We're Making Some Progress (Swear We'll Shake It Up) [1/11]
Title: We’re Making Some Progress (Swear We’ll Shake it Up)
From the song: ‘The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage’
Author: stones_at_moons
Rating: Over-all NC-17
Word Count: 3,381 words
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross
POV: 3rd person, but changes perspectives
Summary: Desperate for Attention.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters. They belong to each other themselves.
Beta: bookxbutterfly
Author Notes: Not much happened in this chapter, but there is more to come. I tried not to rush it, but I’ll just have to see what you guys think =) Ok, so I may have exaggerated Brendon’s ability to play all those instruments, but in my mind, he’s just that awesome. More at the bottom. Also, this is the first part of the Fever challenge. See the masterlist for details.
*
Don’t you see? I’m the narrator and this is just the prologue
*
Ryan sighed in frustration as he once again messed up the guitar part to a song they had so far entitled “It’s Time to Dance.” Brent rolled his eyes and Spencer let out a loud, exasperated sigh as he stood from behind his drum kit. “Ry, that’s the fifth time you’ve made that same mistake. You can’t do this.”
Ryan’s shoulders dropped with a heavy weight of responsibility. Maybe it was a little dramatic to say that his dreams were flying past him right before his eyes, but that possibility would be closer to home if Ryan couldn’t get this fucking song right.
“Hey,” Brent interrupted the silent conversation the two other boys were having, raising his eyebrow. “All you need is to get another guy to play the guitar.”
They turned towards him, surprised, because that might have been the most intelligent sentence that had come out of Brent’s mouth since… ever, actually.
“Did you have someone in mind?” Ryan asked skeptically.
The bassist smiled. “A guy in my music class. Seriously, he’s a musical genius. You’ll see, he’d be good for the band.”
“No,” Ryan said point blank. “It’s my band; I should decide what we do with it.”
Brent and Spencer simultaneously rolled their eyes, (but only subtly; they didn’t want to piss Ryan off) but they knew not to take Ryan’s words to heart. It was their band just as much as his.
Brent turned to Spencer, and the youngest boy was about to glare at him and tell him vehemently that he couldn’t change Ryan mind, when he realized that wait, he can! - and was probably the only person in the world who could. (Spencer Smith had the power.)
He turned to the guitarist. “Ryan, please. It’ll be good for the band. At least give this guy a chance.”
The eldest sighed, almost resisting at first, but finally nodded in agreement. “Fine, we’ll give this guy a chance.”
0.0
*
Snap, snap, snap your fingers for me
*
Brendon was nothing like they had expected. He moved around a lot, fidgeted, talked so fast that all his words kind of slurred into one long train of thought, and he kept twitching whenever someone came too close to him - but maybe that was just his ADHD.
Just as they were about to set him down and fill him in on the details, Brent got a call from his family regarding some kind of emergency, and he ran out of the practice room with an apologetic look in his face.
“So, you want to be in our band?” Ryan asked the boy in front of him coldly.
Spencer elbowed him, but didn’t smile either. Brent should be here, Spencer thought bitterly, our new guitarist is going to affect how our band is going to work later on, whether we get a record deal and all that crap, though he knew that the emergency with the family wasn’t the boys fault.
The boy sitting in front of them was looking at Ryan with an odd look in his eye, but nodded and smiled. Holy fuck, he smiles like the freakin’ sun, Spencer thought but didn’t say, and Ryan thought something similar.
“Yeah, I do. Well, only if you think I’m good enough, which I think I am but it’s okay if you don’t think so because at least I tried, right? And there’s always next time, or maybe not ‘cause I don’t know many other people who-”
“- So, how old are you?” Ryan cut him off.
“16.”
“And you play guitar, right?”
“Yeah, among other instruments.” Brendon smirked, not looking modest at all, really.
Ryan sighed. “Well, like what?”
“Piano, mainly. And drums, cello, accordion, bass, harmonica… basically, whatever I try to play.”
Spencer looked over to Ryan. His facial expression didn’t change at all, but Spencer knew better. He knew that Ryan would eventually accept Brendon, for many reasons. Simply because one: he would be a good asset to the band; and especially since two: he could play all those instruments - and he could play them well from what he had heard from Brent.
And sure enough, Ryan pondered a bit before finally nodding. “I’d like to hear you play… but you have got a shot at it, I’m not gonna lie.”
Brendon smiled a little at them, but inwardly cringed. How would he explain it to his very Mormon parents that he might have just joined a band? One that would eventually lead him to tours (if they were lucky enough to get signed); lead him away from the church, toward the devil, Satan, or whatever? Of course, it wasn’t like he believed in his religion anyway, but he put up a good façade and - wait, Brendon was getting ahead of himself; he still needed to prove that he could play well.
“What would you like me to play?” He asked Ryan, who seemed to be the ringleader of it all (even though it was clear that he did hardly anything without looking over to Spencer first). Ryan, in turn, pondered for a bit.
“Do you know any Smashing Pumpkins?” He asked, after a confirming nod from Spencer, just like Brendon had predicted.
Brendon grinned and nodded. Carefully, he lifted his precious guitar out of its case and cradled it, putting his fingers on the right strings and instinctively closing his eyes. Then, he played “Tonight, Tonight,” not bothering with the vocals, since Ryan would be the singer anyway.
When he finished, Spencer smiled. “Yeah, that was good. Ryan?”
The oldest nodded and almost, almost, cracked a smile. “Yeah, sure. That sounds good, you could… be in our band,” he finished lamely, shrugging.
The room was silent. Brendon grinned and rushed up to the wall where Ryan was leaning against and pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Ryan flinched, an instant reaction from when people touch him without him being the one initiating it. Spencer’s eyes widened and he made a motion to pull Brendon off of Ryan, suddenly afraid that Ryan would have a violent outburst and hurt Brendon, but Ryan shook his head subtly, to let it be.
He didn’t know what made him do it, why he suddenly felt like he just had to touch this boy who wasn’t Spencer. He slowly, carefully (as if the shorter boy was made from something more delicate then glass) winded his arms around Brendon’s thin waist and carefully pressed his cheek against his warm forehead while Brendon nuzzled his own neck. Something light fluttered in his stomach, travelling up to his chest like small, light butterflies, and he’d never felt like this ever before, except maybe once with Spencer - but that feeling had passed a long, long time ago.
Brendon had no idea what he was doing, sharing such an intimate embrace with someone he just met, but it just seemed so right, so nice. Brendon squeezed his arms around him one more time then stepped back, untangling his limbs from Ryan’s long ones gently, reluctantly, as if he knew this was important for Ryan, somehow.
“So when do we start practicing?”
0.0
*
I’ve an announcement to make. It seems the artists these days are not who you think
*
Needless to say, Brendon had a hard time trying to convince his parents to let him go to band practices. He didn’t tell his band mates anything, and when he showed up half an hour late with a split lip and a dark shadow peaking out of the collar of his t-shirt, they tried to ask him what had happened; but he just shook his head and said he tripped while walking to practice. Brent barely noticed, but Ryan left it alone, knowing how he felt, and Spencer recognised the excuse and ignored it too.
First, his parents had said he couldn’t, but when Brendon had said, “It’s not your choice, I want to do this,” all hell broke loose. His mother started crying (she always cried when he did something horribly wrong, which was pretty much always) and his father had thrown a couple of punches and kicks, “beating the devil out of you,” he called it.
But Brendon knew it was useless, he should have stopped begging his parents to listen to him long ago. So he had gotten out there as fast as he could, aware that he was late, and hoping Ryan wouldn’t give him any shit about that (otherwise he might just break down in tears). Luckily, Ryan had looked over him once and accepted his excuse and apology.
0.0
*
We’re still so young, desperate for attention
*
It was their second practice together and Ryan still didn’t know what to think about Brendon. On one hand, Brendon was the best thing that had ever happened to the band. He wrote most of the musical pieces for Ryan’s lyrics, and even filled in the bass parts when Brent hadn’t shown up. On the other hand, there were things that just seemed… weird about him. He kept giving Ryan these odd looks, and Ryan couldn’t figure out what it was that was so strange about that for him.
But Brendon quickly integrated himself into the band, and the only thing that had thrown him was the fact that he and the others had basically no input into the lyrics Ryan wrote.
“Why is that,” he asked Spencer once, who had just snorted and walked away after saying, “It’s Ryan you’re talking about, dude. He won’t let anyone in at all.”
But, funnily enough, Brendon understood that the lyrics he had written were the same, like a piece of his soul, a piece of his own heart... though Brendon didn’t even think about actually showing Ryan - or anyone, in fact - his lyrics. He only thought about himself, and Brendon couldn’t deal with the hurt and pain right now, like someone (Ryan) looking at his small, fragile heart and deciding that it wasn’t good enough.
At the next practice, Brendon wasn’t his own, fidgety self. Instead, he focused all his energy into just simply watching. Just watching the way Ryan was when he sang something like, the bruises and contusions will remind you what you did when you wake or, she never fixes this but at least she makes me forget. Spencer and Ryan would exchange a small, fleeting glances, kind of like an agreed point. Sometimes, Ryan’s deep, soulful voice would crack slightly, and he’d blink quickly as if blinking away the tears.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Spencer finally stood after their, like, hundredth time playing the same song. Brendon sighed and bit his lip, thinking as he was packing away his guitar. It was Sunday, and he had snuck out to practice, to avoid having to go to church. His parents were going to strangle him - literally.
Ryan saw the slightly scared look in Brendon’s eyes and his own heart ached. Maybe he didn’t really know what the deal was with Brendon - how long he was going to stay, how his home life impacted him so much - but he knew that nobody should ever look like that, that sad, ever (especially not someone who looks the like freakin’ sun when he smiles). Maybe that’s why he was so clingy. Ryan understood because he pushed people away because of his dad, and the fear that clung to him day in day out. Brendon, on the other hand, clung on to people tightly, looking for the love he didn’t get in such a big family, where he was the youngest (from what Ryan had heard).
After one look at Spencer (who nodded in reply) and the door where Brent had already left, Ryan walked up to where Brendon was retrieving his bag and touched his arm gently, flinching at the same time Brendon did.
“I’m sleeping over at Spence’s tonight, and it’d be nice if you came. Maybe you wouldn’t be in so much trouble at home if you said it was a friend emergency and you forgot to call,” Ryan said bluntly.
Brendon gnawed at his bottom lip until he tasted blood, but nodded in agreement, hiding his relief.
0.0
*
I aim to be in your eyes, trophy boys, trophy wives
*
“So,” Ryan said conversationally, casually, “You’re gay, aren’t you?”
Brendon froze from where he was seated on top of a guitar amp, fiddling with the tuning pegs on the guitar he was fiddling with, playing random notes and parts of melodies. He looked around the room quickly, as if he was checking that someone had heard that part of the conversation, but Brent had already left and Spencer had gone to pack away his drum kit.
“Umm... no?” Brendon tried, but from the way Ryan was looking at him it was clear that it hadn’t been a question. Brendon bit his plush bottom lip (Ryan didn’t know if he should have noticed that) and curled himself around the guitar he was holding delicately in his lap - a defense position that Ryan recognized and knew well, since he had practiced it on more than one occasion.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whimpered. “You can kick me out of the band if you want, but if my parents find out…”
And suddenly Ryan got a glimpse past the happy cute-boy façade, into his inner struggles and hardships.
“Brendon,” Ryan hesitated, “what’s your story?” He doesn’t say it in a mean, demanding way, because he knew that if someone, anyone, even Brendon (Spencer doesn’t count. Spencer is… Spencer. Spencer Smith.) had asked him, he had no idea if he would reply at all, or if he’d even bother to lie. He’d laugh and say that he had no story.
Brendon in turn threw his head back in a humourless laugh, and only then could Ryan finally see what that shadow was on his neck and chest, a dark purple bruise blossoming, looking like it wasn’t very old at all. That wouldn’t have happened from just tripping.
“My story, Ryan? I have no story, just a plan written out already for me. I was born to be perfect - like my perfect father married my perfect mother - to be the perfect boy, the perfect son, then grow up to be the perfect man, and perfect husband. Only for that reason do I exist.”
Brendon slid off the amp and curled into a tiny ball on the floor. Ryan went up to him and sat down next to the trembling boy. Clearly Brendon didn’t show his real emotions very often. Just like Ryan. Ryan could feel his body heat radiating off him and see his flushed cheeks - probably embarrassed for his outburst - and thought he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“I know how it feels. How it hurts,” Ryan whispered. Then, slowly, pulled the edge of his t-shirt up, revealing for the first time to someone other than himself (not even Spencer) his own marred and mutilated body, the bruises and cuts scattered over it, even though everybody knew about him and his dad.
Brendon’s breath hitched in inside his throat, and slowly, carefully, gently, he reached over and ran his fingers up Ryan’s sides, trailing over the thin ribs, clearly showing and trailing over the scars. Ryan trembled as Brendon slowly trailed his calloused fingers up to trace Ryan’s nipples, and the moment was so good, so perfect. It just felt so good to finally have someone touch him without the intent to mark, scar, hurt - or even carefully pity and hesitantly comfort like Spencer. There was absolutely nothing sexual about it, though it wouldn’t be hard to change that. Just two hurt boys comforting one another.
Then, he heard steps coming towards them down the hall and immediately jumped away, ignoring (or trying to ignore) the hurt look that flashed in Brendon’s lovely brown eyes. Spencer entered the room and his eyes immediately fell onto the oldest boy out of the two (a trained reaction). He sensed the tension in the room, an awkward and embarrassed feeling - but another feeling, too. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He reached out a hand to Ryan, smiling. Then, he glanced at Brendon who was looking at the keyboard in the corner of the room.
0.0
*
Swear to shake it up if you swear to listen
*
Ryan was late to practice, and Spencer was freaking out. “I knew it. I knew I should have picked him up for practice today. But no, he told me he wanted to walk, and plus, his father was drunk…” Spencer trailed off incomprehensibly, frowning. Brent frowned as well, but Brendon could see that he wasn’t very worried at all.
Brent gave up and left five minutes later, and just as Spencer was about to leave and see what was going on, Ryan walked into the practice room. His face was blank, with no marks on them, but his neck was red. When he tried to speak, his words came out in a raspy whisper, and it was pretty obvious that he couldn’t sing today.
“Maybe we should just call it off. We can practice again when you’re… feeling better,” Spencer said hesitantly.
Ryan shook his head. “No way. Brendon can sing my part. He said he wanted to try back-up, anyway, and we don’t need Brent here.”
Brendon looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, man, I did say that, but only as a thought. And not when you aren’t singing.”
Ryan frowned. “Look, I’m not completely helpless. I’ll just play your guitar part while you sing and do mine. You do know the words, right?”
Brendon sighed and cleared his throat, nodding and taking his place behind the microphone. All of a sudden, he had this strange feeling. Like… this - thought he didn’t know what thiswas - was how it was meant to be. Huh, odd.
“We’ll do “London Beckoned,” yeah?” He asked, (saying the whole title would just waste two minutes of his life. Seriously, where did Ryan get those stupid titles?)
Ryan nodded and Spencer counted the intro.
“... Stop stalling, make a name for yourself,
Boy, you better put the pen to paper,
Charm-”
Ryan stopped playing and dropped his guitar, only held up by the flowery guitar strap. Brendon looked at Ryan’s situation worryingly, and tuned to Spencer to find a similar shocked expression.
Brendon chuckled nervously and took turns to look at them nervously. “Guys, you’re freaking me out here. What’s going on?”
Ryan walked up to him slowly, taking his guitar off and chucking it carelessly to the floor. He stood right in front of Brendon, and the younger boy had to look up slightly.
“You can sing,” Ryan said, almost awed.
Brendon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um, yeah, kinda. I wouldn’t have offered to sing back-up if I couldn’t-”
“Fuck back-up,” Ryan scoffed, “you’re taking over as lead singer. You’ll make us famous, Bren.” He said it with such reverence that Brendon just... believed him. For the first time in his life, he believed something he wanted to believe.
0.0
*
This may call for a proper introduction
*
“Mother, Father,” Brendon looked at his parents seriously. “I want to properly introduce you to my band.” He bit back his excitement. “I’m the lead singer, and we’re going to make it big.” Brendon smiled, and could see cameras flashing before his eyes, until he noticed the look on his parents faces.
His mom was crying.
“Brendon, please. You have so much potential, for the church and for your future. Please give this up... for us, baby.”
Brendon’s eyes didn’t water, but his heart flopped oddly. “I don’t owe you guys anything. Ever since I was born, I was completely ignored unless I did something you didn’t want me to do. This is something I want to do, and you can’t stop me!”
“Brendon Boyd Urie.” His father’s face twisted into something ugly. “We do not approve. And you cannot live with us if this carries on. We cannot have you infecting the other kids with your evil ideas. So you’ll have to choose; your family and religion... or this band?”
0.0
A/N2
I don't think Brendon's dad hit/beat him, it's just for the purpose of this story. I also rushed the end a bit, but I wanted to just finish it =)
From the song: ‘The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage’
Author: stones_at_moons
Rating: Over-all NC-17
Word Count: 3,381 words
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross
POV: 3rd person, but changes perspectives
Summary: Desperate for Attention.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters. They belong to each other themselves.
Beta: bookxbutterfly
Author Notes: Not much happened in this chapter, but there is more to come. I tried not to rush it, but I’ll just have to see what you guys think =) Ok, so I may have exaggerated Brendon’s ability to play all those instruments, but in my mind, he’s just that awesome. More at the bottom. Also, this is the first part of the Fever challenge. See the masterlist for details.
*
Don’t you see? I’m the narrator and this is just the prologue
*
Ryan sighed in frustration as he once again messed up the guitar part to a song they had so far entitled “It’s Time to Dance.” Brent rolled his eyes and Spencer let out a loud, exasperated sigh as he stood from behind his drum kit. “Ry, that’s the fifth time you’ve made that same mistake. You can’t do this.”
Ryan’s shoulders dropped with a heavy weight of responsibility. Maybe it was a little dramatic to say that his dreams were flying past him right before his eyes, but that possibility would be closer to home if Ryan couldn’t get this fucking song right.
“Hey,” Brent interrupted the silent conversation the two other boys were having, raising his eyebrow. “All you need is to get another guy to play the guitar.”
They turned towards him, surprised, because that might have been the most intelligent sentence that had come out of Brent’s mouth since… ever, actually.
“Did you have someone in mind?” Ryan asked skeptically.
The bassist smiled. “A guy in my music class. Seriously, he’s a musical genius. You’ll see, he’d be good for the band.”
“No,” Ryan said point blank. “It’s my band; I should decide what we do with it.”
Brent and Spencer simultaneously rolled their eyes, (but only subtly; they didn’t want to piss Ryan off) but they knew not to take Ryan’s words to heart. It was their band just as much as his.
Brent turned to Spencer, and the youngest boy was about to glare at him and tell him vehemently that he couldn’t change Ryan mind, when he realized that wait, he can! - and was probably the only person in the world who could. (Spencer Smith had the power.)
He turned to the guitarist. “Ryan, please. It’ll be good for the band. At least give this guy a chance.”
The eldest sighed, almost resisting at first, but finally nodded in agreement. “Fine, we’ll give this guy a chance.”
0.0
*
Snap, snap, snap your fingers for me
*
Brendon was nothing like they had expected. He moved around a lot, fidgeted, talked so fast that all his words kind of slurred into one long train of thought, and he kept twitching whenever someone came too close to him - but maybe that was just his ADHD.
Just as they were about to set him down and fill him in on the details, Brent got a call from his family regarding some kind of emergency, and he ran out of the practice room with an apologetic look in his face.
“So, you want to be in our band?” Ryan asked the boy in front of him coldly.
Spencer elbowed him, but didn’t smile either. Brent should be here, Spencer thought bitterly, our new guitarist is going to affect how our band is going to work later on, whether we get a record deal and all that crap, though he knew that the emergency with the family wasn’t the boys fault.
The boy sitting in front of them was looking at Ryan with an odd look in his eye, but nodded and smiled. Holy fuck, he smiles like the freakin’ sun, Spencer thought but didn’t say, and Ryan thought something similar.
“Yeah, I do. Well, only if you think I’m good enough, which I think I am but it’s okay if you don’t think so because at least I tried, right? And there’s always next time, or maybe not ‘cause I don’t know many other people who-”
“- So, how old are you?” Ryan cut him off.
“16.”
“And you play guitar, right?”
“Yeah, among other instruments.” Brendon smirked, not looking modest at all, really.
Ryan sighed. “Well, like what?”
“Piano, mainly. And drums, cello, accordion, bass, harmonica… basically, whatever I try to play.”
Spencer looked over to Ryan. His facial expression didn’t change at all, but Spencer knew better. He knew that Ryan would eventually accept Brendon, for many reasons. Simply because one: he would be a good asset to the band; and especially since two: he could play all those instruments - and he could play them well from what he had heard from Brent.
And sure enough, Ryan pondered a bit before finally nodding. “I’d like to hear you play… but you have got a shot at it, I’m not gonna lie.”
Brendon smiled a little at them, but inwardly cringed. How would he explain it to his very Mormon parents that he might have just joined a band? One that would eventually lead him to tours (if they were lucky enough to get signed); lead him away from the church, toward the devil, Satan, or whatever? Of course, it wasn’t like he believed in his religion anyway, but he put up a good façade and - wait, Brendon was getting ahead of himself; he still needed to prove that he could play well.
“What would you like me to play?” He asked Ryan, who seemed to be the ringleader of it all (even though it was clear that he did hardly anything without looking over to Spencer first). Ryan, in turn, pondered for a bit.
“Do you know any Smashing Pumpkins?” He asked, after a confirming nod from Spencer, just like Brendon had predicted.
Brendon grinned and nodded. Carefully, he lifted his precious guitar out of its case and cradled it, putting his fingers on the right strings and instinctively closing his eyes. Then, he played “Tonight, Tonight,” not bothering with the vocals, since Ryan would be the singer anyway.
When he finished, Spencer smiled. “Yeah, that was good. Ryan?”
The oldest nodded and almost, almost, cracked a smile. “Yeah, sure. That sounds good, you could… be in our band,” he finished lamely, shrugging.
The room was silent. Brendon grinned and rushed up to the wall where Ryan was leaning against and pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Ryan flinched, an instant reaction from when people touch him without him being the one initiating it. Spencer’s eyes widened and he made a motion to pull Brendon off of Ryan, suddenly afraid that Ryan would have a violent outburst and hurt Brendon, but Ryan shook his head subtly, to let it be.
He didn’t know what made him do it, why he suddenly felt like he just had to touch this boy who wasn’t Spencer. He slowly, carefully (as if the shorter boy was made from something more delicate then glass) winded his arms around Brendon’s thin waist and carefully pressed his cheek against his warm forehead while Brendon nuzzled his own neck. Something light fluttered in his stomach, travelling up to his chest like small, light butterflies, and he’d never felt like this ever before, except maybe once with Spencer - but that feeling had passed a long, long time ago.
Brendon had no idea what he was doing, sharing such an intimate embrace with someone he just met, but it just seemed so right, so nice. Brendon squeezed his arms around him one more time then stepped back, untangling his limbs from Ryan’s long ones gently, reluctantly, as if he knew this was important for Ryan, somehow.
“So when do we start practicing?”
0.0
*
I’ve an announcement to make. It seems the artists these days are not who you think
*
Needless to say, Brendon had a hard time trying to convince his parents to let him go to band practices. He didn’t tell his band mates anything, and when he showed up half an hour late with a split lip and a dark shadow peaking out of the collar of his t-shirt, they tried to ask him what had happened; but he just shook his head and said he tripped while walking to practice. Brent barely noticed, but Ryan left it alone, knowing how he felt, and Spencer recognised the excuse and ignored it too.
First, his parents had said he couldn’t, but when Brendon had said, “It’s not your choice, I want to do this,” all hell broke loose. His mother started crying (she always cried when he did something horribly wrong, which was pretty much always) and his father had thrown a couple of punches and kicks, “beating the devil out of you,” he called it.
But Brendon knew it was useless, he should have stopped begging his parents to listen to him long ago. So he had gotten out there as fast as he could, aware that he was late, and hoping Ryan wouldn’t give him any shit about that (otherwise he might just break down in tears). Luckily, Ryan had looked over him once and accepted his excuse and apology.
0.0
*
We’re still so young, desperate for attention
*
It was their second practice together and Ryan still didn’t know what to think about Brendon. On one hand, Brendon was the best thing that had ever happened to the band. He wrote most of the musical pieces for Ryan’s lyrics, and even filled in the bass parts when Brent hadn’t shown up. On the other hand, there were things that just seemed… weird about him. He kept giving Ryan these odd looks, and Ryan couldn’t figure out what it was that was so strange about that for him.
But Brendon quickly integrated himself into the band, and the only thing that had thrown him was the fact that he and the others had basically no input into the lyrics Ryan wrote.
“Why is that,” he asked Spencer once, who had just snorted and walked away after saying, “It’s Ryan you’re talking about, dude. He won’t let anyone in at all.”
But, funnily enough, Brendon understood that the lyrics he had written were the same, like a piece of his soul, a piece of his own heart... though Brendon didn’t even think about actually showing Ryan - or anyone, in fact - his lyrics. He only thought about himself, and Brendon couldn’t deal with the hurt and pain right now, like someone (Ryan) looking at his small, fragile heart and deciding that it wasn’t good enough.
At the next practice, Brendon wasn’t his own, fidgety self. Instead, he focused all his energy into just simply watching. Just watching the way Ryan was when he sang something like, the bruises and contusions will remind you what you did when you wake or, she never fixes this but at least she makes me forget. Spencer and Ryan would exchange a small, fleeting glances, kind of like an agreed point. Sometimes, Ryan’s deep, soulful voice would crack slightly, and he’d blink quickly as if blinking away the tears.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Spencer finally stood after their, like, hundredth time playing the same song. Brendon sighed and bit his lip, thinking as he was packing away his guitar. It was Sunday, and he had snuck out to practice, to avoid having to go to church. His parents were going to strangle him - literally.
Ryan saw the slightly scared look in Brendon’s eyes and his own heart ached. Maybe he didn’t really know what the deal was with Brendon - how long he was going to stay, how his home life impacted him so much - but he knew that nobody should ever look like that, that sad, ever (especially not someone who looks the like freakin’ sun when he smiles). Maybe that’s why he was so clingy. Ryan understood because he pushed people away because of his dad, and the fear that clung to him day in day out. Brendon, on the other hand, clung on to people tightly, looking for the love he didn’t get in such a big family, where he was the youngest (from what Ryan had heard).
After one look at Spencer (who nodded in reply) and the door where Brent had already left, Ryan walked up to where Brendon was retrieving his bag and touched his arm gently, flinching at the same time Brendon did.
“I’m sleeping over at Spence’s tonight, and it’d be nice if you came. Maybe you wouldn’t be in so much trouble at home if you said it was a friend emergency and you forgot to call,” Ryan said bluntly.
Brendon gnawed at his bottom lip until he tasted blood, but nodded in agreement, hiding his relief.
0.0
*
I aim to be in your eyes, trophy boys, trophy wives
*
“So,” Ryan said conversationally, casually, “You’re gay, aren’t you?”
Brendon froze from where he was seated on top of a guitar amp, fiddling with the tuning pegs on the guitar he was fiddling with, playing random notes and parts of melodies. He looked around the room quickly, as if he was checking that someone had heard that part of the conversation, but Brent had already left and Spencer had gone to pack away his drum kit.
“Umm... no?” Brendon tried, but from the way Ryan was looking at him it was clear that it hadn’t been a question. Brendon bit his plush bottom lip (Ryan didn’t know if he should have noticed that) and curled himself around the guitar he was holding delicately in his lap - a defense position that Ryan recognized and knew well, since he had practiced it on more than one occasion.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whimpered. “You can kick me out of the band if you want, but if my parents find out…”
And suddenly Ryan got a glimpse past the happy cute-boy façade, into his inner struggles and hardships.
“Brendon,” Ryan hesitated, “what’s your story?” He doesn’t say it in a mean, demanding way, because he knew that if someone, anyone, even Brendon (Spencer doesn’t count. Spencer is… Spencer. Spencer Smith.) had asked him, he had no idea if he would reply at all, or if he’d even bother to lie. He’d laugh and say that he had no story.
Brendon in turn threw his head back in a humourless laugh, and only then could Ryan finally see what that shadow was on his neck and chest, a dark purple bruise blossoming, looking like it wasn’t very old at all. That wouldn’t have happened from just tripping.
“My story, Ryan? I have no story, just a plan written out already for me. I was born to be perfect - like my perfect father married my perfect mother - to be the perfect boy, the perfect son, then grow up to be the perfect man, and perfect husband. Only for that reason do I exist.”
Brendon slid off the amp and curled into a tiny ball on the floor. Ryan went up to him and sat down next to the trembling boy. Clearly Brendon didn’t show his real emotions very often. Just like Ryan. Ryan could feel his body heat radiating off him and see his flushed cheeks - probably embarrassed for his outburst - and thought he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“I know how it feels. How it hurts,” Ryan whispered. Then, slowly, pulled the edge of his t-shirt up, revealing for the first time to someone other than himself (not even Spencer) his own marred and mutilated body, the bruises and cuts scattered over it, even though everybody knew about him and his dad.
Brendon’s breath hitched in inside his throat, and slowly, carefully, gently, he reached over and ran his fingers up Ryan’s sides, trailing over the thin ribs, clearly showing and trailing over the scars. Ryan trembled as Brendon slowly trailed his calloused fingers up to trace Ryan’s nipples, and the moment was so good, so perfect. It just felt so good to finally have someone touch him without the intent to mark, scar, hurt - or even carefully pity and hesitantly comfort like Spencer. There was absolutely nothing sexual about it, though it wouldn’t be hard to change that. Just two hurt boys comforting one another.
Then, he heard steps coming towards them down the hall and immediately jumped away, ignoring (or trying to ignore) the hurt look that flashed in Brendon’s lovely brown eyes. Spencer entered the room and his eyes immediately fell onto the oldest boy out of the two (a trained reaction). He sensed the tension in the room, an awkward and embarrassed feeling - but another feeling, too. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He reached out a hand to Ryan, smiling. Then, he glanced at Brendon who was looking at the keyboard in the corner of the room.
0.0
*
Swear to shake it up if you swear to listen
*
Ryan was late to practice, and Spencer was freaking out. “I knew it. I knew I should have picked him up for practice today. But no, he told me he wanted to walk, and plus, his father was drunk…” Spencer trailed off incomprehensibly, frowning. Brent frowned as well, but Brendon could see that he wasn’t very worried at all.
Brent gave up and left five minutes later, and just as Spencer was about to leave and see what was going on, Ryan walked into the practice room. His face was blank, with no marks on them, but his neck was red. When he tried to speak, his words came out in a raspy whisper, and it was pretty obvious that he couldn’t sing today.
“Maybe we should just call it off. We can practice again when you’re… feeling better,” Spencer said hesitantly.
Ryan shook his head. “No way. Brendon can sing my part. He said he wanted to try back-up, anyway, and we don’t need Brent here.”
Brendon looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, man, I did say that, but only as a thought. And not when you aren’t singing.”
Ryan frowned. “Look, I’m not completely helpless. I’ll just play your guitar part while you sing and do mine. You do know the words, right?”
Brendon sighed and cleared his throat, nodding and taking his place behind the microphone. All of a sudden, he had this strange feeling. Like… this - thought he didn’t know what thiswas - was how it was meant to be. Huh, odd.
“We’ll do “London Beckoned,” yeah?” He asked, (saying the whole title would just waste two minutes of his life. Seriously, where did Ryan get those stupid titles?)
Ryan nodded and Spencer counted the intro.
“... Stop stalling, make a name for yourself,
Boy, you better put the pen to paper,
Charm-”
Ryan stopped playing and dropped his guitar, only held up by the flowery guitar strap. Brendon looked at Ryan’s situation worryingly, and tuned to Spencer to find a similar shocked expression.
Brendon chuckled nervously and took turns to look at them nervously. “Guys, you’re freaking me out here. What’s going on?”
Ryan walked up to him slowly, taking his guitar off and chucking it carelessly to the floor. He stood right in front of Brendon, and the younger boy had to look up slightly.
“You can sing,” Ryan said, almost awed.
Brendon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um, yeah, kinda. I wouldn’t have offered to sing back-up if I couldn’t-”
“Fuck back-up,” Ryan scoffed, “you’re taking over as lead singer. You’ll make us famous, Bren.” He said it with such reverence that Brendon just... believed him. For the first time in his life, he believed something he wanted to believe.
0.0
*
This may call for a proper introduction
*
“Mother, Father,” Brendon looked at his parents seriously. “I want to properly introduce you to my band.” He bit back his excitement. “I’m the lead singer, and we’re going to make it big.” Brendon smiled, and could see cameras flashing before his eyes, until he noticed the look on his parents faces.
His mom was crying.
“Brendon, please. You have so much potential, for the church and for your future. Please give this up... for us, baby.”
Brendon’s eyes didn’t water, but his heart flopped oddly. “I don’t owe you guys anything. Ever since I was born, I was completely ignored unless I did something you didn’t want me to do. This is something I want to do, and you can’t stop me!”
“Brendon Boyd Urie.” His father’s face twisted into something ugly. “We do not approve. And you cannot live with us if this carries on. We cannot have you infecting the other kids with your evil ideas. So you’ll have to choose; your family and religion... or this band?”
0.0
A/N2
I don't think Brendon's dad hit/beat him, it's just for the purpose of this story. I also rushed the end a bit, but I wanted to just finish it =)