When A Home Is A Menagerie

[gala_apples]

Part Two


His parents are both reading in the living room when he gets off the phone. It’s hard to say if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If they were separate he could go to the parent he thought would be most likely to grant permission. But if they were separate, once the easier parent said yes, there would be a strong chance of the other parent or Mason or Valerie or Kara pointing out that he was playing them, and then not only would the permission be revoked, he’d have to repent for deceiving his family. All he can do now is hope they’re in a good mood, and that Mom can temper Dad.

“Remember the project I was telling you about?” In the end he’d had no choice but to tell them, they’d been concerned about his lack of English homework. At least he’d been able to gloss over some of the more controversial aspects, thanks to Alex’s innocent cloud proposal.

“The one you interviewed Nona’s youngest for?”

“Yeah,” Brendon answers, the memory of the day making him smile. Bethie had been so happy to have so much attention lavished on her, lessons on modesty not quite sticking yet. Not only were her answers adorable, he and Alex are both pretty confident that asking a six year old will be a unique interview choice and might get them marks for creativity.

“What about it?”

“Alex asked me if I could come over after dinner to work on it. It’s due the first week after vacation, and we’ve been keeping on top of it, but there are still some parts that need work. I told him I had to ask you, he understood.” Brendon quests for something else positive to say and lands on “I don’t think he’s trying to lead me astray. You remember him from the wedding, right? He’s-”

“You should stay the night.”

“Pardon me?” Brendon stares at his dad, from the whiskers starting to emerge on his cheeks, to the buttoned throat of his polo shirt, to the finger that’s dipped between the pages of his closed book like a flesh bookmark. There’s no indication that he’s joking, but it’s nearly impossible to believe. The suggestion is nowhere near what he thought their reaction would be. In fact, it’s basically the polar opposite.

“The assignment is a major part of a core class, am I right?”

“Yes, it’s forty percent of my and Alex’s mark.”

His mom smiles at him, apparently in complete agreement with Dad. “We’d hardly say no to you striving for the best possible mark. And this way if it runs late you don’t have to wake anyone up to come get you.”

“Thank you!” His first sleepover that’s not in the basement of the church. It’s going to be great! Presuming that Mr and Mrs Suarez will let him stay overnight, of course. Just because he has permission doesn’t mean Alex will.

Brendon’s nearly at the end of the hall when Mom calls “oh, Brendon?”

This is what happens when you celebrate too soon; everything falls apart. It’ll be safer to hear the sudden rejection from the hallway, they won’t see his complete failure at a pokerface if they can’t see any of him. “Yes?”

“Dinner’s in fifteen minutes,” is her response, instead of taking any joy away from him.

***

Of course, that’s not entirely the end of it. Valerie drives him to Alex’s, strangely uninterrogative. It makes sense though, when he’s slamming the van door, backpack and sleeping bag in one bulky pile under one arm, and hears the driver door slam too. She follows him up the sidewalk, and come into the Suarez house under the guise of needing to use the washroom. Brendon knows what’s she’s really doing, though he doesn’t out her purposes. It’s embarrassing enough that she’s spying to see if they’re decent people, it will only be worse if they know they’re being tested.

Thankfully after a few carefully worded questions she silently pronounces them acceptable. Brendon can see it in her body language; the moment she lets her posture slacken slightly he knows he’s going to be allowed to stay. Mr Suarez gives her a saran-wrapped plate of cookies, explaining that it’s a family recipe that Alex tweaked with this morning, and she smiles as she leaves. He knows she’ll report that they participate in family activities, events which the Bishop is always lauding. Alex grabs a second plate and they retreat to his bedroom to work.

It takes almost an hour before they get the layout planned. They try Brendon’s idea of a powerpoint, but after a few slides it just doesn’t feel right. Alex’s scrapbooking idea is alright, and Brendon has a lot of art supplies at home left over from Kara and Valerie’s childhood they can use. The problem is they can think of at least three other groups that will make a scrapbook, one pair was actually already cutting. Posterboard and science fair three sided stands are both rejected as too messy, they’d definitely lose points for organisation. Then Alex gets a brilliant idea; a newspaper made from those disposable papers they cover exam tables with. It’ll be different from everyone else’s project, it’ll be relatively easy to hand print their ‘articles’, and Alex apparently has no problems walking into a clinic and pretending to be ill for long enough to snatch one or three.

With a not-to-scale rough sketch of what will go where, Alex says something that Brendon can tell is a quote from something, even if he’s never watched it. “All work and no play makes Alex a dull boy. Come on.”

Brendon decides in the time it takes to get down the stairs that he will watch whatever movie or show Alex wants. There’s an extremely high chance that it’ll be something inappropriate, but if he can make up his own mind about the books he’s reading he can do the same with programs. The measure is supposed to be would you feel embarrassed of your choices if Jesus was looking at your shelves, but he thinks Jesus will understand him watching an episode of CSI.

Alex doesn’t lead him to the den for morally wrong viewing though. Instead Brendon follows him into the sun room, where Mr Saurez is watering one of the many plants pressed against the glass. “We’re going out.”

“Where to?”

“Saporta’s having a winter break party. His parents are having one of their monthly ‘we’re separated but let’s see if we can fall back in love’ vacations, so a bunch of us are going over to distract him.”

Where as his parents would be freaking out if Brendon had ever momentarily lost enough sanity to bring up the possibility of a party, Alex’s dad doesn’t seem concerned in the least. He doesn’t even turn around from the plant he’s slowly saturating. “Have fun. Call me if you’re too drunk to drive.”

This is not what Brendon signed up for. He’s going to get in trouble. Massive, massive amounts of trouble. When he tells Alex as much though, he doesn’t seem to understand. “No one is going to slip you a roofie. You don’t even have to drink if you don’t want to. This isn’t an after school special. There’s no bullshit peer pressure, it’s your fuckin’ choice.”

“I won’t drink.” Brendon blinks in slight dismay as the words come out. That’s not what he meant to say. His mouth was supposed to say I won’t go, he’s had seventeen years of training for getting out of situations like this, it should be automatic. His body is failing him.

“Well, I’m going, you don’t have to. It’ll be weird if you stay here by yourself, so you should come, but you don’t have to.”

Brendon could call home. Any one of them would pick him up and commend him for his moral decision making. He could even make a speech about it for Sunday. For that matter, if he asked Alex to drop him off on the way to the party he probably would, he’s sure Alex means what he says about no peer pressure. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to lose this.

It’s a bit dramatic to say the drive to Saporta’s house feels like a drive into hell -not to mention sacrilegious, as being a Mormon means he’s not supposed to believe in hell- but that’s still how it feels. The entire street is full of cars, but he hopes they just belong to the house they’re parked in front of. It’s a hope proven wrong when Alex opens the door; the landing and stairs are a mess of shoes. Brendon’s only seen this many once before; the time they all had to take one off and toss it in a pile in the church before picking out another at random to make a new friend. It definitely doesn’t apply now, they’re all sets and he can’t afford to make friends like these.

Alex starts down the stairs and Brendon has no choice but to follow him. Each step causes an avalanche of shoes to start tumbling down the stairs, clinging to the railing only offers a modicum of safety. At the foot of the stairs Alex takes the few tumbled shoes and tosses them up, demanding a high five each time one stays in its new spot. Only when all are somewhere along the carpeted stairs does Alex turn and lead him to what seems to be the party room. Every surface is covered with people. There are a few different sectionals, one entirely occupied by people that are hopefully sharing a cigarette but are probably smoking marijuana. A handful of kitchen chairs are cramped around a T.V. tray with their occupants playing a card game, and a person of indiscriminate gender is perched on the wooden edge of the pool table, while the pool cue is tossed between two girls and a guy.

It is essentially a den of sin, and he should not be here. Maybe if he just sits outside for the next few hours, it’ll be better for all concerned. That way he won’t bail on Alex, won’t upset the host -that Alex hasn’t even introduced, but there’s probably no etiquette for a house party- and won’t desert the values he’s supposed to have. The minute Alex kneels between the girl’s legs to reach the ripped open bags of snacks hidden under the pool table to maximise room Brendon takes it as an opportunity to dart back up the stairs. They’re even harder going up than going down, like a malevolent force wants him to stay in the basement forever.

Brendon makes it as far as the entryway of the kitchen before turning around. The kitchen table is full of teenagers playing a card game. Two are Mikey and the other Gay from Paws and Claws. Beyond them is a door to a porch, he can see plumes of smoke curling, but passing them is not an option. The only thing left is to retreat back down the stairs. This time he doesn’t worry about the cascade of shoes, just walks to the first of three doors on the right side of the basement hallway.

Hand on the door, Brendon is interrupted by a black teenager with a diamond printed hoodie asking “already man?”

“Huh?” He almost covers his mouth as he says it, but refrains just in time. Any number of adults would chastise him for it, slang not being a real word, but he highly doubts this guy will care.

“Or just new?”

He’s new to a host of things being introduced here, but there’s no reason to make things worse by explaining that. He settles on “yes.”

“Okay, so that’s the pass out room. There are sleeping bags unzipped and laid out for those that lose dexterity, a bunch of pillows so no one wakes up more stiff than they have to, and a bucket just in case. A lot of us don’t have a designated so we crash here. The pass out room isn’t for hot-boxing, or fucking, just for people that need to crash.”

“I just want a bathroom,” Brendon shrugs.

“Third door.”

The soap is still wet in its dish beside the sink. In need of something to give him a moment to think, Brendon slowly creates a lather. He gives the supposedly moisturizing soap an opportunity to sink into his skin before washing it off. Then he turns off the tap, wipes his hands on one of the mismatched towels, and exits.

“I want you to find me a girlfriend,” are the first words out of his mouth when he finds Alex. It would be his first. He’s been sanctioned by the church to group-date for over a year now. He just hasn’t found a girl of enough interest to make that step, never mind had enough friends to go on an outing with.

“Fine. But there’s something else we need to talk about. Like right now.”

“Okay?”

“I know you want me to babysit you. Which is weird, normally it’s the sober one babysitting the fucked up one, but whatever, I can deal with it. As long as you’re not bailing I don’t care. But I have an important question. Do you want me to drunk or smoke pot?”

What? “Both are illegal.”

“Yes, so are downloading movies and not wearing a seat belt when you drive across a parking lot. It’s winter break and I’m hanging out with thirty close friends. While you should in no way feel pressured to try something, I’m not going to let you pressure me either.” He flips his shaggy bangs off his eyes with a shake of his head, and Brendon wonders not for the first time how someone can be so casual while doing something so obviously criminal.

A white-blonde haired girl whirls around, handful of pretzels in her hand. “I’d recommend pot. When he’s stoned he just laughs at all his own jokes and tweets every five seconds. Drunk he’ll be a lot more lost.”

“Well,” Alex snorts, “I don’t disagree. Except you imply I shouldn’t laugh at my own jokes, while I totally should because I’m hilarious. One might even say high-larious.”

She rolls her eyes “I didn’t imply you’re not funny, I implied you’re a total fuckin’ tool.”

Brendon interrupts the repartee for what’s more important. “I won’t make that decision.” It’s one thing to stay at a party that has intoxicants. It’s totally another to encourage use, and a line he won’t cross.

“Fine, I’ll smoke. Maja’s right, I’ll be better off for it.”

For an hour or so Brendon thinks that Alex has forgotten his request in lieu of getting stoned. He doesn’t want to press the issue yet, so instead he plays pool with those at the table. He wins his game against a girl that calls herself Z, loses against the ‘Bilvy’ he’s heard about -who doesn’t look like the sort to have a mad drug binge or have a mental breakdown, though he doesn’t doubt Alex’s story- and is in the middle of playing the boy -at least he’s pretty sure he’s a boy, he is wearing a vest with a red rose print and white gloves- when a girl in an exceedingly short skirt interrupts him by curling her hand around the end of his cue.

“Hey, I’m Vicky-T.”

“I’m Brendon.”

“You’re pretty cute, Brendon. Sexy hot, even.”

Brendon takes a closer look at her. She’s attractive, and she looks like she could hurt him, which is good. Fragile people are harder to get along with, you always have to worry about doing something wrong. But she’s swaying, a bit. It would be understandable if she was in high heels, but everyone is in socks or bare feet. “Are you drunk?”

“Drunk enough for fun, not drunk enough to not know what consent is. Alex said you wanted me?”

“Um-”

“Don’t think I’d say yes to just anyone. But he says you’re awesome, and you’re pretty hot. So I think I’m gonna want you too.” She starts to pry the pool cue out of his hand and he lets her take it, not wanting her to fall over. She gives to to Bilvy when she’s done, her hand curling in his now free one. “Do you have a car? He doesn’t like people fucking in his bedroom, and we can’t do it in the pass out room, and the bathrooms are starting to have lines.”

“Um. I think. I don’t. Uh.” Brendon takes a deep breath, begging his brain to stop stuttering. “Alex told you the wrong thing. I wanted a girlfriend, not. Um. I don’t have sex.”

“Like, at all?” Red Vest seems both shocked and horrified.

Vicky-T just seems confused. “Why not?”

“I’m Mormon.”

“And you’re not allowed to orgasm? Really? Are you allowed to pee? What about other bodily functions? Blinking, are you allowed to blink?” Clearly Red Vest is an atheist. It suits Alex better, Alex isn’t mean about it.

“Ryan, don’t be a dick. Victoria, you’ll have to get your fix somewhere else. Brendon, catch.” Brendon just manages to snag the cue Bilvy tosses at him like a javelin. His other two commands work as well, Red Vest -Ryan, apparently- stays silent, and Victoria wanders off. It’s really hard to believe he’s either an addict or a nutbar.

***

Contrary to his concerns towards pulling up his own corner of the blanket covered floor, Brendon only wakes up twice during the night.

The first time it’s because he has to pee. Once he got used to the vibe it became easier to talk to people, and the later it got the more intoxicated people got, and the more they wanted to talk to him. Almost all had offered to share their 26s with him, and most were vaguely confused but accepting when he’d turned them down. One, Heath, if he’s remembering correctly, asked him multiple times over the course of their Rock Band battles, and every time he said no Heath went and got him another can of soda to drink instead. He could hardly turn those down too, and had ended up chugging five cans of Orange Crush in the span of the hour before he finally, reluctantly crashed. It’s almost no time at all before he wakes with his bladder screaming.

The second time is hours later, when someone else with the same urge stumbles on him. Brendon wakes up to a kick in the side and knees on his abdomen. It’s hard to stay mad though, the girl half on him apologises about seven times as she’s getting to her feet.

The third time he opens his eyes because someone is shaking him and muttering ‘wake up’ close enough to his face that he can smell the mint toothpaste on his breath. The room is lit like it wasn’t the night before, not from the light switch being flicked, or the small nightlight still glowing weakly in the corner, but from a row of windows near the ceiling.

“Are the cops here?” There doesn’t seem to be enough urgency for it to be the issue, not to mention he’s the only one being woken up. But Brendon pays attention when adults impart lessons, he’s heard of the dangers of going to parties with drugs and alcohol. Besides the cost to your wallet and your health, and the addiction, and dirty narcotics that can kill you the first time you try them, there’s also police raiding and arresting people.

“Don’t be stupid. Alex told me your parents wouldn’t be happy if you smelled like smoke. Which you totally do, at least enough that they’ll notice. He’s probably going to wake up in about an hour, if he doesn’t I’ll get him up. So you need to have a shower now, and I’ll wash your clothes. Here.” The teenager thrusts something patterned at him. Brendon looks at it but doesn’t commit to cracking the seal of blanket warmth to take it.

“What’s that?”

“Something of mine to wear while your shit is in the wash. Don’t worry, I don’t have scabies.”

“I didn’t think you did.” He only saw Saporta for a minute last night, not even long enough to talk to him, but there’s nothing about this guy that looks like he has a contagious skin disease.

The shock of cold air as he pushes the sleeping bag to the side isn’t as bad as it could be considering he’s in the basement, the heat must be on. “Anything I can do?”

Saporta shrugs, more a bob of his back as he’s still on his hands and knees. “This is my house and standard rules apply. Don’t drink my dad’s alcohol, don’t go in my parents bedroom. Other than that, it’s a free world, at least sort of. Let’s save the philosophy for the next party though. That shit’s always more fun fucked up.”

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t say what can I said is there anything I can do. Help you rinse cans for recycling or vacuum or something.”

“Nice offer but I’m fine. It isn’t my first clean up, I’ve got a system. Go shower. Leave your clothes outside the door.”

It’s a shower-bath combo, like at home, but Brendon knows he only has time for the first. The soap is different, liquid with a facecloth instead of a bar. Once he works up a lather it smells like coconut, but hopefully no one at home will notice.

The patterned cloth turns out to be either a baggy pair of boxers or a short pair of swimming trunks. It doesn’t matter in the end though, as it’s put them on or walk around naked. Not that wearing only shorts is much better than full nudity, his parents would be horrified. Brendon can’t help but wince at the number of girls still sleeping in the pass out room, the mixed genders makes the entire thing worse.

In the end he grabs one of the blankets and curls it around himself like a cloak before clomping upstairs. He can only hear one person making noise, it has to be less embarrassing to be up there than to still be downstairs when the girls start waking up. The stairs are far easier to navigate, two thirds of the guests having gone home sometime in the predawn hours.

It’s of course Saporta making noise, he’s got the counter cleaned and a frying pan on the stove by the time Brendon enters the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast. If you stick around you can get first slice, it’ll take those bastards a bit to smell it.”

“What are you making?”

“Ten egg omelette. Like my favourite author says, it’s so big it’s not an omelette anymore, just an omel.”

The atmosphere of Saporta’s kitchen is nice, and it only gets better as people slowly start to trickle upstairs. Even with cigarettes between their fingers and throbbing heads propped up by their hands, everyone is either nice or just silent. And everyone digs into their portion of Saporta’s masterpiece. Sometime during the second helping Brendon realises in his haste to cut off slices and chow down his blanket covering has slipped to his waist, and it’s a pleasant shock to realise he doesn’t care. Nobody is laughing at him, or getting angry for a lack of modesty. There’s simply no reason to care, when nobody has even noticed.

It’s with regret that he reminds Alex they need to get back. He doesn’t particularly want to leave, but his parents were no doubt expecting him back before noon, and that deadline has already slipped past. The sooner the less dramatic things will be. Alex grunts his agreement and they stand to go. The one who told him about the pass out room punches him in the shoulder and says he’ll see him next party. Brendon can’t help but hope that’s true.

He’s expecting to run in with Alex and grab his stuff and leave, no more than five minutes lapsed. Instead Alex heads straight for the sun room. Mr Suarez doesn’t appear to have moved an inch in the hours they’ve been gone, only a change of clothes proving otherwise. “Hey dad.”

“You have a good night?”

“Yeah. Colligan was so drunk he started crying when Leighton whooped his ass at poker.” Brendon stares at Alex for the insanity telling his dad of illegal substance use and gambling all in one sentence, and then at Mr Suarez when he doesn’t freak out. This family is strange.

“Poker? I could tell you some good stories. Anyway, you both need a good greasy breakfast to combat the hangover. And then Alex, go to bed, I’ll drive you home Brendon.”

“I didn’t drink.”

Mr Suarez winks at him. “That’s certainly what I’ll tell your sister if she’s waiting on the porch.”

“No dad, he doesn’t drink.”

“And you’re a senior? I didn’t know that was possible. But each to their own. You still need to try my fried eggs before you go. They’re one of the few things Alex hasn’t surpassed me in.”

***

On the dining table his breakfast is waiting for him. A few slices of darkly toasted bread, and the cold and crumbly dregs of the bowl of scrambled eggs his mom must have made hours earlier. Brendon won’t risk microwaving them, or not eating at all. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when they’re making a point.

***

“Brendon, we’re going for a drive.”

Briefly he mourns the loss before pausing the video game. He coils the cord around the controller so nobody trips and subsequently yells at him even though they’d be the one not looking where they were walking. It happens often enough that when he can remember it’s good to prevent it. On his knees in front of the tv he turns it off before standing up and heading to the coat rack at the back door. Kara didn’t phrase it like a request, it’s obvious he has no choice in the matter.

The first five minutes of the drive are silent, just Kara backing the car out of the driveway and heading down the street. Brendon knows better than to think that’s the way it’s going to stay. This isn’t a trip to get groceries, or to go watch a movie at the second run theatre, this in an intervention. An in-car intervention means one of his siblings is going to tell him something they don’t want Mom and Dad to overhear, and whatever it is will undoubtedly be something he doesn’t want to hear.

Sure enough, “you haven’t left the house in five days Brendon.”

Going on the defence never works, but there’s no strategy that does. At least this way he can explain himself, possibly turn the conversation slightly for the better. “I’m studying! Exams are just after Christmas break, I thought you all would be happy I was buckling down. I’m learning to focus, isn’t that Valerie’s reason I didn’t do well at Pine Crest?”

“You’re not volunteering,” she answers.

“I can’t study at a pet store!” He can’t even think there, he barely made it until Mr Sinthe came back.

“Mom and Dad think you should get a job.”

“What?”

“Come on Brendon.” She’s looking at him through the rear view mirror, he can tell. “You’ve spent so much time at home it’s obvious you have nothing to occupy yourself with when you’re not at school. And you’ll be eighteen in a few months. In a year you’ll be going on your mission. You know they’re looking for foreign spots to fill, you need to start gathering money to let you fly across the ocean.”

“I am occupying myself, I’m studying! Ask me what organs are in a pig, go on. There’s-” Brendon cuts himself off as he looks up and recognises where they are. “Wait, what are-”

This time it’s Kara that interrupts him. “This is for your own good. If you’re home during the day they’re going to notice, and they’ll demand you start applying places. If you’re here you’re showing you have a passion for something.”

Paws and Claws doesn’t look any different for his absence. Kara pulls into the parking lot and blocks a parked car idling. “You go straight in. I’m not coming to pick you up until four.”

“Kara, I don’t-”

“It’s this or cleaning out grease traps at McDonalds. Come on Brendon, kittens or Big Macs.” There’s no point in saying the kittens are for Mikey, she wouldn’t understand. Left with nothing else, Brendon hops out. She peels away before he even has a chance to ask her for five bucks to buy lunch.

Mikey, Gerard, and Mikey’s...his... the boy with the coloured hair are all standing in front of Gerard’s store, smoking. Brendon keeps his head down as he walks into the pet shop. If they don’t notice him they might stay outside for a longer period.

When Mikey and Hairboy come in, Mikey ignores him as per custom. Hairboy on the other hand comes to a standstill beside him. He asks if he’s had a good week off, and Brendon shrugs, hoping it’ll be a good enough non-committal reply. “Don’t worry, you’re still needed. I’ve just been keeping your spot toasty.”

In his time at Irving Brendon’s learned a lot about innuendo, and Saporta’s party was essentially a test after the crash course. What Hairboy is saying sounds dirty. It must be a homosexual joke, and Brendon has no idea how to fend one of those off. Just like at the party, his response to a dirty joke is staying silent. Quiet means he doesn’t have to come up with his own wittiness, or be mocked for saying he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Unfortunately, Pete -who only thinks to introduce himself an hour in- doesn’t seem to take Brendon’s continuing silence as a hint. He talks non-stop for the entire afternoon, if not to Brendon, than to Mikey, to the dogs, to the other animals while mingling in the other sections, to Mr Sinthe, to Gerard when he pops in later. He even engages a browser in a ten minute conversation about hockey. It would be fascinating, if Brendon could stop thinking about Pete and Mikey having sex every time he has to look at either of them.

The issue is made worse by the fact that they’re very happy together. While it’s obvious that Mikey likes cats and Pete is a dog person, it’s the only thing that they seem to disagree on, and even that is nothing more than Pete asking Mikey how he can stand someone vomiting fur on his pretty new boots. At one point he can hear them kissing, he ducks so he doesn’t have to see. When they’re done Pete whispers I love you. Brendon's never heard anyone his age say that they love someone and sound like they mean it.

At two thirty Pete corners him. “It’s recently come to my attention that you’re a fuckin fundie. I don’t know how I didn’t guess it before, you’re not exactly subtle about it. I know you think we're damned or whatever. But we're just helping the animals, and so are you. So if you could not get your fellow brethren to burn down the store like they do abortion clinics that would be great. We might not even be in the building at the time, and then it would be a waste.”

“Mormons don’t kill people!”

“Tell that to Matthew Shepard.”

They’re the last words spoken to him before Kara comes. Brendon’s still thinking about it when he climbs into the car. He doesn’t understand the reference, but remembering the venom in Pete’s voice, it’s obvious it’s something bad. He wants to know what it means, if people of his religion have done something bad no one is talking about. He can’t look it up on the computer at home, the parental controls will let everyone know. There’s only on solution. “Kara, we need to stop at the library.”

“Brendon. I’m hungry, and I want to go home.”

“And I would have been fine staying there. Library or I tell Dad you’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy.” Joseph Smith would hardly be impressed with blackmail, but sometimes it’s necessary.

“Fine.”

It doesn’t take long to find what he wants to know. All it takes in the search engine is Matthew Shepard Mormon, and it’s laid out for everyone to see. It’s upsetting, and the Gay Panic excuse is even more so. Brendon understands feeling weird around Gay people, but he could never feel weird enough to kill one.

***

“Where do you want to go?” Getting this date was pretty much the entirety of his plan. He should probably have flowers, mints in his pocket, and a table booked at a restaurant or some other nice event with tickets accounted for. Instead all he has is a twenty in his wallet, which is currently digging uncomfortably into his butt as he sits in the passenger seat of Melissa’s car.

“Brendon, you’re the man. You decide.” There’s a chuckle in her voice as she says it, like it’s ridiculous for her to even be asked. Somehow he can’t see Victoria or Maja, or even Alex or Saporta for that matter saying that. It has to be the church influence.

Still, he wants this to go well, and forcing decisions on her when she apparently doesn’t want them won’t help. “Let’s go to a roller skating rink.”

“Sounds fun, great idea!”

Thankfully she doesn’t ask for directions, of which Brendon would have been completely at a loss for. She just drives, belting out the lyrics of the Arcade Fire songs on the mix cd she’s made. As a band with Mormon members Brendon’s heard the discography more times than he can count, and adds his voice for a counterpoint. Within a few songs they’re parking. He waits for her to lock the doors before heading towards the entrance.

As the man it’s his duty to pay both fees and both skate rentals. Lissa stands a foot or two behind him as he walks up to the front desk and digs out his wallet. Luckily he has enough to cover them, though she’ll probably be out of luck if she wants anything from the small concession area. The wall has a long shelf of men’s, women’s, and children’s skates. He grabs a pair in his size and sits on the bench provided, carefully adjusting the laces tighter. He’s got half-sized feet, if he goes the size below they’re always too tight. It’s easier to get a half size bigger and make them fit him.

“Brendon, we got the same colour. Wow, we’re so compatible. Half my clothes are this colour too, what about you?”

He looks between the two sets of aqua laces. He can’t tell her he picked the pair at random, no thought to colour selection. With her making such a big deal about it, saying that would be cruel. “Yeah, I wear a lot of blue.”

“Good. I bet it looks nice on you.” She pauses a second and then looks at him from under a protective wall of bangs. “You know, some of us girls thought you were never going to date.”

“I’m only seventeen.” Lissa and the other girls at church should hardly be gossiping about him, he’s not that interesting. The boys make that obvious, beyond the mandatory friendliness they’re really not keen in engaging with him.

“Yes, but God wants you to find someone to love. You haven’t even gone on any group dates. Brendon, I’m really happy you decided to go on a date with me, even if I don’t understand.” The reason is easy. Everyone at church knows Lissa has a crush on him, she was the one girl he knew he could ask and not be rejected by. But he can’t tell her that either.

“I’m happy to be here. I hope we have a good time.” That much is true.

Once they get into the actual rink area of the roller rink, Brendon becomes more impressed with his decision. It’s a good atmosphere for a date; somewhat romantic due to the darkness and close proximity but still casual enough that neither of them will feel uncomfortable. With his first glide on the floor he spins in a circle and bows at the end of the 360. Rather than applaud Lissa one-ups him with a one footed spin. Brendon laughs and applauds her. He looks away when she blushes. For some reason it strikes him as too intimate.

It’s fun to dance overexaggeratedly, to meet her moonwalk with jazz hands. For a while they just race each other, roller derby without the bruises and provocative skirts. When the finally slow, panting slightly, she slides her sweaty hand into his. Brendon lets his fingers stay between hers as they skate slower around the rink. It doesn’t feel any more special than a memory of holding one of his sister’s hands, but Lissa is smiling and it’s feels nice to make her happy.

The only bump in the date is when a remix of Toxic comes on. Lissa frowns then starts humming Hum Your Favourite Hymn. Brendon has memories attached to the children’s song, and tries to concentrate on Britney Spears. It’s an effort that fails when Lissa turns her frown on him. “Brendon, you’re not listening, are you?”

“I don’t think it can hurt me. They’re words, they won’t make me do bad things, or lose my morals. In fact, the song is making people work harder! Look at how the guy is making the strobe-light match the beat.”

“I dunno, Brendon.”

“So then you hum a hymn, if it makes you happy. What works for me doesn’t have to work for you, it’s okay.” Even if it puts an end to the date and he has to report to an elder on Sunday about morality, he’s not singing that song. It reminds him of adults yelling at him for squirming during music time, and having to sit alone in the Calming Corner, waiting for the feeling of Heavenly Father to soothe him.

She seems to take his words at face value though. She keeps skating, occasionally humming to herself when the DJ’s choice is too risqué, and her hand stays firmly curled in his. Brendon skates along with her. He can’t help but wonder how he’s supposed to know when the date is over. It can’t be when the skating rink closes, it’s only the middle of the afternoon now.

It happens in the parking lot. Brendon’s trudging to the car, trying to ignore the way his legs are aching when Lissa tugs on his arm and puts him off balance. She takes advantage of that to pull him in for a kiss for a second. It’s nothing short of astounding. His first kiss, stretching out longer and longer, far longer than five seconds. And then her tongue is in his mouth, before marriage. It’s so illicit. He doesn’t really know what to do in response so he just keeps his mouth open and lets her use the technique she wants. She’s very enthusiastic, and that’s a problem because as that first surge of adrenaline peters out, nothing replaces it. He’s kissing a girl for the first time -beyond kissing, he’s necking- and nothing in his body cares. He pushes her gently, keeping up the touch until she takes a step back.

“Lissa, I don’t want to.” It’s scary how much he means that. Really, really scary.

He’s not sure how much his fear shows. Her disappointment and sudden self-loathing are clear as glass. There’s nothing he can say to make it better, so he just climbs into the passenger’s seat when she unlocks the doors and pushes his buckle closed. She doesn’t turn on the cd player, the quiet only serving to make things worse.

Finally she pulls to a stop in front of his house. After fifteen minutes of awkward silence what she says to break it is even worse. “Please don’t think I’m a slut. I know that was a lot and I’m sorry. But I would never go further. I promise!”

“I don’t think you’re a slut. Things happen sometimes. If you feel guilty about it repent. He’ll know, and forgive you.” It’s Brendon that’s not going to be forgiven. Not that he’ll tell her that either.

***

Brendon doesn't dare look up his questions on the home computer. And while it worked as a short term solution the last time he had dangerous inquiries, the public library computer lab truly isn't much better. There are no parental controls to trip him up, in fact only two in the entire bank have filtered internet. But by being public, the library has more people that might happen to read the screen over his shoulder. If that person someone from the church, someone that knows him or his family, he’s in a world of trouble. Not to mention whomever gave him the ride would want to know what he was doing on a public computer that he couldn’t do at home.

The only safe solution is to ask Pete. Kara drops him off at Paws and Claws at ten, still pleased with him for stopping the kiss yesterday. His first date has been the topic of conversation for the entire family for the last day, and out of self preservation Brendon had made sure to only tell them the details they’d want to hear. It takes him a few hours to gather up his courage, but finally he taps Pete on the shoulder. Pete turns, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “What?”

“Can you catch gayness?”

“Are you actually asking me that? Like, for real?”

Brendon shrugs, trying not to blush. It’s not fair for Pete to act like the burdened party, Brendon doesn’t want to be asking, he doesn’t want to have to ask. But how can he make it go away if he’s not even sure he’s got it? Maybe he doesn’t, maybe he’s fine and Lissa was just a bad kisser and Pete and Mikey have nothing to do with it.

Pete doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, because that would be easy and why should anything about this situation be easy? Instead he angles his head towards the cat section and bellows “hey Mikey! Brendon wants to know if he can catch gay!”

Brendon's never been more grateful for Mr Sinthe not actually caring at all about his business or the animals -and the way he’s been out of the store more than he’s been in it- than he is now. With Mr Sinthe gone who knows where, and no customers having come in yet this morning, it's only the three of them. There’s a slim window of hope that Mikey won’t care, that Pete is the only one that’s going to make a big deal of it. Then Mikey wanders over, a ball of fur that’s only vaguely distinguishable as a cat in his arms. He’s smirking slightly, Brendon’s had ample time to notice all of his expressions are slight. Pete watches him enter too, and it’s impossible to miss the look that passes between them.

Brendon only has the briefest of moments to wonder if gays are telepathic before it happens. With nothing close to a warning, Pete pounces forward, hands on his hips as he kisses him, and holy shit that is a tongue. In his mouth. A small portion of his brain points out that he totally just used vulgar language and blasphemed in the same sentence, but the vast majority of him doesn’t care. Pete tastes like hot chocolate and cigarettes, and Brendon’s not allowed to have either but it’s brilliant against his tongue. Everywhere Pete is touching him is tingling, from the fingers loosely curled around his hips, to the press of Pete’s right thigh and knee to his left, to the hair that should be tickling his cheekbone but isn’t.

When Pete pulls away it’s second-hours-days-a lifetime too soon, and the smirking grin on his face is a harsh fall back to reality. “So, have you been contaminated with The Gay? Do you want to take up interior decorating and hairdressing?”

Mikey giggles. It's the first time in the four months Brendon’s ever heard the sound, and it shatters everything to pieces. He’s a man, or nearly a man at least, and he shouldn’t be so weak, but there are tears trickling down his face and there’s no way to take them back. He doesn’t want it, but Pete's kiss was good, Lissa's wasn't. And it's wrong, it's wrong, he can't like it, he can’t be like this, but he is, and he doesn’t know how to make the feelings stop.

Pete’s backpedalling. “Dude, what? I didn’t want you to cry. What? Stop it. Dude, stop.”

He can’t stop. He might never stop. With one action he’s doomed himself to the telestial kingdom, if that. He might not even make it there. Everyone will be devastated, he’ll be dragging everyone in the family down with him. Families survive beyond death, they’ll always be a unit. He’ll be the faulty brushstroke, ruining the eternal picture.

Brendon’s still crying when Mikey puts down the cat and comes over to hug him. He’s taller close up, the only person in the world that would wear expensive clunky boots to a place where poop is not just a possibility but a way of life. Brendon curls into his arms, hoodie sleeves transferring cat hair all over him. He smells like cigarettes and oranges, and it's nothing like the smells of family and his church, his normal comfort places, but somehow Brendon still feels safe.

Mikey makes no move to pull away, or slap him on the back to make the hug manly enough. He just stands there and lets Brendon soak in as much comfort as he can. It takes time for his brain to reconcile the life he’s lived with his new truths, and it’s only when that’s settled that he’s able to stop crying. The words come out choppy, almost stuttered, but undeniable. “I think I did. Catch it. Or whatever. I am.”

The shrug ripples through Mikey’s chest, pressed close Brendon feels it rather than sees it. “It's not like it's a thing.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry. But hey, maybe you’re not even fully gay! You can be bi or whatever!”

As much as he feels scared and overwhelmed, in that moment he almost wants to laugh. He’s never heard a counselling speech so straightforwardly bad. Every person at church is so much more eloquent. Not that that matters, it’s unlikely he’ll be sharing in their passionate speeches again.

“I don’t really know if I should get in on this hug, my family doesn’t really hug. But being upset sucks, so, uh. Do you want to smoke a bowl? Or no, probably not, you’re religious. Do you want a puppy? Or do you want to go home and chill? Because I'll totally cover you if you want to leave. It’s not like the boss’ll notice anyway.”

Going home is definitely not the answer. The minute he goes home is the minute all of this becomes real and the consequences start. Kara wouldn’t come to the store anyway, even if he did call for an early pick up. But he’s not really up for explaining that, so he shrugs against Mikey. One of Mikey’s arms lifts off his back to gesture at Pete, and a moment later Mikey’s pulling away. Brendon instinctively follows, still needing the comfort, but Mikey determinedly dodges.

Before he has the chance to feel entirely dejected Pete’s back with Stretch, one of Paws and Claws new daschund puppies. With an adorable baby dog thrust into his arms, it’s hard to remain entirely miserable. At four pm his life will change, but until then he’s got a black and brown face staring at him, begging to play. For now, it’s enough.

***

His backpack is heavy on his back, straps digging into his shoulders, but it doesn’t seem heavy enough, not for seventeen years of needs and wants. Never mind that it’s crammed to capacity, and if he’d tried to put anything else inside the zipper probably would have broken open, it’s still not heavy enough. Taking it off when he gets inside Paws and Claws makes Brendon lightheaded with panic, so he settles it beside his feet, blocking one of the cages. Esquire needs to see his surroundings less than Brendon needs it right next to him. The feeling subsides after a few deep breaths, but no doubt it’ll come back again. It’s probably a survival technique.

Pete comes in the room grinning, an expression that only expands when he says good morning to him. For a moment Brendon wonders if yesterday’s emotions changed things that much, considering that since halfway through Pete’s first day the teen has haughtily ignored him. But did my mental breakdown make me more accessible as a human being isn’t the kind of thing you ask another guy, or anyone at all, really, so he just says good morning back.

Eventually Pete’s foot nudges the bulging bag and along with the movement he asks “planning a four course lunch?”

Brendon opens his mouth to answer. The words don’t come, stuck in his throat, brain, heart. He swallows hard and tries again. “Actually, Pete, this is all my stuff.”

“What, like, all of it?” Pete snorts. “It looks like it’s like fifty pounds.”

“Uh. Yeah. It is. My parents asked me to not come back after volunteering today.”

“Aren’t you kinda old for sleepovers?”

“No.” How can he be this dense? Saying it once is bad enough, having to explain multiple times only makes the feeling worse and worse. “I can’t come back to the house. Ever. Or until I repent of my sins. Except I prayed, I’ve been praying, and I don’t think it’s going to go away. So ever, probably.”

“Oh my God! What?” Pete’s shouting, but it’s less the volume that makes Brendon wince, and more the blasphemy. He turns his head towards the cat section and yells again. “Mikey!”

“What?”

“Mikey!”

Probably aware that Pete will just keep shouting until he comes, Mikey comes out of the back. His black hoodie is covered in grey hair, skullcap pulled down low, almost to the rim of his glasses. He looks exhausted, and his words don’t sound especially patient, for as far as his tone reveals anything. “Whhhhhhhat, Pete? I told you, you want coffee you can go get it yourself. I don’t-”

“The fuckers kicked him out for ‘sinning’! The motherfucking son of a bitch asshole douchenozzles kicked him out, like the cuntlicking whores they are! Goddamn it, how could parents do that to a kid? How is it that every fucking set of parents on the motherfucking Earth are fucking evil? Is there some kind of law that says once you have kids you must make their lives as difficult and miserable as fucking possible?” With each word Brendon feels a bit more off kilter. Pete’s enthusiasm is almost like a sermon, except it’s against people he’s been taught to respect and love, and every second word is a curse, and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be stopping for even long enough to take a breath any time soon. “What kind of fucking horrible people say ‘oh, you don’t meet my motherfucking expectations so I’m just going to make sure you torture yourself into being a better person’? I fucking hate every-”

Mikey raises his voice above Pete’s rant. “Stop it. Does it look like that’s helping him?”

“Fuck this!” Pete turns and storms away.

A moment later the door chime goes off, and Brendon knows that it’s not just for a cigarette. Pete, Mikey, and Gerard always smoke together. It’s not his place to chase after him, he’s not Pete’s boyfriend. He probably couldn’t anyway, every muscle he has is shaking like he’s got hypothermia, and it takes a hand on a cage to keep him steady. A voice in the back of his head reminds him spitefully he should get used to shaking, once he’s living on the street he’ll be shivering with cold all the time, but he tries to ignore it. He has a few hours to call places and find a shelter placement, there’s no guarantee that he’ll need to live in a box.

“Calm down, Brendon.”

“I didn’t mean to cause problems,” he answers softly. In the last twenty four hours that’s all he’s done. He’s been doing it his whole life, really. Maybe if he’d been better, he wouldn’t be in the situation he is now.

“Don't worry about it. He's just going home to blog. He'll write like five entries about why the world sucks, why his parents suck, and why yours do, and then he'll calm the hell down. Er, calm down. Sorry, I guess.”

Mikey’s the first person that has ever apologised for cursing in front of him. Brendon wonders if that’s enough to declare a friendship. He doubts his fellow homeless will show the same courtesy.

“Look, stay here, and, like, hold down the fort. Or whatever.”

With that simple directive, Mikey leaves the store too. It might be wrong, but he hopes that Mikey can get to Pete’s house and cheer him up in time to save their relationship. They might suffer for it later, but now at least they can be happy together. There’s not a lot of fort to hold, he just needs to refill some of the water bowls before settling down with Sniffler. He just needs a minute of happiness before he starts to deal with his future.

The door chimes again too soon, less than ten minutes after he left. Brendon doubts it’s a customer, but he dutifully goes to the front anyway. Mikey’s just inside the door, not with Pete, but with his brother. “Brendon this is Gerard, Gerard, this is Brendon. He's going to be using your room.”

It’s pretty obvious he’s missed a large part of this conversation. “Um, huh?”

“A week after Christmas I go back to school, and living in my shitty little dorm- Ow, fuck,” he adds, looking down at Mikey’s dirty footprint on the leg of his jeans.

“Don’t say shitty. Or fuck. It freaks him out.”

Brendon wouldn’t go that far, but it’s with some relief that he notices Gerard’s cleaned up language as he explains that he’ll be gone until summer so if he wants to share a bed or sleep on the couch until January he’s got a room to himself after that.

“Uh. Shouldn’t you ask your parents first?” Inviting someone over for twenty minutes without asking would have been grounds for punishment, never mind inviting someone to live with him.

Gerard has the same smirking smile Mikey does, the only difference are his teeth are much smaller. “My grandma Elena would kick my dad's ass if he said a poor orphan couldn't stay in a spare room where no one would even notice him.”

The word orphan is sort of a kick to the heart, and he’s not the only one that can sense it, Mikey is staring at Gerard for it. But he gets that Gerard's trying to help, painful phrasing or not. And it’s not like he can say no. He doesn't even know where homeless shelters are in this city, and he’s not sure he wants to stay at one anyway. He’s heard bad stories about bums peeing on people and stealing their things, he doesn’t want that for himself.

“Thank you.”

Instead of replying, Gerard hugs him. It’s answer enough.

***

The Way house is different, in every possible sense of the word. It smells different, cigarette smoke and orange air freshener sprayed each time someone uses the bathroom. It sounds different, if someone plunked a swear jar on the kitchen table they’d have enough to buy a mansion by the end of the week. And it certainly feels different.

He’s exhausted by nine. It’s only an hour earlier than his normal bed time, and the stress of the last twenty-four hours has really gotten to him. Coupled with that are the Ways being enthusiastic in seemingly every phrase they utter and thing they do -aside from Mikey, who has been texting since the minute he climbed into the passenger seat of Gerard’s car- and he just needs to crash. There’s no reason to stay up, Mikey and Gerard don’t give off the vibe of needing to be impressed to keep his rooming invitation, so Brendon pulls his pyjamas out of his backpack and changes in the bathroom before crawling into Gerard’s bed. He winces a bit as he adjusts the pillow under his head. The sheets are dry, but stiff, and they smell like Pepsi. Gerard must have spilled at dinner. It’s another weird thing about the Way house; they don’t eat at the table as a family. Mr and Mrs Way -he cannot call them Don and Donna, he just can’t- and Elena had sat in front of the tv, Mikey had eaten at the computer, and Gerard hadn’t left his bedroom for hours after getting home. There’s a half dried painting drying on a screw sticking out of the wall that explains his absence.

It’s pitch black, clearly the middle of the night, when Brendon wakes up to Gerard crawling in beside him. The bed is a double, so there's really not all that much room to shift and allow him room. Even three blinks from falling back asleep, it’s easy to tell that Gerard is definitely not wearing long sleeve long legged pj's. In fact, he's pretty sure Gerard's just wearing boxers. Which means it’s time to give his bed back. Brendon struggles to untangle the sheet around his feet ungrudgingly. The couch in the multi-purpose room that takes up the other half of the basement is still better than a cot at a shelter.

“Where the hell are you going?”

He doesn’t see why he has to answer that, when the answer is so obvious. “...couch?”

“Stay here. It's warm here. And less lumpy, the couch in the basement is a piece of shit. I wouldn’t want a dog from your store to sleep on it, never mind you.”

Brendon panics, and in that moment blurts out I’m gay. Just because he caught it unfairly doesn't mean it’s okay to pass it on to innocent people who are just trying to help him.

Gerard doesn’t seem to connect the dots. “And I'm mostly straight. Point?”

“I don't want you to catch it.” Duh.

Brendon can practically hear the train screeching on the rails of Gerard's brain. All of a sudden Gerard's out of bed and the light is on, forcing Brendon to blink until the colours equalize. Gerard is pacing the cluttered floor of his room, not really noticing he's stepping on sketchbooks and comics and clothes. “Did someone tell you you could catch gayness?”

“Pete didn't tell me, but he confirmed it.”

Gerard repeats him slowly, each word it's own sentence. “Pete. Confirmed. You'd. Caught. Gayness.”

He doesn’t give him a chance to agree before he's grabbing Brendon's hand and tugging him out of bed. Brendon follows him through the basement, feeling more uncomfortable with each step. At his house you don’t leave your room until you’re dressed, and if you need to pee in the middle of the night you put a house robe over your pyjamas. The only time he’s ever experienced different was at Saporta’s house party, which is an entirely different situation. There everyone was hung over and uninhibited. This is a family home, and this is not okay. It’s totally inappropriate, and that’s even before he has a chance to consider the state of Gerard. Gerard is in tiny boxers, and Brendon's not looking, he swears he isn't, but Gerard's a few stairs ahead of him and the hole is right in front of his face.

Even once they’re up the stairs Gerard keeps his hand clamped on Brendon’s wrist. Halfway down the hall he literally kicks a door open. Mikey doesn't even look up from his laptop, the only light in the dark room, just says “dramatic much?”

Gerard's reaction is to become even more dramatic, and pump up the volume to boot. “Your boyfriend told Brendon he caught gayness!”

Mikey still doesn’t look up from his rapidfire typing when he answers “he's not my boyfriend.”

“The guy you fuck a lot and totally love then! Whatever, like I fucking care about semantics, Jesus! All I care is why! Why!”

From down the hall Mr Way bellows “Shut up!” Brendon flinches, automatically flashing to waking up at six in the morning for an extra hour of prayer when one of them messed up too badly. But neither Gerard nor Mikey seem to care, or even really notice.

“He was being Pete.”

“Oh, you mean acting like a dumb ass?” Gerard retorts.

Mikey sighs and rolls his eyes. “Look, he thought Brendon was being a jerk homophobic Mormon. I mean, he didn't even ask my name for four months because I was the big evil heathen goth. Pete wasn't really wanting to give him a lot of credit. He asked if you could catch it, Pete rolled his eyes and said yes.”

“Well tell him you can’t, assface!” Gerard turns to Brendon when Mikey doesn’t take initiative. “You can’t catch your sexuality. You’re born with it. And not in a ‘it's in a single piece of DNA let's cure this like it's diabetes’ kind of way. In a ‘some people like sports, some people like art’ kind of way. Get it?”

Brendon kind of shudder nods. He's still expecting trouble from Mr and Mrs Way, some sort of follow-up comment and associated punishment. Seeing Gerard and Mikey fight makes it more surreal, fighting isn't something his siblings did either. Besides, it's not one hundred percent helpful to know that he was doomed from birth, even if Gerard is trying to help.

“Well, good then. Let’s go back to bed.” He’s smiling and Mikey tosses a hand up to wave goodnight, never having looked away from his conversation. It’s obvious understanding their dynamics is going to take more than a few hours. Then Gerard frowns, and Brendon’s nerves rise. He really doesn’t want more shouting. “Oh, wait! If you didn't know that, do you know anything about being gay? Like, how it feels being fucked, and how your partner needs to prepare you first and-”

Mikey sighs. “Could we please not have sex-ed in my bedroom at three in the morning?”

At that Gerard gets indignant. “It's not like you’re sleeping, you’re still wearing your jeans! And it's very important for Brendon to know these things, otherwise his first time could hurt and that-”

“I'm not having sex until I get married,” Brendon interjects. It’s both true, and a perfect way to end this conversation before it gets too distressing. What it isn’t, is something they take well. Both Gerard and Mikey look at Brendon like he just said he doesn't believe in God, or that Joseph Smith wasn't a prophet.

After a few moments silence, Gerard starts ranting again. “But you can't even get married yet! Unless you move to Canada, the land of the free! And you can't not have sex! Mutual orgasms between two or more people that respect each other is the best way to celebrate sexuality!"

“Or hooking up in a bathroom,” Mikey mutters, but Gerard valiantly ignores him.

“I don't.”

“I know! That’s the problem!”

“No, not have sex. I meant, um. Orgasm.”

“At all?!” counterpoint to Gerard’s shouting is Mikey’s silence, but Gerard is mostly still and Mikey looks like he's going to faint.

“No. Mormons don’t do that stuff. You’re supposed to be sexually pure.”

Pacing in Mikey’s room is more difficult, his piles of clothes are higher. Gerard stops when a CD case crunches under his foot and makes do with waving his arms erratically. “That is not healthy sexuality! Do you want me to give you a handjob? I respect you as a human being, I swear. Mikey, should I give him a handjob?”

That, at least, makes Mikey’s head dart up. “Not in my room! Not while I’m here!”

This is all getting extremely out of hand. Brendon gathers up his courage and says “if you're going to touch me I am going to sleep on the couch.” There have to be steps between being a gay person, and fornicating with a possible friend’s older brother.

“Okay, if you don't feel comfortable I won’t do shit. But promise me you'll masturbate?”

“Jesus Christ Gerard, are you going to set up a schedule for him too? Go the fuck to bed, you have to get up for work in five hours.”

“Yeah, and so do you.”

“Yeah, but I can’t get fired. Holiday job or not, you need the hours.”

Gerard seems to agree with that, at least. He says goodnight to Mikey and leaves the room, leaving Brendon to attempt the same. Mikey’s not really a small talk person though, he nods his own goodnight, and goes back to typing. Brendon doesn’t ask who he’s talking to so late at night, it’s none of his business.

Part Three