two corners of the same room [gen]
two corners of the same room
1,027 words // pg-13 // gen
[prompt: hs_bingo - band/choir]
Brendon looks around before he slides through the door of the band hall. It's lunch period and he's supposed to be in the cafeteria, but he doesn't really want to deal with it today. Grant Sanders has shoved him into lockers twice this morning all ready and Brendon has a really bad feeling about lunch. Relying on his gut has saved his ass more than once, so anywhere but the cafeteria it is.
Sighing, he drops his backpack at one of the open lockers and heads further back. There's always at least one asshole at school and even though Brendon knows it's probably nothing he's done, he can't help wracking his brain just in case. Nothing's come to mind yet.
Brendon makes his way toward the piano in the back corner. He trails a finger over the line of snares, thumping the last one with a quick one-two beat. When he gets to the piano, he lifts the lid, tripping his fingers over the keys and then takes a seat. He starts with a few scales, years of discipline ingrained into him, but it's not long before he moves on, progressing to more difficult pieces.
He loves playing piano, his body taking over while his brain wanders. He can feel the tension in his shoulders loosening, can feel his body relax.
Another year, another school, it's something that Brendon's become accustomed to the last few years. It seems like everywhere they go, it's always the same. Brendon's always the new kid, nervous and loud, scrawny and clumsy. And there's always a Grant Sanders, with a different name, but always choosing Brendon as a pet project in torture and bullying.
This time, he'd gotten lucky though, finding the door to the band hall unlocked three days after starting school. Mr. Hall had found him a day later, and Brendon was scared of losing his little sanctuary. In a fortuitous turn of events, Mr. Hall just watched Brendon stumble over his excuses and then turned away. Over his shoulder, he'd told Brendon, "Unless you decide to join band, there's no reason for you to be here, so I'll give you twice a week, Mr. Urie."
Brendon can barely believe his luck. He takes to watching marching band practice after school, before heading home. The kid in his Geography class, Spencer, is in the drum line and seems to be one of Mr. Hall's favorites. Also, he's really, really good at drumming.
Spencer Smith is pretty awesome. He's sarcastic and funny and always talks to Brendon in class. They've got the same lunch period and Brendon thinks about going over and sitting down with him. But there are a couple of other kids with him and Brendon's never been good at not making an ass out of himself. He's just a little desperate not to lose whatever semblance of tolerance that Spencer has toward him so he continues to sit by himself.
Without thinking about it, Brendon moves into a rag-time tempo. He's warm now and he pushes himself to see how fast he can go without losing the music in the rapidity. He finishes up, the last sound ringing out and throws up his hands.
"I like that last one."
Brendon nearly falls off the piano bench, he swings around so fast. Standing in the doorway is Spencer Smith and for a moment, Brendon thinks that he's conjured him.
"What are you doing here?" he asks dumbly.
Spencer smirks. "I could ask you the same thing. At least I'm in band." There's an eyebrow, curiosity clear on Spencer's face.
Brendon stumbles over his answer. "I, um. Mr. Hall lets me-A couple times a week." He gestures at the piano.
Spencer moves further into the room, nodding. "Yeah, Mr. Hall's pretty awesome for a teacher."
There's a full drum kit set up in the other corner, not far from the piano. Spencer walks over and is fiddling with one of the cymbals. He's not looking at Brendon when he says, "You're really, really good. How long you been playing?"
Blushing, Brendon stares down at the keys, mumbling, "Since I was about six or so. Lame, I know."
"No, no, I think it's awesome. You're really talented. My friend Ryan took lessons for a little while when we were younger. He's got creepy long fingers and his mom thought he'd be the next great piano player, but then she-" He breaks off, frowning. "Well, Ryan decided he didn't want to take lessons anymore."
Shrugging, Spencer continues, "He plays guitar now." He grins at Brendon. "Or tries to anyway."
"I play guitar," Brendon blurts out before he can stop himself.
"Yeah?" Spencer's eyebrows go up. "So piano and guitar. Impressive."
The thing is, Spencer sounds sincere but Brendon's been the brunt of too many jealous band members, so he mumbles, "Not so hot though."
This time it's just one eyebrow that lifts, skepticism at Brendon's claim. "I seriously doubt that."
Brendon just looks back down at his hands where they rest in his lap and doesn't say anything. He can hear Spencer shuffling around and it's not until Spencer asks, "Can you play that last piece again? It made me want to try something," that he lifts his head, startled.
Spencer's sitting behind the kit, rotating his wrists. A second later he does a few paradiddles and rolls, warming up. He looks at Brendon expectantly and Brendon nods jerkily. Placing his hands on the keys, he glances over at Spencer again. He gets a nod and a second later his hands start moving. He watches Spencer squint as he listens and watches Brendon play. A minute or so in, he starts moving.
It's like a little challenge because Spencer really is a good drummer and Brendon speeds up just a little to see if he can catch Spencer. A second later, Spencer beams at him and it's only by sheer muscle memory that Brendon's fingers don't falter. Spencer's smile is bright, opening up his face. It's the kind of smile that Brendon's mom would say lights up a room.
Like that first day in class, Brendon can't help grinning back.
next | master list | previous
1,027 words // pg-13 // gen
[prompt: hs_bingo - band/choir]
Brendon looks around before he slides through the door of the band hall. It's lunch period and he's supposed to be in the cafeteria, but he doesn't really want to deal with it today. Grant Sanders has shoved him into lockers twice this morning all ready and Brendon has a really bad feeling about lunch. Relying on his gut has saved his ass more than once, so anywhere but the cafeteria it is.
Sighing, he drops his backpack at one of the open lockers and heads further back. There's always at least one asshole at school and even though Brendon knows it's probably nothing he's done, he can't help wracking his brain just in case. Nothing's come to mind yet.
Brendon makes his way toward the piano in the back corner. He trails a finger over the line of snares, thumping the last one with a quick one-two beat. When he gets to the piano, he lifts the lid, tripping his fingers over the keys and then takes a seat. He starts with a few scales, years of discipline ingrained into him, but it's not long before he moves on, progressing to more difficult pieces.
He loves playing piano, his body taking over while his brain wanders. He can feel the tension in his shoulders loosening, can feel his body relax.
Another year, another school, it's something that Brendon's become accustomed to the last few years. It seems like everywhere they go, it's always the same. Brendon's always the new kid, nervous and loud, scrawny and clumsy. And there's always a Grant Sanders, with a different name, but always choosing Brendon as a pet project in torture and bullying.
This time, he'd gotten lucky though, finding the door to the band hall unlocked three days after starting school. Mr. Hall had found him a day later, and Brendon was scared of losing his little sanctuary. In a fortuitous turn of events, Mr. Hall just watched Brendon stumble over his excuses and then turned away. Over his shoulder, he'd told Brendon, "Unless you decide to join band, there's no reason for you to be here, so I'll give you twice a week, Mr. Urie."
Brendon can barely believe his luck. He takes to watching marching band practice after school, before heading home. The kid in his Geography class, Spencer, is in the drum line and seems to be one of Mr. Hall's favorites. Also, he's really, really good at drumming.
Spencer Smith is pretty awesome. He's sarcastic and funny and always talks to Brendon in class. They've got the same lunch period and Brendon thinks about going over and sitting down with him. But there are a couple of other kids with him and Brendon's never been good at not making an ass out of himself. He's just a little desperate not to lose whatever semblance of tolerance that Spencer has toward him so he continues to sit by himself.
Without thinking about it, Brendon moves into a rag-time tempo. He's warm now and he pushes himself to see how fast he can go without losing the music in the rapidity. He finishes up, the last sound ringing out and throws up his hands.
"I like that last one."
Brendon nearly falls off the piano bench, he swings around so fast. Standing in the doorway is Spencer Smith and for a moment, Brendon thinks that he's conjured him.
"What are you doing here?" he asks dumbly.
Spencer smirks. "I could ask you the same thing. At least I'm in band." There's an eyebrow, curiosity clear on Spencer's face.
Brendon stumbles over his answer. "I, um. Mr. Hall lets me-A couple times a week." He gestures at the piano.
Spencer moves further into the room, nodding. "Yeah, Mr. Hall's pretty awesome for a teacher."
There's a full drum kit set up in the other corner, not far from the piano. Spencer walks over and is fiddling with one of the cymbals. He's not looking at Brendon when he says, "You're really, really good. How long you been playing?"
Blushing, Brendon stares down at the keys, mumbling, "Since I was about six or so. Lame, I know."
"No, no, I think it's awesome. You're really talented. My friend Ryan took lessons for a little while when we were younger. He's got creepy long fingers and his mom thought he'd be the next great piano player, but then she-" He breaks off, frowning. "Well, Ryan decided he didn't want to take lessons anymore."
Shrugging, Spencer continues, "He plays guitar now." He grins at Brendon. "Or tries to anyway."
"I play guitar," Brendon blurts out before he can stop himself.
"Yeah?" Spencer's eyebrows go up. "So piano and guitar. Impressive."
The thing is, Spencer sounds sincere but Brendon's been the brunt of too many jealous band members, so he mumbles, "Not so hot though."
This time it's just one eyebrow that lifts, skepticism at Brendon's claim. "I seriously doubt that."
Brendon just looks back down at his hands where they rest in his lap and doesn't say anything. He can hear Spencer shuffling around and it's not until Spencer asks, "Can you play that last piece again? It made me want to try something," that he lifts his head, startled.
Spencer's sitting behind the kit, rotating his wrists. A second later he does a few paradiddles and rolls, warming up. He looks at Brendon expectantly and Brendon nods jerkily. Placing his hands on the keys, he glances over at Spencer again. He gets a nod and a second later his hands start moving. He watches Spencer squint as he listens and watches Brendon play. A minute or so in, he starts moving.
It's like a little challenge because Spencer really is a good drummer and Brendon speeds up just a little to see if he can catch Spencer. A second later, Spencer beams at him and it's only by sheer muscle memory that Brendon's fingers don't falter. Spencer's smile is bright, opening up his face. It's the kind of smile that Brendon's mom would say lights up a room.
Like that first day in class, Brendon can't help grinning back.
next | master list | previous