you could - brendon/ryan
You Could (Brendon/Ryan, 5013)
for hatoyona, for prompting me with "Spencer/Jon, college au." yeah, so. this isn't that story! also, she edited and let me tease her with scraps that may or may not have made it to the final version and said "there should be face licking" which I also didn't listen to, but am keeping in mind for future reference.
warning: contains many, many Disney channel allusions.
“We should have a beard growing contest,” says Brendon, snapping his fingers. A winter of school work would be unbearable. They need an extracurricular.
It looks to be the last sunlit day for a while. The boys of Adonis, craving sunshine, sprawl on the lawn in front of their dorm, lying on parkas and winter coats spread over the dying grass and frozen ground.
“We should have a beard growing contest,” says Brendon, snapping his fingers. A winter of school work would be unbearable. They need an extracurricular.
“I can’t grow a beard,” says Ryan. Ryan is a sophomore from a different dorm, one not at cool as Brendon’s, and owned by the school. He shivers and Brendon smiles at him.
“Butcher had a beard once, but I made him shave it,” says Sisky, Brendon’s roommate. Butcher is Sisky’s best friend, an art major a year ahead of them who is universally adored by everyone, especially Sisky. He lives down the hall, but sleeps in Brendon and Sisky’s room more often then not.
“Hey Spencer,” says Brendon, “Do you think we should have a beard growing contest?”
“I don’t want to look like a lazy college student,” responds Spencer, who is Ryan’s best friend and Brendon’s suite mate. He lives down the hall too, next to Butcher.
“You hang out with us,” says Sisky, eyebrow cocked.
“You could bring the well-groomed beard back,” says Brendon hopefully. “Back me up, Ryan.”
“Yeah,” says Ryan, without conviction.
Butcher runs out of their dorm without a shirt on. He takes off his pants and lays down next to Sisky. Brendon props himself up on his elbows and grins at him. “We’re having a beard growing contest.”
“I will take you suckers into the ground,” says Butcher, snapping his fingers.
Ryan pokes Brendon in the ribs. His gloves are fingerless and the tips of his fingers are cold. “You have goose bumps.”
Ryan is not really sunbathing. He is sitting on the ground next to Brendon with his coat and gloves on, leaning on Spencer, who is also not sunbathing.
“We could stop showering,” suggests Brendon. That’s akin to not shaving, and easier.
“No,” says Ryan, Sisky and Spencer at the same time. Butcher rolls over and high-fives Brendon over Sisky’s chest.
“Ooh,” says Sisky suddenly. “It’s Hot RA Tom.”
The boys sit up and stare. Brendon hums. “Hot RA Thomas,” he sing-songs.
“Oh Conrad,” says Butcher, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself. “Why you gotta do me like that.”
“Look at the way that badass fumbles for keys like a pro,” says Sisky. He elbows Butcher. “Look at him!”
“He’s too hot for my eyes to bear. I can’t look.”
“His cheeks are flushed from the cold,” admits Spencer. “It is cute.”
Ryan coughs. It’s an affirming sound. Brendon nods to himself. Their appreciation of the hot RA is unanimous, then.
Tom looks over at the sound and squawks. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouts. “You’re gonna get pneumonia!”
“We’re sunbathing,” the boys shout back. Tom jogs over. “Your lips are blue, Brendon,” he laments. Brendon grins with his teeth and his blue lips. Tom throws up his hands. “Andy, you’re not even wearing enough clothing to be legally dressed.”
“Thomas,” says Butcher. “Thomas, I do it for you.”
Tom clucks. “Get inside, you idiots.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. Tom amends, “and Spencer and Ryan.” He grabs Butcher’s hand and pulls him to his feet.
“Ryan Ross,” says Brendon, “help me with my jacket? My hands are too cold to grasp the fabric.”
Ryan helps Brendon into his jacket. Butcher laughs out loud. “That pickup line wouldn’t have even worked on me.”
Ryan flushes.
“Get inside,” snaps Tom. “You’re in college, you’re supposed to be responsible for yourselves.”
All of the boys laugh at that.
One of the best things about living in Adonis, besides the fact that it’s independently owned, is Tom Conrad. Hot RA Tom, the grad student who rented an apartment on the third floor and ended up RA for the dorm. Hot RA Tom, who despairs of his RA duties and takes them very, very seriously. All the Adonis boys love him for it.
Brendon is spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace on top of and around Sisky and Butcher. They’re warming up. Tom told them too, or else he would kill them, or call their parents and tell them they were drunk.
Brendon tips his head back on the floor and looks up Ryan. Ryan, who is not warming up by the fire but is curled up against Spencer again, lying on the couch behind them.
“Are you warming up?” he asks politely.
“I was already warm,” says Ryan. “Your nose is running.”
Brendon sniffles. “I need a tissue.”
Ryan digs around in his coat pocket and gives one to Brendon.
“You are so whipped,” says Sisky. “I don’t get it.”
Ryan flushes. “I gotta go do homework,” he says and leaves. All four boys watch his retreating back. Spencer kicks Sisky in the head.
“Ow.”
“Don’t be a jerk to my best friend.” And then he kicks Brendon in the head.
“Ow!”
“Don’t be mean to Brendon,” says Sisky, looking scandalized. Butcher rolls over, looking thoughtful.
“Stop it,” says Spencer, frowning. “You’re making it very hard for Ryan.”
“This is not a request,” says Brendon. And then he yawns, audibly. Behind the glass, his supervisor, Ray, throws up his hands. “I’m playing this one because I want to. Aly & AJ, ‘Potential Breakup Song.’ And after that, more songs!”
The song plays. Brendon puts his head on his arms on the desk and wills himself not to fall asleep. He didn’t go to bed last night. After Tom punished them, he invited them back to his apartment and they played video games all night. Brendon went straight from Halo 3 in Tom’s room to the radio station.
Brendon is a terrible DJ. He talks too fast and sings along far too much. He gets chewed out weekly for eating the Butcher’s barbeque chips on air. But he has the third most popular show on the network at the third worst time-slot. Weekdays, 6-8am.
The phone rings. Brendon picks up. A preteen girl is on the line, breathlessly asks for Jonas Brothers, too stunned to be talking to the Brendon Urie of the Disney block on the radio to specify a song. Brendon decides he hasn’t heard “Year 3000" enough lately and plays it next.
The phone rings again. It’s Sisky. “Play Ryan Adams,” he says. “And do you want anything to eat? Hot RA Tom is gonna get us food.”
“Ryan Adams isn’t Disney,” says Brendon. “And yes. I want an omelette.”
“Brendon wants hash browns!” Sisky yells, away from the phone.
“And I want hash browns,” says Brendon.
“And he wants an omelette! And also, orange juice. And coffee.”
“Brendon doesn’t like coffee,” says the faint voice of Tom.
“I want coffee,” says Sisky.
Brendon hangs up. “I like classic Disney,” he says into the mic when the tech gives him the ok. “Classic Disney is the best Disney. Anything else and you’re just kidding yourself. Sorry Zac Efron, but it’s true.”
He pauses. He watches the phone lines light up with calls from angry preteens. He still hopes that someday Zac Efron will call up and threaten to beat him up. He could totally take Zac Efron. As long as the Butcher backed him up.
“This is from Beauty and the Beast,” says Brendon, distracted. “For all the parents who remember watching this movie as a kid.” He affects an accent. “Madam! Zere eez a ghirl in zee castle!”
He queues “Be Our Guest” and puts his head back down on the table.
The phone lines drop out as kids are rushed into cars headed for schools. One light remains lit. Brendon picks up.
“You don’t really want coffee, do you?” asks Tom, sounding worried.
“No,” says Brendon.
“Okay,” says Tom. “Sweet. Hey, so, they’re playing your show at this diner I’m at.”
“Awesome,” says Brendon. “I will give them a shout-out.”
He hangs up and rolls his head across his arms, back and forth. There’s a knock on the door.
“I won’t yawn,” says Brendon, without looking up. “I am the picture of perfect awakeness. There is no awakeness like I am awake.”
“Uh, that’s cool.” Brendon looks up. There is a short grad student standing in the doorway, complete with slacker college student beard and Starbucks cup. Brendon is impressed. It’s not the middle of winter yet and this man has already achieved everything Brendon could ever hope to achieve in his extracurricular scholastic career.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I’m Jon. Uh, Ray sent me in here. He says you need a co-host?”
Brendon does need a co-host. Brendon needs a co-host really badly. He used to make Sisky do it with him, but Sisky was worse than he is and got banned from the school radio.
“Do you like Disney?” he asks, propping his head on his fists and blinking. It’s not really a prerequisite to the job. Brendon didn’t particularly like Disney when he started. He’s just interested.
“Classic Disney’s the best,” says Jon. “Zac Efron can suck my dick.”
“I want to fight Zac Efron,” says Brendon carefully, a test.
“I would, but I think I’d lose,” says Jon.
Jon is Brendon’s co-host. He sits in while Brendon rambles for the remaining hour. He laughs when Brendon dedicates Miley Cyrus to Tom and the diner who plays his station. “I love you, Hot RA Tom Conrad In The Diner, buying me breakfast,” says Brendon, monotone into the mic. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Brendon brings Jon back to the dorm after that showstopper. Jon has never heard Cheetah Girls and it’s better he hears it in the privacy of Brendon’s dorm than when he’s on air and liable. They find the occupants of Adonis in the kitchen, crushed together on two long benches at the table. It was loud until Jon stepped into the kitchen behind him and Tom dropped his cutlery so as to throw his arms around the man.
“Jon Walker,” says Tom, sounding star-struck. “Fucking Jonny Walker.”
“He never says my name like that,” says Sisky.
“Me either,” says Butcher.
“It’s because you’re not Jon Walker,” says Tom. He drops his head onto Jon’s shoulder and breathes. The boys turn away, rolling their eyes, and the din returns, with renewed vigor, due to an increased caffeine intake.
“How’s Hollywood Records today?” asks Butcher, elbowing Spencer as he takes a bite of hash brown. Spencer elbows him back when he sips his coffee.
“I have a co-host,” says Brendon with a big smile. He climbs into a small space between Ryan and Sisky. Sisky passes him a fork and a Styrofoam box of breakfast.
“Plain White T’s are the only redeeming band on that record label,” says Sisky.
“Who’s your co-host?” asks Ryan, slicing off a piece of Brendon’s eggs and stealing it for himself. Brendon makes a face at him.
“Plain White T’s are nobody’s redeeming band,” says Spencer.
“Love love loveloveloveloveeeeeee,” sings Butcher through a mouthful of melon.
“Jon is my co-host,” says Brendon. He nods in Jon’s direction. Tom still has his arms around him. He takes Ryan’s mug of orange juice and finishes it. He sucks in his cheeks and makes a face at Ryan. “I hate pulp.”
“That’s all you guys had.”
Spencer frowns at both of them. Brendon grins and bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s. Ryan coughs on Brendon’s scrambled eggs.
“Thanks for the Miley dedication,” says Tom, sitting back down at the head of the table. “I really got a lot of stares at that diner.”
“You blush,” says Butcher gleefully. “Aw, Thomas!”
“Shut up,” says Tom. Jon stands behind him with his hands on both of Tom’s shoulders, shaking him. “I didn’t know Hannah Montana was the way to your heart.”
“It isn’t,” says Tom. “Plain White Ts are.”
“You’re a thousand miles away,” warbles Butcher. Brendon and Sisky are quick to join in. “But Tom, tonight you look so pretty, yes you doooo.”
Tom puts his red face in his hands. Ryan elbows Brendon as he takes more food off of Brendon’s plate.
Tom rubs Brendon’s shoulders and says, “hey, Brendon, hey. Wake up.”
Brendon growls at him and turns his face the other way. It’s naptime, he’s napping. He’s been awake all day and he needs a nap.
Tom digs his thumbs into the tense parts of Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon groans out loud. “Come on,” says Tom. “You gotta eat dinner. The dining hall closes in an hour.”
“You’re a horrible, horrible RA,” mumbles Brendon.
Tom flicks his ear. “I know.”
It’s only the early evening. Ryan is standing outside Brendon’s room with his hands jammed in his pockets. He gives Brendon a small smile.
“You look cold,” says Tom. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I didn’t need one coming over here,” says Ryan.
“Brendon, go get Ryan one of your hoodies.”
Brendon grabs the cleanest looking hoodie he sees and gives it to Ryan. Ryan shrugs into it and smiles at him again. He pulls the sleeves over his hands and makes tight fists in the red fabric.
“Okay,” says Tom, with the dazed look he gets when he’s trying to account for all his kids. This is when Brendon remembers Tom isn’t just a RA but a grad student also. He pats Tom’s shoulder.
“Let’s go,” says Brendon. “Sisky and Butcher will find their own food, Michael will have eaten already, Mike will have gone with him, Frank only eats junk food-”
“Spencer already ate,” Ryan breaks in.
“And Spencer already ate, and Bob is responsible.”
Tom gives them both a small smile and takes them to the cafeteria. He and Brendon load up their trays but Ryan doesn’t take any food, only an apple. He steals Brendon’s fries when Brendon sits down next to him.
Tom looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Of course he probably hasn’t, Brendon knows, but Tom actually looks it.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” says Ryan. Brendon turns and stares. Ryan shrugs.
“Been busy with you fucks,” says Tom, but he looks close to miserable and a little bit old. He rubs his eyes. “I got a lot of work due soon.”
Ryan steals another fry off of Brendon’s plate. Brendon wiggles in his chair, elbowing Ryan.
Tom yawns. “But hey, Jon Walker. He’s a good guy. A morning person.”
“You know him?”
“We were friends in college. He went to a different university for grad school, but I guess he transferred.”
“Does he need housing?”
Tom grins. “Nah. But he’ll be around.” He stands. “I gotta go. I’ll see you guys.”
Ryan takes another fry. Brendon shoves his plate at him and puts his elbows on the table, his head on his hands. Ryan pushes the plate back.
“It’s yours.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Ryan takes another fry. Brendon’s head tips to the left, propped up by a fist. He blinks at Ryan.
Ryan chews at him, mouth open. Brendon grins.
Brendon is stuck in his dorm over Christmas. Not enough money to get home, his mother explains, not this year, honey. Brendon’s cool with it. He watches Sisky and Butcher take off, Spencer, the Michaels, everyone except Tom, because this is where he lives, and Ryan.
Ray gives him a key to the station when he finds out Brendon will be home all break. “We’ve got music on a loop,” he says, pinning Brendon with a stare. “Check on it, make sure it’s still running. Don’t fuck with the system.”
Brendon runs the entire Lion King soundtrack around noon the day after everyone leaves. Tom laughs at him when he gets back to the dorm and Brendon asks why he’s been listening to college radio. Then it’s just a battle of wills and raised eyebrows but Tom wins because Brendon giggles first.
“Fuck.”
“Someday,” says Tom, “someday, you’ll win,” and he smiles beatifically. Brendon clutches his chest for the love, stumbling backwards. Tom blushes and says Brendon should go away, he has to get some reading done.
Ryan Ross is asleep on his bed.
Which is weird, because Brendon thought Ryan had a key to Spencer’s room and was staying there because Ryan, who was lucky enough to get on-campus housing, got kicked out of his own dorm for the holidays. But Ryan is asleep on his bed and the radio is on, tuned to the college radio station, so Brendon grabs his book and curls up on Sisky’s bed, pulling the afghan around him. He settles against the wall with the book in front of his face and watches Ryan.
Ryan is wearing Brendon’s hoodie that he never gave back, even though Spencer tried. Brendon knows. Spencer put it in his hands, twice, but somehow it always ended up on Ryan again.
Ryan stirs. “Brendon?”
Brendon nods at him, still staring.
Ryan says, “fuck, I’ll go.” He pushes himself up, fists cuffed in fabric. He winces, joints cracking. “I’ll go.”
“Uh,” says Brendon. He climbs off of Sisky’s bed and stands in front of Ryan, feeling loose and jumpy. “Are you locked out of Spencer’s room or anything?”
“No.” He shifts on his feet, looking at Brendon. “I, uh.” He bites his lip. “Never mind.”
They stare at each other. Ryan skitters out of the room and moments later, Brendon hears the door to Spencer’s room shut and lock. He flops down on his bed. His pillow smells different and Ryan’s still got his hoodie.
The next evening, Brendon plays the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid. Twice. He sits in the dj booth and eats Sisky’s leftover burger from a week ago and thinks aloud before letting the album go again. He says, “it’s weird when real life doesn’t fall into place like a fairytale.” He stops.
The phone lines remain unlit.
“But I guess being bewitched into a human isn’t really falling into place. That’s taking destiny into your own hands.”
“Fairytales are like right now, except with princesses and stuff, I guess.”
“Who’s to say I won’t turn into a human right now?”
Brendon says, “and if my Hot RA Tom is listening, he should buy me dinner. I want Chinese food.”
The phone lines remain unlit.
“Aw, come on,” says Brendon.
His phone buzzes. A text message from Ryan Ross: white rice or fried
Ryan and Brendon sit out in the hallway and eat dinner together. Brendon drags his laptop into the hall with him and they watch Transformers, Ryan with his legs folded under him, Brendon sprawled on his stomach.
“You’re gonna choke.” Ryan pokes him in the side. “You should sit up when you eat.”
Brendon rolls over to look at him, mouth full of lemon chicken. Ryan watches him and chews. He leans over to take another bite but Brendon is there, taking his fork right out of his hand.
“You owe me,” mumbles Brendon, mouth full of lemon chicken and now, fried rice. “You always take my food.”
Ryan hands him a napkin. Brendon folds it into an airplane and grins at Ryan. He tosses it down the hall where it drifts and crash-lands into the corner.
“No, I meant,” says Ryan, unfazed, “you’ve got sauce on the corner of your mouth.”
Brendon licks his mouth, still grinning at Ryan.
They watch Aladdin after Transformers. They kick their plates and boxes of Chinese food away from them into the hall. They end up slumped against the wall, propped up by each other.
Genie makes his great departure. Aladdin and Jasmine kiss in front of a full moon. The credits roll. Brendon’s head is on Ryan’s shoulder and his entire body is stiff.
Ryan picks up his phone without moving. “Two-thirty,” he says. “I’m going to bed.”
He doesn’t move. Neither does Brendon.
The credits continue, and the pop songs give way to theme music.
Ryan shifts, just a little, away from Brendon. Brendon rolls off of him and sits up to stretch his neck. His joints pop when he moves his legs and he grunts, shaking his body out and flops back against the wall with a sigh.
Ryan’s sitting on his knees, watching Brendon. Brendon watches him back. They hold each other’s gaze in silence and Brendon doesn’t think anything of it when Ryan finally leans in and kisses him on the lips.
He doesn’t move though, and Ryan pulls back. He looks so blank when he’s so close to Brendon’s face. Brendon licks his lips and Ryan pulls farther away. Brendon looks at Ryan, looks at his guarded face, his sleep-tired eyes, his dry mouth, and his shoulders, skinny, in Brendon’s hoodie.
Brendon leans forward and kisses him back.
It takes just a moment but then Ryan pulls Brendon closer, fisting a hand in Brendon’s hair. Brendon lifts his arms to wrap around Ryan when there’s a slam from Tom’s apartment and the echo of footsteps in the stairwell. Brendon pulls away when Ryan does.
“Good night,” says Ryan. He squints at Brendon. Then he scrambles to his feet and disappears into Spencer’s room.
Brendon grabs his laptop and the empty Chinese boxes and moves just as quickly into his own room.
Brendon spends the entire day in the radio station. He doesn’t interrupt the prerecorded program, except once in the evening, right before he leaves. He has to play “Beauty and the Beast.” He’s not being romantic; it’s Christmas Eve and that song is a better carol then any he ever sang in church.
“You romantic,” says Tom. “That’s the sweetest gesture anyone from this dorm has ever made in public.”
“It’s not a gesture,” says Brendon. He fumbles with the door, pulling it shut behind him. “It’s a- I mean- I dedicate my lovesongs to the world, okay?”
Tom sucks in a breath, laughing on the other end of the phone in. “Bden. It’s still a gesture. Hey, a friend invited me over for a Christmas party tomorrow. You and Ryan are coming with me, okay?”
“Um,” says Brendon. “Okay.”
“Good.” Tom sounds pleased. “Have you eaten today?”
Brendon hasn’t, not really. He took the Butcher’s chips that he left under Sisky’s bed and ate those at the radio station.
“Yes.”
“Cool,” says Tom. “Hey, I gotta run. Don’t forget to eat dinner. And make sure Ryan eats too, I don’t have his cell phone number but I don’t want his RA to kick my ass when he shows up emaciated in four weeks.”
Brendon hangs up and goes straight to his room. Spencer’s door is shut. He hasn’t seen Ryan all day.
He searches his room until he finds half a package of Ramen and eats it, dry. Then he undresses and watches episodes of Lost until he falls asleep.
Someone knocks on his door and Brendon sits up with a violent jerk, breathing hard. He stumbles out of bed and throws open the door. Ryan is standing in the hall, his face funny and out of focus while Brendon fumbles to put on his glasses.
“Get dressed,” Ryan says, grinning like Christmas Day and oh right, Brendon yawns, it is Christmas Day.
“What?”
Ryan grins at Brendon’s bare chest and messy hair, his Halloween boxers and his sleepy face. “We’re going sledding,” he says. “Get dressed.” He’s holding two lunch trays.
“It doesn’t snow here.” Brendon rubs his mouth, blinking at Ryan.
Ryan throws a hoodie in his face. One of Ryan’s own, because it’s a dark color and it smells different. Ryan is still smiling at him. “Come on, get dressed.”
Brendon pulls on the first clothes he can reach and then shrugs into Ryan’s hoodie. It’s tighter on him than any of his hoodies, but it’s warm and worn. He puts his hands in his pockets and follows Ryan outside and onto campus. The quad is empty. It’s four in the morning on a holiday break and it’s cold as fuck, and they are the only people on campus, he’s pretty sure. Brendon stops short when he sees the frost-covered ground.
“Ryan,” he says. “Ryan, this isn’t- ”
Ryan grabs Brendon’s hand and pulls Brendon along. He takes them to the top of the quad, where the grass curves inward into the bowl. He hands Brendon a lunch tray.
It’s cold out. Brendon takes his tray and shivers. Ryan softens, letting go of his hand. “Come on,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”
They sit down and Brendon slides down into the quad. He gets some good speed and only stops when he skids onto a paved walkway. He turns around just in time to set Ryan crash headlong into a tree with a shout. The sight is somewhat elating and he grabs his lunch tray and races back up the incline.
“Race,” he demands when Ryan has run back up the hill. Ryan grins. “Go!”
Ryan, sitting on his knees, drives his lunch tray straight into Brendon’s and they tumble down into the bowl.
“It’s cooold,” whines Brendon when they finally stop rolling. He’s lying on his back and Ryan’s hoodie has ridden up past his stomach. The air is cold on his wet skin. He shivers.
“Shut up,” says Ryan, face first in the grass. He sits up. “I won.”
“You cheated,” spits Brendon.
They run back up the hill and race back down again. Brendon wipes out on the pavement. Ryan careens into a garbage can.
“Okay,” says Brendon. He sets his lunch tray down and steps onto it, poised like a surfer. Ryan shakes his head. “You’re gonna break your neck.”
“No, shut up,” says Brendon. He slides down the hill and promptly falls on his face. Ryan sits on his tray and slides straight into Brendon’s side. The force sends him flying over Brendon and he lays with his legs on Brendon’s chest and his arms over his face, giggling into the fabric of his stolen hoodie.
“Nngh,” says Brendon. He twitches.
“Idiot,” says Ryan. He pulls his hands away from his face and props himself up on his elbows. “That hurt, fuck.”
“Fuck,” echoes Brendon. He sits up and Ryan’s legs fall to his lap. “That hurt a lot.”
Ryan laughs. He laughs, shaking his head and looking down and then up at Brendon and then down at his legs again. His laugh is loud and clear in the night and there are pieces of dead grass stuck to his cheeks. Brendon reaches out to brush wet hair away from Ryan’s forehead but just ends up pulling him closer and kissing him.
Ryan leans into the kiss for a second and then he pulls away. He watches Brendon again with that blank face, but he’s biting his lip.
“That’s not a Christmas present,” says Brendon. Ryan grins, ducks his head and grins. He leans back in again, smiling.
Tom’s friend throws a good dinner party but Brendon and Ryan are exhausted from too little sleep and too much sledding in the night. Ryan curls up against Brendon on the couch where they’ve dropped, arm twisted in his, body perfectly aligned next to Brendon’s.
Brendon sneezes.
Ryan hands him a tissue. Brendon blinks at him, heavy.
Someone calls for a toast on the other end of the room. Brendon can’t hear what has been said over the noise of the party. He blows his nose and takes the glass of wine offered to him. Ryan pulls closer to him, wine glass one hand, Brendon’s hand in the other.
There’s a happy shout from one end of the room, a loud noise of assent from the other, and everyone cheers.
Brendon squeezes Ryan’s hand, and drinks when Ryan does.
It looks to be the last rainy day of the season. The boys of Adonis are singing on the lawn in front of their dorm in the downpour.
“What glorious feeling,” sings Butcher, spinning and slipping on the grass.
“I’m happy again,” shouts Sisky, carrying the last syllable as he jumps in a puddle.
Brendon wipes a hand across his face. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he is soaked to the bone.
“I’ve got it,” he shouts, at Butcher and Sisky over the noise of rain on leaves and streets and skin. They stop singing to listen. “We can shave our heads and see whose hair grows the fastest,” he says, throwing his arms wide, chest slick from the rain. Butcher whistles. He’s almost completely nude and Brendon and Sisky are not much farther off.
“I like my hair,” says Ryan, eyes bright against the pale flush of his skin. Ryan is not dancing or singing in the rain. Ryan is standing next to Spencer under an umbrella. They are both very dry.
“I don’t want to be bald,” hollers Sisky. He slides through the lawn into Butcher, who catches him around the waist and starts to dance with him.
“I’ll do it!” shouts Butcher, his hands on Sisky’s hips. He shimmies.
“You guys are idiots,” says Spencer. He shakes his head, skeptical of their extracurriculars.
“I like your hair too,” says Brendon to Ryan. He skates into Ryan and presses himself flush up against him. He kisses Ryan on the lips, chaste but with cold lips and wet cheeks. Ryan shudders.
“Oh my god,” shrieks Tom, throwing open the door to their dorm. He puts his arms over his head and steps out from the under hang, shouting. “Oh my god, what are you doing. Come inside. Come inside right now or I am calling your parents and telling them what you really did for Sisky’s birthday.”
Ryan shoves Brendon backwards, into the rain and the wet, grinning. Brendon grabs his arm and pulls him from under the umbrella. Ryan shivers and clings to Brendon. His teeth chatter in Brendon’s ear and Brendon hugs him tight.
Spencer rolls his eyes and walks away. Butcher takes him in arm and drags him, skipping, back indoors.
“Now,” stresses Tom, looking pained.
Brendon kisses Ryan again and they run after the rest of the boys, inside, where it’s warmer.
for hatoyona, for prompting me with "Spencer/Jon, college au." yeah, so. this isn't that story! also, she edited and let me tease her with scraps that may or may not have made it to the final version and said "there should be face licking" which I also didn't listen to, but am keeping in mind for future reference.
warning: contains many, many Disney channel allusions.
“We should have a beard growing contest,” says Brendon, snapping his fingers. A winter of school work would be unbearable. They need an extracurricular.
It looks to be the last sunlit day for a while. The boys of Adonis, craving sunshine, sprawl on the lawn in front of their dorm, lying on parkas and winter coats spread over the dying grass and frozen ground.
“We should have a beard growing contest,” says Brendon, snapping his fingers. A winter of school work would be unbearable. They need an extracurricular.
“I can’t grow a beard,” says Ryan. Ryan is a sophomore from a different dorm, one not at cool as Brendon’s, and owned by the school. He shivers and Brendon smiles at him.
“Butcher had a beard once, but I made him shave it,” says Sisky, Brendon’s roommate. Butcher is Sisky’s best friend, an art major a year ahead of them who is universally adored by everyone, especially Sisky. He lives down the hall, but sleeps in Brendon and Sisky’s room more often then not.
“Hey Spencer,” says Brendon, “Do you think we should have a beard growing contest?”
“I don’t want to look like a lazy college student,” responds Spencer, who is Ryan’s best friend and Brendon’s suite mate. He lives down the hall too, next to Butcher.
“You hang out with us,” says Sisky, eyebrow cocked.
“You could bring the well-groomed beard back,” says Brendon hopefully. “Back me up, Ryan.”
“Yeah,” says Ryan, without conviction.
Butcher runs out of their dorm without a shirt on. He takes off his pants and lays down next to Sisky. Brendon props himself up on his elbows and grins at him. “We’re having a beard growing contest.”
“I will take you suckers into the ground,” says Butcher, snapping his fingers.
Ryan pokes Brendon in the ribs. His gloves are fingerless and the tips of his fingers are cold. “You have goose bumps.”
Ryan is not really sunbathing. He is sitting on the ground next to Brendon with his coat and gloves on, leaning on Spencer, who is also not sunbathing.
“We could stop showering,” suggests Brendon. That’s akin to not shaving, and easier.
“No,” says Ryan, Sisky and Spencer at the same time. Butcher rolls over and high-fives Brendon over Sisky’s chest.
“Ooh,” says Sisky suddenly. “It’s Hot RA Tom.”
The boys sit up and stare. Brendon hums. “Hot RA Thomas,” he sing-songs.
“Oh Conrad,” says Butcher, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself. “Why you gotta do me like that.”
“Look at the way that badass fumbles for keys like a pro,” says Sisky. He elbows Butcher. “Look at him!”
“He’s too hot for my eyes to bear. I can’t look.”
“His cheeks are flushed from the cold,” admits Spencer. “It is cute.”
Ryan coughs. It’s an affirming sound. Brendon nods to himself. Their appreciation of the hot RA is unanimous, then.
Tom looks over at the sound and squawks. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouts. “You’re gonna get pneumonia!”
“We’re sunbathing,” the boys shout back. Tom jogs over. “Your lips are blue, Brendon,” he laments. Brendon grins with his teeth and his blue lips. Tom throws up his hands. “Andy, you’re not even wearing enough clothing to be legally dressed.”
“Thomas,” says Butcher. “Thomas, I do it for you.”
Tom clucks. “Get inside, you idiots.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. Tom amends, “and Spencer and Ryan.” He grabs Butcher’s hand and pulls him to his feet.
“Ryan Ross,” says Brendon, “help me with my jacket? My hands are too cold to grasp the fabric.”
Ryan helps Brendon into his jacket. Butcher laughs out loud. “That pickup line wouldn’t have even worked on me.”
Ryan flushes.
“Get inside,” snaps Tom. “You’re in college, you’re supposed to be responsible for yourselves.”
All of the boys laugh at that.
One of the best things about living in Adonis, besides the fact that it’s independently owned, is Tom Conrad. Hot RA Tom, the grad student who rented an apartment on the third floor and ended up RA for the dorm. Hot RA Tom, who despairs of his RA duties and takes them very, very seriously. All the Adonis boys love him for it.
Brendon is spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace on top of and around Sisky and Butcher. They’re warming up. Tom told them too, or else he would kill them, or call their parents and tell them they were drunk.
Brendon tips his head back on the floor and looks up Ryan. Ryan, who is not warming up by the fire but is curled up against Spencer again, lying on the couch behind them.
“Are you warming up?” he asks politely.
“I was already warm,” says Ryan. “Your nose is running.”
Brendon sniffles. “I need a tissue.”
Ryan digs around in his coat pocket and gives one to Brendon.
“You are so whipped,” says Sisky. “I don’t get it.”
Ryan flushes. “I gotta go do homework,” he says and leaves. All four boys watch his retreating back. Spencer kicks Sisky in the head.
“Ow.”
“Don’t be a jerk to my best friend.” And then he kicks Brendon in the head.
“Ow!”
“Don’t be mean to Brendon,” says Sisky, looking scandalized. Butcher rolls over, looking thoughtful.
“Stop it,” says Spencer, frowning. “You’re making it very hard for Ryan.”
“This is not a request,” says Brendon. And then he yawns, audibly. Behind the glass, his supervisor, Ray, throws up his hands. “I’m playing this one because I want to. Aly & AJ, ‘Potential Breakup Song.’ And after that, more songs!”
The song plays. Brendon puts his head on his arms on the desk and wills himself not to fall asleep. He didn’t go to bed last night. After Tom punished them, he invited them back to his apartment and they played video games all night. Brendon went straight from Halo 3 in Tom’s room to the radio station.
Brendon is a terrible DJ. He talks too fast and sings along far too much. He gets chewed out weekly for eating the Butcher’s barbeque chips on air. But he has the third most popular show on the network at the third worst time-slot. Weekdays, 6-8am.
The phone rings. Brendon picks up. A preteen girl is on the line, breathlessly asks for Jonas Brothers, too stunned to be talking to the Brendon Urie of the Disney block on the radio to specify a song. Brendon decides he hasn’t heard “Year 3000" enough lately and plays it next.
The phone rings again. It’s Sisky. “Play Ryan Adams,” he says. “And do you want anything to eat? Hot RA Tom is gonna get us food.”
“Ryan Adams isn’t Disney,” says Brendon. “And yes. I want an omelette.”
“Brendon wants hash browns!” Sisky yells, away from the phone.
“And I want hash browns,” says Brendon.
“And he wants an omelette! And also, orange juice. And coffee.”
“Brendon doesn’t like coffee,” says the faint voice of Tom.
“I want coffee,” says Sisky.
Brendon hangs up. “I like classic Disney,” he says into the mic when the tech gives him the ok. “Classic Disney is the best Disney. Anything else and you’re just kidding yourself. Sorry Zac Efron, but it’s true.”
He pauses. He watches the phone lines light up with calls from angry preteens. He still hopes that someday Zac Efron will call up and threaten to beat him up. He could totally take Zac Efron. As long as the Butcher backed him up.
“This is from Beauty and the Beast,” says Brendon, distracted. “For all the parents who remember watching this movie as a kid.” He affects an accent. “Madam! Zere eez a ghirl in zee castle!”
He queues “Be Our Guest” and puts his head back down on the table.
The phone lines drop out as kids are rushed into cars headed for schools. One light remains lit. Brendon picks up.
“You don’t really want coffee, do you?” asks Tom, sounding worried.
“No,” says Brendon.
“Okay,” says Tom. “Sweet. Hey, so, they’re playing your show at this diner I’m at.”
“Awesome,” says Brendon. “I will give them a shout-out.”
He hangs up and rolls his head across his arms, back and forth. There’s a knock on the door.
“I won’t yawn,” says Brendon, without looking up. “I am the picture of perfect awakeness. There is no awakeness like I am awake.”
“Uh, that’s cool.” Brendon looks up. There is a short grad student standing in the doorway, complete with slacker college student beard and Starbucks cup. Brendon is impressed. It’s not the middle of winter yet and this man has already achieved everything Brendon could ever hope to achieve in his extracurricular scholastic career.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I’m Jon. Uh, Ray sent me in here. He says you need a co-host?”
Brendon does need a co-host. Brendon needs a co-host really badly. He used to make Sisky do it with him, but Sisky was worse than he is and got banned from the school radio.
“Do you like Disney?” he asks, propping his head on his fists and blinking. It’s not really a prerequisite to the job. Brendon didn’t particularly like Disney when he started. He’s just interested.
“Classic Disney’s the best,” says Jon. “Zac Efron can suck my dick.”
“I want to fight Zac Efron,” says Brendon carefully, a test.
“I would, but I think I’d lose,” says Jon.
Jon is Brendon’s co-host. He sits in while Brendon rambles for the remaining hour. He laughs when Brendon dedicates Miley Cyrus to Tom and the diner who plays his station. “I love you, Hot RA Tom Conrad In The Diner, buying me breakfast,” says Brendon, monotone into the mic. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Brendon brings Jon back to the dorm after that showstopper. Jon has never heard Cheetah Girls and it’s better he hears it in the privacy of Brendon’s dorm than when he’s on air and liable. They find the occupants of Adonis in the kitchen, crushed together on two long benches at the table. It was loud until Jon stepped into the kitchen behind him and Tom dropped his cutlery so as to throw his arms around the man.
“Jon Walker,” says Tom, sounding star-struck. “Fucking Jonny Walker.”
“He never says my name like that,” says Sisky.
“Me either,” says Butcher.
“It’s because you’re not Jon Walker,” says Tom. He drops his head onto Jon’s shoulder and breathes. The boys turn away, rolling their eyes, and the din returns, with renewed vigor, due to an increased caffeine intake.
“How’s Hollywood Records today?” asks Butcher, elbowing Spencer as he takes a bite of hash brown. Spencer elbows him back when he sips his coffee.
“I have a co-host,” says Brendon with a big smile. He climbs into a small space between Ryan and Sisky. Sisky passes him a fork and a Styrofoam box of breakfast.
“Plain White T’s are the only redeeming band on that record label,” says Sisky.
“Who’s your co-host?” asks Ryan, slicing off a piece of Brendon’s eggs and stealing it for himself. Brendon makes a face at him.
“Plain White T’s are nobody’s redeeming band,” says Spencer.
“Love love loveloveloveloveeeeeee,” sings Butcher through a mouthful of melon.
“Jon is my co-host,” says Brendon. He nods in Jon’s direction. Tom still has his arms around him. He takes Ryan’s mug of orange juice and finishes it. He sucks in his cheeks and makes a face at Ryan. “I hate pulp.”
“That’s all you guys had.”
Spencer frowns at both of them. Brendon grins and bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s. Ryan coughs on Brendon’s scrambled eggs.
“Thanks for the Miley dedication,” says Tom, sitting back down at the head of the table. “I really got a lot of stares at that diner.”
“You blush,” says Butcher gleefully. “Aw, Thomas!”
“Shut up,” says Tom. Jon stands behind him with his hands on both of Tom’s shoulders, shaking him. “I didn’t know Hannah Montana was the way to your heart.”
“It isn’t,” says Tom. “Plain White Ts are.”
“You’re a thousand miles away,” warbles Butcher. Brendon and Sisky are quick to join in. “But Tom, tonight you look so pretty, yes you doooo.”
Tom puts his red face in his hands. Ryan elbows Brendon as he takes more food off of Brendon’s plate.
Tom rubs Brendon’s shoulders and says, “hey, Brendon, hey. Wake up.”
Brendon growls at him and turns his face the other way. It’s naptime, he’s napping. He’s been awake all day and he needs a nap.
Tom digs his thumbs into the tense parts of Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon groans out loud. “Come on,” says Tom. “You gotta eat dinner. The dining hall closes in an hour.”
“You’re a horrible, horrible RA,” mumbles Brendon.
Tom flicks his ear. “I know.”
It’s only the early evening. Ryan is standing outside Brendon’s room with his hands jammed in his pockets. He gives Brendon a small smile.
“You look cold,” says Tom. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I didn’t need one coming over here,” says Ryan.
“Brendon, go get Ryan one of your hoodies.”
Brendon grabs the cleanest looking hoodie he sees and gives it to Ryan. Ryan shrugs into it and smiles at him again. He pulls the sleeves over his hands and makes tight fists in the red fabric.
“Okay,” says Tom, with the dazed look he gets when he’s trying to account for all his kids. This is when Brendon remembers Tom isn’t just a RA but a grad student also. He pats Tom’s shoulder.
“Let’s go,” says Brendon. “Sisky and Butcher will find their own food, Michael will have eaten already, Mike will have gone with him, Frank only eats junk food-”
“Spencer already ate,” Ryan breaks in.
“And Spencer already ate, and Bob is responsible.”
Tom gives them both a small smile and takes them to the cafeteria. He and Brendon load up their trays but Ryan doesn’t take any food, only an apple. He steals Brendon’s fries when Brendon sits down next to him.
Tom looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Of course he probably hasn’t, Brendon knows, but Tom actually looks it.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” says Ryan. Brendon turns and stares. Ryan shrugs.
“Been busy with you fucks,” says Tom, but he looks close to miserable and a little bit old. He rubs his eyes. “I got a lot of work due soon.”
Ryan steals another fry off of Brendon’s plate. Brendon wiggles in his chair, elbowing Ryan.
Tom yawns. “But hey, Jon Walker. He’s a good guy. A morning person.”
“You know him?”
“We were friends in college. He went to a different university for grad school, but I guess he transferred.”
“Does he need housing?”
Tom grins. “Nah. But he’ll be around.” He stands. “I gotta go. I’ll see you guys.”
Ryan takes another fry. Brendon shoves his plate at him and puts his elbows on the table, his head on his hands. Ryan pushes the plate back.
“It’s yours.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Ryan takes another fry. Brendon’s head tips to the left, propped up by a fist. He blinks at Ryan.
Ryan chews at him, mouth open. Brendon grins.
Brendon is stuck in his dorm over Christmas. Not enough money to get home, his mother explains, not this year, honey. Brendon’s cool with it. He watches Sisky and Butcher take off, Spencer, the Michaels, everyone except Tom, because this is where he lives, and Ryan.
Ray gives him a key to the station when he finds out Brendon will be home all break. “We’ve got music on a loop,” he says, pinning Brendon with a stare. “Check on it, make sure it’s still running. Don’t fuck with the system.”
Brendon runs the entire Lion King soundtrack around noon the day after everyone leaves. Tom laughs at him when he gets back to the dorm and Brendon asks why he’s been listening to college radio. Then it’s just a battle of wills and raised eyebrows but Tom wins because Brendon giggles first.
“Fuck.”
“Someday,” says Tom, “someday, you’ll win,” and he smiles beatifically. Brendon clutches his chest for the love, stumbling backwards. Tom blushes and says Brendon should go away, he has to get some reading done.
Ryan Ross is asleep on his bed.
Which is weird, because Brendon thought Ryan had a key to Spencer’s room and was staying there because Ryan, who was lucky enough to get on-campus housing, got kicked out of his own dorm for the holidays. But Ryan is asleep on his bed and the radio is on, tuned to the college radio station, so Brendon grabs his book and curls up on Sisky’s bed, pulling the afghan around him. He settles against the wall with the book in front of his face and watches Ryan.
Ryan is wearing Brendon’s hoodie that he never gave back, even though Spencer tried. Brendon knows. Spencer put it in his hands, twice, but somehow it always ended up on Ryan again.
Ryan stirs. “Brendon?”
Brendon nods at him, still staring.
Ryan says, “fuck, I’ll go.” He pushes himself up, fists cuffed in fabric. He winces, joints cracking. “I’ll go.”
“Uh,” says Brendon. He climbs off of Sisky’s bed and stands in front of Ryan, feeling loose and jumpy. “Are you locked out of Spencer’s room or anything?”
“No.” He shifts on his feet, looking at Brendon. “I, uh.” He bites his lip. “Never mind.”
They stare at each other. Ryan skitters out of the room and moments later, Brendon hears the door to Spencer’s room shut and lock. He flops down on his bed. His pillow smells different and Ryan’s still got his hoodie.
The next evening, Brendon plays the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid. Twice. He sits in the dj booth and eats Sisky’s leftover burger from a week ago and thinks aloud before letting the album go again. He says, “it’s weird when real life doesn’t fall into place like a fairytale.” He stops.
The phone lines remain unlit.
“But I guess being bewitched into a human isn’t really falling into place. That’s taking destiny into your own hands.”
“Fairytales are like right now, except with princesses and stuff, I guess.”
“Who’s to say I won’t turn into a human right now?”
Brendon says, “and if my Hot RA Tom is listening, he should buy me dinner. I want Chinese food.”
The phone lines remain unlit.
“Aw, come on,” says Brendon.
His phone buzzes. A text message from Ryan Ross: white rice or fried
Ryan and Brendon sit out in the hallway and eat dinner together. Brendon drags his laptop into the hall with him and they watch Transformers, Ryan with his legs folded under him, Brendon sprawled on his stomach.
“You’re gonna choke.” Ryan pokes him in the side. “You should sit up when you eat.”
Brendon rolls over to look at him, mouth full of lemon chicken. Ryan watches him and chews. He leans over to take another bite but Brendon is there, taking his fork right out of his hand.
“You owe me,” mumbles Brendon, mouth full of lemon chicken and now, fried rice. “You always take my food.”
Ryan hands him a napkin. Brendon folds it into an airplane and grins at Ryan. He tosses it down the hall where it drifts and crash-lands into the corner.
“No, I meant,” says Ryan, unfazed, “you’ve got sauce on the corner of your mouth.”
Brendon licks his mouth, still grinning at Ryan.
They watch Aladdin after Transformers. They kick their plates and boxes of Chinese food away from them into the hall. They end up slumped against the wall, propped up by each other.
Genie makes his great departure. Aladdin and Jasmine kiss in front of a full moon. The credits roll. Brendon’s head is on Ryan’s shoulder and his entire body is stiff.
Ryan picks up his phone without moving. “Two-thirty,” he says. “I’m going to bed.”
He doesn’t move. Neither does Brendon.
The credits continue, and the pop songs give way to theme music.
Ryan shifts, just a little, away from Brendon. Brendon rolls off of him and sits up to stretch his neck. His joints pop when he moves his legs and he grunts, shaking his body out and flops back against the wall with a sigh.
Ryan’s sitting on his knees, watching Brendon. Brendon watches him back. They hold each other’s gaze in silence and Brendon doesn’t think anything of it when Ryan finally leans in and kisses him on the lips.
He doesn’t move though, and Ryan pulls back. He looks so blank when he’s so close to Brendon’s face. Brendon licks his lips and Ryan pulls farther away. Brendon looks at Ryan, looks at his guarded face, his sleep-tired eyes, his dry mouth, and his shoulders, skinny, in Brendon’s hoodie.
Brendon leans forward and kisses him back.
It takes just a moment but then Ryan pulls Brendon closer, fisting a hand in Brendon’s hair. Brendon lifts his arms to wrap around Ryan when there’s a slam from Tom’s apartment and the echo of footsteps in the stairwell. Brendon pulls away when Ryan does.
“Good night,” says Ryan. He squints at Brendon. Then he scrambles to his feet and disappears into Spencer’s room.
Brendon grabs his laptop and the empty Chinese boxes and moves just as quickly into his own room.
Brendon spends the entire day in the radio station. He doesn’t interrupt the prerecorded program, except once in the evening, right before he leaves. He has to play “Beauty and the Beast.” He’s not being romantic; it’s Christmas Eve and that song is a better carol then any he ever sang in church.
“You romantic,” says Tom. “That’s the sweetest gesture anyone from this dorm has ever made in public.”
“It’s not a gesture,” says Brendon. He fumbles with the door, pulling it shut behind him. “It’s a- I mean- I dedicate my lovesongs to the world, okay?”
Tom sucks in a breath, laughing on the other end of the phone in. “Bden. It’s still a gesture. Hey, a friend invited me over for a Christmas party tomorrow. You and Ryan are coming with me, okay?”
“Um,” says Brendon. “Okay.”
“Good.” Tom sounds pleased. “Have you eaten today?”
Brendon hasn’t, not really. He took the Butcher’s chips that he left under Sisky’s bed and ate those at the radio station.
“Yes.”
“Cool,” says Tom. “Hey, I gotta run. Don’t forget to eat dinner. And make sure Ryan eats too, I don’t have his cell phone number but I don’t want his RA to kick my ass when he shows up emaciated in four weeks.”
Brendon hangs up and goes straight to his room. Spencer’s door is shut. He hasn’t seen Ryan all day.
He searches his room until he finds half a package of Ramen and eats it, dry. Then he undresses and watches episodes of Lost until he falls asleep.
Someone knocks on his door and Brendon sits up with a violent jerk, breathing hard. He stumbles out of bed and throws open the door. Ryan is standing in the hall, his face funny and out of focus while Brendon fumbles to put on his glasses.
“Get dressed,” Ryan says, grinning like Christmas Day and oh right, Brendon yawns, it is Christmas Day.
“What?”
Ryan grins at Brendon’s bare chest and messy hair, his Halloween boxers and his sleepy face. “We’re going sledding,” he says. “Get dressed.” He’s holding two lunch trays.
“It doesn’t snow here.” Brendon rubs his mouth, blinking at Ryan.
Ryan throws a hoodie in his face. One of Ryan’s own, because it’s a dark color and it smells different. Ryan is still smiling at him. “Come on, get dressed.”
Brendon pulls on the first clothes he can reach and then shrugs into Ryan’s hoodie. It’s tighter on him than any of his hoodies, but it’s warm and worn. He puts his hands in his pockets and follows Ryan outside and onto campus. The quad is empty. It’s four in the morning on a holiday break and it’s cold as fuck, and they are the only people on campus, he’s pretty sure. Brendon stops short when he sees the frost-covered ground.
“Ryan,” he says. “Ryan, this isn’t- ”
Ryan grabs Brendon’s hand and pulls Brendon along. He takes them to the top of the quad, where the grass curves inward into the bowl. He hands Brendon a lunch tray.
It’s cold out. Brendon takes his tray and shivers. Ryan softens, letting go of his hand. “Come on,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”
They sit down and Brendon slides down into the quad. He gets some good speed and only stops when he skids onto a paved walkway. He turns around just in time to set Ryan crash headlong into a tree with a shout. The sight is somewhat elating and he grabs his lunch tray and races back up the incline.
“Race,” he demands when Ryan has run back up the hill. Ryan grins. “Go!”
Ryan, sitting on his knees, drives his lunch tray straight into Brendon’s and they tumble down into the bowl.
“It’s cooold,” whines Brendon when they finally stop rolling. He’s lying on his back and Ryan’s hoodie has ridden up past his stomach. The air is cold on his wet skin. He shivers.
“Shut up,” says Ryan, face first in the grass. He sits up. “I won.”
“You cheated,” spits Brendon.
They run back up the hill and race back down again. Brendon wipes out on the pavement. Ryan careens into a garbage can.
“Okay,” says Brendon. He sets his lunch tray down and steps onto it, poised like a surfer. Ryan shakes his head. “You’re gonna break your neck.”
“No, shut up,” says Brendon. He slides down the hill and promptly falls on his face. Ryan sits on his tray and slides straight into Brendon’s side. The force sends him flying over Brendon and he lays with his legs on Brendon’s chest and his arms over his face, giggling into the fabric of his stolen hoodie.
“Nngh,” says Brendon. He twitches.
“Idiot,” says Ryan. He pulls his hands away from his face and props himself up on his elbows. “That hurt, fuck.”
“Fuck,” echoes Brendon. He sits up and Ryan’s legs fall to his lap. “That hurt a lot.”
Ryan laughs. He laughs, shaking his head and looking down and then up at Brendon and then down at his legs again. His laugh is loud and clear in the night and there are pieces of dead grass stuck to his cheeks. Brendon reaches out to brush wet hair away from Ryan’s forehead but just ends up pulling him closer and kissing him.
Ryan leans into the kiss for a second and then he pulls away. He watches Brendon again with that blank face, but he’s biting his lip.
“That’s not a Christmas present,” says Brendon. Ryan grins, ducks his head and grins. He leans back in again, smiling.
Tom’s friend throws a good dinner party but Brendon and Ryan are exhausted from too little sleep and too much sledding in the night. Ryan curls up against Brendon on the couch where they’ve dropped, arm twisted in his, body perfectly aligned next to Brendon’s.
Brendon sneezes.
Ryan hands him a tissue. Brendon blinks at him, heavy.
Someone calls for a toast on the other end of the room. Brendon can’t hear what has been said over the noise of the party. He blows his nose and takes the glass of wine offered to him. Ryan pulls closer to him, wine glass one hand, Brendon’s hand in the other.
There’s a happy shout from one end of the room, a loud noise of assent from the other, and everyone cheers.
Brendon squeezes Ryan’s hand, and drinks when Ryan does.
It looks to be the last rainy day of the season. The boys of Adonis are singing on the lawn in front of their dorm in the downpour.
“What glorious feeling,” sings Butcher, spinning and slipping on the grass.
“I’m happy again,” shouts Sisky, carrying the last syllable as he jumps in a puddle.
Brendon wipes a hand across his face. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he is soaked to the bone.
“I’ve got it,” he shouts, at Butcher and Sisky over the noise of rain on leaves and streets and skin. They stop singing to listen. “We can shave our heads and see whose hair grows the fastest,” he says, throwing his arms wide, chest slick from the rain. Butcher whistles. He’s almost completely nude and Brendon and Sisky are not much farther off.
“I like my hair,” says Ryan, eyes bright against the pale flush of his skin. Ryan is not dancing or singing in the rain. Ryan is standing next to Spencer under an umbrella. They are both very dry.
“I don’t want to be bald,” hollers Sisky. He slides through the lawn into Butcher, who catches him around the waist and starts to dance with him.
“I’ll do it!” shouts Butcher, his hands on Sisky’s hips. He shimmies.
“You guys are idiots,” says Spencer. He shakes his head, skeptical of their extracurriculars.
“I like your hair too,” says Brendon to Ryan. He skates into Ryan and presses himself flush up against him. He kisses Ryan on the lips, chaste but with cold lips and wet cheeks. Ryan shudders.
“Oh my god,” shrieks Tom, throwing open the door to their dorm. He puts his arms over his head and steps out from the under hang, shouting. “Oh my god, what are you doing. Come inside. Come inside right now or I am calling your parents and telling them what you really did for Sisky’s birthday.”
Ryan shoves Brendon backwards, into the rain and the wet, grinning. Brendon grabs his arm and pulls him from under the umbrella. Ryan shivers and clings to Brendon. His teeth chatter in Brendon’s ear and Brendon hugs him tight.
Spencer rolls his eyes and walks away. Butcher takes him in arm and drags him, skipping, back indoors.
“Now,” stresses Tom, looking pained.
Brendon kisses Ryan again and they run after the rest of the boys, inside, where it’s warmer.