Holding Hands
Title: Holding Hands (standalone)
Author: habezweikatzen
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan (seemingly unrequited)
POV: 3rd, Spencer’s
Summary: Spencer watches Brendon and Ryan and BrendonandRyan and notBrendonandRyan.
Disclaimer: Fake fake fake
Author Notes: Because I’m feeling angsty, this is what is produced. Oh, angst. Cut lyrics belong to NIN.
Brendon thinks he subtle, but everyone in his band and a majority of the others on tour know about his crush on Ryan - the way the younger boy looks at him not exactly easy to mistake for anything other than compassion and lust. They watch in amusement as Brendon eagerly complies to anything Ryan demands, accepts without hesitation the criticism the older boy seems to heap onto him, infrequently letting his words change to praise that, in all reality, Brendon deserves for the job he’s doing, every night working the crowd like he’s been doing it for years, when in reality it wasn’t long ago that they were all in Vegas, sitting in Spencer’s grandmother’s garage.
Spencer thinks he’s seen the most of it, seen the way that Brendon has evolved, from oftentimes shy and introverted despite his overly-bubbly, vivacious personality to this open person who wears his emotions on his sleeve and eagerly invades everyone’s personal space at all hours. He’s seen the most of the evolution of Brendon and the evolution of Brendon’s Crush.
Once, during their second tour, still not headlining, he had pulled Ryan aside, minutes before they were due to go on stage and get the crowd reading for the main act. Ryan had smiled at him the smile that seemed to characterize his pre-show mentality, happy and ready and energized.
“Ryan,” he could remember asking. “you know how Brendon feels about you, right?” At this, Ryan’s face had tightened, the grin slackening into a grimace.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Spence. Brendon and I are very good friends.” Spencer didn’t believe his ignorance for a second, saw the way Ryan was glancing up and down, eyes lingering on the floor long enough to give away his lie.
When Spencer opened his mouth to respond, call Ryan on his blatant lie, he was stopped by Brendon himself bounding up to them, swinging his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and, a second later, around Spencer’s.
“Ready for the show?” Brendon’s grin was loopy with his excitement, no sign of the jitters that had dominated their first tour, the first show of which had seen Brendon nervously vomiting before their first performance, Ryan gently rubbing circles up and down his back.
“Ready,” Ryan grinned at him, and Spencer did the same.
~~~~~~~~
The show that night reminds Spencer of his memory of the show when he had asked Ryan beforehand. Brendon is electrifying, his energy almost tangible and his glee demonstrated by the radiance of his smile. Ryan is guarded for the first half, before he finally caves and seems to join in and share Brendon’s undeniable enthusiasm, their bodies moving towards each other with natural gravity as the melodies proceed. Spencer grins at the show they produce, banging the shit out of his kit.
The show is fantastic.
~~~~~~~~
Afterwards, they all decided to head out together and go to a club they had seen near the venue, crowded enough it guaranteed to be a good time and shadowy enough it promised privacy. It was close enough that they decided to walk, the four of them laughing mirthfully, recounting the show, giddy from excitement.
Ryan and Brendon hold hands in a way that Spencer is sure Ryan thinks is completely platonic and after the first few blocks he and Jon are a decent half block ahead of the other two.
He turns just in time to see Ryan pulling his hand away from where it had previously been laced with Brendon’s, and he can make out the words as Ryan enunciates them, monotone flat but laced with an edge of malice that makes Spencer cringe, “Brendon, I am not your fucking boyfriend. Stop it.”
Spencer shivers at his words and can make out Brendon almost visibly cowering in on himself at this. His walking slows, then stalls, and Ryan’s accelerates, quickening until he’s up with Jon and Spencer. Jon looks quizzically first at Ryan, who shrugs, and than at Spencer, who frowns before dropping back to where Brendon is slowly ambling.
He laces his fingers with Brendon and squeezes tightly.
~~~~~~~
It’s late, but the club is still going, people talking and flirting and dancing and kissing and just-about-fucking. Spencer had long since lost sight of Jon who managed to find an old tech friend to chat with and also of Ryan who had entered the club with determination and seemed to pass himself from girl to girl, eager to touch and grope any female he could get his hands on. Spencer found himself a little nauseous with his best friend’s actions.
He finds Brendon when he goes to the bathroom, anxious to escape for a second from the pounding bass line and the mass of sweaty bodies that had turned the club humid.
The bathroom is dingy and cramped, with one stall and two urinals lining one side, two sinks on the other. Brendon is crouched on the floor, and Spencer stops himself from thinking about the germs.
“Bren?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible, remembering what Jon had said about spooking already scared cats and applying it to his band member.
When Brendon looks up, his eyes are rimmed red, and what’s left of his stage makeup is streaked with the tracks of tears. Spencer’s voice catches in his throat at the heartbreaking sight of his lead singer.
“I don’t,” Brendon begins, his voice wrecked and scratchy from crying, and Spencer’s heart drops a little lower. “I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, and I don’t understand why the fuck I can’t ever learn. I love him, and he obviously doesn’t feel the same. What’s wrong with me, Spencer? What’s wrong with me?”
Spencer crouches down, hesitant to get closer to the filth that is the bathroom floor but even more hesitant to not give Brendon some form of physical comfort. “Brendon, sweetie,” he murmurs, his hands combing through Brendon’s hair. “Brendon, it’s not you. He’s been my best friend for ages, but even I know he’s being a dick. It’s not fair, Brendon, but it’s not you.” Brendon starts to cry a little at this, tears silently tracking down his face, preventing him from responding to Spencer, who just reaches to hold him in a tight hug.
“It’s not you.”
Author: habezweikatzen
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan (seemingly unrequited)
POV: 3rd, Spencer’s
Summary: Spencer watches Brendon and Ryan and BrendonandRyan and notBrendonandRyan.
Disclaimer: Fake fake fake
Author Notes: Because I’m feeling angsty, this is what is produced. Oh, angst. Cut lyrics belong to NIN.
Brendon thinks he subtle, but everyone in his band and a majority of the others on tour know about his crush on Ryan - the way the younger boy looks at him not exactly easy to mistake for anything other than compassion and lust. They watch in amusement as Brendon eagerly complies to anything Ryan demands, accepts without hesitation the criticism the older boy seems to heap onto him, infrequently letting his words change to praise that, in all reality, Brendon deserves for the job he’s doing, every night working the crowd like he’s been doing it for years, when in reality it wasn’t long ago that they were all in Vegas, sitting in Spencer’s grandmother’s garage.
Spencer thinks he’s seen the most of it, seen the way that Brendon has evolved, from oftentimes shy and introverted despite his overly-bubbly, vivacious personality to this open person who wears his emotions on his sleeve and eagerly invades everyone’s personal space at all hours. He’s seen the most of the evolution of Brendon and the evolution of Brendon’s Crush.
Once, during their second tour, still not headlining, he had pulled Ryan aside, minutes before they were due to go on stage and get the crowd reading for the main act. Ryan had smiled at him the smile that seemed to characterize his pre-show mentality, happy and ready and energized.
“Ryan,” he could remember asking. “you know how Brendon feels about you, right?” At this, Ryan’s face had tightened, the grin slackening into a grimace.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Spence. Brendon and I are very good friends.” Spencer didn’t believe his ignorance for a second, saw the way Ryan was glancing up and down, eyes lingering on the floor long enough to give away his lie.
When Spencer opened his mouth to respond, call Ryan on his blatant lie, he was stopped by Brendon himself bounding up to them, swinging his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and, a second later, around Spencer’s.
“Ready for the show?” Brendon’s grin was loopy with his excitement, no sign of the jitters that had dominated their first tour, the first show of which had seen Brendon nervously vomiting before their first performance, Ryan gently rubbing circles up and down his back.
“Ready,” Ryan grinned at him, and Spencer did the same.
~~~~~~~~
The show that night reminds Spencer of his memory of the show when he had asked Ryan beforehand. Brendon is electrifying, his energy almost tangible and his glee demonstrated by the radiance of his smile. Ryan is guarded for the first half, before he finally caves and seems to join in and share Brendon’s undeniable enthusiasm, their bodies moving towards each other with natural gravity as the melodies proceed. Spencer grins at the show they produce, banging the shit out of his kit.
The show is fantastic.
~~~~~~~~
Afterwards, they all decided to head out together and go to a club they had seen near the venue, crowded enough it guaranteed to be a good time and shadowy enough it promised privacy. It was close enough that they decided to walk, the four of them laughing mirthfully, recounting the show, giddy from excitement.
Ryan and Brendon hold hands in a way that Spencer is sure Ryan thinks is completely platonic and after the first few blocks he and Jon are a decent half block ahead of the other two.
He turns just in time to see Ryan pulling his hand away from where it had previously been laced with Brendon’s, and he can make out the words as Ryan enunciates them, monotone flat but laced with an edge of malice that makes Spencer cringe, “Brendon, I am not your fucking boyfriend. Stop it.”
Spencer shivers at his words and can make out Brendon almost visibly cowering in on himself at this. His walking slows, then stalls, and Ryan’s accelerates, quickening until he’s up with Jon and Spencer. Jon looks quizzically first at Ryan, who shrugs, and than at Spencer, who frowns before dropping back to where Brendon is slowly ambling.
He laces his fingers with Brendon and squeezes tightly.
~~~~~~~
It’s late, but the club is still going, people talking and flirting and dancing and kissing and just-about-fucking. Spencer had long since lost sight of Jon who managed to find an old tech friend to chat with and also of Ryan who had entered the club with determination and seemed to pass himself from girl to girl, eager to touch and grope any female he could get his hands on. Spencer found himself a little nauseous with his best friend’s actions.
He finds Brendon when he goes to the bathroom, anxious to escape for a second from the pounding bass line and the mass of sweaty bodies that had turned the club humid.
The bathroom is dingy and cramped, with one stall and two urinals lining one side, two sinks on the other. Brendon is crouched on the floor, and Spencer stops himself from thinking about the germs.
“Bren?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible, remembering what Jon had said about spooking already scared cats and applying it to his band member.
When Brendon looks up, his eyes are rimmed red, and what’s left of his stage makeup is streaked with the tracks of tears. Spencer’s voice catches in his throat at the heartbreaking sight of his lead singer.
“I don’t,” Brendon begins, his voice wrecked and scratchy from crying, and Spencer’s heart drops a little lower. “I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, and I don’t understand why the fuck I can’t ever learn. I love him, and he obviously doesn’t feel the same. What’s wrong with me, Spencer? What’s wrong with me?”
Spencer crouches down, hesitant to get closer to the filth that is the bathroom floor but even more hesitant to not give Brendon some form of physical comfort. “Brendon, sweetie,” he murmurs, his hands combing through Brendon’s hair. “Brendon, it’s not you. He’s been my best friend for ages, but even I know he’s being a dick. It’s not fair, Brendon, but it’s not you.” Brendon starts to cry a little at this, tears silently tracking down his face, preventing him from responding to Spencer, who just reaches to hold him in a tight hug.
“It’s not you.”