Lines in the Sand, B/R, S/J [2/2]
Part One
“Suck me,” Ryan demanded, breathless from kissing.
Alex Suarez was Vicky-T’s best friend, and he had dark hair that fell into his eyes and a mouth that Ryan fucking loved to push his cock into.
“Demanding, aren’t we?” Alex asked, but he dropped obediently to his knees.
“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m meeting a friend in an hour.” Ryan tilted his head back against the wall when Alex pushed his black jeans down his thighs. “Fuck yeah.”
He threw an arm over his eyes and arched luxuriously into Alex’s mouth. After a few wet, tight sucks, Alex pulled back.
“You’d better return the favor, asshole.”
“I will,” Ryan promised, anchoring Alex’s head back down to his dick. “I will, just. Don’t talk, okay?”
“Whatever,” Alex said. “You’re lucky you’re so fucking pretty.”
***
“Is your American Lit final today at Foellinger?” Spencer asked, coming into Ryan’s room while he got some last minute studying done.
“Yeah, why?” he asked. He’d never gotten around to reading Ethan Frome, despite buying it a month and a half before. The plot was easily discernible from the class discussion, but there was going to be an essay question on the final, and Ryan was speed-reading through to catch some of the smaller details.
“My History final doesn’t start until seven and it should be easy, so I thought you’d want to meet in the Union after yours was over to get some dinner,” Spencer said.
Ryan rubbed his eyes with two fingers and nodded. “That’s cool. I should be done at four.”
“I want some Sbarro pizza,” Spencer said. And then, “Hey, when did you go shopping?”
Ryan made a grab for the bag. “Yesterday while you were taking your test. Give me it, Spencer.”
“What the hell did you buy from the Disney store?” Spencer asked, twisting away from Ryan’s hands and opening the bag. “Oh.” He pulled out the Aladdin t-shirt and quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s his Christmas gift,” Ryan defended. “I guess he takes Christmas really seriously or whatever. Anyway, it’s just a joke.” He grabbed the shirt out of Spencer’s hand and stuffed it back into the bag.
“Yeah, okay,” Spencer said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So we’re meeting at four-fifteen?”
“Yes. Can you go now? I have to finish studying.”
***
Ryan and Brendon planned on having one more guitar lesson on the last Thursday before they’d all go home for winter break. The shirt he bought Brendon was tucked way inside of Ryan’s backpack.
He had managed, thanks to their weekly lessons, to get through most of the Pumpkins’ easier songs, and now they’d moved on to Radiohead. “Karma Police” was tricky, but by the end of the session he’d gotten most of it down.
“Yeah, that’s not quite…” Brendon said with a frown of concentration. “Here, try it on this one.” He switched Ryan’s guitar for one of his own. “Yes, yes. That’s much better.”
Ryan finished playing the song, fingers carefully strumming out the right chords while Brendon hummed along.
“Awesome,” Ryan said when he finished. He grinned down at the guitar and then back up at Brendon. “I have to go pack now, though,” he grudgingly admitted.
“You and Spence leave Saturday, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Ryan confirmed. “Our plane takes off at eight, so we have to be at the airport by like six-thirty. What about you?”
“My mom’s driving down tomorrow morning to pick me up.”
“Cool,” Ryan said. “Well, here’s your guitar back.”
“No,” Brendon said, glancing down at his hands.
“No what?” Ryan asked
“No, I don’t want the guitar back,” Brendon said. He raised his eyes and looked at Ryan from under the fringe of his hair. “Merry Christmas.”
All the air seemed to go out of Ryan’s lungs, and he sat down heavily on the bed. “What?” he asked carefully. He didn’t want to get excited only to realize that he had misunderstood what Brendon meant or that it had been a joke. “I mean. What?”
“I’m giving it to you,” Brendon explained, studying Ryan’s reaction. “It’s not new or anything. I have a spare, and my parents are getting me another one. Also, it’s Christmas, so. Merry Christmas.”
“No, I…” Ryan blinked down at the guitar in his hands and couldn’t, just couldn’t, bring himself to argue. He wanted it, could already imagine practicing with it in his room at night and annoying Spencer even more than he already did. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Brendon said, grinning at the most likely awed expression on Ryan’s face.
Abruptly, Ryan remembered the shirt in his bag. “I have - “ He stopped. What? A $15 novelty shirt I bought in the Boys’ section of the fucking Disney store? Gee, and thanks for the $300 guitar. “ - to go. I have to go.”
“Okay,” Brendon said. Ryan told himself it was the guilt that made him seem let down. “Well, Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” Ryan said. When Brendon handed him his backpack, Ryan almost stumbled from the weight of it.
***
where r u?
Ryan rolled over onto his stomach and groaned at the text message. He completely forgot that he and Brendon were going to study in the undergrad library that day for Physics 100. The class was kicking their asses, but they both had to fill a physical science gen ed requirement. Ryan figured that two heads, even if one of them was the head of an English major and the other a Music major, were better than one.
With Herculean effort, Ryan opened his Sidekick and texted Brendon back.
sry, im dying. sleep now
Ryan thumbed off the phone and tossed it back on his bedside table before promptly falling back to sleep.
He woke up some time later to the feeling of the bed dipping and arms wrapping around his waist.
“No, shh, go back to sleep,” Brendon whispered in his ear when he tried to turn.
Ryan twisted around to face him anyway. He must have been asleep longer than he thought, because he could barely make out Brendon’s features in the dusky grayness of the room. He blinked a few times, slowly, to get the sleep out of his eyes and bring Brendon into focus.
“What’re you doing here?” he mumbled.
“You’re sick,” Brendon replied.
“Yeah,” he said.
Ryan didn’t understand how that answered his question, but then his head was fuzzy from both the cold and the NyQuil he took to fight it, so it was possible he was missing something important.
“I called Spencer,” Brendon said. “You should have told me.”
“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled. “Forgot we had plans.”
“That’s not - “ Brendon sighed. “Come here.”
Ryan didn’t think they could get any closer, but Brendon managed. He tucked one knee between Ryan’s legs and pulled Ryan forward until their chests touched. Ryan ignored the way his heart gave a weak lurch in his chest in order to savor the feeling of Brendon’s heat soaking into his skin. It was the first time he’d felt warm in twenty-four hours.
Normally, after the incident on the couch, Ryan was careful not to allow this kind of close contact between them - not an easy task since Brendon was a persistent cuddler. But then, normally Ryan was worried about certain physical reactions caused by Brendon’s proximity, reactions that really weren’t going to be a problem in his current drugged out, bone-weary state.
Anyway, he was sick. He might be dying for all he knew. He could let himself enjoy it just this once.
“You’ll get it too,” he warned even as he nuzzled his cold nose against the warm skin of Brendon’s throat.
Brendon’s hand carded through Ryan’s limp, tangled hair once, and then again and again when Ryan made a sound embarrassingly close to a purr at the feeling. “You underestimate me and my immune system, Ross,” he said, his voice pitched to a whisper.
Ryan meant to answer, he did. But one of Brendon’s hands was palming the bare skin of his hip while the other massaged his aching head, and before he could think of a response - in between one shallow, open-mouthed breath and the next - he was asleep.
***
He wasn’t surprised when, a week later, Spencer knocked on his door and told him, “You gave Brendon the plague.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Ryan argued. “He’s the one that - “ He broke off, feeling his face color.
”Climbed into your bed and held you all night long?”
“Shut up, it wasn’t like that,” Ryan said.
He really could have lived without Spencer finding him and Brendon sleeping together the following morning. Ditto to the picture of them that mysteriously became the wallpaper on his computer the next day. (He changed it back immediately, but kept the picture, renamed and hidden inside the school folder in his documents.)
“You better get your ass over to his apartment, Ross.”
Ryan crossed his arms and considered arguing the point for about five seconds before he thought better of it. “I have some NyQuil left over anyway,” he said.
He ended up bringing NyQuil, Kleenex, throat lozenges and a half-empty jar of VapoRub. On a whim - probably guilt-infested, because he did feel bad, no matter what he told Spencer - he also stopped at Panera Bread and picked up some vegetable soup.
Pete Wentz answered the door of Brendon’s apartment when Ryan arrived. Jon, Patrick, Andy Hurley, Greta-from-Moonstruck and Bill all sat in the living room.
“Hey,” Pete said. Then when he saw the Panera bag, “Oh, food!”
“Fuck off,” Ryan said easily, maneuvering into the apartment and away from Pete’s grabby hands.
“Hey, Ry,” Jon greeted. “He’s in his room.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said.
Brendon looked even more pitiful than Ryan expected. He had cocooned himself in his comforter until only his wide eyes and mashed hair were visible. It was fucking adorable, frankly, even though Ryan would never admit it.
“How’re you doing?” Ryan asked.
“I welcome death,” Brendon said.
Ryan snorted. “I tried to tell you,” he said. “But you just went on about your immune system.”
“Because it’s awesome. I haven’t gotten anything so much as a cough in three years. You must have had some kind of mutant virus,” Brendon said.
“Well, I brought you all the stuff I had left over from when I was sick,” Ryan said, gesturing to his bag. “And some vegetable soup from Panera. I don’t know if you like it, but it was the only one they had without meat, so.”
“Ryan Ross, you brought me soup?” Brendon asked, sounding awed.
Ryan could feel himself blush and he stared down at his shoes to hide it. “I thought you might be hungry,” he muttered lamely.
Even though Ryan couldn’t see Brendon’s mouth, he could tell it was curved into a bright grin. “I’ll heat it up later,” Brendon said. “Put it on the dresser and come in here with me.”
Ryan hesitated. He had rules about this that he’d already disregarded once that week, and six of his friends were right outside the door. But, on the other hand, it was his fault Brendon was sick.
“You owe me so big,” Brendon said, reading his thoughts. “The soup is a start, but you need to get your ass over here.”
Decision reluctantly made, Ryan put the soup down, stripped off his coat, gloves and shoes and crawled into Brendon’s bed where he laid on his back, unsure of what to do. Brendon made an annoyed noise and draped himself over Ryan, comforter and all. One heavy arm landed across his chest and Brendon’s feverish face pushed against his neck.
Remembering how good Brendon’s warm hand had felt against his skin when he was sick, Ryan awkwardly slid his palms under Brendon’s shirt. Brendon leaned into the touch with a long, contented groan that made Ryan bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.
“You’re the best, Ryan,” he mumbled into Ryan’s neck. “Seriously, you’re my favorite forever.”
“Go to sleep,” Ryan said, staring at the ceiling.
***
At U of I, Unofficial St. Patrick’s Day was an excuse to either get wasted and skip class or get wasted and go to class fall-over drunk. Celebrated each year on the Friday before the actual St. Patrick’s Day, Unofficial started at seven am and went all the way until the bars closed at two Saturday morning.
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer, Jon and their whole group, which included Bill, Ray, Frank Iero, Bob Bryar, Pete, Patrick, Vicky-T, Greta and Siska, started at Murphy’s at seven when the Irish pub would be the least crowded. From there they made the rounds in a strategic pattern that Bill and Siska took a week creating, and that Bill claimed ensured the maximum amount of drinking with the minimum amount of standing in line waiting to drink.
Green beer kind of freaked Ryan out, but it was being sold for a dollar a cup, so he got over it.
By noon, Ray, Frank and Bob had abandoned the plan at Fire Haus to join in an intense game of Bullshit with Joe, Travis and Eric. By five, they left Pete and Patrick fucking in the bathrooms at White Horse. By nine, Vicky-T had headed back to her apartment, Bill and Siska trailing obediently behind her.
By eleven, it was the four of them left making their way through the crowded streets to Kam’s for the next stop on Bill’s magical mystery tour.
“Who wants to bet their threesome becomes a really kinky foursome when Gabe gets home?” Jon asked.
“You’re assuming that Gabe’s going to show up sometime before tomorrow morning, and that seems unlikely,” Spencer said.
“That’s true,” Jon said. “Still, it’s funny to think about. I mean, Vicky-T and Bill could handle him, but imagine Sisky? He’d get eaten alive.”
They turned onto Daniel Street, and as they did, Spencer ran headfirst into a couple of frat guys on the corner.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Spencer said.
“Watch where you’re going!” the first guy shouted, swaying on his feet dangerously.
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “I said sorry.”
“And he said be a little more fucking careful, fag,” the second one sneered.
Jon stepped in front of Spencer. “Why don’t you guys just keep walking?” he suggested.
“What are you, his boyfriend?” the first one asked, laughing in drunken glee at the idea.
“I don’t know,” Jon volleyed back, gesturing at the second guy and then back to the first. “Is he yours?”
Both guys lurched forward, and Ryan exchanged a nervous look with Brendon. Things had the sudden potential to get really fucking hairy.
“Watch that big fucking mouth of yours, or you’re gonna get your ass kicked!” the first one yelled.
“Jon…” Brendon said nervously as a crowd of passers-by stopped to stare.
“Kick my ass?” Jon scoffed. “Please, you’d be lucky if you could find your own.”
Jesus, they were going to die. They were going to die wearing the stupid green and orange Unofficial t-shirts that Bill had made them, and there was nothing Ryan could do about it.
“That’s it, you cocksuc - “ the second one shouted, cutting off abruptly when the sharp blare of a police siren sounded.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” the cop asked, leaning her head out of the open window of the squad car. “I’d hate to have to get out and check IDs.”
Everyone took a step back. “No, officer,” the second frat guy said. “There’s no problem.”
“Well?” she asked, looking at Jon.
Jon was quiet a second and then replied, “No, no problem.”
“Good,” the officer said. “Now get moving.”
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon made their way around the corner towards Kam’s, and the two guys walked past, sending Jon a long, venomous look that Jon returned.
Once they turned down Green Street and the officer left, Ryan pressed a hand to his heart, feeling it racing inside his chest. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god,” Brendon repeated. “Oh my god, Jon Walker, you almost got us killed. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Those guys were assholes,” Jon said, eyes hot and angry.
“So are a lot of people,” Ryan said. “That doesn’t mean that you should - “
Beside him, Spencer said, quietly, “Okay.”
Ryan stopped mid-tirade to look over at Spencer for the first time since he accidentally initiated the incident. Spencer stood next to Ryan, but his eyes were trained on Jon.
“Um…what?” Jon asked, looking suddenly uncertain instead of pissed off.
“I said ‘okay,’” Spencer repeated. “As in, ‘okay, you win.’”
“What do you mean, I - ” Jon’s question was cut off by Spencer taking two steps forward, cupping a hand around the back of Jon’s neck and crashing their mouths together.
Brendon gasped, and Ryan put a hand over his own mouth to cover his grin.
“Holy shit,” Jon panted, eyes wide, when Spencer finally let him up for air. “I win.”
***
Over the next few weeks, Ryan had to deal with a ridiculously, disgustingly in love and well laid Spencer Smith, which was almost more than he could handle. And together they were even worse. Watching Jon and Spencer together was like being strangled to death by a litter of fluffy, newborn kittens.
Ryan thought that it would get better when Jon went home for Spring Break, but he hadn’t been able to detach Spencer from his Sidekick for the whole week. And when Jon came back, he might as well have been a soldier returning from war with the way Spencer acted.
Ryan spent a lot of time with his headphones on.
“Guess what,” Spencer said. It was one of the rare Jon-free moments during the day, and he and Ryan were making their way to the other side of the Union to study in the lounge.
“I don’t know,” Ryan said, eyebrow raised, “but I’ll take a leap and say that it’s Jon-related.”
“He’s staying here for grad school,” Spencer said, beaming. “Got a job as a TA and everything.”
Ryan bit his lip to avoid matching Spencer’s smile with his own, which was tough. When Spencer Smith smiled that way, you couldn’t help but smile back.
“So you’re telling me that I get another two years of you guys being gross together? Awesome,” Ryan said.
Just then, Brendon appeared at Ryan’s side as if by magic, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. “Hi there, my two favorite people! Ryan, I thought you could use this after your eight o’clock class.” He handed him one of the cups.
“Oh, thanks,” Ryan said in surprise, smiling at Brendon. “We’re going to the lounge, want to come?”
“I can’t,” Brendon said. “I’m meeting my Music Theory group in like five minutes. I just saw you guys walk past Espresso while I was in line and thought I’d pick you up something. I’ll call you later, though.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “See you.”
“Bye, Ryan. Spencer, Jon sends his love. Well, I didn’t actually talk to him, but I’m assuming.”
“Bye, Brendon,” Spencer said, sounding amused.
Brendon gave a salute, and Ryan watched as he wove his way through the lunch crowd before disappearing out the doors. Beside him, Spencer snorted.
“I’m sorry, who’s gross?” he asked.
“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.
***
“Can we talk about Brendon?” Spencer asked later that night as they sat watching TV.
“No,” Ryan said.
“Come on…” Spencer began.
“What, because you finally got your act together with Jon you think you’re some authority now?” Ryan demanded.
“No,” Spencer replied evenly. “I’m your best friend. That makes me the authority.”
“There’s nothing going on,” Ryan said.
“Jesus, Ry, you made him soup,” Spencer said.
“I bought him soup!” Ryan corrected. “And how do you even know that?”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “I only got, like, five separate text messages after it happened.”
“Look, Brendon’s a nice guy - “
“Oh my god!” Spencer cried. “Are you seriously still on that ‘nice guy’ shit? You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to date a nice guy for once.”
“That’s it, though,” Ryan said. “I don’t date. I hook up. I have a good time.”
“I know. With Gabe fucking Saporta and Pete Wentz and Alex Suarez and Random Guy #45.”
“Yes,” Ryan agreed.
“Who have you been with lately?” Spencer asked, the challenge evident in his voice.
“I’ve…” Ryan trailed off when he realized that he had to struggle to remember the last time he’d hooked up. “Alex.”
“Which was, what, four months ago?” Spencer looked triumphant.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ryan protested. So what if he hadn’t fucked anyone in a while? That didn’t mean he couldn’t any time he felt like it.
“Are you kidding me with this?” Spencer asked incredulously. “Don’t you think that maybe it’s time to, I don’t know, grow the fuck up already?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Spencer?”
“Yeah, you know what? Good idea. I think I will,” Spencer said. He jumped off the couch and crashed out the front door.
***
A bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea from the moment he suggested it, but once it was said, he couldn’t take it back.
“Is this some kinky role playing thing?” Gabe asked, kissing his way down Ryan’s chest. “Do you want to call me Brendon?”
“Oh god, would you shut the fuck up?” Ryan whined. “Come on and do it already, jesus.”
“Have you imagined him on this couch?” Gabe persisted, pressing Ryan’s hips down into the cushions. “Have you imagined sucking him off here?”
Ryan’s naked leg made contact with Gabe’s stomach. “Stop it,” he hissed. “That’s not what this is, and if you mention Brendon again, you’re leaving.”
“Okay, okay,” Gabe said, raising his hands in surrender. “Excuse me for trying to spice things up a little.”
“Your dick in my ass would be pretty spicy, don’t you think?” Ryan asked, wrapping a leg around Gabe’s waist and yanking him closer.
“Such a sweet-talker, Ross,” Gabe said. “Do you have a condom?”
“In my bag,” Ryan said. “Hang on.” He stretched his arm out for his bag lying on the carpet a few feet from the couch. “Can you reach it?”
“I’ll…Let me up,” Gabe said, hopping off the couch.
Just as he bent down to pick up Ryan’s bag, the lock on the front door clicked open.
“Shit!” Ryan cried, grabbing the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around himself.
Spencer walked in the living room and froze, his eyes widening. “What the fuck?”
Behind him, Gabe fumbled for his jeans, hopping on one leg to pull them up. Ryan barely spared him a glance, though; his whole focus was on Spencer and the look of horror blooming across his face.
“Spencer…” Ryan started, before he was interrupted by a noise in the hallway.
His stomach dropped as Brendon and Jon’s laughing voices became audible.
“Ryan Ross!” Brendon yelled as they entered, “I brought you some dinner - oh.” He and Jon both stopped behind Spencer. A carry out bag from Applebee’s dangled in one of Brendon’s hands, and all of the color had drained out of his face.
“Brendon,” Ryan said, feeling suddenly desperate. “Brendon.”
“Wow, um. I have to leave,” Brendon said, and he sounded so defeated that it made Ryan’s heart clench.
“Brendon, wait.” He stood up to follow him out the door and was reminded abruptly of the afghan wrapped around his waist. “Jon,” he said when the man’s accusing stare was turned on him. “I didn’t…” The words were hard to force out around the lump in his throat.
“I’m going after him,” Jon said to Spencer, who nodded.
“So,” Gabe said after Jon left, pulling on his stupid purple hoodie, “I hate it when this happens.”
“Get the fuck out,” Spencer said.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, and took off out the door.
Ryan stood in front of Spencer, hands still clutching the afghan covering him.
“You’re such an asshole,” Spencer said. “I can’t deal with you right now.” He turned around and walked out, leaving Ryan in the living room, naked and alone.
***
For two days, Ryan experienced radio silence from his friends. Spencer refused to speak to him, and spent the night at Jon’s so that he didn’t have to see Ryan. Jon wouldn’t buzz Ryan in when he showed up later that night.
And Brendon. It was like Brendon disappeared. He wasn’t online, his phone went straight to voicemail and he wouldn’t answer any of Ryan texts. He also wasn’t at any of his classes the next day. Ryan knew because he waited outside of each one.
With every unanswered voicemail and text message, and as more time passed, the pit inside of Ryan’s stomach grew. It only got worse when he acknowledged to himself what it was, what it meant, and admitted how monumentally he messed up.
Finally, on the second day, Spencer walked into his room. He looked at Ryan for a moment and then said, “He switched practice times with Patrick. He’ll be there today at six.”
Ryan swallowed around the tightness in his throat and nodded. “Thanks.”
Spencer didn’t answer. He just shot him a look that said he wasn’t sure he could trust Ryan with that information, but he was going to give it a try anyway. Ryan figured he probably deserved that.
***
At six-fifteen, Ryan stood outside of the practice room. He ignored the way his hands shook from nerves and slipped inside, hoping that the element of surprise might work to his advantage.
It wasn’t like it had been that long since Ryan had seen Brendon, but the sight of the slumped line of his back still made Ryan’s breath catch.
“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse.
There was no discordant clash of keys, the way that Ryan’s overly dramatic mind had anticipated. Instead Brendon stilled, letting the last notes hang in the air between them. He didn’t say a word.
“Hey, so,” Ryan continued. He took a deep breath and let the question come tumbling out. “So, out of curiosity, how long have we been dating?”
Brendon gave a mirthless laugh. “How long have we known each other?”
Ryan nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. That’s what he had been afraid of. “You never said anything. ”
“I thought you needed some time,” Brendon explained. “I was waiting for you.”
Spencer was right. He was such an asshole. The knot of regret lodged in his throat spread down, making his chest feel constricted and tight. “Brendon…”
“I know,” he said. “I’m an idiot.”
“No,” Ryan argued quickly. “No, you’re not an idiot. You’re…I mean, the thing with Gabe is…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Don’t turn around, okay? I don’t think I can say this if you do.”
“That’s not going to be a problem,” Brendon said with a derisive snort.
“Right,” Ryan winced. He licked his lips and stared intently down at his own boots. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. Which, um, you already know. It’s just not me; it’s not the way that I am. I’ve never wanted to be in one before, either. Not until I met you. I don’t know how it happened, because you started out as this weird kid wearing parachute pants and who talked too much and was too damn excited all the time, but now you’re. You’re really important to me, Brendon. And the thing with Gabe was... I was scared. I’d had a fight with Spencer about you the day before, and I thought I could prove to myself. You know, prove that Spencer was wrong, and that we weren’t…but he wasn’t wrong.”
Ryan chanced a peek up at the back of Brendon’s head, only to find him twisted around on the bench, staring at Ryan with wide eyes.
“You, um…” Ryan stuttered. “You said you weren’t going to turn around.”
“Yeah, that’s when I thought you were about to break my heart. Ryan Ross.” Brendon pushed off of the bench and stood in front of Ryan.
Ryan’s heart thudded in his chest as he boldly met Brendon’s eyes with his own.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Brendon studied him a minute and then laughed, bright and happy. “God, you’re so in love with me.”
Ryan swallowed down the denial that had become automatic over the past six months and forced himself to be honest for the first time since he met Brendon. “Yeah.”
He let Brendon push him until his back hit the wall. Then he let him push his hands into Ryan’s hair and kiss him until Ryan couldn’t breathe.
***
Later that night, Brendon squeezed Ryan tightly and hid his face in Ryan’s neck.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“Brendon, go to the bathroom,” Ryan said with fond exasperation. “You’re not pissing on my bed.”
“But I’m comfortable,” Brendon whined, clutching at Ryan’s hip.
Desperate times, Ryan thought, and dug his fingers into the tender skin of Brendon’s waist. Brendon leapt, a genuine, flying leap that got him over Ryan’s body and off of the bed.
“That was a terrible trick, Ross,” he grumbled, but he still headed to the door. Ryan let him get his hand on the doorknob before stopping him.
“I know Spencer likes you, but I don’t think he likes you that much,” he said.
“Pants?” Brendon asked.
“Pants,” Ryan agreed.
He sighed. “You ask so much of me.” He grabbed a pair of Ryan’s sweatpants off of the ground and stepped into them. “I’ll be right back. Do not, do not, do not move.”
Ryan smiled. “I won’t.” He didn’t think he could, even if he had wanted to, which he definitely did not.
Brendon backed out of the door, watching Ryan until it closed. Splaying one hand over his chest, Ryan closed his eyes and waited for Brendon to come back to bed.
A minute later he returned. Ryan heard the turn of the handle and then the muffled sound of Brendon’s bare feet on the carpet. He shuffled closer to the bed, and Ryan tensed in preparation for the payback he’d receive for the surprise tickling. Instead, Brendon stopped and there was the sound of crinkling plastic.
“Disney!” Brendon cried.
Ryan’s eyes sprung open and he was out of the bed making a grab for the bag before he was even conscious of moving.
“Hiding something from…” Brendon said, twisting easily away from Ryan’s hands, “me - ?” He pulled out the Aladdin shirt and gaped. “What?”
Ryan sat back down on the bed, feeling his face heat. “It was your Christmas gift.”
“For next year?”
“No, last year,” Ryan admitted. “I got it for you, but then you gave me your guitar and I thought a shirt was a pretty shitty gift in comparison.”
Brendon ripped the tag off of the shirt and tugged it over his head. He smoothed out the wrinkles with his hand and looked up at Ryan, grinning.
“It’s kind of embarrassing how into me you are, isn’t it?” he asked.
Ryan threw a sock at his head but had to admit, “It kind of is.”
Special Features
“Suck me,” Ryan demanded, breathless from kissing.
Alex Suarez was Vicky-T’s best friend, and he had dark hair that fell into his eyes and a mouth that Ryan fucking loved to push his cock into.
“Demanding, aren’t we?” Alex asked, but he dropped obediently to his knees.
“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m meeting a friend in an hour.” Ryan tilted his head back against the wall when Alex pushed his black jeans down his thighs. “Fuck yeah.”
He threw an arm over his eyes and arched luxuriously into Alex’s mouth. After a few wet, tight sucks, Alex pulled back.
“You’d better return the favor, asshole.”
“I will,” Ryan promised, anchoring Alex’s head back down to his dick. “I will, just. Don’t talk, okay?”
“Whatever,” Alex said. “You’re lucky you’re so fucking pretty.”
***
“Is your American Lit final today at Foellinger?” Spencer asked, coming into Ryan’s room while he got some last minute studying done.
“Yeah, why?” he asked. He’d never gotten around to reading Ethan Frome, despite buying it a month and a half before. The plot was easily discernible from the class discussion, but there was going to be an essay question on the final, and Ryan was speed-reading through to catch some of the smaller details.
“My History final doesn’t start until seven and it should be easy, so I thought you’d want to meet in the Union after yours was over to get some dinner,” Spencer said.
Ryan rubbed his eyes with two fingers and nodded. “That’s cool. I should be done at four.”
“I want some Sbarro pizza,” Spencer said. And then, “Hey, when did you go shopping?”
Ryan made a grab for the bag. “Yesterday while you were taking your test. Give me it, Spencer.”
“What the hell did you buy from the Disney store?” Spencer asked, twisting away from Ryan’s hands and opening the bag. “Oh.” He pulled out the Aladdin t-shirt and quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s his Christmas gift,” Ryan defended. “I guess he takes Christmas really seriously or whatever. Anyway, it’s just a joke.” He grabbed the shirt out of Spencer’s hand and stuffed it back into the bag.
“Yeah, okay,” Spencer said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So we’re meeting at four-fifteen?”
“Yes. Can you go now? I have to finish studying.”
***
Ryan and Brendon planned on having one more guitar lesson on the last Thursday before they’d all go home for winter break. The shirt he bought Brendon was tucked way inside of Ryan’s backpack.
He had managed, thanks to their weekly lessons, to get through most of the Pumpkins’ easier songs, and now they’d moved on to Radiohead. “Karma Police” was tricky, but by the end of the session he’d gotten most of it down.
“Yeah, that’s not quite…” Brendon said with a frown of concentration. “Here, try it on this one.” He switched Ryan’s guitar for one of his own. “Yes, yes. That’s much better.”
Ryan finished playing the song, fingers carefully strumming out the right chords while Brendon hummed along.
“Awesome,” Ryan said when he finished. He grinned down at the guitar and then back up at Brendon. “I have to go pack now, though,” he grudgingly admitted.
“You and Spence leave Saturday, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Ryan confirmed. “Our plane takes off at eight, so we have to be at the airport by like six-thirty. What about you?”
“My mom’s driving down tomorrow morning to pick me up.”
“Cool,” Ryan said. “Well, here’s your guitar back.”
“No,” Brendon said, glancing down at his hands.
“No what?” Ryan asked
“No, I don’t want the guitar back,” Brendon said. He raised his eyes and looked at Ryan from under the fringe of his hair. “Merry Christmas.”
All the air seemed to go out of Ryan’s lungs, and he sat down heavily on the bed. “What?” he asked carefully. He didn’t want to get excited only to realize that he had misunderstood what Brendon meant or that it had been a joke. “I mean. What?”
“I’m giving it to you,” Brendon explained, studying Ryan’s reaction. “It’s not new or anything. I have a spare, and my parents are getting me another one. Also, it’s Christmas, so. Merry Christmas.”
“No, I…” Ryan blinked down at the guitar in his hands and couldn’t, just couldn’t, bring himself to argue. He wanted it, could already imagine practicing with it in his room at night and annoying Spencer even more than he already did. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Brendon said, grinning at the most likely awed expression on Ryan’s face.
Abruptly, Ryan remembered the shirt in his bag. “I have - “ He stopped. What? A $15 novelty shirt I bought in the Boys’ section of the fucking Disney store? Gee, and thanks for the $300 guitar. “ - to go. I have to go.”
“Okay,” Brendon said. Ryan told himself it was the guilt that made him seem let down. “Well, Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” Ryan said. When Brendon handed him his backpack, Ryan almost stumbled from the weight of it.
***
where r u?
Ryan rolled over onto his stomach and groaned at the text message. He completely forgot that he and Brendon were going to study in the undergrad library that day for Physics 100. The class was kicking their asses, but they both had to fill a physical science gen ed requirement. Ryan figured that two heads, even if one of them was the head of an English major and the other a Music major, were better than one.
With Herculean effort, Ryan opened his Sidekick and texted Brendon back.
sry, im dying. sleep now
Ryan thumbed off the phone and tossed it back on his bedside table before promptly falling back to sleep.
He woke up some time later to the feeling of the bed dipping and arms wrapping around his waist.
“No, shh, go back to sleep,” Brendon whispered in his ear when he tried to turn.
Ryan twisted around to face him anyway. He must have been asleep longer than he thought, because he could barely make out Brendon’s features in the dusky grayness of the room. He blinked a few times, slowly, to get the sleep out of his eyes and bring Brendon into focus.
“What’re you doing here?” he mumbled.
“You’re sick,” Brendon replied.
“Yeah,” he said.
Ryan didn’t understand how that answered his question, but then his head was fuzzy from both the cold and the NyQuil he took to fight it, so it was possible he was missing something important.
“I called Spencer,” Brendon said. “You should have told me.”
“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled. “Forgot we had plans.”
“That’s not - “ Brendon sighed. “Come here.”
Ryan didn’t think they could get any closer, but Brendon managed. He tucked one knee between Ryan’s legs and pulled Ryan forward until their chests touched. Ryan ignored the way his heart gave a weak lurch in his chest in order to savor the feeling of Brendon’s heat soaking into his skin. It was the first time he’d felt warm in twenty-four hours.
Normally, after the incident on the couch, Ryan was careful not to allow this kind of close contact between them - not an easy task since Brendon was a persistent cuddler. But then, normally Ryan was worried about certain physical reactions caused by Brendon’s proximity, reactions that really weren’t going to be a problem in his current drugged out, bone-weary state.
Anyway, he was sick. He might be dying for all he knew. He could let himself enjoy it just this once.
“You’ll get it too,” he warned even as he nuzzled his cold nose against the warm skin of Brendon’s throat.
Brendon’s hand carded through Ryan’s limp, tangled hair once, and then again and again when Ryan made a sound embarrassingly close to a purr at the feeling. “You underestimate me and my immune system, Ross,” he said, his voice pitched to a whisper.
Ryan meant to answer, he did. But one of Brendon’s hands was palming the bare skin of his hip while the other massaged his aching head, and before he could think of a response - in between one shallow, open-mouthed breath and the next - he was asleep.
***
He wasn’t surprised when, a week later, Spencer knocked on his door and told him, “You gave Brendon the plague.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Ryan argued. “He’s the one that - “ He broke off, feeling his face color.
”Climbed into your bed and held you all night long?”
“Shut up, it wasn’t like that,” Ryan said.
He really could have lived without Spencer finding him and Brendon sleeping together the following morning. Ditto to the picture of them that mysteriously became the wallpaper on his computer the next day. (He changed it back immediately, but kept the picture, renamed and hidden inside the school folder in his documents.)
“You better get your ass over to his apartment, Ross.”
Ryan crossed his arms and considered arguing the point for about five seconds before he thought better of it. “I have some NyQuil left over anyway,” he said.
He ended up bringing NyQuil, Kleenex, throat lozenges and a half-empty jar of VapoRub. On a whim - probably guilt-infested, because he did feel bad, no matter what he told Spencer - he also stopped at Panera Bread and picked up some vegetable soup.
Pete Wentz answered the door of Brendon’s apartment when Ryan arrived. Jon, Patrick, Andy Hurley, Greta-from-Moonstruck and Bill all sat in the living room.
“Hey,” Pete said. Then when he saw the Panera bag, “Oh, food!”
“Fuck off,” Ryan said easily, maneuvering into the apartment and away from Pete’s grabby hands.
“Hey, Ry,” Jon greeted. “He’s in his room.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said.
Brendon looked even more pitiful than Ryan expected. He had cocooned himself in his comforter until only his wide eyes and mashed hair were visible. It was fucking adorable, frankly, even though Ryan would never admit it.
“How’re you doing?” Ryan asked.
“I welcome death,” Brendon said.
Ryan snorted. “I tried to tell you,” he said. “But you just went on about your immune system.”
“Because it’s awesome. I haven’t gotten anything so much as a cough in three years. You must have had some kind of mutant virus,” Brendon said.
“Well, I brought you all the stuff I had left over from when I was sick,” Ryan said, gesturing to his bag. “And some vegetable soup from Panera. I don’t know if you like it, but it was the only one they had without meat, so.”
“Ryan Ross, you brought me soup?” Brendon asked, sounding awed.
Ryan could feel himself blush and he stared down at his shoes to hide it. “I thought you might be hungry,” he muttered lamely.
Even though Ryan couldn’t see Brendon’s mouth, he could tell it was curved into a bright grin. “I’ll heat it up later,” Brendon said. “Put it on the dresser and come in here with me.”
Ryan hesitated. He had rules about this that he’d already disregarded once that week, and six of his friends were right outside the door. But, on the other hand, it was his fault Brendon was sick.
“You owe me so big,” Brendon said, reading his thoughts. “The soup is a start, but you need to get your ass over here.”
Decision reluctantly made, Ryan put the soup down, stripped off his coat, gloves and shoes and crawled into Brendon’s bed where he laid on his back, unsure of what to do. Brendon made an annoyed noise and draped himself over Ryan, comforter and all. One heavy arm landed across his chest and Brendon’s feverish face pushed against his neck.
Remembering how good Brendon’s warm hand had felt against his skin when he was sick, Ryan awkwardly slid his palms under Brendon’s shirt. Brendon leaned into the touch with a long, contented groan that made Ryan bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.
“You’re the best, Ryan,” he mumbled into Ryan’s neck. “Seriously, you’re my favorite forever.”
“Go to sleep,” Ryan said, staring at the ceiling.
***
At U of I, Unofficial St. Patrick’s Day was an excuse to either get wasted and skip class or get wasted and go to class fall-over drunk. Celebrated each year on the Friday before the actual St. Patrick’s Day, Unofficial started at seven am and went all the way until the bars closed at two Saturday morning.
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer, Jon and their whole group, which included Bill, Ray, Frank Iero, Bob Bryar, Pete, Patrick, Vicky-T, Greta and Siska, started at Murphy’s at seven when the Irish pub would be the least crowded. From there they made the rounds in a strategic pattern that Bill and Siska took a week creating, and that Bill claimed ensured the maximum amount of drinking with the minimum amount of standing in line waiting to drink.
Green beer kind of freaked Ryan out, but it was being sold for a dollar a cup, so he got over it.
By noon, Ray, Frank and Bob had abandoned the plan at Fire Haus to join in an intense game of Bullshit with Joe, Travis and Eric. By five, they left Pete and Patrick fucking in the bathrooms at White Horse. By nine, Vicky-T had headed back to her apartment, Bill and Siska trailing obediently behind her.
By eleven, it was the four of them left making their way through the crowded streets to Kam’s for the next stop on Bill’s magical mystery tour.
“Who wants to bet their threesome becomes a really kinky foursome when Gabe gets home?” Jon asked.
“You’re assuming that Gabe’s going to show up sometime before tomorrow morning, and that seems unlikely,” Spencer said.
“That’s true,” Jon said. “Still, it’s funny to think about. I mean, Vicky-T and Bill could handle him, but imagine Sisky? He’d get eaten alive.”
They turned onto Daniel Street, and as they did, Spencer ran headfirst into a couple of frat guys on the corner.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Spencer said.
“Watch where you’re going!” the first guy shouted, swaying on his feet dangerously.
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “I said sorry.”
“And he said be a little more fucking careful, fag,” the second one sneered.
Jon stepped in front of Spencer. “Why don’t you guys just keep walking?” he suggested.
“What are you, his boyfriend?” the first one asked, laughing in drunken glee at the idea.
“I don’t know,” Jon volleyed back, gesturing at the second guy and then back to the first. “Is he yours?”
Both guys lurched forward, and Ryan exchanged a nervous look with Brendon. Things had the sudden potential to get really fucking hairy.
“Watch that big fucking mouth of yours, or you’re gonna get your ass kicked!” the first one yelled.
“Jon…” Brendon said nervously as a crowd of passers-by stopped to stare.
“Kick my ass?” Jon scoffed. “Please, you’d be lucky if you could find your own.”
Jesus, they were going to die. They were going to die wearing the stupid green and orange Unofficial t-shirts that Bill had made them, and there was nothing Ryan could do about it.
“That’s it, you cocksuc - “ the second one shouted, cutting off abruptly when the sharp blare of a police siren sounded.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” the cop asked, leaning her head out of the open window of the squad car. “I’d hate to have to get out and check IDs.”
Everyone took a step back. “No, officer,” the second frat guy said. “There’s no problem.”
“Well?” she asked, looking at Jon.
Jon was quiet a second and then replied, “No, no problem.”
“Good,” the officer said. “Now get moving.”
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon made their way around the corner towards Kam’s, and the two guys walked past, sending Jon a long, venomous look that Jon returned.
Once they turned down Green Street and the officer left, Ryan pressed a hand to his heart, feeling it racing inside his chest. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god,” Brendon repeated. “Oh my god, Jon Walker, you almost got us killed. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Those guys were assholes,” Jon said, eyes hot and angry.
“So are a lot of people,” Ryan said. “That doesn’t mean that you should - “
Beside him, Spencer said, quietly, “Okay.”
Ryan stopped mid-tirade to look over at Spencer for the first time since he accidentally initiated the incident. Spencer stood next to Ryan, but his eyes were trained on Jon.
“Um…what?” Jon asked, looking suddenly uncertain instead of pissed off.
“I said ‘okay,’” Spencer repeated. “As in, ‘okay, you win.’”
“What do you mean, I - ” Jon’s question was cut off by Spencer taking two steps forward, cupping a hand around the back of Jon’s neck and crashing their mouths together.
Brendon gasped, and Ryan put a hand over his own mouth to cover his grin.
“Holy shit,” Jon panted, eyes wide, when Spencer finally let him up for air. “I win.”
***
Over the next few weeks, Ryan had to deal with a ridiculously, disgustingly in love and well laid Spencer Smith, which was almost more than he could handle. And together they were even worse. Watching Jon and Spencer together was like being strangled to death by a litter of fluffy, newborn kittens.
Ryan thought that it would get better when Jon went home for Spring Break, but he hadn’t been able to detach Spencer from his Sidekick for the whole week. And when Jon came back, he might as well have been a soldier returning from war with the way Spencer acted.
Ryan spent a lot of time with his headphones on.
“Guess what,” Spencer said. It was one of the rare Jon-free moments during the day, and he and Ryan were making their way to the other side of the Union to study in the lounge.
“I don’t know,” Ryan said, eyebrow raised, “but I’ll take a leap and say that it’s Jon-related.”
“He’s staying here for grad school,” Spencer said, beaming. “Got a job as a TA and everything.”
Ryan bit his lip to avoid matching Spencer’s smile with his own, which was tough. When Spencer Smith smiled that way, you couldn’t help but smile back.
“So you’re telling me that I get another two years of you guys being gross together? Awesome,” Ryan said.
Just then, Brendon appeared at Ryan’s side as if by magic, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. “Hi there, my two favorite people! Ryan, I thought you could use this after your eight o’clock class.” He handed him one of the cups.
“Oh, thanks,” Ryan said in surprise, smiling at Brendon. “We’re going to the lounge, want to come?”
“I can’t,” Brendon said. “I’m meeting my Music Theory group in like five minutes. I just saw you guys walk past Espresso while I was in line and thought I’d pick you up something. I’ll call you later, though.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “See you.”
“Bye, Ryan. Spencer, Jon sends his love. Well, I didn’t actually talk to him, but I’m assuming.”
“Bye, Brendon,” Spencer said, sounding amused.
Brendon gave a salute, and Ryan watched as he wove his way through the lunch crowd before disappearing out the doors. Beside him, Spencer snorted.
“I’m sorry, who’s gross?” he asked.
“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.
***
“Can we talk about Brendon?” Spencer asked later that night as they sat watching TV.
“No,” Ryan said.
“Come on…” Spencer began.
“What, because you finally got your act together with Jon you think you’re some authority now?” Ryan demanded.
“No,” Spencer replied evenly. “I’m your best friend. That makes me the authority.”
“There’s nothing going on,” Ryan said.
“Jesus, Ry, you made him soup,” Spencer said.
“I bought him soup!” Ryan corrected. “And how do you even know that?”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “I only got, like, five separate text messages after it happened.”
“Look, Brendon’s a nice guy - “
“Oh my god!” Spencer cried. “Are you seriously still on that ‘nice guy’ shit? You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to date a nice guy for once.”
“That’s it, though,” Ryan said. “I don’t date. I hook up. I have a good time.”
“I know. With Gabe fucking Saporta and Pete Wentz and Alex Suarez and Random Guy #45.”
“Yes,” Ryan agreed.
“Who have you been with lately?” Spencer asked, the challenge evident in his voice.
“I’ve…” Ryan trailed off when he realized that he had to struggle to remember the last time he’d hooked up. “Alex.”
“Which was, what, four months ago?” Spencer looked triumphant.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ryan protested. So what if he hadn’t fucked anyone in a while? That didn’t mean he couldn’t any time he felt like it.
“Are you kidding me with this?” Spencer asked incredulously. “Don’t you think that maybe it’s time to, I don’t know, grow the fuck up already?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Spencer?”
“Yeah, you know what? Good idea. I think I will,” Spencer said. He jumped off the couch and crashed out the front door.
***
A bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea from the moment he suggested it, but once it was said, he couldn’t take it back.
“Is this some kinky role playing thing?” Gabe asked, kissing his way down Ryan’s chest. “Do you want to call me Brendon?”
“Oh god, would you shut the fuck up?” Ryan whined. “Come on and do it already, jesus.”
“Have you imagined him on this couch?” Gabe persisted, pressing Ryan’s hips down into the cushions. “Have you imagined sucking him off here?”
Ryan’s naked leg made contact with Gabe’s stomach. “Stop it,” he hissed. “That’s not what this is, and if you mention Brendon again, you’re leaving.”
“Okay, okay,” Gabe said, raising his hands in surrender. “Excuse me for trying to spice things up a little.”
“Your dick in my ass would be pretty spicy, don’t you think?” Ryan asked, wrapping a leg around Gabe’s waist and yanking him closer.
“Such a sweet-talker, Ross,” Gabe said. “Do you have a condom?”
“In my bag,” Ryan said. “Hang on.” He stretched his arm out for his bag lying on the carpet a few feet from the couch. “Can you reach it?”
“I’ll…Let me up,” Gabe said, hopping off the couch.
Just as he bent down to pick up Ryan’s bag, the lock on the front door clicked open.
“Shit!” Ryan cried, grabbing the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around himself.
Spencer walked in the living room and froze, his eyes widening. “What the fuck?”
Behind him, Gabe fumbled for his jeans, hopping on one leg to pull them up. Ryan barely spared him a glance, though; his whole focus was on Spencer and the look of horror blooming across his face.
“Spencer…” Ryan started, before he was interrupted by a noise in the hallway.
His stomach dropped as Brendon and Jon’s laughing voices became audible.
“Ryan Ross!” Brendon yelled as they entered, “I brought you some dinner - oh.” He and Jon both stopped behind Spencer. A carry out bag from Applebee’s dangled in one of Brendon’s hands, and all of the color had drained out of his face.
“Brendon,” Ryan said, feeling suddenly desperate. “Brendon.”
“Wow, um. I have to leave,” Brendon said, and he sounded so defeated that it made Ryan’s heart clench.
“Brendon, wait.” He stood up to follow him out the door and was reminded abruptly of the afghan wrapped around his waist. “Jon,” he said when the man’s accusing stare was turned on him. “I didn’t…” The words were hard to force out around the lump in his throat.
“I’m going after him,” Jon said to Spencer, who nodded.
“So,” Gabe said after Jon left, pulling on his stupid purple hoodie, “I hate it when this happens.”
“Get the fuck out,” Spencer said.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, and took off out the door.
Ryan stood in front of Spencer, hands still clutching the afghan covering him.
“You’re such an asshole,” Spencer said. “I can’t deal with you right now.” He turned around and walked out, leaving Ryan in the living room, naked and alone.
***
For two days, Ryan experienced radio silence from his friends. Spencer refused to speak to him, and spent the night at Jon’s so that he didn’t have to see Ryan. Jon wouldn’t buzz Ryan in when he showed up later that night.
And Brendon. It was like Brendon disappeared. He wasn’t online, his phone went straight to voicemail and he wouldn’t answer any of Ryan texts. He also wasn’t at any of his classes the next day. Ryan knew because he waited outside of each one.
With every unanswered voicemail and text message, and as more time passed, the pit inside of Ryan’s stomach grew. It only got worse when he acknowledged to himself what it was, what it meant, and admitted how monumentally he messed up.
Finally, on the second day, Spencer walked into his room. He looked at Ryan for a moment and then said, “He switched practice times with Patrick. He’ll be there today at six.”
Ryan swallowed around the tightness in his throat and nodded. “Thanks.”
Spencer didn’t answer. He just shot him a look that said he wasn’t sure he could trust Ryan with that information, but he was going to give it a try anyway. Ryan figured he probably deserved that.
***
At six-fifteen, Ryan stood outside of the practice room. He ignored the way his hands shook from nerves and slipped inside, hoping that the element of surprise might work to his advantage.
It wasn’t like it had been that long since Ryan had seen Brendon, but the sight of the slumped line of his back still made Ryan’s breath catch.
“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse.
There was no discordant clash of keys, the way that Ryan’s overly dramatic mind had anticipated. Instead Brendon stilled, letting the last notes hang in the air between them. He didn’t say a word.
“Hey, so,” Ryan continued. He took a deep breath and let the question come tumbling out. “So, out of curiosity, how long have we been dating?”
Brendon gave a mirthless laugh. “How long have we known each other?”
Ryan nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. That’s what he had been afraid of. “You never said anything. ”
“I thought you needed some time,” Brendon explained. “I was waiting for you.”
Spencer was right. He was such an asshole. The knot of regret lodged in his throat spread down, making his chest feel constricted and tight. “Brendon…”
“I know,” he said. “I’m an idiot.”
“No,” Ryan argued quickly. “No, you’re not an idiot. You’re…I mean, the thing with Gabe is…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Don’t turn around, okay? I don’t think I can say this if you do.”
“That’s not going to be a problem,” Brendon said with a derisive snort.
“Right,” Ryan winced. He licked his lips and stared intently down at his own boots. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. Which, um, you already know. It’s just not me; it’s not the way that I am. I’ve never wanted to be in one before, either. Not until I met you. I don’t know how it happened, because you started out as this weird kid wearing parachute pants and who talked too much and was too damn excited all the time, but now you’re. You’re really important to me, Brendon. And the thing with Gabe was... I was scared. I’d had a fight with Spencer about you the day before, and I thought I could prove to myself. You know, prove that Spencer was wrong, and that we weren’t…but he wasn’t wrong.”
Ryan chanced a peek up at the back of Brendon’s head, only to find him twisted around on the bench, staring at Ryan with wide eyes.
“You, um…” Ryan stuttered. “You said you weren’t going to turn around.”
“Yeah, that’s when I thought you were about to break my heart. Ryan Ross.” Brendon pushed off of the bench and stood in front of Ryan.
Ryan’s heart thudded in his chest as he boldly met Brendon’s eyes with his own.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Brendon studied him a minute and then laughed, bright and happy. “God, you’re so in love with me.”
Ryan swallowed down the denial that had become automatic over the past six months and forced himself to be honest for the first time since he met Brendon. “Yeah.”
He let Brendon push him until his back hit the wall. Then he let him push his hands into Ryan’s hair and kiss him until Ryan couldn’t breathe.
***
Later that night, Brendon squeezed Ryan tightly and hid his face in Ryan’s neck.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“Brendon, go to the bathroom,” Ryan said with fond exasperation. “You’re not pissing on my bed.”
“But I’m comfortable,” Brendon whined, clutching at Ryan’s hip.
Desperate times, Ryan thought, and dug his fingers into the tender skin of Brendon’s waist. Brendon leapt, a genuine, flying leap that got him over Ryan’s body and off of the bed.
“That was a terrible trick, Ross,” he grumbled, but he still headed to the door. Ryan let him get his hand on the doorknob before stopping him.
“I know Spencer likes you, but I don’t think he likes you that much,” he said.
“Pants?” Brendon asked.
“Pants,” Ryan agreed.
He sighed. “You ask so much of me.” He grabbed a pair of Ryan’s sweatpants off of the ground and stepped into them. “I’ll be right back. Do not, do not, do not move.”
Ryan smiled. “I won’t.” He didn’t think he could, even if he had wanted to, which he definitely did not.
Brendon backed out of the door, watching Ryan until it closed. Splaying one hand over his chest, Ryan closed his eyes and waited for Brendon to come back to bed.
A minute later he returned. Ryan heard the turn of the handle and then the muffled sound of Brendon’s bare feet on the carpet. He shuffled closer to the bed, and Ryan tensed in preparation for the payback he’d receive for the surprise tickling. Instead, Brendon stopped and there was the sound of crinkling plastic.
“Disney!” Brendon cried.
Ryan’s eyes sprung open and he was out of the bed making a grab for the bag before he was even conscious of moving.
“Hiding something from…” Brendon said, twisting easily away from Ryan’s hands, “me - ?” He pulled out the Aladdin shirt and gaped. “What?”
Ryan sat back down on the bed, feeling his face heat. “It was your Christmas gift.”
“For next year?”
“No, last year,” Ryan admitted. “I got it for you, but then you gave me your guitar and I thought a shirt was a pretty shitty gift in comparison.”
Brendon ripped the tag off of the shirt and tugged it over his head. He smoothed out the wrinkles with his hand and looked up at Ryan, grinning.
“It’s kind of embarrassing how into me you are, isn’t it?” he asked.
Ryan threw a sock at his head but had to admit, “It kind of is.”
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