(no subject)
Title: Cadence
Author:
qtlymakingnoise
Rating: PG
Pairing: alluded Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Spencer lives his life keeping the beat.
Word Count: 876
Disclaimer: I own none of the people involved in this story, and none of it actually happened.
Author Notes: Much love to Tess,
relaxrelapsex, for doing a quick beta. She rocks.
Spencer subsists off the idea that he's a holding pattern. He is there to keep the beat in between songs, the metronome, the pulse.
Mostly for Ryan.
--
Ryan is thirteen, and Spencer is twelve, but he feels older than he's ever been when Ryan knocks on his door with wrinkles between his brow and a trembling hand. "I just. I had to get out," he says, and Spencer feels something in his innocence break at the though of whatever caused the tremor and the bloodshot eyes. It's raining outside, and dark with the late hour, and Ryan's hair is close cropped and dripping slightly with water, sheltered by the overhang protecting his porch. His front light is on, casting a sickly pale light over Ryan's drawn eyes, and Spencer beckons him in with a wave of his palm, and he wonders if this is what maturity is.
--
Ryan gets tougher, and Spencer purses his lips more.
Because Ryan doesn't need protecting, not really, he can take care of himself the same way a baby mountain goat can: he can run from the enemies, and fight to the death, but he has a bit of a challenge in the simple things, like remembering to eat. Spencer thinks that he's got the thick-headedness, at the very least. So, for the most part, Ryan is independent. He has a car and a job and a girlfriend, and Spencer has his own shit to worry about, between school and homework, and the faint tendrils of a friendship with somebody that isn't Ryan, so okay.
Ryan can be tougher, and Spencer can purse his lips, but they both know that it won't really change anything between them.
--
Brendon comes around, and he's a jittery kind of nervous that makes Ryan tense and makes Spencer suspicious.
He's also got a voice that knocked Spencer over and told him to sit down and shut up, because this boy has got something to say, and you damn well better listen.
Spencer can tell that Ryan's ready to listen by the light in his eyes and the tightness in his fingers, like he's trying to grip onto this sound, this feeling, this magic, as if it were tangible, something to hold onto and tuck into his pocket and carry around like a benediction.
There's a faint smile on Ryan's face that he hasn't seen before, and Spencer quietly prepares himself to hand the reigns over.
--
If only it were that easy.
--
Ryan is Ryan, and Ryan likes to fuck things up for himself, so Spencer keeps tapping along on the bass drum, watching Brendon take breathless steps toward Ryan on stage, short, strong fingers gripping at the back of Ryan's neck, holding him close, bringing him into intimate corners of his body, and then releasing, retreating, running for higher ground. Brendon sings louder and Ryan looks down at his strings and fingerless gloves, and Spencer hears click click click through his earpiece.
Spencer wonders if Ryan notices the smear of his make-up.
--
Spencer decides it's a game of cat and mouse, one that he doesn't really have the patience or wherewithal to watch, so he spends more time with his drumset and his cell phone, one a pathway to himself, and the other a brick road out.
Jon's there, and that's nice. He's warm and affable, gently sarcastic in a way that the acerbic Ryan never managed to attain, and Brendon never bothered to try for. He plays along, bobbing his head to Spencer's beats, and maybe this is what settling in feels like.
--
There's a long string of months, of golden weekends and stretched out summer days, where the heat is so stifling it's practically palpable, and their shared friendship and affection settles onto their skin like a gentle mist.
Brendon and Ryan are less prickly, more rounded along the edges, like time has worn them smooth enough to just fit together, just barely enough for Ryan to slip his arm around Brendon's shoulders and for Brendon to duck his head and smile in a sheepish sort of way, like this was what he wanted, but not what he thought he deserved.
Jon stands back with him and watches, and the beat seems to fade into the background, a bit, and no, he was wrong, this is what settling in feels like.
--
Ryan meets Alex, and the sharp edges are back, even more than there were before, and Brendon starts spending more time in his bunk with his iPod and his cell phone and his spinning sense of helplessness and desperation, and then, all of a sudden, Jon has edges, and Spencer.
Spencer can barely hear past the thump thump thump-thum-thump------
Spencer just doesn't know what to do.
--
Then Ryan is gone, and Jon is gone, and (thankfully) Alex is gone, and Spencer is at a complete loss.
It's like his own metronome had gone, deserted him, and now, as a drummer, his sole occupation and source of income, he is proven futile, because none of the rhythms seems to sound right, all syncopated and off kilter, not the way it's supposed to be.
Spencer doesn't know what to keep the beat for.
Author:
qtlymakingnoise
Rating: PG
Pairing: alluded Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Spencer lives his life keeping the beat.
Word Count: 876
Disclaimer: I own none of the people involved in this story, and none of it actually happened.
Author Notes: Much love to Tess,
relaxrelapsex, for doing a quick beta. She rocks.
Spencer subsists off the idea that he's a holding pattern. He is there to keep the beat in between songs, the metronome, the pulse.
Mostly for Ryan.
--
Ryan is thirteen, and Spencer is twelve, but he feels older than he's ever been when Ryan knocks on his door with wrinkles between his brow and a trembling hand. "I just. I had to get out," he says, and Spencer feels something in his innocence break at the though of whatever caused the tremor and the bloodshot eyes. It's raining outside, and dark with the late hour, and Ryan's hair is close cropped and dripping slightly with water, sheltered by the overhang protecting his porch. His front light is on, casting a sickly pale light over Ryan's drawn eyes, and Spencer beckons him in with a wave of his palm, and he wonders if this is what maturity is.
--
Ryan gets tougher, and Spencer purses his lips more.
Because Ryan doesn't need protecting, not really, he can take care of himself the same way a baby mountain goat can: he can run from the enemies, and fight to the death, but he has a bit of a challenge in the simple things, like remembering to eat. Spencer thinks that he's got the thick-headedness, at the very least. So, for the most part, Ryan is independent. He has a car and a job and a girlfriend, and Spencer has his own shit to worry about, between school and homework, and the faint tendrils of a friendship with somebody that isn't Ryan, so okay.
Ryan can be tougher, and Spencer can purse his lips, but they both know that it won't really change anything between them.
--
Brendon comes around, and he's a jittery kind of nervous that makes Ryan tense and makes Spencer suspicious.
He's also got a voice that knocked Spencer over and told him to sit down and shut up, because this boy has got something to say, and you damn well better listen.
Spencer can tell that Ryan's ready to listen by the light in his eyes and the tightness in his fingers, like he's trying to grip onto this sound, this feeling, this magic, as if it were tangible, something to hold onto and tuck into his pocket and carry around like a benediction.
There's a faint smile on Ryan's face that he hasn't seen before, and Spencer quietly prepares himself to hand the reigns over.
--
If only it were that easy.
--
Ryan is Ryan, and Ryan likes to fuck things up for himself, so Spencer keeps tapping along on the bass drum, watching Brendon take breathless steps toward Ryan on stage, short, strong fingers gripping at the back of Ryan's neck, holding him close, bringing him into intimate corners of his body, and then releasing, retreating, running for higher ground. Brendon sings louder and Ryan looks down at his strings and fingerless gloves, and Spencer hears click click click through his earpiece.
Spencer wonders if Ryan notices the smear of his make-up.
--
Spencer decides it's a game of cat and mouse, one that he doesn't really have the patience or wherewithal to watch, so he spends more time with his drumset and his cell phone, one a pathway to himself, and the other a brick road out.
Jon's there, and that's nice. He's warm and affable, gently sarcastic in a way that the acerbic Ryan never managed to attain, and Brendon never bothered to try for. He plays along, bobbing his head to Spencer's beats, and maybe this is what settling in feels like.
--
There's a long string of months, of golden weekends and stretched out summer days, where the heat is so stifling it's practically palpable, and their shared friendship and affection settles onto their skin like a gentle mist.
Brendon and Ryan are less prickly, more rounded along the edges, like time has worn them smooth enough to just fit together, just barely enough for Ryan to slip his arm around Brendon's shoulders and for Brendon to duck his head and smile in a sheepish sort of way, like this was what he wanted, but not what he thought he deserved.
Jon stands back with him and watches, and the beat seems to fade into the background, a bit, and no, he was wrong, this is what settling in feels like.
--
Ryan meets Alex, and the sharp edges are back, even more than there were before, and Brendon starts spending more time in his bunk with his iPod and his cell phone and his spinning sense of helplessness and desperation, and then, all of a sudden, Jon has edges, and Spencer.
Spencer can barely hear past the thump thump thump-thum-thump------
Spencer just doesn't know what to do.
--
Then Ryan is gone, and Jon is gone, and (thankfully) Alex is gone, and Spencer is at a complete loss.
It's like his own metronome had gone, deserted him, and now, as a drummer, his sole occupation and source of income, he is proven futile, because none of the rhythms seems to sound right, all syncopated and off kilter, not the way it's supposed to be.
Spencer doesn't know what to keep the beat for.