fic: I Thought (2/2)
Title: I Thought
Word Count: 14,387
Rating: R, possibly NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, though the canon girlfriends make an appearance
Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned these boys they would not be doing each other. Also, if this is true, then I'm going to have to see if I can read other peoples' minds as well.
Summary: In the beginning, the Thing that Brendon and Ryan start up isn't supposed to be anything other than a way to relax and unwind. After awhile, Brendon stops being sure what it actually is, and what either of them want.
Notes: So, on a note that has nothing to do with this story first, my old LJ was
qtiphawaii, and I've posted fic from that username before. This is the account I'm using now.
On a separate note....what? 14,387 words? When I started this fic, I was thinking maybe, oh, 5,000 or so. I'm really not sure what happened in the intervening time, but obviously something did, and this is the result.
Part One
As much as it fascinated Brendon to watch while Ryan drew his whorls and lines of make-up in bright designs around his honey eyes, trailing down to his sharp cheekbones, he liked just as much to see Ryan wash it off. Putting the make-up on made Ryan into his stage persona, even more inscrutable than he normally was. When it came back off, a thin layer of his walls came down too, and Brendon could fit himself just a little closer.
The night that Spencer called Brent to tell him that it was over, Ryan drew thickly around his eyes with purple liner, and layered on foundation and eye shadow so heavily that Brendon wondered if he could feel the extra weight on his face. The three boys huddled closely on the bed, Spencer’s knuckles white around the Sidekick, and Ryan proudly straight-backed next to him, staring steadfastly at the bedspread.
At first Brendon stayed near them, not touching, but their carefully blank expressions were too much for him. He crawled closer, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s shaking torso and steepling his legs protectively over Spencer’s lower body as Brent began to shout, “Ryan, this is your band. Say something! Fucking tell me yourself. You assholes. Brendon, you never shut up, but what, when it’s actually serious you can’t even-”
His voice, distorted by the speakerphone, was cut off as Spencer ended the call. Mouth cottony, Brendon suggested, “Let’s all stay together tonight.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ryan whispered back, staring at his hands where they were clasped in his lap near Brendon’s chest.
“I’ll go get my stuff,” Spencer agreed, standing to walk quickly towards the door, across the hall to where his bag was sitting neatly in the room he was meant to share with Brent that night.
The door closed behind him, and Brendon rolled back onto his knees. “Ryan,” he said, tipping the other boy’s chin up with two fingers. Finally Ryan met his gaze, jaw set and walls firmly in place. “Ryan,” he repeated calmly, trying to call him back from wherever it was that he went to when he was protecting himself.
That expression was familiar to Brendon, too familiar.
Slowly Ryan’s eyes softened, and he unlocked his fingers, clinging to Brendon’s waist instead, like a lifeline. Brendon moved forward on instinct, slowly, brushing his lips against Ryan’s forehead, cheeks, eyelids-not his lips, because he still seemed too far away and poorly mended. Finally Ryan let go, tilting his head enough to press a butterfly-soft kiss against Brendon’s mouth and say, “Thanks.”
By the time Spencer got back, Ryan and Brendon were both standing over the sink, as Ryan washed the make-up from his eyes, and Brendon rinsed the glitter and powder off of his own lips.
-------------------
“Can we change the title of one of our songs with the album already out?” Brendon mused aloud to his Red Bull.
Across the table, Spencer cocked an eyebrow, Ryan instantly replied, “No,” without looking up, and Jon asked, “Which one?”
Grinning, Brendon replied, “I kind of want to make it, ‘I Constantly Thank God For Jon Walker,’ seeing as how you’re kind of our savior and all.”
The other three all laughed, and Jon shook his head indulgently. “How about, ‘I Constantly Thank God For Disney?’” he suggested.
Brendon laughed, and shot a purposeful look across the table. Conspiratorially, he stage-whispered, “I suggested that way back at the beginning. For some reason no one else liked it.” Jon grinned.
“You think he’s kidding,” Ryan said sardonically, but under the table there was a light kick, and then a socked foot twining in between Brendon’s. Above the table Ryan was still smirking, hair a straight curtain in front of one eye, and drumming his fingers on his notebook. Despite it being the middle of summer, his hands were still encased in fingerless gloves, which he insisted were comfortable no matter what time of year it was. Brendon insisted that he was delusional.
Jon’s grin just widened. “Oh, I have no doubt that he’s serious,” he replied, and winked at Brendon. On cue, they both launched into A Whole New World, reminiscent of the first time that they’d met, several months before. From then on, Brendon had had a bit of a hero worship complex when it came to Jon. Luckily, Jon was nice enough not to exploit it most of the time.
“Oh my god, you guys,” Ryan moaned, rolling his eyes as he went back to writing in his notebook, and Spencer told him, “I’m texting Haley to come save us from the Disney oppression.”
As they finished, Brendon told no one in particular, “See, that’s why we have to change that song title.”
Even without discussing it, Brendon was pretty sure that he, Ryan, and Spencer were all agreed that Jon couldn’t ever leave. He’d slipped in with them as though he was always meant to be there, letting Brendon be a kid when he needed to, withstanding Spencer’s bitching to the point of actually getting him into a good mood again, and teasing Ryan until he laughed openly, the way he did with Spencer and Brendon.
Sometimes Brendon thought that he would be utterly content if he could just stay in the bus forever, playing video games with Jon, lying on Spencer’s stomach watching movies, and watching Ryan try to hide the doodle of the Magic Carpet with Aladdin and Jasmine on it, or holding his hand as moonlight slanted across his face in his bunk, or when he told Brendon to fuck off, he was working, but then showed up later with eyes that made Brendon feel needed.
Sometimes he wondered when Ryan had gotten to be the center of his life, and if it was going to turn into a problem.
-------------------
The next day, before their set at Reading, Brendon was absolutely buzzing with energy for no real reason. The summer was ending, and they had a world headlining tour to look forward to in the winter. Bouncing into Ryan’s dressing room, he found the other boy scowling at the mirror petulantly. “I hate festivals,” Ryan told the mirror as he carefully added to the blue that was radiating outward from his eyes.
Since the mirror seemed unlikely to respond, Brendon said, “I know you do. I think it’s going to be great.”
Darkly Ryan muttered, “There are no great festivals.” He turned to face Brendon, eyes carefully shrouded by his make-up.
Offering a smile, and trying not to have his own enthusiasm dampened by Ryan’s mood, Brendon suggested, “I could help you calm down.” Those were basically the key words, and they weren’t even necessary that much anymore. Their…Thing(Brendon still refused to classify it further in his head) didn’t require a whole lot of “please”s or “maybe we could”s lately, but once in awhile they still threw them in. It wasn’t so much that Brendon thought Ryan wouldn’t want to anymore. It was more that he was afraid Ryan would figure out why Brendon still did.
Tonight, however, Ryan looked at the make-up stick still in his hand and said, “No.” Brendon, who had already crossed most of the space between them and pushed the door shut, stopped mid-stride.
“What?” he asked, taken aback.
Twirling the eyeliner, Ryan muttered, “You’ll mess up my make-up. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
After working his mouth for a minute, Brendon managed, “Fine. See you onstage.”
Scowling, he returned to his own dressing room to reflect on how Ryan could manage to twist his mood from Bright and Bubbly to Dour and Disappointed, complete with capital letters, in under five minutes.
They’d barely launched into The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage when the bottle slammed into the side of Brendon’s face. He reeled, vision going starry and then blacking out dramatically, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the stage surrounded by people.
As he started to sit up, something throbbed in his temple, and he moaned pitifully. Someone was talking just above him-Jon. Jon was holding out his hand, waving three fingers in his face and asking calmly, “Brendon. Bren. How many fingers are there? Brendon?” Just behind his shoulder Spencer was crouched, a litany of, “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Oh my god,” slipping past his lips as he let Jon and the first-aid crew do their work. Ryan was the only one missing.
Craning his neck, he looked across the stage to where Ryan was standing frozen behind his guitar. On cue, they met eyes, and Ryan almost stumbled as he lifted the guitar strap from around his neck and practically flew across the stage. He was next to Brendon in moments, grabbing one of Brendon’s hands and asking hoarsely, “Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?”
One of the first-aid personnel actually laughed, quickly winding down when Ryan and Spencer turned identical bitchfaces on him. If he hadn’t still been prone, Brendon might have laughed at that. Instead he listened as the man, face chagrinned, replied, “Mr. Urie is just fine. It doesn’t look like he has a concussion; he was just knocked out, and will have some impressive bruising.”
Immediately about six pairs of hands started trying to help Brendon up, including Zach, who materialized in enough time to push the superfluous people out of the way and steady Brendon on his feet. The only person he couldn’t seem to get to take his hands off of Brendon was Ryan, and after one look at Ryan’s set jaw, Brendon understood why Zach didn’t bother to keep trying.
Leaning against him to catch his breath, Brendon smiled at Ryan and muttered, “Fucking festivals, huh?”
In response, Ryan threw his arms around Brendon’s waist, hugging him hard and whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry. I was afraid-I’m sorry.”
Patting Ryan’s back, Brendon started to wonder which one of them the bottle had hit harder. Aloud, he said, “I’m going to look so tough!” over Ryan’s shoulder, the words accompanied by a bright grin calculated to draw the answering ones from Spencer and Jon.
Although Ryan smacked his back (very gently) he pulled away, smiling softly in response, and when Brendon insisted they finish the set, he was feeling good enough again to challenge, “You can’t take me out! Let’s see how well you guys do with my left side!”
That night, Ryan insisted on rooming with him, and when they fell asleep tangled together without having done anything else first, Brendon nuzzled into his chest and hoped he didn’t have to move from here for the rest of his life.
-----------------------
Most of the issue that Brendon had with Keltie came from the fact that it was pretty hard to actually dislike her. As soon as he met her at the VMAs, four days after the Reading and Leeds Festival, he knew that she was going to claim Ryan. She was Ryan’s perfect girl-tiny, blond, gorgeous-Brendon didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t expecting it. Besides, being aware shielded him the tiniest bit from how much it hurt to see Ryan’s shy, blinding smiles directed at her when he held her hand and introduced her to Brendon.
“You’re jumping into this awfully fast, Ry. How do you know she’s not going to end up like Jac?” Brendon, in the adjoining hotel room with the door just barely open, fought with himself briefly over whether or not to listen. Giving in to the temptation was almost too easy, but he only felt mildly guilty. He could hear the bite in Spencer’s voice, but it was really poorly veiled protectiveness. Brendon was stupidly thankful that there was a Spencer to ask what he couldn’t.
When Ryan answered, it was in his usual monotone. “I just know. You’ve barely talked to her; you wouldn’t understand.”
Spencer, Brendon thought, is probably starting up an angry staring contest with Ryan right now.
“I wouldn’t understand about knowing someone is right? No, Ryan, it’s not like I’ve been in a stable relationship for the past six months. What do I know?”
Ryan sighed audibly. “You just don’t get it. She’s not going to hurt me like…like Jac.”
That’s where Brendon would have left it, if he were the one talking to Ryan. Apparently Spencer had no qualms about pressing farther. “What’s this actually about, Ryan? Is this really all about the girl you just met? I met her too, you know, and yeah, it looks like she fits the profile for your dream girl, but haven’t they all? Who are you trying to prove something to? Are you trying to show yourself you can be happy, or is this about Jac? You’re one-upping her, or-”
Brendon winced at the same time that Ryan cut Spencer off. “Shut up.” Now his voice was rising, inflecting, and Brendon desperately wanted to go and hold him. “Spence, you-you don’t-I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. Keltie is making me fucking happy!”
“Okay. Okay.” Spencer sounded tired, defeated. “That’s what I wanted to make sure of. You deserve to be happy and have what you want. I just wanted to be sure you knew that too.”
Haltingly, Ryan replied, “I-yeah. I know,” with the anger gone from his voice. Their voices dropped too low for Brendon to hear anymore, no matter how much he strained.
A few minutes passed with Brendon staring in silence at his hands. Ryan deserved this-deserved Keltie, with her ability to make him happy and normal, rather than a fucked-up friends-with-benefits deal that his partner was starting to take more seriously than he was meant to.
By the time Ryan came padding into the other room, brushing the door open without giving the appearance of noticing that it was already partly open, Brendon was having trouble swallowing. He smiled guardedly as Ryan came over to the couch and curled up besides him. Somehow, even with all his long limbs and lanky torso, he could fold himself up to fit against Brendon perfectly. Brendon thought it may have come from years of practice, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around the thin boy’s shoulders.
“You’re cold,” he observed, and felt Ryan shrug.
Another eternity later, just as Brendon was starting to drift into a semi-aware state that wasn’t quite sleep, Ryan’s voice reached his ears and tugged him back. “You heard me and Spence before.”
There was no doubt in his voice, so Brendon just shrugged without denying it. “Maybe,” he admitted.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Ryan whispered, and Brendon’s heart was definitely beating in his throat now. “Is there anything to take a break from?” he asked, more harshly than he was intended, but the words were out before he could take them back.
When Ryan unwound himself, looking up at Brendon with hard, guarded eyes, he finally shook his head. “No. I guess there isn’t.”
Despite the fact that Brendon had an easy out there, he couldn’t bite back that words that spilled out, thinking about Ryan’s eyes, Ryan’s hands, RyanRyanRyan and how he’d never belonged to Brendon, no matter how hard he held Ryan’s hips, or how many stolen kisses. “Remember, it didn’t mean anything, it was just a way to unwind.” He stood, and didn’t look at Ryan as he stripped off his shirt and crawled into one of the hotel beds.
The whole time that Ryan was getting ready for bed, Brendon lay still under the covers, trying to pitch his breathing so that he sounded asleep. The only real problem was that he didn’t know what that would sound like. All the same, apparently Ryan bought it, because he didn’t say anything else before turning off the light and falling asleep almost instantly.
Brendon pretended he wasn’t disappointed that Ryan could give up without a fight.
------------------
No matter what they told the fans, the media, and Pete Wentz (although Brendon had the suspicion that Ryan had told Pete the truth at Thanksgiving anyway, even though he swore up and down that he hadn’t. Pete looked too sympathetic as they flew back home, though, to not know something. Then again, it was Pete, so maybe he’d just guessed), the introduction to Lying that they began to use on their Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour wasn’t premeditated. It just…happened, one of the first nights of the tour.
Ryan was across the stage, hat pulled down over his eyes, green swirls and upside-down black hearts all over the top part of his face, and suddenly Brendon just lost it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was starting his narrative, heading towards Ryan. Onstage, he could assume this new persona, and he could actually tell Ryan something.
“Have you ever had a dream,” he began, and could just feel the confused looks coming from the rest of his band. It didn’t stop him. “…where you were running through a sunflower field with clouds dancing across a crystal blue sky?” He paused, but was pretty sure that it was too late to go back now, so he just pressed forward. “Your lover's running towards you, the wind’s whipping through your lovely lavish locks…”
His feet had been moving without his consent, similarly to his mouth, and now he was just in front of Ryan, tangling a hand in his hair. Ryan just stared at him, lips slightly parted and eyes narrowed. “You reach to your lover…for that first passionate kiss!” Brendon was practically crooning, leaning in so close to Ryan that the sound of both of them breathing was audible in the microphone, before suddenly straightening and snapping back, striding across to center stage again and snarling, “This is not that dream. This is hard, sweaty, crazy, angry, monstrous fucking.”
After the show, he escaped into the shower before any of his band could catch him to ask him what the hell he’d been doing up there, pulling a stunt like that. He didn’t think he had an answer, and his head was pounding so loudly that it took him a minute to realize that someone had walked into the bathroom without bothering to knock.
Even through the frosted glass, Spencer was impossible to mistake. Of course it’s Spencer, Brendon thought wildly, who else would it be?
“Brendon, you asshole, what the fuck were you thinking up there?”
“Um, I’m showering, Spencer,” Brendon replied.
“I don’t fucking care if you’re having a shower orgy,” Spencer snapped, and Brendon giggled a little because even though Spencer sounded like he wanted to kill kittens, he was still talking about orgies. “What was that?”
“I just…” he floundered for words, finally settling on, “Ryan comes up with crazy make-up designs and lyrics. I just….came up with a stage show addition.”
“You just came up with a stage show addition?” Spencer had a way of repeating things so that was somehow more intimidating than if he’d actually been threatening Brendon.
“Yes,” he replied, in a much smaller voice.
Outside, Spencer leaned against the wall and sighed. “Look, Bren, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ryan-”
“Nothing’s going on!” Brendon said quickly, mentally noting that there was the possibility that Spencer was actually psychic and just hadn’t told them.
As if he hadn’t heard, Spencer continued, “but if you’re going to be making any more additions like that, we’d all like to be fucking in on it. Okay?”
Reaching up to turn off the water, unable to articulate how he hadn’t meant to make up his own script until it was too late, Brendon said, “Okay.”
The narrative ended up staying in, mostly because the fans loved it. Ryan played it off as nothing, adding more makeup every day, Jon just raised his eyebrows on occasion, and Brendon felt a little more sick every time he said it.
----------------------
Over time, as impossible as it seemed, Brendon started to forget the taste of Ryan’s skin beneath his tongue, and the way he sounded when he was trying to stifle a moan. The only thing that wouldn’t completely leave him were Ryan’s eyes just after coming, when they were all soft and open, giving Brendon the key to himself maybe without even meaning to.
He wouldn’t have ever told Ryan, but he liked him better once the straight iron and the make-up stopped being everyday necessities. His clothes didn’t exactly get less ridiculous, but they changed to a kind of odd that was less forced, like maybe Ryan was comfortable in them and liked them for more reasons than that they made him look like an elaborately beautiful china doll. Brendon had always liked Ryan best when he didn’t look perfect.
The winter went by, and they were packing for the cabin before he could believe it. Sometimes Brendon missed Ryan so badly that it actually hurt, deep in his chest, aching and tearing. He would lie in his bed in the mountains, waiting to hear the door creak open, knowing it wasn’t going to, but waiting anyway. In the morning he’d berate himself for his foolishness, but it was easier to hope in the dark.
The first album that they started trying to write was all Ryan. He wouldn’t show them anything until he was completely satisfied, which meant that not only was it not a joint effort, but by the time his words made it to daylight, he was too stubbornly set on them to change anything. It made for high tempers and a few near-fist-fights, until they were all on edge.
On the fourth of July, Jon left for a few hours and came back with an armload of sparklers and various explosives, grinning widely above his scruffy beard. They spent the evening trying not to burn hamburgers on the grill, and then setting off the fireworks over the swimming hole.
Brendon was most fascinated by the sparklers. He hadn’t ever gotten them as a kid, and he couldn’t contain himself, running around on the lawn drawing shapes in the air. At one point he tripped on a rock and almost fell into the water, and Spencer laughed so hard that he started to cough and had to have Jon smack him on the back a few times. After that, Brendon was more careful, but not any less enthusiastic.
Once they’d lit the last fuse, they slowly made their way back up to the porch, and all four of them piled onto the porch swing. Brendon’s toes were underneath Jon’s thighs, he had one hand in Ryan’s hair, and his shoulder was braced against Spencer. Someone sighed, and he let his head fall back, looking at the splinted wood of the porch cover above him and thinking that this was so much more right than they’d been in months.
“Guys.” Ryan’s voice came out of nowhere, and everyone tilted towards him a little more, “Let’s scrap the album. Let’s start over. It’s supposed to be…us. Not…just me. This is what I want.” He spread his arms, encompassing everything Brendon had just been thinking.
“Okay, Ry,” Spencer replied quietly, fondly. Jon nodded, like he’d been waiting for this all along.
Brendon smiled slightly and started to hum under his breath, that cheesy song “That’s What Friends Are For,” but no one made a move to stop him. Instead, Ryan’s hand crept up to grip Brendon’s, his hair still caught between them, and said, “Yeah.”
-----------------
The album actually started to fall into place this time around. Brendon started haunting the blender in the kitchen, because the first time he was making a smoothie (something he hadn’t done since he’d quit his minimum wage job) and Ryan wandered by, Ryan had stopped and smiled slightly, coming in to sit on the counter and read to Brendon from his lyrics notebook, just like in the beginning. Most of the time he could even ignore how they were obviously about Keltie.
Before any of them knew it, summer turned into winter again and they were in, “Fucking London, guys, fucking Abbey Road Studios!” Brendon couldn’t help but yell for the thousandth time, pumping his arm like a winning prizefighter as they checked into their hotel. He leapt on Jon, clinging like a monkey. Jon took it in stride, grabbing onto him and hoisting him higher on his back while they pressed the elevator button.
“I know, I know!” Jon shouted back.
“Dude, I would so be Paul McCartney,” Brendon boasted, leaning into the wall behind him to take some weight off of Jon and simultaneously pose his arms over his head.
“Oh yeah?” Jon asked, and Brendon nodded. “Spence is Ringo, obviously, because hello, drums and a ridiculous moustache,” he laughed, ducking behind Jon’s head to dodge a punch, “Jon, you’re John Lennon, and not just because of the names. I mean, you’re like….older, and just kind of awesome. I’m obviously Paul, the talented, heartthrob singer. Oh and, um…Ryan can be George. Because they do have the same name.”
Making a face, Ryan protested, “John and Paul did most of the writing, though.”
“Nah, let him be Paul,” Spencer suggested, “that’d make him the Walrus. And we’d all be the pallbearers, from the Abbey Road picture.”
“Well, here’s another clue for you all, the Walrus was Paul,” Brendon sang, grinning. “Spencer Smith, you’re just jealous because you’d be the undertaker.”
The elevator dinged, door sliding open, and Brendon hopped down from Jon’s back as they split up towards their separate rooms. Their coin flip had landed Brendon with Ryan, and as they walked into their room, Brendon watched Ryan turn off his Sidekick.
“That’s rare,” he noted, raising his eyebrows.
Ryan shrugged. “I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone else right now,” he explained, and then in his characteristically nervous way, ducking his head, “I can’t believe we’re actually recording here.”
Brendon smiled widely, opening his arms to fall back against starched hotel covers. “We’re going to be legends,” he said, shutting his eyes and trying to picture the future.
As a result, he was completely unprepared for the bed to dip, and a familiar-new pair of lips to meet his. Before he could push Ryan away, the kiss was over, Ryan mumbling, “I’m worried we still won’t be good enough, what if…what’s wrong?”
Brendon continued to stare at his friend in shock. It had been over a year since this had last happened, since Keltie, and suddenly it was as if they’d never left off. After another thirty seconds of merely gaping, he managed to say, “Ryan…what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Deflating, Ryan sat up on his knees next to Brendon, who quickly scrambled into a sitting position as well. “I just thought…I mean, we both probably need to work off some energy and nerves, so, you know.”
Brendon wanted so badly to give in. He wanted to say, Of course, Ryan, let’s keep going, I’ve never wanted anything else, but he was offended enough by Ryan’s presumption for logic to win out, for once. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I can’t do that for you anymore.”
Next to him, Ryan tensed, fingers curling in the bedspread. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully, as though there was any doubt at all.
Offense morphed into violent anger, and Brendon rolled his eyes dramatically. “Stop it, Ryan. Drop the pretend games, okay? You spend over a year fucking me whenever it’s convenient for you, and then as soon as you discover Keltie, you run to her. You know, Keltie, your girlfriend, who you were just about to cheat on. Even aside from that, you drop me for a fucking year and a half, and then expect me to just be waiting around for you to come back because you need something again? It can’t work like that.”
Eyes wide, Ryan replied, “I told you it didn’t have to mean anything. It could just be fucking for, you know, stress relief.”
That just served to make Brendon more furious, and god, this was worse than the last time, after Ryan and Keltie were first together. It wasn’t so much that Ryan was trying to cheat on Keltie, or maybe that he’d been openly cheating on Brendon (Brendon didn’t even know anymore), but that he didn’t get it, and willfully refused to get it. In frustration, Brendon punched the headboard of his bed.
“Well, maybe it should have meant something. Or-oh, fuck,” he finished, realizing what he’d just said, “Look, I just can’t do this.”
When he glanced over at Ryan again, Ryan was watching him with an expression that had the audacity to look not only thoughtful, but hurt, as well. Brendon hadn’t seen him look so honest and open when his expression was directed towards Brendon in over a year. Internally he squirmed, wanting to be anywhere but here, to hear what Ryan could possibly say in response that wouldn’t make him want to die even more.
“Brendon,” Ryan said, softly and insistently, “Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you wanted? I never…”
Stung and confused, Brendon blinked at him. “Why didn’t-Ryan, think about what you told me about it not mattering! Every time!”
“Well, it did matter. I didn’t think you wanted it to.”
It felt like Brendon’s whole world was unraveling, and he wondered if he was actually hallucinating Ryan sitting there, hunched over and miserable, looking as young as when they’d been first signed, again. Brendon supposed that he had Keltie to thank for making Ryan into someone who (other than right now) wasn’t afraid anymore to be happy, and put down his makeup. That was what made the whole situation so ethereal.
“But you never even asked. Not one single time,” he said shortly, shaking his head. Something was tearing open inside of him, a scar that he thought he’d patched up most of the way, and he suddenly understood with frightening clarity what people meant when they talked about missed opportunities.
“What was I supposed to say, Brendon? You were straight!”
“Yeah, well, so were you! And now it’s too late.”
Both of them broke off, breathing heavily. Ryan looked as if he’d been struck between the eyes, which was pretty much how Brendon felt. Slowly, Ryan’s eyes slid down from Brendon’s, and very softly he queried, “Is it? Too late, I mean.”
Soft words from the back seat of a car rang in his head, taking on a new meaning.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know you don’t. That’s why we’re doing it this way.”
“What-“
Brendon was biting his tongue so hard that he had just started to taste the coppery tang of blood when he pried his jaws apart and replied, “Yeah. It’s too late. There’s Keltie, and…the band. All of this stuff between us. It’s too late.”
“Oh. I see.” Ryan’s voice sounded so ragged that Brendon thought there had to be sandpaper rubbing over the inside of it. “I’m sorry, but…I’m going to go see if I can switch with Jon for tonight.”
By the time he was done speaking, he was already halfway across the room. “Wait,” Brendon tried to say, but it came out as little more than a croak, and Ryan didn’t even turn around on his way out the door.
Sometime later he heard Jon come in, but he was already under the covers with the lights off and his clothes still on. Jon’s footsteps tapped across the floor, and then there was a warm, solid body sliding into bed with him, wrapping his arms securely around Brendon. Involuntarily, tears formed up in his eyes, and before he could stop himself, he’d turned around to sob into Jon’s shoulder.
-----------------
In the studio, it was almost like normal. Ryan snapped orders at everyone, and if he was more brusque than usual, no one outside the band seemed to notice or comment. When they were on their own, it was worse than Brendon had expected, now that they all knew (thought what all they knew, he wasn’t completely certain of. He never asked).
He’d been prepared for sympathetic eyes and hugs from Jon, an icy silence from Spencer, and total avoidance from Ryan. What he got was far worse. Jon acted pretty much as expected, teasing them all, but reserving moments of quiet comfort. Spencer stood at Ryan’s side and gave Brendon disappointed, sad looks, and Ryan. Ryan was there constantly. He kept himself practically glued to Brendon, but barely talking, like he was afraid he was about to be kicked but still wanted to be there.
The worst part was when Spencer sidled up to him near the end of recording and hissed, “He’s trying to still be your friend. You could at least give him that.” Brendon didn’t know how to respond, because there was nothing in the world that he wanted more, other than maybe to restart this whole mess and handle it differently. Besides, since when was this his fault?
In March, in Germany, they got offstage after a show and Brendon was starting to complain to Jon about Ryan taking too long in the shower. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Jon said softly, “Well, he is kind of down, you know?”
Brendon looked blankly back at him, because it had been two months, and they were starting to get more comfortable with one another. They could actually have conversations again, instead of just stumbling over words and making small talk about the landmarks, so he was confused as he asked uncertainly, “Why, didn’t he think the show went well?”
Jon looked just as surprised as Brendon. “No, I mean, because of Keltie. They…Bren, they broke up two days ago, over the phone.”
Suddenly Brendon felt like the world’s biggest asshole, and the universe’s greatest idiot, because one of his best friends had just broken up with his girlfriend, it was probably at least partly his fault, and he hadn’t even known about it. “Oh,” he replied, and left the room.
-----------------
The day the album dropped, Pete threw a “family gathering” that, of course, consisted of all the bands on his label, and then some. Brendon was pretty sure that he would’ve enjoyed it a lot more if the party hadn’t been for his CD, because by the second hour, he was altogether sick of being congratulated and told, “Dude, fucking awesome album,” (Joe), “Kickass job, seriously, it’s the shit,” (Ryland, with Alex propped on his shoulder), “Fantastic job, babe,” (Greta), “The Cobra must have been strong with you during the making of this masterpiece,” (Gabe), “Brenny, with that sound you are welcome in my bedroom any day,” (William), and various other permutations of essentially the same thing. The last two actually frightened him, because he was pretty sure they were serious.
By the third hour, he’d managed to seclude himself in a corner with Gerard Way, of all people, who was there with the rest of his band and all their wives/girlfriends, since they were one of the non-Decaydance bands that had merited an invitation. When Gerard had first wandered past he’d stopped to stare at Brendon with his disturbingly wide eyes, and Brendon had to keep himself from making a face, instead planning a new way to say, “Thank you for the support.”
Instead of congratulating him, Gerard had tilted his head to one side and said, “Wow. I love your shirt. It reminds me of vampires, dude,” and Brendon had spontaneously decided that My Chemical Romance was his new favourite band. Besides, it turned out that Gerard was pretty cool when he wasn’t being really creepy.
This had led to them sitting out of the way of everyone else, because apparently Gerard wasn’t a huge social butterfly, and while Brendon normally was, he was dying for actual conversation enough that he didn’t mind at all. He hadn’t seen his band for most of the night, because Pete had dragged Ryan off the moment they stepped in the door, and Spencer had followed along, hovering protectively to make sure that Pete’s intentions were pure, or some shit like that. Jon had been accosted by The Academy Is, and occasionally Brendon could hear him laughing even from across the room as they played some kind of drinking game.
Before him, Gerard was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, divulging a long monologue about the pros and cons of the television versions of classic comics, which was actually surprisingly interesting, when a shadow was thrown across them. Brendon looked up warily, only to find that it was Ryan biting his lip and shuffling his foot against the rug in an endearingly awkward way.
“Hey, Bren, could I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, and Brendon nodded immediately.
“Thank you so much for saving me, Gerard,” he earnestly told the other singer first, and was rewarded by a wide, dorky grin before he set a hand on the small of Ryan’s back and followed him, weaving through the crowd until they got to a hallway and were able to duck away from the laughter and jostling voices.
“What’s up?” Brendon asked, studying Ryan. They’d gotten to the point where casual touches didn’t cause either of them to flinch anymore, so Brendon set a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, lightly, questioningly.
Ryan’s face twisted into something reminiscent of a smile, and when Brendon smiled back, turned into the real thing. “I hadn’t really gotten to talk to you at all tonight, and I just thought I’d tell you how glad I am that we’ve stuck together through….everything. This is worth it, and I’m…really happy.”
Although he knew that Ryan didn’t mean it that way, Brendon couldn’t help but think, Getting this album out and keeping the band together by threads at some points was worth losing the “us” that was almost there? The answer to that was probably “yes” anyway. Brendon could tell that Ryan was trying to apologize, but what he wanted right now wasn’t an apology, it was…well, it was what he’d always wanted, no matter how much he’d tried to deny it.
With no response from Brendon, Ryan had started to turn away, his smile fading slightly. “Well, that’s all, it was just something I’ve wanted to say.”
“Hang on, don’t run off.” Brendon watched him pause, shoulders tensing, and then turn back. “Yeah?”
Stepping in close so that Ryan was almost pressed up against the wall and Brendon was definitely crowding his space more than he ought to have been, Brendon shut his eyes for a second to catch his breath and then said tightly, “I was wrong.”
He saw a flash of something that might have been hope in Ryan’s eyes, as the taller boy asked, “About what?”
“About us…this. It wasn’t too late. It’s not. For me. It’s never…it’s always been you, Ryan, and I was just being selfish before. I didn’t want to be a back-up plan. Besides, I wanted you to be happy, and Keltie always seemed to make you happy. I couldn’t get in the way of that if-”
“Oh my god, Brendon. Shut up already.” Actually relieved that he’d been cut off, because he’d dissolved into rambling, Brendon noted that Ryan was fighting not to smile now. “Brendon, didn’t you listen to me when I was with Jac? You were never my fucking back-up plan. Even with Keltie. She was absolutely amazing. I loved her, and that should have been everything I wanted, except that I couldn’t get over the fact that she wasn’t you. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Okay, so Ryan?” Brendon was full-out grinning now, sure that his cheeks were about to crack and then split right open from the force, “I’m going to kiss you now, and this time, it really does have to mean something.”
Closing the few inches left between them was so easy, and felt so right. It wasn’t as if they’d never kissed before, but this time was more electric, less painful and terrifying, and Brendon’s stomach swooped as Ryan’s mouth opened beneath his. He slid his hands down to Ryan’s wrists, holding them against the wall with his thumbs pressed into the words inked onto them, and when he slipped a thigh between Ryan’s slightly-spread legs, Ryan gave an uncharacteristically loud moan that Brendon swallowed eagerly.
They’d just gotten into it, nipping and biting at one another’s mouths, when behind him Brendon heard a whoop, and then William yelling loudly, “Pete, I found Rossy for you! He’s been busy celebrating!”
Reluctantly, Brendon drew back slightly, laughing at how Ryan was completely red, but still trying to keep a dignified expression on his face. About two seconds later, Pete crashed into the hallway with half of Decaydance in tow, looking like he’d just won the lottery. “Finally!” he announced, with the cheesiest grin Brendon had ever seen, bar none, “It’s about fucking time, you idiots!”
Brendon moved to the side so that he was next to Ryan, casually slinging an arm around his waist, and touching his own swollen lips with his other hand. With a shrug, he replied, “Well, we’re a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”
When he glanced over, Ryan was smiling. His hair was wavy and messy, he was wearing pointy-toed shoes, his neckerchief was slightly askew, and there was no makeup ringing his eyes.
His grin was bright and open, holding nothing back, encompassing everything Brendon had ever wanted.