?”
“Uh,” Brendon says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m gonna have to, right? So I’ll just say ‘yes’, and we’ll find out at sound check.”
Ryan snorts. “That’s gonna be so much fun,” he says, and plucks out the chords to Camisado on his guitar.
“Can you just slide the bass so it’s on your back? Y’know, like a rifle or one of those Japanese swords or something,” Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. He’s eyeing the bass stretched out across Brendon’s thighs - he hadn’t brought his own, so he’s using Brent’s, for the moment.
“Huh,” Brendon says, thoughtfully. “That might actually work.”
“Just don’t get tangled in your amp wire and fall over,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Mom,” Brendon says, voice laced with disgust.
“Cool,” Spencer says.
+
Panic’s first night sans Brent is - not so good. Gerard stands offstage with Mikey, something like nervousness roiling in the pit of his stomach. Mikey’s chin is sharp in the hollow of his shoulder, and Gerard’s glad that he’s here for this. This is one thing they’ve never had a problem with - they had Bob soon enough after Matt left that it wasn’t a problem, and if any of the rest of them are sick, well, they have Cortez hanging around being awesome. Switching the line-up mid-tour isn’t something that’s ever easy, and playing minus a band member is worse.
Ryan’s face looks almost as blank as it had the first night, and he glances over his shoulder at Spencer, before looking offstage. Gerard can feel Mikey nod and smile at Ryan - Ryan manages a nod, but Gerard’s betting he won’t smile again until their set is over, if then.
Spencer counts them off, and Brendon wasn’t lying - he knows the bass lines by heart, his fingers just as confident on the strings as they are on the piano keys. The shift from bass to piano is clumsy the first time, when Brendon catches himself in the elbow with his bass and misses a line of lyrics and his piano entrance. Gerard can feel Mikey wince, and he echoes the sentiment.
Ryan glances over to make sure Brendon’s got it, and Brendon is standing, hunched over his piano, still managing to exude stage presence, even with the fuck up.
It’s not so good, but - it could be much worse. Gerard can tell it’ll get better.
+
“Elbow okay?” Ryan asks, immediately after they leave the stage. Brendon’s rubbing at it, idly with his hand, and he looks up at Ryan’s voice.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Damn, I can’t believe I did that.” He sounds frustrated with himself, and Ryan understands the impulse - onstage, no one is more of a perfectionist than Brendon.
“It’ll get better,” Spencer says, grasping at the back of Brendon’s neck, sweat and all. “Cut yourself some slack.”
Brendon shrugs, and rubs at his elbow again.
“I’d rather we were better now,” he says, and his voice is petulant in that way he is when he’s upset with himself.
“Can’t always get what you want,” Ryan says. And doesn’t he know it.
+
It’s a slow thing, almost unnoticeable, at first, but Brendon gets used to the weight of the bass in his hands, gets used to rhythm of the strings, exactly how hard he has the push it to get it all the way around his body, hanging heavy and secure against his back. He plays the piano like he always did, like the keys are an extension of his fingers, hammer striking string, perfect and brittle.
Ryan gets used to looking over to the other side of the stage and not seeing Brent, gets used to looking up behind the sound booth to see Brent’s head bent over the controls, hair in his face like it would be onstage. He gets used to Brendon pressing up against him for attention and not being able to look over his shoulder and see Brent smiling at him.
Spencer never falters. Ryan doesn’t thank him for it - he doesn’t have to.
Brent still helps them drive, still shares their hotel rooms when they have them, still pitches in for Starbucks. The difference is, now when they get to the venue, Brent disappears backstage with the techs, trying to glean as much as he can from them while he still has the chance. Ryan thinks he’s good at it - he doesn’t complain about carrying the heavy stuff, and he catches on quickly.
They have something like two weeks left.
+
“Yeah, they’re okay,” Gerard says into his phone. “Much better than the first night.” Brian sighs with something that’s not quite relief and not exactly exasperation.
“Good,” he says. Gerard can hear him typing, but Brian’s always been one to multitask whenever possible.
“You knew they would be,” Gerard says. “Otherwise you would’ve been harder on them.”’
Brian snorts. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Gerard.” He’s not serious, Gerard can tell, but Gerard wasn’t joking.
“You’re a hardass, Brian. We all know it. It’s why we like you so much.” He laughs.
“I think you’re overestimating how much influence I actually have,” Brian says, self-deprecating.
“I think you’re under estimating how much influence you have, dude.”
Brian laughs, and Gerard almost asks, right then, but then Brian says,
“Whatever, asshole. Go back to your band, I have work to do.”
Gerard sort of wonders when Brian’s going to realize that he’s band, too.
+
Ryan gets a text from Mikey about halfway to the next venue. It says,
hey i got your number from brian. i hope you don’t mind
Ryan just blinks down at it for a few seconds, half-disbelieving, and then types,
i don’t mind - what’s up?
It takes Mikey seven minutes to finally text him back; Ryan spends the time staring at the lit screen of his phone, the feel of the moving van under his thighs.
nothing. the bus is boring. you know you guys are getting better, right?
Ryan bites his lip. He thinks of a few things he could type, you mean it?, and i guess, and why do you care?, but they’re all too needy or too abrasive.
i know, he says, finally, even though he doesn’t. but i’m glad you think so
your album is going to be awesome, Mikey says.
Ryan’s not always so sure, but - he’s glad that someone thinks so.
+
“Why’d you forgive me, Frank?” Gerard asks, sitting next to Frank on the couch in the lounge. Mikey’s texting in the kitchenette, and he looks over, but doesn’t say anything. He’s been texting a lot the past few days, but he won’t tell Gerard anything about it. Gerard is incredibly curious.
“Because you’re Gee,” Frank says, like it’s obvious, and Gerard has no idea why it should be.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, confusion clear in his tone.
“Look - we understand how you work, Gee. You did some shitty things, but self-destruction is different than lashing out, or violence, and. Well, mostly we were worried.” He shrugs. “You got better, so we forgave you.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Gerard says, biting on the skin of one cuticle. Mikey snorts.
“Sometimes it just is, man. Live with it.” Frank nudges him in the side with his elbow, and Gerard squirms out of the way.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “I get it.”
“See that you do,” Frank says. Gerard just shakes his head.
+
see you after the show, maybe? Mikey texts, as they pull up to the venue. Ryan’s been texting with him pretty much daily for the past week, and he’s not sure what to think, exactly, except that, for some reason, Mikey Way thinks he’s worthwhile.
Spencer sits next to him on the seat in the van, and perches his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“You gonna go?” he asks, raised eyebrow in his tone. Ryan doesn’t know, so he just shrugs with his free shoulder, and brushes his hair out of his face. He wants to, but - what will they talk about? How will Ryan even know what to say?
Spencer snorts, probably reading the tension in his shoulders, and reaches over to pull the phone out of his hands.
definitely, Spencer types. i’ll see you after
“There,” he says, finality in his tone. “No excuses.”
Ryan just leans back against Spencer and hums softly under his breath.
cool. my bus. night of the living dead. it’s classic, Mikey texts, and Spencer laughs.
“You’re going to be scared shitless,” he says. Ryan’s never been that big on horror movies - he’s willing to try anything once, though.
it’s on, Spencer texts for him, and then hands back his phone.
“You’d be lost without me,” Spencer says, and Ryan laughs.
“True,” he says.
+
Gerard can’t sleep. He can hear the vague sounds of the movie Ryan, Mikey, and Ray are watching in the lounge, but he very much wants to be sleeping. Frank’s snoring softly across the way, his curtain pulled tightly closed. Gerard can’t stop thinking about forgiveness - whether he has it, if he deserves it. He should be sleeping, but instead he has his phone in one hand, Brian’s number on the screen.
He calls before he can make himself stop, and Brian’s actually in the same time zone as them, at the moment. It’s 4:30 AM, and - the last time Gerard did this, he was drunk off his ass and depressed, wondering if he should shoot himself in the head and where he’d get a gun - how he should minimize mess and whether that really mattered.
“H’lo?” Brian’s voice is husky and rough, an octave deeper with the webbing of sleep, and Gerard remembers this, remembers it. He shivers.
“Brian?” he asks, and he can hear the breath Brian draws in. He wonders if it’s an oh shit, not again kind of reaction, so he just says, “I’m not drunk. I’m not - I just can’t sleep.”
“G’rard,” Brian asks, “what time’s it?” Gerard can imagine him squinting at the clock in the dark, hair mussed with sleep.
“Past 4:30. Sorry, sorry, just. Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” He asks the question too softly, and Brian doesn’t say anything for a while. Gerard almost wonders if he’s fallen back asleep.
“Not if you keep calling me at 4:30 I won’t,” Brian says, sluggish, and Gerard’s not sure if it’s a joke. It’s a cruel one, if it is, but Brian’s not naturally a nice guy, and it’s fucking early, so Gerard thinks he can cut him some slack.
“Think about it,” he says. “Um, I’ll let you sleep. Night, Brian.”
“Night, Gerard, asshole,” Brian says. The line goes quiet, like Brian’s put his phone down without hanging up, so Gerard shuts his phone.
He’s kind of a dumb, masochistic fuck. He supposes he should be used to this by now.
+
Ryan wakes up around 5:00, according to his cell phone clock, and he’s slumped on the couch, his head propped up against Mikey’s arm. The TV is still on, the DVD menu flashing over and over on rotation - apparently they finished the movie, although Ryan doesn’t remember half of it. Ray is curled up, asleep, on the floor, and Ryan can feel Mikey breathing.
He wonders if he should move, go back to his band. Spencer, at least, knows where he is, and Brendon and Brent won’t be worried if Spencer isn’t, so. He’s in no great hurry. He’s warm, and Mikey’s more comfortable to lean on than his sharp angles might make him seem.
Yawning, Ryan curls up a little tighter, and goes back to sleep.
+
Gerard wakes up with his phone curled up in his fist and four missed calls. He doesn’t remember why his phone is on silent, but they’re all from Brian and - yeah, shit.
He scrambles out of bed, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter and almost running out of the bus. There are sleeping figures in the lounge, but he doesn’t care, and doesn’t try to be quiet. His bare feet hit gravel and dead grass, hot pavement, but he doesn’t stop until he’s sitting on a grassy bank, the bus far enough away that he can’t see movement through the windows. He lights up hurriedly, sucking in smoke, and wonders if he should’ve waited for coffee. Maybe.
He calls Brian.
“You called me,” he says when he hears the phone pick up. “You called me like, four times.”
“Yeah, well,” Brian says, and he sounds amused. “I wanted to get in touch with you.”
“Oh,” Gerard says, and sucks in another drag from his cigarette.
“You’re a dumbfuck, Gerard,” Brian says, with no preamble. Gerard thinks he used up all his preamble at whatever-o-clock in the morning, when he called Brian for no reason.
“Brian -” he starts, but Brian just cuts him off with a snort.
“Seriously. Will I ever forgive you? What kind of a question is that?”
“Uh,” Gerard starts. “A sincere one?” It is, it is, and why is this so funny to Brian?
“Gerard. I forgave you a long time ago. I forgave you when you were still avoiding talking to me, you asshole.“
“Oh,” Gerard says. “Uh.” He feels like that’s all he’s said for the past five minutes, but - but. “Seriously?”
“You’re an idiot,” Brian says, and actually starts laughing.
“I guess so,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t feel bad about it. He doesn’t feel bad at all.
+
Ryan’s sitting on the couch in My Chem’s bus, eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box when Gerard comes in from the outside, smelling like cigarettes and grinning so wide it looks like it hurts, holding his cell phone out. Ryan hadn’t noticed him leaving the bus in the first place, but he hasn’t been awake that long. He glances over at Mikey, who’s sitting next to him, the box of cereal between them, but Mikey just shrugs, chewing on freeze-dried marshmallows.
“I thought I saw you in here,” Gerard says. “Brian’s on the phone.” Ryan takes the phone in his hands, tentatively, and says,
“Hello?” into the mic.
“Yo,” Brian says. He sounds amused. “Gerard wake you up?”
“Not really,” Ryan says, and looks over at Mikey again, who raises his eyebrows. “I was up.”
“Cool,” Brian says. “I’m just giving you guys a head’s up. You think you’d be up for recording after the tour is over? I’ve heard tell that the demos have been selling well.”
“I - yeah,” Ryan says, blinking. “No, that would be - really cool.” Spencer, he knows, has been gunning to start recording, just to have something real to sell, and Brendon won’t care as long as they get to tour again after. Ryan half figured this tour would be the end of it, although he knows it’s a dumb thought. Brian wouldn’t let that happen, not after all the work he’d put into them in the first place. “I mean, I should probably check with Brendon and Spencer, but I can’t imagine -” he trails off, shrugging, even though he knows Brian can’t see it.
“Cool. I’ll book you some time, okay? Talk to your guys.” Brian definitely sounds amused, probably at the tone of Ryan’s voice.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “I will.”
“Now, mind handing me back over to Gerard?”
Ryan hands the phone back, and sits on the couch, blinking for a few seconds. He’s pretty sure Gerard leaves again, but he’s not really paying that much attention.
“Ryan?” Mikey asks, voice something like curiosity and something like worry. He still doesn’t have all of Mikey’s tones down, but he’s getting closer.
“We’re recording the album. After the tour we’re off to the studio.” Ryan looks up, and he feels a little shell-shocked, stunned.
Mikey smiles, then, wide and bright, and Ryan can feel the force of it in his chest like pressure against his rib cage. He breathes in, slowly.
“Awesome,” Mikey says, like he means it. Ryan believes him. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
+
Their last performance, Ryan looks out into the audience, at the sea of faces upturned toward him, and sees mouths moving in tandem with Brendon’s voice and his words. He sees made up girls and skinny boys singing along like they know they words, and maybe they do, maybe they do.
Ryan turns to Brendon as he slides the bass behind his back, stepping up to the piano, and Brendon leans forward to sing into his mic, bending his knees to bob along with the rhythm created by Spencer’s palms and his fingertips, Ryan’s chords through the amps.
Their faces turned toward the flashing lights, their feet stomping against the ground, the audience, their audience, sways under the force of the words Ryan wrote on his bed in his house, with his father downstairs and Spencer on the other end of the phone line.
Ryan can feel the bass in his bones, in the twining lines of his veins, and tomorrow they are off to the studio, to capture this on paper and tape, and he thinks, he thinks, this is it.
This is it.
Gerard is surprised, more than a little, when Spencer comes to see him, just after they get offstage. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with Spencer, it’s just that they aren’t friends - Gerard would count Ryan as a friend, Brendon too, but Spencer - Spencer has left distance between them, and Gerard is sure that it’s purposeful.
So when he answers the knock on the door and Spencer is standing outside with his hands clenched into fists, bottom lip bitten red, Gerard knows immediately that something is wrong. Why Spencer is here, though, Gerard has no idea.
“Can I come in?” Spencer asks, and he sounds drained, weary, so Gerard steps back, lets him climb the stairs and collapse on the couch.
“What’s up?” Gerard asks, settling on the couch next to him.
“Brent’s leaving,” Spencer says. Just like that - no preamble, no explanation, no nothing. Gerard is actually not that surprised - not about Brent, not about Spencer. Brent was never on onstage, not that way Brendon always is, not even the way Ryan is.
As for Spencer, he seems like the kid who rips the Band-Aid off, just to get it over with.
“Shit,” Gerard says. “I’m sorry.” He feels awkward, because - he doesn’t have any idea why Spencer is even here to begin with. “Are you - is everything okay?”
Spencer had been studying the fraying edge on the cuff of his hoodie, but at Gerard’s words he looks up. He tries on a smile, but it just reminds Gerard of Ryan - he’s trying too hard to make it look real.
“I wouldn’t put things that way, no.” He pauses, and it’s clear that Gerard has nothing to say to that. He’s really not sure what there is to say, exactly. Spencer bites into his lip briefly, and then says, “Sorry. This isn’t really your problem at all. I don’t even know why -” He cuts himself off and sighs. “That’s a lie. You had to kick out your old drummer, right?” he asks. Gerard finds himself impressed by the toughness this kid puts forth - he shouldn’t be surprised. He did see them, that first time at the practice space.
“Yeah. Matt,” Gerard says. It’s kind of a touchy subject, and he thinks that Spencer knows this. He’s back to chewing on his lip.
“How did you deal with that?” he asks - it’s the kind of question an interviewer would ask, and he’d give some bullshit answer and they’d move on. This kid, though, deserves some honesty.
“I didn’t - I mean. It wasn’t a good time, for me. Y’know? I’d just done the whole ‘becoming-not-an-alcoholic’ thing - or, at least, started to. I wasn’t any help when the Matt shit went down. Sorry,” he says, shrugging. Spencer just nods, his shoulders still tense, too close to his ears to be comfortable. “But,” he adds, “that was us kicking Matt out, ‘cause he was fucking useless. Brent’s just - leaving, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says.
“Then this is what’s better for him.” Spencer looks like he wants to say, yeah, but what about what’s best for the fucking band?, his nose scrunched and his eyebrows furrowed, and Gerard doesn’t know. He doesn’t. He’s not used to being the mature one, the knowledgeable one. He relies on Brian for that, more than not. Brian and Ray. “You’ll make it,” Gerard says, not only because he believes it, and he does, but - because the kid needs to fucking hear it. “You’ll make it, because you’re too fucking good not to.”
“You’re fucking right, we’ll make it,” Spencer says, his voice vehement. “If I have anything to say about it.”
Gerard can see why Ryan relies on Spencer so fucking much.
+
Gerard calls Brian on the phone, just after Spencer leaves - he’s not sure it’s his place, really, but. Brian fixes things. It’s what Brian does.
He gets the voicemail, Brian’s voice slow and sarcastic, saying, hey, this is Brian’s cell - as you can see, I’m too fucking busy to answer right now. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back. Gerard sighs.
“Brian,” he says, “this is Gerard. I figured you’d want to be kept updated, but I can’t - uh. Just, you might need to come back down here, okay? Just. A heads up.”
Gerard hangs up and looks at his cell, running a hand through his dirty hair. Someday, someday, he’s going to learn not to be so fucking cryptic over the telephone. At least Brian is used to it.
+
Ryan knows he should be talking about this - explaining to Brent that he’s not really angry so much as fucking terrified, figuring out the changes they’re going to have to make with Brendon, but. He figures he can wait until Spencer gets back from wherever the fuck he went. Right now, Ryan is giving himself the space to freak the fuck out.
“Fuck,” he says, out loud. He’s standing in the parking lot behind some truck stop somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, with his arms wrapped around his torso. Tomorrow they get to sleep in hotel beds, maybe, but tonight it’s the floor of the van, and Ryan’s not sure he can take that right now. Not right now.
He wants to scream, a little, but there’s no way to do that here without attracting attention, and. Ryan never wants that kind of attention. He’s just not sure what the fuck they’re going to do.
“You okay?” Mikey’s voice behind him, and Ryan almost wants to laugh, because the one time he just wants to be left alone is the time Mikey fucking Way decides to initiate contact - not the truth, precisely, in either respect, but Ryan’s feeling melodramatic enough not to care.
“Okay is a relative term,” he says, and his voice is even flatter than usual. Mikey’s behind him, silent and still - Ryan can’t even hear him breathing. It’s almost like he’s alone, but Mikey speaks again.
“I’m taking that to mean ‘no’,” he says. He doesn’t sound anything but serious. Ryan’s glad, because if there’d been even a tinge of amusement in Mikey’s voice, Ryan’s not sure he wouldn’t have decked him then and thought about the consequences later. Ryan’s not a violent guy, but he can feel the possibility of his dreams crumbling around him, and even sinking his fingernails in and holding on as tight as he can might not be able to keep them together. He needs this, needs it, but there’s nothing he can do but wait. He’s never been good at waiting.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, his voice, once again, harsher than he means it to be. “No.”
“You want me to leave you alone?” Mikey says, and there’s no reproach in his voice, no anger, but Ryan doesn’t know if he’d even be able to tell if there was. And he doesn’t - that’s not what he wants.
“No, don’t,” he says. He can hear the desperation in his voice, and even though he knows most people can’t tell anger from happiness when he speaks, he feels utterly transparent. “Please,” he says, and he hates that he says it.
“Okay,” Mikey says. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.” It’s not a question, or, at least, it’s not obviously one. Ryan answers anyway.
“Not really. I’d actually like to not think at all, if it is at all possible.” He manages to laugh, but the sound is like glass breaking - fragile and sharp.
“Sit down,” Mikey says, and Ryan turns to face him. “I can explain Doom Patrol to you, if you want.” It takes Ryan a few long moments to understand that Mikey’s trying to distract him, however odd the attempt might be.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’d like that.”
+
Spencer comes back to the van around two AM. Ryan knows because he checks his cell when the door opens. He’s been lying awake since midnight, waiting.
“Ryan?” Spencer asks, his voice soft, so as not to wake Brendon or Brent - or Ryan, had he actually been sleeping.
“I’m awake,” Ryan says, voice almost a whisper. He sits up, pushing the blanket off of his thighs. Spencer is backlit in the open doorway, the lights from the street leaving his face in shadow. Ryan, though, doesn’t really need to see Spencer’s face to know what he’s thinking. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, and it sounds like he’s not even lying that much. Ryan is relieved. “We’ll figure it out, Ryan, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, even though he knows no such thing. He’s not fooling Spencer, he knows, and he’s trying, but he’s still Ryan. He’s still himself.
“Liar,” Spencer says, exasperated affection in his voice, and Ryan reaches over and grabs Spencer’s wrist, pulling him down. Spencer’s knees hit him in the thigh before he rights himself, squeezing in next to Ryan on the seat, half on top of him. Spencer’s breath is warm against his left ear, and Ryan looks at the ceiling.
“I believe it when you tell me things, Spence,” Ryan says, and he means it. Mostly, at least. He believes Spencer more than he’s ever believed anyone else, anyway. Spencer huffs a laugh, and the movement stirs Ryan’s hair, blowing it into his eyes.
“I’m telling you that we’ll figure it out.” His voice is firm, certain, and, for now, that’s enough.
+
Bob’s in the kitchenette already when Gerard stumbles in, half-asleep and severely caffeine-deprived. The other three are still sleeping - he can see Ray’s hair, through the gap in the curtain, and Frank tends to snore. Mikey, well, Mikey is always the last up, simply by virtue of when he goes to sleep.
“Morning,” Bob says, and hands Gerard a cup of coffee. Gerard gratefully drinks half of it in one long gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Hi,” he says, eventually. He sits at the table, and watches Bob pour himself a bowl of dry cereal - he doesn’t like it soggy, so he doesn’t even bother to use milk at all. “Did you actually convince Brent to leave?” he asks. He doesn’t mean it as a judgment, because, well, Bob actually tends to avoid conflict wherever possible. Why would he start purposefully causing issues now?
“Convince is a strong word. He’s not a performer, Gerard. You know that.” Bob puts his bowl on the table and slides in across from Gerard, who shrugs.
“Yeah, but they could’ve kept him longer, anyway. He was fine, for now.”
Bob snorts. “I guess, if you want it to end in a huge argument - you know how it goes. People hold on too long, it gets harder to say goodbye amicably.” Bob shrugs like he knows, and he probably does. He’s seen more than a few band members leave for one reason or another; Matt’s not even the best example. “Figured at least this way, the kid might actually still want to be in the business.”
Gerard nods. Bob doesn’t get talkative much - it’s not often that he actually has a strong enough opinion to bother. When he does, though, Gerard tends to listen to him, if for no other reason than that he’s thought his shit through.
“You really going to teach him?” Gerard asks. Bob shrugs again, and nods while he finishes chewing.
“If he really wants to learn. I figure he’ll have the time, at least until the tour ends.”
“Yeah,” Gerard says, and swallows the rest of his coffee. He wonders if Ryan or Spencer are going to blame Bob, but he can’t see that happening. They’re both too smart to think blame can rest on one set of shoulders. “You’re a good dude, Bob.”
“Saved your ass more than a few times,” Bob answers. It’s totally the truth.
+
Brian calls Gerard back halfway through a marathon of Romero’s Dead series, and the ringing startles him, making him jump. Ray laughs, but Frank says,
“Jesus, Gee, answer your fucking phone, we’re missing the shopping montage.”
Gerard hops relatively gracefully over the couch and goes into the bunk area, sitting on the floor.
“Hello?” he says.
“Took you long enough,” Brian says, and he sounds vaguely amused. Gerard wonders if any of the Panic boys have called him yet. He’s betting on not, and he should’ve probably just left the whole thing up to them. He’s really not always good at minding his own business.
“Uh, yeah, had to leave the lounge. Romero-a-thon going on, and Frank was going to kill me if I made him miss any more.”
Brian laughs, and the sound makes Gerard smile, looking down at his bare feet on the cluttered floor.
“Wouldn’t want to miss any gruesome horror, I guess,” Brian says. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“No! No, it’s okay,” Gerard says, and then feels like an idiot. “I’ve seen them all about fifty times anyway. Zombies are the way to go.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing.” He pauses for a second, and Gerard can feel where the conversation is going to be serious. He tries not to let his shoulders tense, and sits up straighter. “Anyway, what was that phone call about last night?”
“Uh,” Gerard says. “I don’t - look. Call Ryan or Spencer, okay? It’s their thing.”
“Gerard,” Brian says, his voice low like it is when he knows he’s not going to like whatever is going on. Gerard used to hear that tone all the time, the warning in the tenor of his speech. He hasn’t in awhile, not since rehab and Bob, but it still makes him tense up like he’s in trouble.
“I can’t! I just didn’t want you to walk in blind,” Gerard says, and he listens to Brian sigh.
“You’re such a troublemaker, you know that?” Brian says, and Gerard lets out a breath. He’s not in trouble this time.
“I’ve been told,” he says, relief plain in his voice. “Sorry.”
“You’re mostly worth it.” He can hear the smile in Brian’s voice, and he wonders if, somehow, that might be the start of forgiveness.
He hopes so.
+
Brian calls Ryan’s cell about half an hour before they’re due onstage, and Ryan already knows what this is going to be about.
“Hello?” he says, his voice already too harsh - he sees Spencer glance over at him, looking up from the magazine he’s pretending to read. Ryan just shakes his head.
“Ryan? It’s Brian,” Brian says.
“Hey, uh.” He doesn’t know what to say, exactly.
“Gerard called me - he said something’s up, but wouldn’t tell me what. You have any idea what he might be talking about?” Brian sounds just this side of angry, frustrated maybe, though Ryan’s not quite sure.
He balls his hands into fists in his lap, and he says, “Brent’s leaving. The band, I mean. Brent’s leaving the band.” Spencer’s not even pretending to read anymore, and Brendon is leaning against the wall, watching Ryan. Brent is looking at his lap, guilty, and Ryan half wants to shake him, say, how the fuck can you do this to us?, but. Brent was honest, and Brent’s his friend. Brent doesn’t want to abandon them, even if he is.
“Okay,” Brian says, eventually. His voice is slow, like he’s calculating, and Ryan’s not sure what that means. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“We haven’t really had the chance to talk about it yet,” Ryan says. “It’s a hotel night tonight, though, so -”
“Okay. I’m going to fly down, okay? I’ll take a red-eye or something, see you tomorrow -” he cuts himself off, and Ryan can hear the soft sounds of him typing, probably bringing up flights and airfare prices and their schedule for the next few days. Ryan tries not to feel relieved.
“Yeah?” he asks, and Spencer raises his eyebrows at what sounds like hope in his voice, but Ryan doesn’t care.
“Yeah, Ryan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
+
That evening, Brent goes onstage with them for maybe the last time, ever. It’s a good show, a great one, maybe their best to date, and Ryan tries not to feel like he’s saying goodbye the whole way through. He looks over at Brent during their last song, and Brent is looking back at him, hair swept over his forehead and hanging, straggly, over his eyes. Ryan smiles at him, tries to say, hey, I know, it’s not your fault, without actually having to say it. Brent smiles back at him, relief in the set of his shoulders, and Ryan thinks that maybe this won’t fuck up the band beyond repair, won’t fuck up their friendships beyond repair. Maybe.
He’s not hoping, not yet, not ever, but he’s not steeling himself for the crash and burn, either.
Brent ducks his head back down over his bass, and Ryan plays his chords and doesn’t think about this night ever ending.
+
They’re all in one hotel room, two to a bed, and Ryan throws his stuff down next to Spencer’s without thinking about it. Brendon sits on the edge of the bed he’s going to be sharing with Brent, and watches as Spencer investigates the room. Brent excuses himself to shower and - Ryan’s relieved, but not surprised. He knows that if he were Brent, he wouldn’t want to listen to the conversation that has to happen now. The door is barely closed behind him when Brendon says,
“I don’t want another bass player,” his voice utterly serious. He’s not looking away from them, meeting their eyes in turn.
“Brendon,” Spencer starts, his voice that we can’t always get what we want tone, neutral and organized.
“No,” Brendon says. “I know all the bass parts. I swear I do. I can play them.”
Ryan hasn’t even thought of that, and, given the silence on his part, Spencer hasn’t either. But -
“What about the piano?” Ryan asks. “How can you do both?”
“We’ll figure it out - I can alternate during the songs, I think, or. I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. But face it, guys, we don’t have time to audition for another bassist, and we don’t know anyone who’d fill in.”
“I don’t want to do auditions,” Ryan says, thinking back to how hard it was for him to even accept Brendon, who knew Brent, before they were even signed. He’s not sure how he’d ever manage to find someone suitable and trust him or her at the same time.
“Okay,” Spencer says, and when Ryan glances at him, he would bet that Spencer is thinking the same thing he is.
“I can do it, I promise,” Brendon says, and he’s so earnest, his face so open, eyes wide and pleading, that Ryan can’t help but nod.
“I believe you,” Ryan says, and finds that he does.
+
Mikey had elected to share with Gerard, giving Frank the single, and Bob and Ray the other double. Frank, Gerard figures, is going to want to call Jamia the moment he finishes showering. They pretty much all agree that listening to Frank get it on with his girlfriend over the phone is not what they want out of life.
Gerard actually decides to shower, figuring that the hot water isn’t something he’s going to get again for a while, and by the time he’s done, Mikey’s already in his pajama pants, lying on his back on his bed. He’s got his arms under his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. Gerard pulls on a new pair of boxers and a relatively clean t-shirt before flopping down on his own bed. He shifts onto his side so that he can look over at Mikey, sharply angled in the half-light.
“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Gerard asks, reaching off the bed so he can grab at the sketchbook lying on top of his backpack. He’s left a pen wedged in the spiral-bound spine, and he pulls it out, opening to a fresh page. He wants to sketch Mikey’s face before he forgets the way the light cuts across his skin.
“Does Ryan remind you of me?” Mikey asks, and then continues, his voice quiet, but not soft. “Because we’re not that similar, you know.”
“I know,” Gerard says, even though the similarities are there - superficial, yes, but there all the same. “You’re Mikey, I couldn’t ever confuse you with anyone else.” Gerard laughs, but it’s the truth.
“I like to watch because I don’t always want to say what I’m thinking,” Mikey says, almost like he’s talking to himself. “He has so much to say, he’s just afraid to say it.”
Gerard makes a vague noise of agreement, thin black lines on the page in front of him. He knows - he listens to Ryan’s words.
“I wonder what he’d say, if he didn’t think we’d shun him for it,” Mikey adds, a minute later.
When Gerard glances back up at Mikey’s face, he’s smiling.
+
Gerard is out in front of the hotel, smoking, when Brian pulls up in a taxi. It’s early, yet, but Gerard couldn’t sleep, lying awake listening to Mikey breathe - he figured he’d get something out of his sleeplessness and wait for Brian to arrive. He’s gone through about five cigarettes so far, but he stubs out the one in his hand, half-finished, as Brian slides out of the cab. He looks sleep deprived and care worn, but the smile that tugs on the corner of his face isn’t fake. Gerard can tell.
“Hi,” Brian says, after he pays the taxi. He puts his duffle on the curb, and Gerard takes this as his cue to hug him. He’s not expecting anything back - he’s expecting the normal Brian response of ‘don’t lean in, but don’t pull away’ - so he’s surprised when Brian’s arms come up around his back, hooking into his shoulder blades and holding tight.
“Hi,” Gerard says, voice slightly muffled by the top of Brian’s head. He always forgets that he’s taller than Brian is - like Frank, Brian broadcasts enough personality to effectively seem much bigger than he actually is. He huffs and pulls away, taking a step back. Gerard smiles. “See, this is why you shouldn’t leave. We fall apart without you, you know.”
Brian laughs. “I can see that. How’re the kids holding up?”
“They’re keeping it together,” Gerard says, shrugging. He’d last seen Ryan after the show, and he’d been pale and wide-eyed, but Gerard can’t blame him.
“Okay, I guess I can’t hope for anything better than that,” he says, sighing and scrubbing a hand through his hair. Gerard can see in his face that’s preparing himself to march right up to Panic’s room and knock on the door, so Gerard puts a hand on his arm, tugging until Brian looks at him.
“You have a little time. Breakfast first?” Gerard asks. Brian opens his mouth, probably about to say, I can’t, I have to get this over with. “Look, just have some coffee or something. You look like you’re about the keel over, dude.” He can see Brian processing, rearranging his schedule to fit this in, finding the time.
“Okay,” Brian says, finally. “But you’re buying.”
“Fine, man, whatever it takes,” Gerard says. He means it.
+
When Ryan wakes up, Spencer and Brendon are gone, and Brent’s sitting up in his bed, watching the television.
“They went to get coffee and stuff,” Brent says, and doesn’t look over. Ryan sighs. He pulls himself up, leaning against the headboard and tugging at his t-shirt until it’s straight. Brent’s not looking over at him, and Ryan knows, he knows that he’s a really awful friend, and that Brent doesn’t usually hold it against him, but Brent kind of has a reason to, right now.
“I’m sorry I’m such a shitty friend,” he manages to say, eventually. Apologies aren’t something he’s ever been particularly good at, but he knows that they’re necessary sometimes. As much as he might feel like Brent is abandoning them - as much as Brent is abandoning them - it’s not exactly Brent’s fault.
Brent laughs, though, softly, and says, “Dude, you’re Ryan. I knew how this would sound to you.” He pauses, and looks over at Ryan, his expression something close to amused. “You’re actually taking it much better than I thought you would. I was expecting there to be yelling.”
“Came kind of close for a while there,” Ryan says, and he doesn’t know how he deserved these people who understand how his mind works and don’t blame him for it. “Would’ve been a mistake, though. I’ve known you too long for that.”
“Yeah,” Brent says. “Want to pick the channel? I think there’re cartoons.”
Ryan laughs - he’s actually surprised they’d managed to have as serious a conversation as they had.
“Sure,” he says, and waits for Brendon and Spencer to get back.
+
Gerard wonders if he’s violating some confidentiality clause in his contract or something, sitting here listening to this conversation. He figures probably not, or else Brian would’ve kicked him out, but it still doesn’t seem quite like he should be here. He had seen them get signed, but he’s still not Panic’s manager or contract liaison. He takes a sip of his coffee, and tries his best to remain invisible.
Brian had called Ryan’s cell halfway into breakfast - Gerard was, at the time, almost surprised it had taken him that long. Panic stumbled into the restaurant about fifteen minutes later. Gerard’s about halfway through his stack of pancakes, and on his third cup of coffee, while Brian has yet to really start on his eggs. He’s been mainlining coffee since they sat down, though, and Gerard thinks that he looks more aware, if still slightly ragged around the edges.
“We can do it,” Brendon says, holding a Starbucks cup between both hands. Gerard’s not really surprised that, out of all of them, Brendon is the one with the strongest feelings about the music.
“Look,” Spencer says, “if we ever get to the point where we need another musician, we’ll hire someone for the tour. You can help us with that, right?”
Brian nods, but doesn’t look exactly happy about it. “It’s just going to fuck you guys over for a few shows, until you get everything figured out.“
“So we’ll fuck up,” Ryan says, speaking up for the first time. “It’s still what we want to do.”
Brian sighs. “Whatever,” he says. “You know I’ll help however I can.”
“Yeah, Brian,” Gerard says. “We know.”
“You shut up,” Brian says, and points a finger at Gerard, who grins. “Fine, have it your way. No auditions. Start figuring out your changes, we don’t have much rehearsal time between now and sound check.”
“Yes, sir,” Brendon says, and laughs.
+
Brent drives to the next venue, so that Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon can sit in the back with their instruments on their laps, figuring out what’s going to have to change.
“So after the verse, the piano starts up, right?” Spencer asks, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. It slides back out, falling in front of his eyes and he makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, “but the bass part doesn’t cut out.”
“The piano’s more important,” Ryan says, firmly. “We’ll keep the piano onstage. Think you can switch mid-song?”
“Uh,” Brendon says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m gonna have to, right? So I’ll just say ‘yes’, and we’ll find out at sound check.”
Ryan snorts. “That’s gonna be so much fun,” he says, and plucks out the chords to Camisado on his guitar.
“Can you just slide the bass so it’s on your back? Y’know, like a rifle or one of those Japanese swords or something,” Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. He’s eyeing the bass stretched out across Brendon’s thighs - he hadn’t brought his own, so he’s using Brent’s, for the moment.
“Huh,” Brendon says, thoughtfully. “That might actually work.”
“Just don’t get tangled in your amp wire and fall over,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Mom,” Brendon says, voice laced with disgust.
“Cool,” Spencer says.
+
Panic’s first night sans Brent is - not so good. Gerard stands offstage with Mikey, something like nervousness roiling in the pit of his stomach. Mikey’s chin is sharp in the hollow of his shoulder, and Gerard’s glad that he’s here for this. This is one thing they’ve never had a problem with - they had Bob soon enough after Matt left that it wasn’t a problem, and if any of the rest of them are sick, well, they have Cortez hanging around being awesome. Switching the line-up mid-tour isn’t something that’s ever easy, and playing minus a band member is worse.
Ryan’s face looks almost as blank as it had the first night, and he glances over his shoulder at Spencer, before looking offstage. Gerard can feel Mikey nod and smile at Ryan - Ryan manages a nod, but Gerard’s betting he won’t smile again until their set is over, if then.
Spencer counts them off, and Brendon wasn’t lying - he knows the bass lines by heart, his fingers just as confident on the strings as they are on the piano keys. The shift from bass to piano is clumsy the first time, when Brendon catches himself in the elbow with his bass and misses a line of lyrics and his piano entrance. Gerard can feel Mikey wince, and he echoes the sentiment.
Ryan glances over to make sure Brendon’s got it, and Brendon is standing, hunched over his piano, still managing to exude stage presence, even with the fuck up.
It’s not so good, but - it could be much worse. Gerard can tell it’ll get better.
+
“Elbow okay?” Ryan asks, immediately after they leave the stage. Brendon’s rubbing at it, idly with his hand, and he looks up at Ryan’s voice.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Damn, I can’t believe I did that.” He sounds frustrated with himself, and Ryan understands the impulse - onstage, no one is more of a perfectionist than Brendon.
“It’ll get better,” Spencer says, grasping at the back of Brendon’s neck, sweat and all. “Cut yourself some slack.”
Brendon shrugs, and rubs at his elbow again.
“I’d rather we were better now,” he says, and his voice is petulant in that way he is when he’s upset with himself.
“Can’t always get what you want,” Ryan says. And doesn’t he know it.
+
It’s a slow thing, almost unnoticeable, at first, but Brendon gets used to the weight of the bass in his hands, gets used to rhythm of the strings, exactly how hard he has the push it to get it all the way around his body, hanging heavy and secure against his back. He plays the piano like he always did, like the keys are an extension of his fingers, hammer striking string, perfect and brittle.
Ryan gets used to looking over to the other side of the stage and not seeing Brent, gets used to looking up behind the sound booth to see Brent’s head bent over the controls, hair in his face like it would be onstage. He gets used to Brendon pressing up against him for attention and not being able to look over his shoulder and see Brent smiling at him.
Spencer never falters. Ryan doesn’t thank him for it - he doesn’t have to.
Brent still helps them drive, still shares their hotel rooms when they have them, still pitches in for Starbucks. The difference is, now when they get to the venue, Brent disappears backstage with the techs, trying to glean as much as he can from them while he still has the chance. Ryan thinks he’s good at it - he doesn’t complain about carrying the heavy stuff, and he catches on quickly.
They have something like two weeks left.
+
“Yeah, they’re okay,” Gerard says into his phone. “Much better than the first night.” Brian sighs with something that’s not quite relief and not exactly exasperation.
“Good,” he says. Gerard can hear him typing, but Brian’s always been one to multitask whenever possible.
“You knew they would be,” Gerard says. “Otherwise you would’ve been harder on them.”’
Brian snorts. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Gerard.” He’s not serious, Gerard can tell, but Gerard wasn’t joking.
“You’re a hardass, Brian. We all know it. It’s why we like you so much.” He laughs.
“I think you’re overestimating how much influence I actually have,” Brian says, self-deprecating.
“I think you’re under estimating how much influence you have, dude.”
Brian laughs, and Gerard almost asks, right then, but then Brian says,
“Whatever, asshole. Go back to your band, I have work to do.”
Gerard sort of wonders when Brian’s going to realize that he’s band, too.
+
Ryan gets a text from Mikey about halfway to the next venue. It says,
hey i got your number from brian. i hope you don’t mind
Ryan just blinks down at it for a few seconds, half-disbelieving, and then types,
i don’t mind - what’s up?
It takes Mikey seven minutes to finally text him back; Ryan spends the time staring at the lit screen of his phone, the feel of the moving van under his thighs.
nothing. the bus is boring. you know you guys are getting better, right?
Ryan bites his lip. He thinks of a few things he could type, you mean it?, and i guess, and why do you care?, but they’re all too needy or too abrasive.
i know, he says, finally, even though he doesn’t. but i’m glad you think so
your album is going to be awesome, Mikey says.
Ryan’s not always so sure, but - he’s glad that someone thinks so.
+
“Why’d you forgive me, Frank?” Gerard asks, sitting next to Frank on the couch in the lounge. Mikey’s texting in the kitchenette, and he looks over, but doesn’t say anything. He’s been texting a lot the past few days, but he won’t tell Gerard anything about it. Gerard is incredibly curious.
“Because you’re Gee,” Frank says, like it’s obvious, and Gerard has no idea why it should be.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, confusion clear in his tone.
“Look - we understand how you work, Gee. You did some shitty things, but self-destruction is different than lashing out, or violence, and. Well, mostly we were worried.” He shrugs. “You got better, so we forgave you.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Gerard says, biting on the skin of one cuticle. Mikey snorts.
“Sometimes it just is, man. Live with it.” Frank nudges him in the side with his elbow, and Gerard squirms out of the way.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “I get it.”
“See that you do,” Frank says. Gerard just shakes his head.
+
see you after the show, maybe? Mikey texts, as they pull up to the venue. Ryan’s been texting with him pretty much daily for the past week, and he’s not sure what to think, exactly, except that, for some reason, Mikey Way thinks he’s worthwhile.
Spencer sits next to him on the seat in the van, and perches his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“You gonna go?” he asks, raised eyebrow in his tone. Ryan doesn’t know, so he just shrugs with his free shoulder, and brushes his hair out of his face. He wants to, but - what will they talk about? How will Ryan even know what to say?
Spencer snorts, probably reading the tension in his shoulders, and reaches over to pull the phone out of his hands.
definitely, Spencer types. i’ll see you after
“There,” he says, finality in his tone. “No excuses.”
Ryan just leans back against Spencer and hums softly under his breath.
cool. my bus. night of the living dead. it’s classic, Mikey texts, and Spencer laughs.
“You’re going to be scared shitless,” he says. Ryan’s never been that big on horror movies - he’s willing to try anything once, though.
it’s on, Spencer texts for him, and then hands back his phone.
“You’d be lost without me,” Spencer says, and Ryan laughs.
“True,” he says.
+
Gerard can’t sleep. He can hear the vague sounds of the movie Ryan, Mikey, and Ray are watching in the lounge, but he very much wants to be sleeping. Frank’s snoring softly across the way, his curtain pulled tightly closed. Gerard can’t stop thinking about forgiveness - whether he has it, if he deserves it. He should be sleeping, but instead he has his phone in one hand, Brian’s number on the screen.
He calls before he can make himself stop, and Brian’s actually in the same time zone as them, at the moment. It’s 4:30 AM, and - the last time Gerard did this, he was drunk off his ass and depressed, wondering if he should shoot himself in the head and where he’d get a gun - how he should minimize mess and whether that really mattered.
“H’lo?” Brian’s voice is husky and rough, an octave deeper with the webbing of sleep, and Gerard remembers this, remembers it. He shivers.
“Brian?” he asks, and he can hear the breath Brian draws in. He wonders if it’s an oh shit, not again kind of reaction, so he just says, “I’m not drunk. I’m not - I just can’t sleep.”
“G’rard,” Brian asks, “what time’s it?” Gerard can imagine him squinting at the clock in the dark, hair mussed with sleep.
“Past 4:30. Sorry, sorry, just. Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” He asks the question too softly, and Brian doesn’t say anything for a while. Gerard almost wonders if he’s fallen back asleep.
“Not if you keep calling me at 4:30 I won’t,” Brian says, sluggish, and Gerard’s not sure if it’s a joke. It’s a cruel one, if it is, but Brian’s not naturally a nice guy, and it’s fucking early, so Gerard thinks he can cut him some slack.
“Think about it,” he says. “Um, I’ll let you sleep. Night, Brian.”
“Night, Gerard, asshole,” Brian says. The line goes quiet, like Brian’s put his phone down without hanging up, so Gerard shuts his phone.
He’s kind of a dumb, masochistic fuck. He supposes he should be used to this by now.
+
Ryan wakes up around 5:00, according to his cell phone clock, and he’s slumped on the couch, his head propped up against Mikey’s arm. The TV is still on, the DVD menu flashing over and over on rotation - apparently they finished the movie, although Ryan doesn’t remember half of it. Ray is curled up, asleep, on the floor, and Ryan can feel Mikey breathing.
He wonders if he should move, go back to his band. Spencer, at least, knows where he is, and Brendon and Brent won’t be worried if Spencer isn’t, so. He’s in no great hurry. He’s warm, and Mikey’s more comfortable to lean on than his sharp angles might make him seem.
Yawning, Ryan curls up a little tighter, and goes back to sleep.
+
Gerard wakes up with his phone curled up in his fist and four missed calls. He doesn’t remember why his phone is on silent, but they’re all from Brian and - yeah, shit.
He scrambles out of bed, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter and almost running out of the bus. There are sleeping figures in the lounge, but he doesn’t care, and doesn’t try to be quiet. His bare feet hit gravel and dead grass, hot pavement, but he doesn’t stop until he’s sitting on a grassy bank, the bus far enough away that he can’t see movement through the windows. He lights up hurriedly, sucking in smoke, and wonders if he should’ve waited for coffee. Maybe.
He calls Brian.
“You called me,” he says when he hears the phone pick up. “You called me like, four times.”
“Yeah, well,” Brian says, and he sounds amused. “I wanted to get in touch with you.”
“Oh,” Gerard says, and sucks in another drag from his cigarette.
“You’re a dumbfuck, Gerard,” Brian says, with no preamble. Gerard thinks he used up all his preamble at whatever-o-clock in the morning, when he called Brian for no reason.
“Brian -” he starts, but Brian just cuts him off with a snort.
“Seriously. Will I ever forgive you? What kind of a question is that?”
“Uh,” Gerard starts. “A sincere one?” It is, it is, and why is this so funny to Brian?
“Gerard. I forgave you a long time ago. I forgave you when you were still avoiding talking to me, you asshole.“
“Oh,” Gerard says. “Uh.” He feels like that’s all he’s said for the past five minutes, but - but. “Seriously?”
“You’re an idiot,” Brian says, and actually starts laughing.
“I guess so,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t feel bad about it. He doesn’t feel bad at all.
+
Ryan’s sitting on the couch in My Chem’s bus, eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box when Gerard comes in from the outside, smelling like cigarettes and grinning so wide it looks like it hurts, holding his cell phone out. Ryan hadn’t noticed him leaving the bus in the first place, but he hasn’t been awake that long. He glances over at Mikey, who’s sitting next to him, the box of cereal between them, but Mikey just shrugs, chewing on freeze-dried marshmallows.
“I thought I saw you in here,” Gerard says. “Brian’s on the phone.” Ryan takes the phone in his hands, tentatively, and says,
“Hello?” into the mic.
“Yo,” Brian says. He sounds amused. “Gerard wake you up?”
“Not really,” Ryan says, and looks over at Mikey again, who raises his eyebrows. “I was up.”
“Cool,” Brian says. “I’m just giving you guys a head’s up. You think you’d be up for recording after the tour is over? I’ve heard tell that the demos have been selling well.”
“I - yeah,” Ryan says, blinking. “No, that would be - really cool.” Spencer, he knows, has been gunning to start recording, just to have something real to sell, and Brendon won’t care as long as they get to tour again after. Ryan half figured this tour would be the end of it, although he knows it’s a dumb thought. Brian wouldn’t let that happen, not after all the work he’d put into them in the first place. “I mean, I should probably check with Brendon and Spencer, but I can’t imagine -” he trails off, shrugging, even though he knows Brian can’t see it.
“Cool. I’ll book you some time, okay? Talk to your guys.” Brian definitely sounds amused, probably at the tone of Ryan’s voice.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “I will.”
“Now, mind handing me back over to Gerard?”
Ryan hands the phone back, and sits on the couch, blinking for a few seconds. He’s pretty sure Gerard leaves again, but he’s not really paying that much attention.
“Ryan?” Mikey asks, voice something like curiosity and something like worry. He still doesn’t have all of Mikey’s tones down, but he’s getting closer.
“We’re recording the album. After the tour we’re off to the studio.” Ryan looks up, and he feels a little shell-shocked, stunned.
Mikey smiles, then, wide and bright, and Ryan can feel the force of it in his chest like pressure against his rib cage. He breathes in, slowly.
“Awesome,” Mikey says, like he means it. Ryan believes him. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
+
Their last performance, Ryan looks out into the audience, at the sea of faces upturned toward him, and sees mouths moving in tandem with Brendon’s voice and his words. He sees made up girls and skinny boys singing along like they know they words, and maybe they do, maybe they do.
Ryan turns to Brendon as he slides the bass behind his back, stepping up to the piano, and Brendon leans forward to sing into his mic, bending his knees to bob along with the rhythm created by Spencer’s palms and his fingertips, Ryan’s chords through the amps.
Their faces turned toward the flashing lights, their feet stomping against the ground, the audience, their audience, sways under the force of the words Ryan wrote on his bed in his house, with his father downstairs and Spencer on the other end of the phone line.
Ryan can feel the bass in his bones, in the twining lines of his veins, and tomorrow they are off to the studio, to capture this on paper and tape, and he thinks, he thinks, this is it.
This is it.