Still Standing [ryan/brendon][s/a][part 1]
“Are you sure they won’t mind…?” Brendon asks, his voice shaking. Brent shrugs.
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Ross might glare at you a bit, but other than that…Spencer’s nice.”
Brendon frowns and swallows, running his tense hand through his hair. His foot taps hard on the floor of the car, and he pulls the seatbelt tighter against his chest - he pretends it’s like a rubber band. His entire body feels like a rubber band, ready to spring, tense like a drawn arrow.
Brent glances at his leg, bouncing quick and rhythmically against the floor. “Dude, cool it,” he says, sounding half-irritated.
“Hm,” Brendon responds and looks at his leg, pressing his elbow into the bone. He bites his lip and tries to keep the movement from being too distracting as Brent haphazardly steers the wheel, turning into a driveway.
Brendon swallows. He’s beginning to panic and it’s bad. He needs something to calm him down. God. Who could blame him for the weed?
“Come on, Brendon, this is it,” Brent says as he slams the door, surprising Brendon. Brendon scrambles out of the car and trots after Brent, feeling himself loosen now, out of the confined space. He almost wants to cling to Brent, he’s freaking out that much, but he resists, taking deep breaths.
Brent knocks on the door and a slightly woman opens the door, her hair tossed on top of her head in a twisted bun. She has light blue eyes and a brilliant smile - she beams at the sight of them.
“Come on in, Brent. And this must be the other boy you were talking about? Brandon, was it?”
Brendon blushes, and says, “It’s Brendon,” in a low mumble whoever this lady is probably didn’t hear.
“Well, Brendon,” - Brendon’s jaw drops because she heard him - “I’m Spencer’s mother. They’re actually out back right now, on the porch.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Smith,” Brent says quickly, grabbing Brendon’s sleeve and beginning to tug him through the house before Brendon can get his other shoe off. He kicks it off and it hits the front door. Again, he blushes.
The two trip outside onto the porch, and Brendon wishes he hadn’t taken off his shoes, because socks outside, or socks on a concrete porch? Not cool.
Also, he has no idea which one’s Ross and which one’s Spencer when he gets out onto the porch.
One is sitting with a notebook in his lap, a pen poised at his lips - his hair is kind of thick and obviously straightened, parted off to the side and flinging over his eye. He looks stupid, flicking his head to get the bangs away when it just keeps coming back.
The other is reading a book (the title, Brendon doesn’t remember) and is the first to look up, smiling fondly at Brendon who swallows again.
The chubbier one (the one with the book) reaches over and pokes his too thin friend, who jumps and then looks around, startled, until he catches Brent’s eye, then, Brendon’s. Brendon freezes at the gaze, stiff and without a smile, unlike the chubbier one.
“Ross, Smith, meet Urie.”
Brendon frowns - maybe Ross isn’t one of their names. God, he hates this.
“I’m Spencer,” the bigger one says, standing up. He walks over to Brendon and shakes his quivering hand, still smiling. “Glad Brent found you.”
“Uhm. Yeah.”
The skinnier one (he looks like a twig, honestly), stands, setting his notebook and pen back down on the outdoor couch, straightening up as he walks over to Brendon. He sticks out his hand, following Spencer’s example, and in a low, almost grown up voice, says, “I’m Ryan.”
“Brendon,” Brendon squeaks, taking the newly christened Ryan’s (his last name must be Ross. Ryan Ross. It rings well) hand and shaking lightly. Ryan’s grip is hard and quick, and then he lets go, turning back to Brent and ignoring Brendon.
“Is he good?” Ryan asks bluntly, and Spencer shoots him a glare before elbowing him in the ribs. “What?” he snaps back, “It’s a legitimate question.”
Brent glances at Brendon, staring at his feet. “He’s good. He’s kind of awkward, ya know, shy, but he’s the best in our class so I figured we could take the chance.”
Brendon’s blush grows more prominent but he keeps his mouth shut, shoving his glasses back up his nose.
“Brent,” Spencer says, his voice a warning. He’s the one who turns to Brendon with a soft voice and a soft smile, “Hey, Brendon, we’re gonna go to my basement and practice some…we have the music sheets for a couple of songs and you can start.”
Brendon forces himself to look up and smiles at Spencer. “Okay,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking.
--
The fourth rehearsal (which Brent misses), they have Brendon play the bass part. “He leaves his bass here, mostly…” Ryan explains, handing Brendon the case (Brendon fumbles with it, nearly dropping it as he sets down his guitar) “and you can play, right?”
Brendon meets Ryan’s eye, which he doesn’t do often and then clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, still focusing on sounding more confident. “It should be fine.”
“And you…can you sing some back-ups, today?” Ryan says, and this time his voice is kind of gruff, almost embarrassed. Brendon is taken by surprise.
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” Dammit, he thinks, not smooth.
They begin with Relax, which always makes Brendon’s heart hurt.
He doesn’t know Ryan that well. He doesn’t know anything besides what he’s heard the boy say himself, which isn’t much, considering. Once he got a call on his cell phone from his dad in the middle of a song and had disappeared to settle at the top of the basement stairs, knees to his chest, muttering quietly.
Brendon also doesn’t know much about SpencerandRyan. He makes it one word because sometimes, that’s exactly what they are - connected at the hip, able to communicate through simple thought, vague gestures. Brendon has soaked in their relationship in these short two hour sessions, watching them from behind his thick frames and looking away the moment Ryan glances his way.
But he can’t help it. They’re so interesting.
This song hurts, though. The idea behind it. Is it true? The bruises? But finding out would be too personal - it’s too soon. Maybe someday - but Brendon isn’t allowed to think of someday, not so early.
Brendon doesn’t realize how loudly he’s singing - he’s overpowering Ryan.
The music stops and he stops and the entire thing stops and he’s stuck on the scent of quarantine wings from the second verse. His breath catches and his fingers are tense on the bass strings.
“S-sorry,” he mumbles, not daring to look up again.
“No,” Ryan says curtly, walking closer to Brendon, guitar still strapped over his shoulder. He reaches out and grabs Brendon’s chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes - Brendon does so with a snap of his neck, flinching at the cracking sound of his bones. “Did that really come out of your mouth?” Ryan does this expression which is almost a sneer, and if it weren’t for the spark of curiosity in his eyes Brendon would think he was being made fun of. “Start again. The whole song, from the top.”
“D-do you still want me to sing…?” Brendon asks, his voice losing confidence again.
“Yep. All of it. Alone. I’m not backing you up. Belt it out, Urie, and Smith, don’t give me shit because we both saw that he can do it. Starting on three.” Without warning, Ryan counts down, and Spencer clicks his drum sticks before beginning the beat. Brendon is still startled, but he catches on quickly when Ryan sends him a glare when he’s late with not only the bass part, but the words.
He begins singing, closing his eyes and letting his fingers linger on the strings - playing and singing was harder than he had thought, but he had practiced at home, singing softly on his breath so it wasn’t so bad. Brendon lets his voice grow louder; eyes still squeezed shut as he hits what he hopes were the right notes, though he still stumbles over some of the lyrics, not positive.
He sings it passionately though, because he wants Ryan to realize that he knows - that he sees that these lyrics aren’t a lie, but rather a manifestation.
In this short period, Brendon has already gotten to know Ryan’s habits.
He blinks as the song finishes, realizing this, and turning to look at Ryan. He keeps his expression sheepish, not wanting to seem over confident. Ryan just blinks, but then a smile spreads over his face, wide and real.
Brendon grins back goofily, not sure exactly why.
--
“What!?”
Spencer shrugs. “Ryan told me to tell you. I don’t know why he didn’t just tell you himself…but yeah, he wants you to take over vocalist. Do you think that’d be okay? You’d have to take lessons and junk, but I don’t think it’ll take much. You’ve got a great upper range, and Ryan realizes that - you’re better than him.”
Brendon blinks, feeling his cheeks flushed. “But I…” he trails off, proving his point. “I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”
Spencer claps him on the shoulder. “Dude, come on, that’s the entire point. You…you’d have presence on stage. I don’t know. We might not go any further than the basics of Vegas, but Ryan really believes this - he really believes in us. Which means he believes in you. He’s so dedicated, dude, he’s kind of obsessed with the idea of being famous. You know what that means? He has faith in you. He trusts you to do what he can’t.”
Brendon is flushed again, biting hard on his lip. He’s not ready to make a decision like this. “…Give me a few days,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you on Monday.”
--
And suddenly Brendon is thrown into this new world and his parents are pissed as fuck (which he thinks is totally hypocritical - doesn’t God forgive everyone? Or was that as long as they apologized? But parents should always forgive their kids) and have kicked him out, and now…
And now.
Brendon peers into the bathroom, frowning. “…Ryan?” he calls reluctantly, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the tiny shared bed (one night it’s Brendon’s, the next, Ryan’s). He continues to look around the too small apartment, though there aren’t many places for Ryan to hide.
He begins to worry.
“Damn.”
Then he finds the note on their tiny refrigerator (stocked with a box of Red Bull, cheese sauce, and a plastic jug of water that’s running dangerously low) which reads in Ryan’s chicken scrawl, ‘Dad called. See you next rehearsal.’
Something sinks in Brendon’s chest and he takes the note, sitting down on the bed that’s now all his.
Ryan made up with his father. Or maybe he was threatened. Or maybe something else.
Brendon looks around the tiny, shit filled apartment and his first thought is Is this worse than being hit? Yelling? Alcohol?
Brendon wipes his mouth and puts the note next to his pillow. “Fuck,” he mumbles, and looks at the clock.
Time for his shift at the Smoothie Hut, the only thing keeping him from losing his shithole.
And now that’s Ryan’s left - that’s exactly what it is. Crap piled on top of more crap. The box of Checkers Brendon grabbed from his house after a fit of yelling and his mother almost screaming about being loyal to your family is still scattered where Ryan was last playing this morning.
Brendon swallows and looks at the clock again.
He really has to go now.
--
“Bren? Why are you being so distant?”
Brendon lifts his eyes to look at Ryan. “What are you talking about?” he asks but his voice falls flat and unconvincing. Ryan scowls.
“What’s wrong?”
Brendon feels a sudden wave of selfish guilt - slightly abusive alcoholic or not, Ryan’s dad is still his family, and the only family he has left, really. Besides Spencer. Brendon shouldn’t just expect Ryan to find him the better friend, the better family. He was lucky enough that Ryan had picked him over Spencer’s mother’s offer to stay at his house. He still wonders why.
“Nothing, I just…Haven’t been feeling too good.”
Something sparks in Ryan’s eyes. “Are you working too much? Standing around for so many hours a day could make you sick. Brendon, you need to find a better place to live, I…”
Brendon is half-glaring now. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Ryan, you left, so get over it.” He catches his breath and forces himself not to say anything else, tightening his lips.
He twists and stomps his way up Spencer’s basement stairs, and Brent mumbles, “Never heard him say fuck before.”
Ryan shoots him a glare that could kill.
--
“Brendon.”
Knocking.
Brendon jolts up on the bed and falls out, thumping to the ground. The knocking doesn’t stop, insistent. Brendon worries the neighbors will complain and scrambles, ignoring the fact that he’s only wearing boxer briefs and yanking the door open.
“Oh.”
Ryan is standing outside his door in jeans and a t-shirt, despite the early spring weather (aka cold), and there’s already a bruise blossoming over his jaw, spreading up his cheek. “Fuck,” Brendon murmurs, slipping his hand into Ryan’s and pulling him gently inside. “Come on,” he whispers, closing the door and flicking one of the tiny lamps on the single kitchen counter.
In that moment everything melts away. Anger, frustrations, exhaustion - Brendon is wide awake and the only thing swelling inside is fear.
He continues to lead Ryan to the messy bed, wrapping his arm carefully around his waist and pulling him onto his lap. “Hush,” he whispers into Ryan’s growing hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, he promises. “You’re here now. He can’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” Ryan sobs dryly. “I know. And I’m sorry. I believed him again…and I left you. I’m sorry. But I can’t blame him…I can’t, I can’t…”
“Hey,” Brendon whispers, kissing Ryan’s forehead - he doesn’t know why he does it. “Hey, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
Ryan looks up at Brendon through his shining eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and then he wraps his arms around Brendon’s neck and kisses him wet and sloppy and all wrong for Brendon’s first kiss.
His first kiss. The thought is divine.
And for some reason, who he’s getting it from doesn’t seem to be a big deal at all. So he kisses back. Hard and awful and beginner like.
But Ryan mewls against his mouth and maybe even moans a little and they do that for a good while, just kiss without reason and Brendon thinks, again, that his heart is going to burst out of his body.
--
“Who’s Pete Wentz?” Brendon asks incredulously and Ryan’s jaw drops. Brent and Spencer share glances and Brent snickers. “What? Am I missing something?”
Ryan’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know who Pete Fucking Wentz is? He’s only the bassist for Fall Out Boy!”
Brendon blinks. He still doesn’t get it. “Oh…oh wait! I think…they’re that band you like! And…what’s so great about their bassist…?”
“He’s just awesome, okay? That’s all you need to know.” Brendon raises an eyebrow at Ryan’s holier-than-thou attitude but shrugs it off. “I sent him a couple of our demos…via LiveJournal.”
The words make Brendon realize that he’s been doing this for quite a while - well, it feels like quite a while. The months. It’s 2005 and he joined this ‘band’ of sorts in 2004. Strange.
“And…?” Brendon asks, tired of waiting for Ryan to continue.
“He IMed me and said he wanted to see us play. He’s flying down…to see us play.”
Brendon nearly chokes on his own spit. “A kind of famous dude!? Flying down from where?”
“Chicago, of course!” Ryan snaps, rolling his eyes again. “Good God, do I have to be the one who knows everything?”
Brendon shakes off his words. “Uh, so, when, exactly?”
“May. May and…and then maybe…You know The Academy, right?” Brendon bobs his head. “They’re going to be signed to his new label, and, and there’s a chance we will be too. And maybe even Fueled By Ramen. Fall Out Boy is signed to Fueled By Ramen. Holy shit. That would be so fucking sweet…”
Brendon can see Ryan is in dreamland now and smiles a little.
Spencer and even Brent are smiling, too.
--
It happens in a blur. They get signed. They record an album. And in between, they (as in Ryan and Brendon) meet Audrey and Jac. And Brendon gets his first girlfriend.
But he doesn’t really get it.
Ryan with these heart eyes for the blonde, telling Brendon, “She’s got this really hot friend, Audrey, and she’s a fucking model, Bren, an alternative model, but you know, she’s still hot and she’d totally go out with you.”
Brendon goes along with it because he thinks that’s what Ryan wants. The kissing only happened once - they never discussed it, so maybe it doesn’t matter anymore? Brendon doesn’t know if he’s supposed to think about it. Maybe it did make his heart race, make the blood pound in his temples. But now, now Ryan is kissing this girl who takes pictures of herself and posts them on the Internet, who’s met Fall Out Boy too, and who swears she’s going to be huge someday.
And then there’s her friend, the yin to her yang or something. Sometimes Brendon feels like he’s looking into some parallel universe when he sees Audrey and Jac together. They half flirt a lot, they say the rudest things, they snort and burp like boys, even with Brendon and Ryan, and Brendon finds himself…well, he finds himself kind of happy.
In the process, he also falls in love with Audrey, in the strangest way.
They make a record - an actual record, and Brendon learns how to actually pronounce ‘formaldehyde’ and make his voice sound kind of sexy and sometimes Ryan will lean into his ear and whisper dirty things about his voice and Brendon doesn’t fucking get it.
Does Brendon want him? Does Brendon want Audrey? Or does Ryan want him, or Jac?
They go on tour for the first time. The Nintendo Fusion Tour - Ryan’s dream. Touring with Fall Out Boy. Opening for The Academy Is… (since they’ve released their first official album they changed their name) and being in front of huge crowds of screaming boys and girls. It’s so much different than the tiny places with maybe one hundred people, most of which aren’t actually interested.
That was easier. That was just being able to be themselves and not worry about what people thought about them - a couple of their fans standing close and bobbing their heads, Brendon fucking up chord progressions, it had all became normal; a pattern. And this, this touring thing is harder and scarier.
And on tour, Brendon misses Audrey. He misses her so hard.
Then she cheats on him. He’s confused, he doesn’t get it. And he’s sad. But then he does get it, because Jac did the same thing. He feels kind of used, but now he’s got something in common with Ryan, and Ryan confines in him again. They curl up in the tiny tour bus bunks and sometimes Brent shoots them weird looks but they don’t care. They talk about cheating bitches of girls and how Ryan’s been writing new songs already, but how they all turn out like shit.
Ryan whispers to Brendon in the dark, “I think I’m losing my touch.”
Brendon huffs. “Yeah, right. You…you’re Ryan. You can’t lose your touch. You just need something to really believe in.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow and Brendon can barely see it in the dark. He blinks, and he can feel his contacts going dry. “Oh, yeah, Urie, and what would you say that is?”
Brendon shrugs and doesn’t say anything else.
--
“Neither of you have girlfriends.”
Ryan frowns at Pete. “So?”
“So. Stage gay.”
“Excuse me?” Brent asks.
“What the fuck is ‘stage gay’?” Ryan asks, eyeing Pete uncertainly. “And do I really want to be a part of it?”
Pete waggles his eyebrows and grins, turning to Brendon. “Breeeeen,” he sing-songs. “Pleasing the fans never hurt, right? Come on. You guys put on a performance, send everyone crazy. I can just imagine it now…” Pete trails off, stars in his eyes. “You two, getting all touchy on stage? Brendon groping Ryan in the middle of songs! I want you to use a line about perfect, passionate kisses! I want you to kiss!”
Brendon and Ryan exchange glances for a reason the other three don’t know.
“Pete, seriously, what?”
“…You’ll understand soon enough”
They go with it. To their surprise as well as Patrick’s, who had bet with Pete the boys would never do it.
And of course, about this time, Brent stops showing up for rehearsals.
Which of course leads to drama and having to kick Brent out and then finding a new bassist who can actually play.
2006. Welcome Jon Walker, former camera man of The Academy Is… and TAI TV and also Panic! At The Disco’s new bassist, often referred to as ‘Panic’s Jesus’. Brendon likes Jon a lot - Jon knows all of the lyrics to every song of Aladdin and puts up with his obsessive ways with Disney. And maybe supports them a little.
Jon is the one who keeps his cool and keeps Ryan from tearing out Spencer’s throat a couple of times when he doesn’t get his way.
He’s also confused after the first night of their first night of their first headlining tour (that in itself is amazing - they’re headlining, for God’s sake).
“I’m not trying to be rude…” he says as he approaches Ryan and Brendon, both sweating buckets in their stupid clothes, Spencer trailing behind as they walk off stage. “But are you two gay?”
Brendon laughs and Ryan automatically begins to explain, “It was Wentz’s idea. Said it would attract more fans. We’re pumping in the money with all that groping and the fake kissing.”
Jon arches an eyebrow. “During Lying…That was fake?”
Brendon looks down, clutching his bottle of water. Maybe he kissed Ryan’s lips a little bit, the very edges. And maybe Ryan had shied away and half-glared at him. But no one would really believe it…would they? And what would it matter if they did?
“Of course not,” Ryan scoffs without missing a beat. “It’s called putting on a good show. If we convinced you, we convinced the crowd.”
Jon is still frowning, back stepping so he’s facing Ryan and Brendon but also walking - he almost trips over himself. “Dude, I was on stage. I swear I saw the touching of lips. Maybe it was an accident, granted, but I’ve never seen two straight dudes look so gay. Not that I have anything against that!” Jon raises his hands in defense, giving a corny smile. “Don’t feel like you have to hide from me, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Spencer calls from behind them. “Same for me.”
Brendon glances at Ryan but he doesn’t glance back.
“I’m not gay,” he says, his voice falling flat. Brendon tenses but tries to hide it, looking down at his almost empty water bottle. “So it’s not an issue, anyway. Who the fuck cares what other people think?”
His pace picks up, walking past Jon who frowns, turning and falling into step with Brendon who also slowed down. Spencer catches up with them, brushing Brendon’s arm. “…Brendon?” Spencer asks softly.
Brendon hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should say what’s on his mind. “…We’re hardly making any money for this tour, anyway. And you guys know that. We had to announce it…when Brent began to fuck with us.” He swallows. “So what does it matter?”
Jon and Spencer stay quiet, exchanging thoughtful glances.
Spencer squeezes Brendon’s shoulder.
--
Despite what Brendon had said, he doesn’t stop the groping, the almost kisses, the brushes of lips and neck and skin all over. He doesn’t keep his hand from trailing down Ryan’s spine, and sometimes he shivers when Ryan does the same, messing up half of a note and swallowing.
They do that every night, and Brendon can’t figure out why he does it - why does he let Pete shove him around like a tool? He does it because something in the way Ryan reacts gives him hope. And maybe because he’s been falling a little in love with Ryan.
Ryan’s father dies.
Sudden, in his sleep.
Not really a surprise - alcoholic, smoker, a fuck up.
They have to cancel a few shows - Ryan goes back to Vegas and Brendon and Spencer and Jon all trail after him, going to the funeral and standing near the casket and staring at Ryan. They know he can feel their gazes as they watch him falling apart.
Amanda Palmer comes, slipping her fingers into Ryan’s hand and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, mother like. He leans against her because now he trusts her, someone new to protect him.
Brendon stands behind him in a black suit he hasn’t worn in years that still fits him.
He breathes in the scent of death and despair and follows Ryan’s gaze to a tired looking woman directly across from him. Ryan’s mother, her hair pinned atop her head though some strands hang down around her face. She was the one who left. Who made Ryan have to go through this.
But Brendon can’t make himself mad at her with her drained expression.
He can’t believe things were easy for her, either.
--
“Brendon.”
“Mmm…”
Ryan crawls on top of Brendon on the bunk, and Brendon finally opens his eyes, realizing what’s over him. “Ry…?” he mumbles, too lazy to finish his name. “The fuck you doin’…?”
Ryan dips down and forces Brendon’s mouth open through the furious work of his teeth and tongue, and Brendon gasps and begins to struggle out of instinct, grabbing Ryan’s arms and pushing him up.
Both of them sitting up, Brendon sucking in breaths, he looks at Ryan. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses, his grip stronger on Ryan’s arms - then he sees Ryan’s face.
His eyes are desperate and full of something that Brendon can’t place - fear, love or obsession, Brendon doesn’t know, isn’t sure of. But Ryan’s breathing is heavy and he reaches out and clings to Brendon’s bare chest. “Just…don’t ask, Brendon. Just kiss me.” And he lunges in and forces Brendon’s mouth open, pushing him down on one of the cheap hotel pillow, twining their fingers.
Again, Brendon pushes him off, sputtering and gasping for breath. “Ryan, stop!”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Ryan pushes himself up and rolls off of Brendon, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Brendon is sick of hearing Ryan say that. “Don’t apologize,” he tells him sternly. “I’m not blaming you, but I think you need to talk more than you need to…kiss me. Ryan. Ryan, make up your mind.”
Ryan turns and looks at Brendon. “I’m trying my best to act natural,” he starts, his voice quivering. “My dad only left because he knew I was on the road to success. Because he knew…he absolutely knew that I didn’t need him anymore. But he was wrong. I still need him…or I need something. I don’t know. Is it fucked up…that I want you to yell at me?”
Brendon sits silently for a moment. “…Ryan…”
“Don’t misunderstand!” Ryan appears to be struggling for words, lifting his hands and flexing his fingers. He opens his mouth, then closes it, opens it again - “It’s not like I…get off on being abused.” He flushes slightly. “Or put down, or some shit. I just…I don’t know what else can make me feel better now. And maybe I don’t want to feel better.”
Brendon quirks an eyebrow. “So you molested me in my sleep?” he asks, lips poised in a half smile. He reaches out an arm and when Ryan just frowns at him, he picks up his other - motioning for a hug. “Come on, Ry.”
Ryan observes Brendon for a minute and then mumbles something he can’t hear, crawling over the hotel bed sheets and curling up in Brendon’s arms. He presses his cheek to his chest, ear where his heart is located and they both stay quiet, listening to each other breathing and Brendon’s heart beats.
“You’re gonna be okay, Ryan.”
Ryan listens to the steady thump thump thump of Brendon’s heart in his chest and hums quietly, pretending like he believes it.
part 2
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Ross might glare at you a bit, but other than that…Spencer’s nice.”
Brendon frowns and swallows, running his tense hand through his hair. His foot taps hard on the floor of the car, and he pulls the seatbelt tighter against his chest - he pretends it’s like a rubber band. His entire body feels like a rubber band, ready to spring, tense like a drawn arrow.
Brent glances at his leg, bouncing quick and rhythmically against the floor. “Dude, cool it,” he says, sounding half-irritated.
“Hm,” Brendon responds and looks at his leg, pressing his elbow into the bone. He bites his lip and tries to keep the movement from being too distracting as Brent haphazardly steers the wheel, turning into a driveway.
Brendon swallows. He’s beginning to panic and it’s bad. He needs something to calm him down. God. Who could blame him for the weed?
“Come on, Brendon, this is it,” Brent says as he slams the door, surprising Brendon. Brendon scrambles out of the car and trots after Brent, feeling himself loosen now, out of the confined space. He almost wants to cling to Brent, he’s freaking out that much, but he resists, taking deep breaths.
Brent knocks on the door and a slightly woman opens the door, her hair tossed on top of her head in a twisted bun. She has light blue eyes and a brilliant smile - she beams at the sight of them.
“Come on in, Brent. And this must be the other boy you were talking about? Brandon, was it?”
Brendon blushes, and says, “It’s Brendon,” in a low mumble whoever this lady is probably didn’t hear.
“Well, Brendon,” - Brendon’s jaw drops because she heard him - “I’m Spencer’s mother. They’re actually out back right now, on the porch.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Smith,” Brent says quickly, grabbing Brendon’s sleeve and beginning to tug him through the house before Brendon can get his other shoe off. He kicks it off and it hits the front door. Again, he blushes.
The two trip outside onto the porch, and Brendon wishes he hadn’t taken off his shoes, because socks outside, or socks on a concrete porch? Not cool.
Also, he has no idea which one’s Ross and which one’s Spencer when he gets out onto the porch.
One is sitting with a notebook in his lap, a pen poised at his lips - his hair is kind of thick and obviously straightened, parted off to the side and flinging over his eye. He looks stupid, flicking his head to get the bangs away when it just keeps coming back.
The other is reading a book (the title, Brendon doesn’t remember) and is the first to look up, smiling fondly at Brendon who swallows again.
The chubbier one (the one with the book) reaches over and pokes his too thin friend, who jumps and then looks around, startled, until he catches Brent’s eye, then, Brendon’s. Brendon freezes at the gaze, stiff and without a smile, unlike the chubbier one.
“Ross, Smith, meet Urie.”
Brendon frowns - maybe Ross isn’t one of their names. God, he hates this.
“I’m Spencer,” the bigger one says, standing up. He walks over to Brendon and shakes his quivering hand, still smiling. “Glad Brent found you.”
“Uhm. Yeah.”
The skinnier one (he looks like a twig, honestly), stands, setting his notebook and pen back down on the outdoor couch, straightening up as he walks over to Brendon. He sticks out his hand, following Spencer’s example, and in a low, almost grown up voice, says, “I’m Ryan.”
“Brendon,” Brendon squeaks, taking the newly christened Ryan’s (his last name must be Ross. Ryan Ross. It rings well) hand and shaking lightly. Ryan’s grip is hard and quick, and then he lets go, turning back to Brent and ignoring Brendon.
“Is he good?” Ryan asks bluntly, and Spencer shoots him a glare before elbowing him in the ribs. “What?” he snaps back, “It’s a legitimate question.”
Brent glances at Brendon, staring at his feet. “He’s good. He’s kind of awkward, ya know, shy, but he’s the best in our class so I figured we could take the chance.”
Brendon’s blush grows more prominent but he keeps his mouth shut, shoving his glasses back up his nose.
“Brent,” Spencer says, his voice a warning. He’s the one who turns to Brendon with a soft voice and a soft smile, “Hey, Brendon, we’re gonna go to my basement and practice some…we have the music sheets for a couple of songs and you can start.”
Brendon forces himself to look up and smiles at Spencer. “Okay,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking.
--
The fourth rehearsal (which Brent misses), they have Brendon play the bass part. “He leaves his bass here, mostly…” Ryan explains, handing Brendon the case (Brendon fumbles with it, nearly dropping it as he sets down his guitar) “and you can play, right?”
Brendon meets Ryan’s eye, which he doesn’t do often and then clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, still focusing on sounding more confident. “It should be fine.”
“And you…can you sing some back-ups, today?” Ryan says, and this time his voice is kind of gruff, almost embarrassed. Brendon is taken by surprise.
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” Dammit, he thinks, not smooth.
They begin with Relax, which always makes Brendon’s heart hurt.
He doesn’t know Ryan that well. He doesn’t know anything besides what he’s heard the boy say himself, which isn’t much, considering. Once he got a call on his cell phone from his dad in the middle of a song and had disappeared to settle at the top of the basement stairs, knees to his chest, muttering quietly.
Brendon also doesn’t know much about SpencerandRyan. He makes it one word because sometimes, that’s exactly what they are - connected at the hip, able to communicate through simple thought, vague gestures. Brendon has soaked in their relationship in these short two hour sessions, watching them from behind his thick frames and looking away the moment Ryan glances his way.
But he can’t help it. They’re so interesting.
This song hurts, though. The idea behind it. Is it true? The bruises? But finding out would be too personal - it’s too soon. Maybe someday - but Brendon isn’t allowed to think of someday, not so early.
Brendon doesn’t realize how loudly he’s singing - he’s overpowering Ryan.
The music stops and he stops and the entire thing stops and he’s stuck on the scent of quarantine wings from the second verse. His breath catches and his fingers are tense on the bass strings.
“S-sorry,” he mumbles, not daring to look up again.
“No,” Ryan says curtly, walking closer to Brendon, guitar still strapped over his shoulder. He reaches out and grabs Brendon’s chin, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes - Brendon does so with a snap of his neck, flinching at the cracking sound of his bones. “Did that really come out of your mouth?” Ryan does this expression which is almost a sneer, and if it weren’t for the spark of curiosity in his eyes Brendon would think he was being made fun of. “Start again. The whole song, from the top.”
“D-do you still want me to sing…?” Brendon asks, his voice losing confidence again.
“Yep. All of it. Alone. I’m not backing you up. Belt it out, Urie, and Smith, don’t give me shit because we both saw that he can do it. Starting on three.” Without warning, Ryan counts down, and Spencer clicks his drum sticks before beginning the beat. Brendon is still startled, but he catches on quickly when Ryan sends him a glare when he’s late with not only the bass part, but the words.
He begins singing, closing his eyes and letting his fingers linger on the strings - playing and singing was harder than he had thought, but he had practiced at home, singing softly on his breath so it wasn’t so bad. Brendon lets his voice grow louder; eyes still squeezed shut as he hits what he hopes were the right notes, though he still stumbles over some of the lyrics, not positive.
He sings it passionately though, because he wants Ryan to realize that he knows - that he sees that these lyrics aren’t a lie, but rather a manifestation.
In this short period, Brendon has already gotten to know Ryan’s habits.
He blinks as the song finishes, realizing this, and turning to look at Ryan. He keeps his expression sheepish, not wanting to seem over confident. Ryan just blinks, but then a smile spreads over his face, wide and real.
Brendon grins back goofily, not sure exactly why.
--
“What!?”
Spencer shrugs. “Ryan told me to tell you. I don’t know why he didn’t just tell you himself…but yeah, he wants you to take over vocalist. Do you think that’d be okay? You’d have to take lessons and junk, but I don’t think it’ll take much. You’ve got a great upper range, and Ryan realizes that - you’re better than him.”
Brendon blinks, feeling his cheeks flushed. “But I…” he trails off, proving his point. “I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”
Spencer claps him on the shoulder. “Dude, come on, that’s the entire point. You…you’d have presence on stage. I don’t know. We might not go any further than the basics of Vegas, but Ryan really believes this - he really believes in us. Which means he believes in you. He’s so dedicated, dude, he’s kind of obsessed with the idea of being famous. You know what that means? He has faith in you. He trusts you to do what he can’t.”
Brendon is flushed again, biting hard on his lip. He’s not ready to make a decision like this. “…Give me a few days,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you on Monday.”
--
And suddenly Brendon is thrown into this new world and his parents are pissed as fuck (which he thinks is totally hypocritical - doesn’t God forgive everyone? Or was that as long as they apologized? But parents should always forgive their kids) and have kicked him out, and now…
And now.
Brendon peers into the bathroom, frowning. “…Ryan?” he calls reluctantly, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the tiny shared bed (one night it’s Brendon’s, the next, Ryan’s). He continues to look around the too small apartment, though there aren’t many places for Ryan to hide.
He begins to worry.
“Damn.”
Then he finds the note on their tiny refrigerator (stocked with a box of Red Bull, cheese sauce, and a plastic jug of water that’s running dangerously low) which reads in Ryan’s chicken scrawl, ‘Dad called. See you next rehearsal.’
Something sinks in Brendon’s chest and he takes the note, sitting down on the bed that’s now all his.
Ryan made up with his father. Or maybe he was threatened. Or maybe something else.
Brendon looks around the tiny, shit filled apartment and his first thought is Is this worse than being hit? Yelling? Alcohol?
Brendon wipes his mouth and puts the note next to his pillow. “Fuck,” he mumbles, and looks at the clock.
Time for his shift at the Smoothie Hut, the only thing keeping him from losing his shithole.
And now that’s Ryan’s left - that’s exactly what it is. Crap piled on top of more crap. The box of Checkers Brendon grabbed from his house after a fit of yelling and his mother almost screaming about being loyal to your family is still scattered where Ryan was last playing this morning.
Brendon swallows and looks at the clock again.
He really has to go now.
--
“Bren? Why are you being so distant?”
Brendon lifts his eyes to look at Ryan. “What are you talking about?” he asks but his voice falls flat and unconvincing. Ryan scowls.
“What’s wrong?”
Brendon feels a sudden wave of selfish guilt - slightly abusive alcoholic or not, Ryan’s dad is still his family, and the only family he has left, really. Besides Spencer. Brendon shouldn’t just expect Ryan to find him the better friend, the better family. He was lucky enough that Ryan had picked him over Spencer’s mother’s offer to stay at his house. He still wonders why.
“Nothing, I just…Haven’t been feeling too good.”
Something sparks in Ryan’s eyes. “Are you working too much? Standing around for so many hours a day could make you sick. Brendon, you need to find a better place to live, I…”
Brendon is half-glaring now. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Ryan, you left, so get over it.” He catches his breath and forces himself not to say anything else, tightening his lips.
He twists and stomps his way up Spencer’s basement stairs, and Brent mumbles, “Never heard him say fuck before.”
Ryan shoots him a glare that could kill.
--
“Brendon.”
Knocking.
Brendon jolts up on the bed and falls out, thumping to the ground. The knocking doesn’t stop, insistent. Brendon worries the neighbors will complain and scrambles, ignoring the fact that he’s only wearing boxer briefs and yanking the door open.
“Oh.”
Ryan is standing outside his door in jeans and a t-shirt, despite the early spring weather (aka cold), and there’s already a bruise blossoming over his jaw, spreading up his cheek. “Fuck,” Brendon murmurs, slipping his hand into Ryan’s and pulling him gently inside. “Come on,” he whispers, closing the door and flicking one of the tiny lamps on the single kitchen counter.
In that moment everything melts away. Anger, frustrations, exhaustion - Brendon is wide awake and the only thing swelling inside is fear.
He continues to lead Ryan to the messy bed, wrapping his arm carefully around his waist and pulling him onto his lap. “Hush,” he whispers into Ryan’s growing hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, he promises. “You’re here now. He can’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” Ryan sobs dryly. “I know. And I’m sorry. I believed him again…and I left you. I’m sorry. But I can’t blame him…I can’t, I can’t…”
“Hey,” Brendon whispers, kissing Ryan’s forehead - he doesn’t know why he does it. “Hey, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
Ryan looks up at Brendon through his shining eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and then he wraps his arms around Brendon’s neck and kisses him wet and sloppy and all wrong for Brendon’s first kiss.
His first kiss. The thought is divine.
And for some reason, who he’s getting it from doesn’t seem to be a big deal at all. So he kisses back. Hard and awful and beginner like.
But Ryan mewls against his mouth and maybe even moans a little and they do that for a good while, just kiss without reason and Brendon thinks, again, that his heart is going to burst out of his body.
--
“Who’s Pete Wentz?” Brendon asks incredulously and Ryan’s jaw drops. Brent and Spencer share glances and Brent snickers. “What? Am I missing something?”
Ryan’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know who Pete Fucking Wentz is? He’s only the bassist for Fall Out Boy!”
Brendon blinks. He still doesn’t get it. “Oh…oh wait! I think…they’re that band you like! And…what’s so great about their bassist…?”
“He’s just awesome, okay? That’s all you need to know.” Brendon raises an eyebrow at Ryan’s holier-than-thou attitude but shrugs it off. “I sent him a couple of our demos…via LiveJournal.”
The words make Brendon realize that he’s been doing this for quite a while - well, it feels like quite a while. The months. It’s 2005 and he joined this ‘band’ of sorts in 2004. Strange.
“And…?” Brendon asks, tired of waiting for Ryan to continue.
“He IMed me and said he wanted to see us play. He’s flying down…to see us play.”
Brendon nearly chokes on his own spit. “A kind of famous dude!? Flying down from where?”
“Chicago, of course!” Ryan snaps, rolling his eyes again. “Good God, do I have to be the one who knows everything?”
Brendon shakes off his words. “Uh, so, when, exactly?”
“May. May and…and then maybe…You know The Academy, right?” Brendon bobs his head. “They’re going to be signed to his new label, and, and there’s a chance we will be too. And maybe even Fueled By Ramen. Fall Out Boy is signed to Fueled By Ramen. Holy shit. That would be so fucking sweet…”
Brendon can see Ryan is in dreamland now and smiles a little.
Spencer and even Brent are smiling, too.
--
It happens in a blur. They get signed. They record an album. And in between, they (as in Ryan and Brendon) meet Audrey and Jac. And Brendon gets his first girlfriend.
But he doesn’t really get it.
Ryan with these heart eyes for the blonde, telling Brendon, “She’s got this really hot friend, Audrey, and she’s a fucking model, Bren, an alternative model, but you know, she’s still hot and she’d totally go out with you.”
Brendon goes along with it because he thinks that’s what Ryan wants. The kissing only happened once - they never discussed it, so maybe it doesn’t matter anymore? Brendon doesn’t know if he’s supposed to think about it. Maybe it did make his heart race, make the blood pound in his temples. But now, now Ryan is kissing this girl who takes pictures of herself and posts them on the Internet, who’s met Fall Out Boy too, and who swears she’s going to be huge someday.
And then there’s her friend, the yin to her yang or something. Sometimes Brendon feels like he’s looking into some parallel universe when he sees Audrey and Jac together. They half flirt a lot, they say the rudest things, they snort and burp like boys, even with Brendon and Ryan, and Brendon finds himself…well, he finds himself kind of happy.
In the process, he also falls in love with Audrey, in the strangest way.
They make a record - an actual record, and Brendon learns how to actually pronounce ‘formaldehyde’ and make his voice sound kind of sexy and sometimes Ryan will lean into his ear and whisper dirty things about his voice and Brendon doesn’t fucking get it.
Does Brendon want him? Does Brendon want Audrey? Or does Ryan want him, or Jac?
They go on tour for the first time. The Nintendo Fusion Tour - Ryan’s dream. Touring with Fall Out Boy. Opening for The Academy Is… (since they’ve released their first official album they changed their name) and being in front of huge crowds of screaming boys and girls. It’s so much different than the tiny places with maybe one hundred people, most of which aren’t actually interested.
That was easier. That was just being able to be themselves and not worry about what people thought about them - a couple of their fans standing close and bobbing their heads, Brendon fucking up chord progressions, it had all became normal; a pattern. And this, this touring thing is harder and scarier.
And on tour, Brendon misses Audrey. He misses her so hard.
Then she cheats on him. He’s confused, he doesn’t get it. And he’s sad. But then he does get it, because Jac did the same thing. He feels kind of used, but now he’s got something in common with Ryan, and Ryan confines in him again. They curl up in the tiny tour bus bunks and sometimes Brent shoots them weird looks but they don’t care. They talk about cheating bitches of girls and how Ryan’s been writing new songs already, but how they all turn out like shit.
Ryan whispers to Brendon in the dark, “I think I’m losing my touch.”
Brendon huffs. “Yeah, right. You…you’re Ryan. You can’t lose your touch. You just need something to really believe in.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow and Brendon can barely see it in the dark. He blinks, and he can feel his contacts going dry. “Oh, yeah, Urie, and what would you say that is?”
Brendon shrugs and doesn’t say anything else.
--
“Neither of you have girlfriends.”
Ryan frowns at Pete. “So?”
“So. Stage gay.”
“Excuse me?” Brent asks.
“What the fuck is ‘stage gay’?” Ryan asks, eyeing Pete uncertainly. “And do I really want to be a part of it?”
Pete waggles his eyebrows and grins, turning to Brendon. “Breeeeen,” he sing-songs. “Pleasing the fans never hurt, right? Come on. You guys put on a performance, send everyone crazy. I can just imagine it now…” Pete trails off, stars in his eyes. “You two, getting all touchy on stage? Brendon groping Ryan in the middle of songs! I want you to use a line about perfect, passionate kisses! I want you to kiss!”
Brendon and Ryan exchange glances for a reason the other three don’t know.
“Pete, seriously, what?”
“…You’ll understand soon enough”
They go with it. To their surprise as well as Patrick’s, who had bet with Pete the boys would never do it.
And of course, about this time, Brent stops showing up for rehearsals.
Which of course leads to drama and having to kick Brent out and then finding a new bassist who can actually play.
2006. Welcome Jon Walker, former camera man of The Academy Is… and TAI TV and also Panic! At The Disco’s new bassist, often referred to as ‘Panic’s Jesus’. Brendon likes Jon a lot - Jon knows all of the lyrics to every song of Aladdin and puts up with his obsessive ways with Disney. And maybe supports them a little.
Jon is the one who keeps his cool and keeps Ryan from tearing out Spencer’s throat a couple of times when he doesn’t get his way.
He’s also confused after the first night of their first night of their first headlining tour (that in itself is amazing - they’re headlining, for God’s sake).
“I’m not trying to be rude…” he says as he approaches Ryan and Brendon, both sweating buckets in their stupid clothes, Spencer trailing behind as they walk off stage. “But are you two gay?”
Brendon laughs and Ryan automatically begins to explain, “It was Wentz’s idea. Said it would attract more fans. We’re pumping in the money with all that groping and the fake kissing.”
Jon arches an eyebrow. “During Lying…That was fake?”
Brendon looks down, clutching his bottle of water. Maybe he kissed Ryan’s lips a little bit, the very edges. And maybe Ryan had shied away and half-glared at him. But no one would really believe it…would they? And what would it matter if they did?
“Of course not,” Ryan scoffs without missing a beat. “It’s called putting on a good show. If we convinced you, we convinced the crowd.”
Jon is still frowning, back stepping so he’s facing Ryan and Brendon but also walking - he almost trips over himself. “Dude, I was on stage. I swear I saw the touching of lips. Maybe it was an accident, granted, but I’ve never seen two straight dudes look so gay. Not that I have anything against that!” Jon raises his hands in defense, giving a corny smile. “Don’t feel like you have to hide from me, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Spencer calls from behind them. “Same for me.”
Brendon glances at Ryan but he doesn’t glance back.
“I’m not gay,” he says, his voice falling flat. Brendon tenses but tries to hide it, looking down at his almost empty water bottle. “So it’s not an issue, anyway. Who the fuck cares what other people think?”
His pace picks up, walking past Jon who frowns, turning and falling into step with Brendon who also slowed down. Spencer catches up with them, brushing Brendon’s arm. “…Brendon?” Spencer asks softly.
Brendon hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should say what’s on his mind. “…We’re hardly making any money for this tour, anyway. And you guys know that. We had to announce it…when Brent began to fuck with us.” He swallows. “So what does it matter?”
Jon and Spencer stay quiet, exchanging thoughtful glances.
Spencer squeezes Brendon’s shoulder.
--
Despite what Brendon had said, he doesn’t stop the groping, the almost kisses, the brushes of lips and neck and skin all over. He doesn’t keep his hand from trailing down Ryan’s spine, and sometimes he shivers when Ryan does the same, messing up half of a note and swallowing.
They do that every night, and Brendon can’t figure out why he does it - why does he let Pete shove him around like a tool? He does it because something in the way Ryan reacts gives him hope. And maybe because he’s been falling a little in love with Ryan.
Ryan’s father dies.
Sudden, in his sleep.
Not really a surprise - alcoholic, smoker, a fuck up.
They have to cancel a few shows - Ryan goes back to Vegas and Brendon and Spencer and Jon all trail after him, going to the funeral and standing near the casket and staring at Ryan. They know he can feel their gazes as they watch him falling apart.
Amanda Palmer comes, slipping her fingers into Ryan’s hand and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, mother like. He leans against her because now he trusts her, someone new to protect him.
Brendon stands behind him in a black suit he hasn’t worn in years that still fits him.
He breathes in the scent of death and despair and follows Ryan’s gaze to a tired looking woman directly across from him. Ryan’s mother, her hair pinned atop her head though some strands hang down around her face. She was the one who left. Who made Ryan have to go through this.
But Brendon can’t make himself mad at her with her drained expression.
He can’t believe things were easy for her, either.
--
“Brendon.”
“Mmm…”
Ryan crawls on top of Brendon on the bunk, and Brendon finally opens his eyes, realizing what’s over him. “Ry…?” he mumbles, too lazy to finish his name. “The fuck you doin’…?”
Ryan dips down and forces Brendon’s mouth open through the furious work of his teeth and tongue, and Brendon gasps and begins to struggle out of instinct, grabbing Ryan’s arms and pushing him up.
Both of them sitting up, Brendon sucking in breaths, he looks at Ryan. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses, his grip stronger on Ryan’s arms - then he sees Ryan’s face.
His eyes are desperate and full of something that Brendon can’t place - fear, love or obsession, Brendon doesn’t know, isn’t sure of. But Ryan’s breathing is heavy and he reaches out and clings to Brendon’s bare chest. “Just…don’t ask, Brendon. Just kiss me.” And he lunges in and forces Brendon’s mouth open, pushing him down on one of the cheap hotel pillow, twining their fingers.
Again, Brendon pushes him off, sputtering and gasping for breath. “Ryan, stop!”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Ryan pushes himself up and rolls off of Brendon, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Brendon is sick of hearing Ryan say that. “Don’t apologize,” he tells him sternly. “I’m not blaming you, but I think you need to talk more than you need to…kiss me. Ryan. Ryan, make up your mind.”
Ryan turns and looks at Brendon. “I’m trying my best to act natural,” he starts, his voice quivering. “My dad only left because he knew I was on the road to success. Because he knew…he absolutely knew that I didn’t need him anymore. But he was wrong. I still need him…or I need something. I don’t know. Is it fucked up…that I want you to yell at me?”
Brendon sits silently for a moment. “…Ryan…”
“Don’t misunderstand!” Ryan appears to be struggling for words, lifting his hands and flexing his fingers. He opens his mouth, then closes it, opens it again - “It’s not like I…get off on being abused.” He flushes slightly. “Or put down, or some shit. I just…I don’t know what else can make me feel better now. And maybe I don’t want to feel better.”
Brendon quirks an eyebrow. “So you molested me in my sleep?” he asks, lips poised in a half smile. He reaches out an arm and when Ryan just frowns at him, he picks up his other - motioning for a hug. “Come on, Ry.”
Ryan observes Brendon for a minute and then mumbles something he can’t hear, crawling over the hotel bed sheets and curling up in Brendon’s arms. He presses his cheek to his chest, ear where his heart is located and they both stay quiet, listening to each other breathing and Brendon’s heart beats.
“You’re gonna be okay, Ryan.”
Ryan listens to the steady thump thump thump of Brendon’s heart in his chest and hums quietly, pretending like he believes it.
part 2