fic: Missed Your Skin When You Were East (2/3)
Title: Missed Your Skin When You Were East
(Oh, and it's the sequel to Made of Silver, Not of Clay)
Word Count: 19,453
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, various permutations of boys and their real girlfriends, Pete/Mikey, a moment of Brendon/Sisky
Disclaimer: The concept is mine, the boys are not. More's the pity.
Summary: Brendon is back to reality now, but he's not sure if he's actually that much happier.
Notes: So, this is important! This is not going to make any sense if you haven't read the other two stories that are part of this series. The original story that this is the sequel to is, Made of Silver, Not of Clay, and then the prequel (which should be read second) is, Where Summers Lasted Longer Than We Do. And if you're still with me...thank you so much. Special thanks (unsurprisingly) to
monanoche, without whom this most likely would not exist. Honestly. This is for her. But, it's also now for all of you. Enjoy.
Part One was here.
Somewhere in the Midwest, in March, they had the afternoon to do with as they pleased. It wasn’t hard to choose to go to the mall that was walking distance from where the buses were parked, and even though all four of them started out together, Ryan and Spencer split off just before Brendon did.
It wasn’t a huge shopping center, and Brendon ended up bored pretty quickly, wandering into the front courtyard outside, and stopping by a bench as his Sidekick jangled with the ringtone that Audrey had programmed in for herself. It was simply her sing-songing, “I am a little gelf, gelf, gelf,” and then laughing like crazy at the ridiculous nickname.
It took him a second to figure out what he was hearing-they hadn’t talked in awhile, but when he realized, he answered immediately. “You are a little gelf, gelf, gelf,” he said into the phone, matching her airy tone.
“Brendon, baby?” Audrey sounded horribly tired.
Automatically, Brendon sobered and asked, “Are you okay? Have you been eating?”
With a light laugh that Brendon knew meant no, she said, “We haven’t really talked in ages.” There wasn’t anything accusatory to her voice, just heavy, and Brendon could feel his stomach sink a little.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, grabbing onto the back of the bench. There was a faint sucking noise over the line, and he could picture Audrey lying on her back on her bed, feet pointing up into the air and wild hair spread around her as she sucked at a lollipop. Or maybe she was in the pool, elbows hooking onto the edge and damp hair clinging to her slim shoulders and back. Either way, Brendon knew that she looked perfectly gorgeous and tragic.
Solemnly she replied, “I am too, Bear. I am sorry. It’s just not enough.”
“Aud…”
“Shhh,” she said, voice crackling through the line, and he could just hear her lopsided smile. “Don’t, B. We’re too pretty a couple to last anyway.”
“Why-” he started, but had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “Why today?”
This time he genuinely couldn’t tell if the noise Audrey made was a laugh or a sob. “It was meant to be this way. My horoscope said today was the day to move on.” And that was such an Audrey reason that Brendon started to giggle, Audrey joining in immediately. It reminded him of why he’d liked her. He had to get off the phone before he did something stupid like plead with her not to do it.
“Bye, Audrey,” he said, and thought, this is going to be okay.
There was no reply, and he realized she’d hung up already to avoid goodbyes. Quietly, staring at the phone in his hand, Brendon muttered, “Sometimes I’d like to get to say it, and hear it.”
Wiggling a hand into his pocket, he dug free his wallet and pulled out a sheaf of pictures that were tucked into one of the flaps. The top one was of he and Audrey kissing, and the next just a solo shot of Audrey in all her gorgeous, scene queen glory. Lowering himself onto the bench he’d been standing by, he traced a finger over her face and mouthed, “Gelfling, I still want you happy.” He wasn’t unaware of the train wrecks that Audrey’s relationships and friendships always seemed to turn into. Her brokenness, and the fact that she had smiled for him despite that, was part of what had attracted him in the first place.
(He held onto that through the next few months, as he kept checking up on her via LiveJournal and MySpace, heart aching for her when her friendship with Jac crumbled. Sometimes he wondered just how close they’d been, and if this would push her to the breaking point.)
Next to his bench was a trash can, and Brendon let his hand hover over it for nearly a full minute before he changed his mind and put the two pictures onto the bottom of the pile. He’d tuck them away somewhere else once he was back on the bus. For the time being, they could stay with his one picture of the full band, two of him and Ryan, one family portrait, and one of Pete and Mikey, printed on computer paper and carefully clipped-just as a reminder.
When his Sidekick rang again, it startled him badly enough that he fumbled it, and it clattered to the bench seat. He managed to answer on the last ring, and Spencer said, “I hope you’re close by-soundcheck’s soon.”
Brendon squinted towards the mall doors and laughed. “Does that mean you’re done shoe-shopping?” he asked, and Spencer made an irritated noise.
“Shut up, Urie,” he remonstrated, and Brendon snickered again. He could see Spencer and Ryan now, hands full of bags as they shouldered open the thick glass doors.
Waving until his bandmates saw him and angled in his direction, Brendon asked, “Where’s Brent?”
“I thought he was with you.”
They were close enough now for Brendon to end the call and shake his head. “I thought he was with you,” he told them, raising an eyebrow as Spencer snorted.
“Yeah,” Spencer replied, “because Brent loves shopping for shoes, makeup, and fucking…silk scarves.”
“…what?” Brendon’s stomach dropped again, and was replaced this time by a churning something.
“Ask Ryan,” Spencer said, blithely unaware of Brendon’s horrified disbelief.
Ryan rolled his eyes, but opened one of his bags and drew out an ivory piece of cloth, followed by a red one. Handling them delicately, he said, “They’re real silk, too, and they were on sale. You wouldn’t believe how soft they-Brendon? Are you okay?”
Brendon would have pasted on a grin and stolen the scarf to rub against his cheek-normal behavior-but he could feel how white his face had gone, and a few seconds later he was running across the courtyard. Dropping to his knees and ignoring the pain that slammed through him, he retched into the small bushes lining the cement. Distantly, he heard someone saying, “Oh shit,” and then there were hands steadying his shoulders.
Once he was done he sat back on his heels and then turned around so he wouldn’t have to look at the mess. Spencer gently let go of him, but then helped him to his feet. Ryan was still standing, looking equal parts pale and concerned. When Brendon was up, Ryan forced a smile and pulled him into a hug, petting his back in small circles. “I won’t wear the scarves if they offend you that much,” he teased lightly.
That would probably have been funnier if the memory of a different Ryan perched on the second floor of a mall, ready to hang himself with scarves, or else break his neck when they didn’t hold, hadn’t been swimming through Brendon’s mind, threatening to make him sick for a second time. Firmly taking control of his stomach, Brendon said, “Guess that Indian food I had for lunch was a little sketchy.”
Ryan hmmed and kept rubbing Brendon’s back in sympathy. Sounding concerned, Spencer asked, “Should we not play the show tonight?”
Brendon shook his head and straightened. “No, I’m fine,” he lied, “Just place your healing touch on me, Spencer Smith.” At that, Spencer smiled and opened his arms so Brendon could hug him. Spencer was pretty awesome.
When they got back to the bus, Brent was not there, and his phone went straight to voicemail no matter how many times they called. Eventually they had to get to soundcheck (although not before Brendon had brushed his teeth a full three times), and they left with Spencer leaving another somewhat worried, somewhat pissed message for Brent.
Fifteen minutes in, he pushed through the door, eyes wide. “Am I late?” he asked, as everything ground to a halt.
Incredulously, Spencer said, “Are you late? Just a little, where’ve you been? Is everything cool?”
Sheepishly, Brent tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, everything’s cool. I lost track of time.”
“Next time, don’t,” Spencer replied, voice clipped, and immediately started tapping out the beat for their next warm-up song before Brent or anyone else could speak.
By the time they were done, and had gone to start getting ready for the show, the tension was so thick that Brendon felt claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure why, but he hadn’t told any of them about Audrey yet, and it was gnawing at him, along with the stupid silk scarves that Ryan had had to go and buy. Brendon wasn’t going to be able to stop being afraid of a repeat of Other World Ryan’s performance.
It was ridiculous, he knew, but the last straw came when he was dressing and realized that he couldn’t find the tie that he wanted. Piled on top of all the stress that had been building up, he just…snapped.
Brendon knew everyone’s eyes were on him as he huffed out a frustrated groan and kicked the couch squeezed into the corner, and made it into the bathroom before he could break down in front of all of them. He’d lost Ryan, his family, and his girlfriend, almost lost his bassist, he’d thrown up today, and now he couldn’t find his fucking tie. Childishly, he kicked the sink, and bit down on his lip as he hopped around afterwards.
Someone knocked on the door, and Brendon stilled as he heard Ryan calling, “Bren, are you okay? Are you sick again?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, “I’m not sick.”
“Well, can I come in?”
Brendon hesitated. He didn’t really want to let Ryan in, but if he didn’t, they would probably cancel the show or something, and he didn’t want to let down the fans, or make the other bands have to scramble to play more songs in order to fill in. “Fine,” he said, and pulled the door open just wide enough for Ryan to slip in.
“What?” he asked after a minute, crossing his arms. Ryan was just staring at him thoughtfully with an unreadable expression on his face.
Finally he said, “Did you and Audrey break up?”
Brendon blinked, mouth dropping open. “How did you…?
“I just thought that might’ve been it.” Ryan moved closer, sympathetically putting a hand on Brendon’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m-” Brendon started to say that he was fine, thanks, again, but the combination of everything that had been building up, and now Ryan’s stupid beautiful eyes, filled with concern, was too much, and he gasped out a shaky breath instead, eyes filling without his consent.
Ryan didn’t even comment, just wrapped his arms around Brendon as Brendon pressed his face into Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Ryan said, “She wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”
“Shut up,” Brendon muttered, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Just shut up,” Ryan, you don’t even know-”
Then something happened. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but one second he was glaring at Ryan, eyelashes still coated in tears, and frustrated with Ryan’s inability to be actually comforting, as Ryan looked down at him, eyes wide, and then the next second they’d both surged forward the last few inches between them and were kissing. Hard.
Ryan’s mouth was so familiar against Brendon’s that he almost wanted to sob again. They’d never kissed quite like this before, though, and he was reminded of Pete and Mikey’s desperation after they’d been fighting. Brendon and Ryan’s kisses before had always been sweet and romantic-the difference between fucking and making love.
Brendon pressed forward harder, and Ryan let him, curling his hands into Brendon’s shirt as he backed up into the wall.
Then someone knocked on the door, and they both sprang apart instantly as Spencer called, “Are you guys okay? Brendon, can you play the show?”
Ryan was looking at Brendon like he really wanted to say something, so Brendon waited, but finally Ryan just said, “Give us a minute, and we’ll be out. We can still play, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, sounding like he wanted to disagree, “Oh, and Brendon? I think one of your ties ended up with my shit. I have it out here if you wanted it.”
Mouth still tingling he replied, “Okay, thanks.” Then, more quietly, he said, “Listen, Ryan…”
Raising a hand, Ryan stopped him and said, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go play the show, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed, and then, impulsively, darted forward to hug Ryan. Ryan melted into it, resting his head on Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon had to swallow hard when they broke apart.
It wasn’t a great show by any means, and afterwards Brendon surrendered to William’s friendly arm around his shoulder and followed The Academy Is… back to their bus to get completely wasted. Jon Walker, the really awesome tech who Brendon hung out with whenever he got the chance, was finally the one to take Brendon’s drink away and hand it off to Tom as he passed by.
“Alright, young Urie, that’s enough,” Jon chided mildly, and Brendon pouted. He was half-lying-down on the couch in their front lounge, with Sisky beside him. Sisky was cool, and despite being younger than Brendon, far superior when it came to holding his liquor. Brendon guessed it had to do with living with the rest of his particular band.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, smiling up at Jon, but Jon shook his head.
“Let’s get you back to your bus,” he said, holding out a hand. Brendon grabbed for it and missed, ending up tumbling onto Sisky’s chest.
Both of them giggled, staring at one another, and Brendon didn’t really mean it when he slurred out, “Oh, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Sisky told him, reaching up behind his head. Brendon was drunk, but he wasn’t stupid, so he got it when Sisky tangled his fingers there. Obligingly, he bent to press their lips together wetly.
Suddenly another hand was on him, and this time it belonged to Jon, hauling him off. “Definitely time to go,” he was saying, but Brendon could barely hear him, because now that he was upright, all the alcohol was setting in with a vengeance. “I’m going to puke,” he told Jon, confidentially. To Jon’s credit, he was fast, and managed to get both of them off the bus before that happened.
When Brendon straightened up, the world was spinning, making Brendon was dizzy as hell. “That’s the second time today,” he said, and Jon clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“I’m going to pick you up now,” Jon informed him, and then lifted Brendon carefully off his feet. A second later he chuckled and said, “No wonder you’re such a lightweight with alcohol. You weigh pretty much nothing, dude. Aren’t they feeding you?”
Brendon was really tired, and cuddling up to Jon’s chest felt amazing. He wanted to tell Jon about how awesome his band was, even Brent, who’d been late today, but his tongue felt gross and thick, so he settled for, “Audrey and I broke up today.”
“Ahhh,” Jon replied. Brendon thought he sounded understanding, and it was encouraging.
“Ryan’s going to be mad,” he said to Jon’s bicep, which his mouth had somehow ended up against, “He doesn’t like drinking. Only scarves. The fucking scarves.” The whole world was spinning, and Brendon thought he could almost reach out and his Ryan would be there. “I miss Pete and Mikey and Ryan,” he told Jon, and then he passed out.
In the morning, as he nursed his hangover, he reflected that it was a good thing that he’d been drunk enough to pass out, because it took all credibility out of what he’d told Jon, and made it into just wasted ramblings.
Ryan brought him coffee, and then let Brendon curl up in his lap after he’d finished drinking it, slowly petting his hair. “That was stupid,” he said mildly, though Brendon could hear the undertones of displeasure.
“I know,” Brendon replied, and wormed his nose into the space between Ryan’s knees. “Can you forgive me?”
“Don’t be too fucked up to sing tonight,” Ryan said, which wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was close enough that Brendon didn’t complain.
After all of that, things seemed to speed up: Brent was around less and less, and Jon was always ready in case he ever actually didn’t show up, Europe was blowing by as their CDs sold, and they stopped being the last billed on the tour. He and Ryan did not talk about what had happened in the bathroom, and they also didn’t talk about the way that Brendon kept tagging along to the TAI… bus parties.
Being drunk was a pretty new thing, and despite how awful hangovers were, they were worth it for the time that Brendon could spend just not thinking about the hard things. William was certainly delighted that Brendon kept showing up, and Brendon suspected that Spencer was keeping his peace because Jon kept acting as an escort.
The day that Brent actually didn’t show up, and Jon actually did have to fill in, Brendon went to TAI’s bus with the purpose of getting utterly smashed, not just drinking with them for fun. Four beers and a shot of something in, he’d loosened up enough that when Sisky wandered over and dropped down next to him, Brendon leaned over and rested his head on Sisky’s shoulder, saying, “Hi, hi, Adam T. Siska, Sisky Business, Siskyyy.”
Sisky peered and him and said, “Dude, you’re so wasted.”
With a solemn nod, Brendon said, “I will not try to deny the truth. You should be wasted with me.”
“Oh, I am,” Sisky replied, laughing again.
Then he grabbed Brendon’s chin and kissed him, right on the mouth. It wasn’t like the first time, with someone there to pull them apart immediately, and Brendon was pretty sure he wasn’t in danger of throwing up, either. He was able to just enjoy it when Sisky sucked on his lower lip, eyes shut and hair everywhere.
“Mmm,” Brendon breathed, and Sisky’s hands started to travel lower, off of his face, and down his front until he was pressing the heel of one against the front of Brendon’s pants. Brendon wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t tell it was a bad idea to do this in a room full of band/tourmates, especially when William was one of them, so he grabbed Sisky by the belt and said, “Bunks?”
“Bunks,” Sisky agreed, and let himself be pulled along.
Before they actually made it there, they veered into a wall, and Brendon took advantage of the opportunity to kiss Sisky again, both of them rubbing up against each other and moaning shamelessly. There was no way that people hadn’t seen by now, but Brendon was starting to care less and less.
Sisky had just started working Brendon’s belt open, which Brendon was so on board with, when the room quieted enough for him to hear, “Where is my lead singer?”
Immediately, Brendon and Sisky recoiled-Spencer’s bitchface and angry voice generally had the power to make that happen-and Brendon tried to edge into the shadows a little more. It was too late, though, because someone had already pointed him out with a not-so-subtle snicker. Brendon really did feel for Sisky, though, because he was the one who was going to get shit from William later. There were few fates worse than that.
As it turned out, apparently Brendon had stumbled into one. Not only was Spencer there, but Ryan was just outside, skinny arms wrapped around himself protectively. Without even waiting for the door to shut, Spencer started in.
“Brendon, what the fuck do you think you were doing? Brent disappeared today, do you realize that? We need to talk about what the fuck we’re going to do-you know, like throw him out of the band-but by the time we get back to the bus you’ve already been there and gone to go drinking. That’s so mature, Brendon, really. Didn’t you think that maybe, given the earlier events of today, we might be a little bit concerned? And what the fuck, you were hooking up with Sisky? What the fuck, Brendon?”
Brendon shrank down a little, the calming effects of the alcohol evaporating and just leaving him miserable and fuzzy-headed so it was hard to think straight. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I was trying to not have to think about it.”
“Well, I hope that worked out for you,” Spencer snarled, and then turned to head back for the bus.
Ryan was already gone.
In the morning, Brendon absolutely did not want to get out of bed and face the world. Or at least, the part of the world that consisted of Spencer, Ryan, and probably all of Fueled By Ramen, by now.
He was spared the necessity by Ryan opening his bunk curtain and standing with his hands on his hips. Without any kind of lead-up, Ryan said, “You told me you weren’t gay.”
“What?” Brendon blinked. Ryan was talking really loudly, and it made his headache that much worse.
“You said you weren’t into guys, Brendon,” Ryan said, “Why did you lie about that?”
“I…” Brendon tried to recall if he’d ever actually said that, and couldn’t bring to mind any time. Crossing his arms, he protested, “I never said that. It’s not true, I do like guys.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. Ryan didn’t know what a privilege he had.
“No, you did,” Ryan insisted, “You did. That day, in Spencer’s bedroom. When I tried to-well, you know, you said you weren’t interested in guys.”
Oh. Brendon knew, technically, that he’d made it sound to Ryan like that’s what he’d been saying at the time, but that wasn’t it at all, as a matter of fact. “No,” he told Ryan, “I didn’t. I just didn’t want that to happen, then.”
Ryan stepped back as though he’d been slapped. “Oh,” he said, voice tight, “I see.”
Brendon felt too shitty to figure out what Ryan was actually saying, so instead he asked, just as stiffly, “How did you think I didn’t like guys? We kissed, remember that?” He knew he was breaking an unspoken pact by bringing that up, but he did it anyway, deliberately.
“I thought you just needed someone to be there. You’d just broken up with your girlfriend,” Ryan replied, “Excuse me if I didn’t realize that that meant you were gay for me.”
“Who said I was gay for you?” Brendon shot back, and then, when Ryan recoiled fiercely again, realized he had gone too far. He held up his hands. “Look, Ryan. We just…can’t, okay? It’s not like I don’t-we just can’t.”
Despite Brendon’s words, Ryan was already backing away, curtain clinging to his shoulder until it could finally pull free and swing shut. “You should have told me,” Ryan was saying, “Next time just tell me, okay? I don’t care, I just want to know.”
“Next time I turn bi?” Brendon retorted, climbing out of his bunk and following Ryan. He stopped Ryan with a hand on his shoulder, and reluctantly Ryan turned to face him. “Hey,” Brendon said, “Look. It’s not like I’ve never thought about it, or wanted it, or anything. That’s not it at all. I can’t really explain it. But it just…wouldn’t work.”
Ryan kept looking him directly in the eye as he nodded and said, “Yeah, I don’t think so either.”
Brendon wanted to call him on the lie, except that that would defeat the entire purpose of the conversation, unless he wanted to explain the entire thing. Obviously that wasn’t an option, so he just nodded and said, “And I’m going back to bed-my head is killing me. You want to come snuggle?” He was always up for snuggling, especially with anyone in his band. Especially when it was a kind of peace offering that he was making so that hopefully he wouldn’t estrange one of his best friends.
For a minute he thought Ryan was going to say no, but then he bit down on his bottom lip and quietly replied, “I’m pretty tired anyway, so, I guess.”
That was all the encouragement Brendon needed to duck back into his bunk, dragging Ryan in by his (far-too-skinny) wrist. They took a few minutes to get settled, shifting uncomfortably, and Brendon had to force himself not to think about how his headache was going to explode his brain every time he bumped into the wall, or Ryan elbowed him in the chest. Finally they were arranged with Ryan on his side, and Brendon curled around spooning him, even though Ryan was the taller of the two. It felt amazing.
Just before he drifted off, he murmured into the dip between Ryan’s shoulder blades, “We good, Ross?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied, “We are.”
When he tightened his arms around Ryan, Brendon realized that he wasn’t sure anymore who it was that he was in love with.
Someone stopped outside the bunks, and then Brendon heard Spencer mutter, “Thank god,” before walking away again. Brendon fell asleep to the smell of Ryan’s hair in his face, and dreamed about the ocean.
“Jesus, weren’t we just touring?” Brendon flopped down across the couch in the front lounge, clapping the back of his hand over his eyes dramatically.
Spencer snorted. “No one believes you, Brendon. Everyone knows how much you love touring.” He held his coffee out of reach as Brendon made grabby hands for it, sticking out his tongue and then taking a long drink.
“Jon does,” Brendon insisted. “Jon loves me, right Jon?”
In reply, Jon grinned and tossed over a sealed package of Poptarts, which Brendon caught one-handed with a whoop.
“You know that there’s a difference between ‘loving’ and believing,’ right?” Spencer drawled, and Brendon wrinkled his nose.
“Shut up. No Poptarts for you.” He tore the pack open with his teeth and took a huge bite, making sure to chew with his mouth open right in front of Spencer. Spencer punched him in the arm, and Brendon rubbed at the spot as he asked, “Hey Spence, where’s your BFF, anyway? Shouldn’t we all be bonding on the first day of the new Summer Tour?”
With a shrug, Spencer said, “I think he’s in the bathroom.”
Brendon, in reality, was already coursing with energy, thinking about the tour, and he jumped up immediately and ran to the bathroom door, which was shut. “Ryan! Ryan Ross!” he yelled, pounding his fist against it, “Hurry up, we’re bonding, and you’re missing out!”
From within there was some shuffling, and an irritated, “Go away, I’m busy.”
At that, Brendon burst out laughing. “You’re busy in the bathroom? Oops, so sorry to interrupt.”
“Not like that, asshole,” came Ryan’s voice, and then, slowly, the door cracked open. “I’m done now anyway,” he said, stepping out with his eyes downcast and his bangs covering one eye shyly.
Brendon’s eyes went wide. “What-are you wearing?” he managed to get out before he started giggling. “We have a show and a photoshoot, and-just what, Ryan?”
Ryan sniffed, and looked up haughtily. “I just got it,” he said, but Brendon, distracted, had to gape again at the jagged design drawn under one eye in white and yellow makeup. It was a little bit shakily done, but it made Brendon’s stomach swoop a little bit, regardless. He focused instead on the ridiculous outfit that Ryan was wearing, mainly because it consisted of a vest of roses.
“Jon! Jon, Spencer, you guys have to see this!” Brendon announced, pushing Ryan before him into the bus lounge, despite his protests and fighting back.
Ryan waited it out until they were all done laughing, then told them, “I have outfit ideas for you guys, too. And also…” Brendon was still the one closest to him, so his cupped Brendon’s face between his hands and said, “Makeup, I think.”
“Oh no,” Jon replied immediately, “I put my foot down at makeup.”
Brendon shivered and said nothing, because that was something he wouldn’t ever be able to say no to, he knew.
At first he thought the dream speech was Ryan’s idea of a sick joke, until he remembered that, oh yeah, Ryan has a girlfriend now. It was still far too easy to let the words roll off his tongue as he gestured wildly for the crowd.
The Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour was by far the most fun Brendon had ever had onstage. The Lucent Dossier troupe was just so awesome-not to mention incredibly talented. Brendon’s love of taking on a stage persona was amped up even further now, because what they had was just so much bigger than anything he’d ever thought he’d be part of. Plus, they had been so much more cohesive in the months since Jon had officially joined. Brendon could caper over to his side of the stage when he wasn’t busy bugging Ryan, and Jon, with his easy smile, was completely willing to go along with it.
Things were going well with Ryan, too-they were slowly learning to be able to drape over each other without being seconds away from one of them trying to kiss the other (or at least, Brendon was working on that). The fact that Keltie was there, and Ryan clearly adored her, helped. Brendon liked her too. Not as much as he liked Haley or Cassie (or Katie Kay, or Dusty, or Amanda Palmer), but then again, she hadn’t been around as long. That was probably it.
Making Ryan happy was important, and she was doing it.
As the tour thundered towards its finish, though, Brendon could tell that they were all starting to get a bit tired. Ryan took his mind off of it by learning more make-up tricks from the Lucent Dossier girls, and making his designs more outrageous all the time. Jon was always cool about rolling with the punches, and Spencer took out stress and frustration on his drum kit. Brendon was alright too.
Still, when they started cautiously tiptoeing around the topic of taking a long break and starting a new album, he was ecstatic, to put it mildly. It just got better when he realized that they’d be taking a break to go to a cabin away from civilization to write the songs, and just be together as a band, not obligated to meet any deadlines or worn out from traveling constantly. It was exactly the kind of thing that he thought they all needed.
When they actually got there, Brendon was practically bouncing off the walls. They made s’mores the first night (in the microwave, because to all of their disappointment there was no fire pit), and ate them sprawled out at the edge of the swimming hole. After that, they fell into an easy routine of waking up midday, noodling around in the studio sometimes, or else just relaxing and hanging out, and staying up way too late playing video games, having movie marathons, and, on a particularly memorable occasion, playing a rousing game of Dare that ended with a completely sober Brendon stripping and running out to jump into the water as Spencer and Ryan laughed hysterically and Jon cheered.
It was pretty great, at least at first. Once they started trying to actually settle in and work, it became less so.
Brendon was willing to admit that it was partly his own fault, even though Ryan certainly wouldn’t admit that mostly, it was his. For one thing, his lyrics made no fucking sense. Brendon wasn’t sure how he was expected to really sing something if he didn’t have a clue what it was about, but Ryan never actually stopped to give a good explanation, just waved a vague hand and told Brendon that he needed to be more. That he didn’t get it.
“No shit I don’t get it!” Brendon screamed back, about a week before they left for Atlanta. Infuriatingly, Ryan didn’t raise his voice at all, just flatly said, “Well, you’re not trying hard enough.”
It was all driving Brendon crazy, and just to make it that much worse, he was so badly stressed that he couldn’t even sleep, most of the time. Being so tired on top of stressed on top of it being that much worse just because it was Ryan, who messed with his head without trying, was too much. “Well, maybe if we hadn’t turned into the Ryan Ross band, I would want to try harder,” he accused, lips turning into a pout without him trying.
Ryan glared back. “I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my vision,” he replied, and Brendon snickered.
“Didn’t you hear Pete’s comment? Even he didn’t get your ‘vision.’ A ‘musical about wolves,’ if I remember correctly,” he sneered.
Ryan threw up his hands. “What do you want me to do, Brendon?” he asked, obviously exasperated, “We have to make an album! Do you want to just throw out everything we’ve done here?”
“Everything you’ve done,” Brendon shot back. “It’s not even about us anymore. You talk to Keltie whenever you have reception, and this was supposed to be about band time, not girlfriend time. Then you hide in your room and write obscure poetry that you expect to be able to put to music, and none of us have any clue what the fuck is going on.”
Jon and Spencer had been silent up until this point, as they usually were during Ryan and Brendon’s fights (except the time Spencer had thrown his sticks at both of them and told them to shut the fuck up and start working again or he was quitting), but now Jon put in mildly, “You know, I’m willing to play this stuff, but I don’t really get it either, Ry.”
Brendon could see Ryan deflate a little, and he cautiously unballed his own fists. Ryan looked over to Spencer, whose lips were pressed into a tight line that made Brendon suspect that he and Jon had an agreement not to get involved in these arguments. At Ryan’s pleading eyes, Spencer shrugged. “I’m with Jon,” he said, and Ryan tensed up again, just like he always did when he didn’t have Spencer’s express approval.
“Fine,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “Let’s scrap it then. We’ll start over. Together.”
There was a stunned silence, until Spencer ran a hand over his beard and said, “Wait, you’re serious?”
There was all kinds of hurt in Ryan’s hunched shoulders, and even though Brendon was still mad, it made him want to hug Ryan. “Yeah,” Ryan said, “It’s supposed to be a band thing. If it’s not, then it’s pointless.”
No one stopped him as he walked quickly out of the room.
Getting high wasn’t all fun and games to Brendon. Sure, he enjoyed it-he liked how giggly it made him, how willing to cuddle it made Spencer, how it made Jon even more laid back, and how it made Ryan even more of a font of SAT words and wild ideas.
Mostly, though, Brendon liked how when he was high, he felt like could slip-slide between realities with far more ease. It made his mind fuzzier and disconnected from where he actually was, especially in the sticky-hot summer weather, while things were still sickeningly tense. He liked being high, caught in between here and there, because he didn’t really want to stay in either. Sometimes he thought he’d rather step back into that world, except that Ryan wasn’t there, either.
Lately, Ryan had been writing a lot while he was high, more than before they’d scrapped the first second album. He wasn’t showing any of it to the rest of them, though. It was driving Brendon crazy, because hadn’t the whole point of getting rid of the first set of songs been to give them a platform to work together on the album? No one else was saying anything about it, though, so it fell to Brendon.
“Hey guys?” he asked at breakfast at one point, “Could we maybe just go jam today? We haven’t played just for fun in ages.”
A round of glances circled the table, until Jon smiled at Brendon and said, “Yeah. I’m game.” Ryan cracked his knuckles and nodded agreement, and Spencer looked up long enough to throw a dry piece of cereal at Brendon. He was holding back a smile, though, so Brendon took it as agreement with his brilliant plot.
“Great!” he told them, beaming, and then snuck a Red Bull out of the fridge while no one was watching. He was probably going to need it.
They all entered the practice space hesitantly, slowly dispersing to their instruments and settling in with caution. Brendon was the first to do anything-he started plucking at his guitar and humming the brightest pop song he could bring to mind. When the rest of them started groaning and Ryan flicked his knee, Brendon pulled his mouth to one side, making an exaggerated face, and shrugged helplessly. “It was stuck in my head!” he protested.
Then Jon started strumming the bass part of a Smashing Pumpkins song, and the rest of them picked it up, playing what they knew and making up what they didn’t. When it came to ice-breakers, Brendon was glad he had no shame.
There weren’t any windows in the practice space, or clocks, so they didn’t bother even trying to set a specific stopping time, just kept right on playing. Familiar songs gave way to half-formed melodies, and the fact that they were playing together, withno arguing that wasn’t good-natured, and coming up with new stuff, even if none of it was cleaned up enough to write down, was such a rush that Brendon didn’t ever want to stop.
Having no sense of time had Brendon prickling with a strange sense of déjà vu, and when Ryan looked up from a rift, Brendon smiled impulsively. Immediately, Ryan’s features softened, and even though they were only sitting a few feet apart on the floor at this point, Ryan scooted closer, and then lay down with his head in Brendon’s lap-an easy familiarity that Brendon had been afraid they had lost.
Looking up at Brendon, Ryan mused, “Your features look all skewed like this.” In response, Brendon puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes. With a laugh, Ryan scrunched up his nose and said, “Yeah, creepy, Brendon. Creepy huge eyes.”
Jon, apparently deciding that their break was going to last for awhile, set his bass aside, asking, “What time is it, anyway?”
Cracking his knuckles and rolling out his shoulders, Spencer shrugged. “Who knows?” he replied, “Late afternoon, I guess? Three. Five. Fucking seven. I haven’t a clue.”
“Pretty sure it’s not seven,” Jon said, “I don’t think that still counts as afternoon.”
“Technically, seven o’clock does fall after noon,” Spencer replied primly, and then Brendon stopped listening, because Ryan had started humming.
When he caught Brendon looking, Ryan started tapping a light beat against his own stomach, singing under his breath, “It’s nine in the afternoon, your eyes are the size of the moon.” Slowly, a smiled bloomed over Brendon’s face, and he reached over Ryan for a guitar.
“Keep going,” he said, and Ryan hummed a little more, then sat up abruptly.
“I need to get my notebook,” he announced.
Writing for the first album had never been this fun-this easy. Since the first song, they were all just channeling the music they’d always wanted to write. They’d even convinced Ryan that he should sing on this album.
That was what got Brendon thinking. He had a handful of lyrics that had come to him, and honestly, he’d gone over them again and again to polish them and make them perfect. Originally, he hadn’t even been planning to show them to anyone, other than Shane and Regan, but everything was going to smoothly and so well that he couldn’t help wanting to share them with Ryan.
When he had read through the two songs again, painstakingly rethinking every word, he grabbed two glasses of iced tea and went to find Ryan, who ended up being outside on a lounge chair that he’d dragged into the shade of a couple trees.
“Hey!” he said brightly, holding out one of the glasses. Ryan blinked slowly as he looked up, and Brendon realized that Ryan must have been drifting off.
“Hey,” he replied, voice sounding a little thick, but took the glass gratefully anyway. “What’s this for?” he asked with a small smile.
“Do I have to have a reason?” Brendon teased, sitting down on the edge of the chair and running his fingers along the folded edges of the paper that he was clutching. He could see the exact minute that Ryan noticed them.
Cocking his head, he asked, “What’s that?”
Brendon sucked in his cheeks. This was a lot less daunting before Ryan’s mild, curious face had been right in front of him. “Uhh…” he said, and then figured may as well just go all in, “They’re some lyrics I wrote. I thought that maybe we could use them.” Quickly, before he could change his mind and laugh it off as a joke, he held out the two pages for Ryan to take, and didn’t miss the instant of hesitation before Ryan took them.
“You…wrote lyrics?” Ryan asked, long fingers skimming the pages. He sounded like he didn’t quite believe it, and Brendon swallowed hard as he nodded. Shane’s girlfriend was clearly evil for encouraging him to show Ryan. Shane himself, too.
Fidgeting, twining his fingers together, Brendon said, “Well…yeah. I mean, it was just in my head, and I thought...I kind of wanted to see what you thought, and all.” He tried to play it off, make it sound like not too much of a big deal, as he watched Ryan’s eyes skimming over the page. Over Brendon’s words and innards, which were all plainly there on the page. He felt naked, but also a little bit excited, because no matter how nervous he was, he was also pretty proud.
Then Ryan looked up and said, “Cool. But…what do you plan to use them for?”
Brendon froze. With a huffed laugh, he said, “You know…we’re writing this thing called an album? Usually there are songs with lyrics on those?”
Ryan’s eyes were completely blank as he said, “You’ve never written lyrics before.”
The inflection on the first word was almost nonexistent, and someone else might not have realized it was even there, but Brendon heard it, and knew exactly what it meant. “You’ve never sung on an album before,” he replied, trying not to sound like he was attacking back, “I mean, it’s only the second time we’ve done this, and I had some ideas.”
“I see. Have you talked to Spencer or Jon about this yet?”
Brendon stared, and then said, “No. I came to get your opinion, which is obviously pretty clear.” Standing, he walked quickly away, back to the house, blinking rapidly.
Part 3
(Oh, and it's the sequel to Made of Silver, Not of Clay)
Word Count: 19,453
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, various permutations of boys and their real girlfriends, Pete/Mikey, a moment of Brendon/Sisky
Disclaimer: The concept is mine, the boys are not. More's the pity.
Summary: Brendon is back to reality now, but he's not sure if he's actually that much happier.
Notes: So, this is important! This is not going to make any sense if you haven't read the other two stories that are part of this series. The original story that this is the sequel to is, Made of Silver, Not of Clay, and then the prequel (which should be read second) is, Where Summers Lasted Longer Than We Do. And if you're still with me...thank you so much. Special thanks (unsurprisingly) to
monanoche, without whom this most likely would not exist. Honestly. This is for her. But, it's also now for all of you. Enjoy.
Part One was here.
Somewhere in the Midwest, in March, they had the afternoon to do with as they pleased. It wasn’t hard to choose to go to the mall that was walking distance from where the buses were parked, and even though all four of them started out together, Ryan and Spencer split off just before Brendon did.
It wasn’t a huge shopping center, and Brendon ended up bored pretty quickly, wandering into the front courtyard outside, and stopping by a bench as his Sidekick jangled with the ringtone that Audrey had programmed in for herself. It was simply her sing-songing, “I am a little gelf, gelf, gelf,” and then laughing like crazy at the ridiculous nickname.
It took him a second to figure out what he was hearing-they hadn’t talked in awhile, but when he realized, he answered immediately. “You are a little gelf, gelf, gelf,” he said into the phone, matching her airy tone.
“Brendon, baby?” Audrey sounded horribly tired.
Automatically, Brendon sobered and asked, “Are you okay? Have you been eating?”
With a light laugh that Brendon knew meant no, she said, “We haven’t really talked in ages.” There wasn’t anything accusatory to her voice, just heavy, and Brendon could feel his stomach sink a little.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, grabbing onto the back of the bench. There was a faint sucking noise over the line, and he could picture Audrey lying on her back on her bed, feet pointing up into the air and wild hair spread around her as she sucked at a lollipop. Or maybe she was in the pool, elbows hooking onto the edge and damp hair clinging to her slim shoulders and back. Either way, Brendon knew that she looked perfectly gorgeous and tragic.
Solemnly she replied, “I am too, Bear. I am sorry. It’s just not enough.”
“Aud…”
“Shhh,” she said, voice crackling through the line, and he could just hear her lopsided smile. “Don’t, B. We’re too pretty a couple to last anyway.”
“Why-” he started, but had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “Why today?”
This time he genuinely couldn’t tell if the noise Audrey made was a laugh or a sob. “It was meant to be this way. My horoscope said today was the day to move on.” And that was such an Audrey reason that Brendon started to giggle, Audrey joining in immediately. It reminded him of why he’d liked her. He had to get off the phone before he did something stupid like plead with her not to do it.
“Bye, Audrey,” he said, and thought, this is going to be okay.
There was no reply, and he realized she’d hung up already to avoid goodbyes. Quietly, staring at the phone in his hand, Brendon muttered, “Sometimes I’d like to get to say it, and hear it.”
Wiggling a hand into his pocket, he dug free his wallet and pulled out a sheaf of pictures that were tucked into one of the flaps. The top one was of he and Audrey kissing, and the next just a solo shot of Audrey in all her gorgeous, scene queen glory. Lowering himself onto the bench he’d been standing by, he traced a finger over her face and mouthed, “Gelfling, I still want you happy.” He wasn’t unaware of the train wrecks that Audrey’s relationships and friendships always seemed to turn into. Her brokenness, and the fact that she had smiled for him despite that, was part of what had attracted him in the first place.
(He held onto that through the next few months, as he kept checking up on her via LiveJournal and MySpace, heart aching for her when her friendship with Jac crumbled. Sometimes he wondered just how close they’d been, and if this would push her to the breaking point.)
Next to his bench was a trash can, and Brendon let his hand hover over it for nearly a full minute before he changed his mind and put the two pictures onto the bottom of the pile. He’d tuck them away somewhere else once he was back on the bus. For the time being, they could stay with his one picture of the full band, two of him and Ryan, one family portrait, and one of Pete and Mikey, printed on computer paper and carefully clipped-just as a reminder.
When his Sidekick rang again, it startled him badly enough that he fumbled it, and it clattered to the bench seat. He managed to answer on the last ring, and Spencer said, “I hope you’re close by-soundcheck’s soon.”
Brendon squinted towards the mall doors and laughed. “Does that mean you’re done shoe-shopping?” he asked, and Spencer made an irritated noise.
“Shut up, Urie,” he remonstrated, and Brendon snickered again. He could see Spencer and Ryan now, hands full of bags as they shouldered open the thick glass doors.
Waving until his bandmates saw him and angled in his direction, Brendon asked, “Where’s Brent?”
“I thought he was with you.”
They were close enough now for Brendon to end the call and shake his head. “I thought he was with you,” he told them, raising an eyebrow as Spencer snorted.
“Yeah,” Spencer replied, “because Brent loves shopping for shoes, makeup, and fucking…silk scarves.”
“…what?” Brendon’s stomach dropped again, and was replaced this time by a churning something.
“Ask Ryan,” Spencer said, blithely unaware of Brendon’s horrified disbelief.
Ryan rolled his eyes, but opened one of his bags and drew out an ivory piece of cloth, followed by a red one. Handling them delicately, he said, “They’re real silk, too, and they were on sale. You wouldn’t believe how soft they-Brendon? Are you okay?”
Brendon would have pasted on a grin and stolen the scarf to rub against his cheek-normal behavior-but he could feel how white his face had gone, and a few seconds later he was running across the courtyard. Dropping to his knees and ignoring the pain that slammed through him, he retched into the small bushes lining the cement. Distantly, he heard someone saying, “Oh shit,” and then there were hands steadying his shoulders.
Once he was done he sat back on his heels and then turned around so he wouldn’t have to look at the mess. Spencer gently let go of him, but then helped him to his feet. Ryan was still standing, looking equal parts pale and concerned. When Brendon was up, Ryan forced a smile and pulled him into a hug, petting his back in small circles. “I won’t wear the scarves if they offend you that much,” he teased lightly.
That would probably have been funnier if the memory of a different Ryan perched on the second floor of a mall, ready to hang himself with scarves, or else break his neck when they didn’t hold, hadn’t been swimming through Brendon’s mind, threatening to make him sick for a second time. Firmly taking control of his stomach, Brendon said, “Guess that Indian food I had for lunch was a little sketchy.”
Ryan hmmed and kept rubbing Brendon’s back in sympathy. Sounding concerned, Spencer asked, “Should we not play the show tonight?”
Brendon shook his head and straightened. “No, I’m fine,” he lied, “Just place your healing touch on me, Spencer Smith.” At that, Spencer smiled and opened his arms so Brendon could hug him. Spencer was pretty awesome.
When they got back to the bus, Brent was not there, and his phone went straight to voicemail no matter how many times they called. Eventually they had to get to soundcheck (although not before Brendon had brushed his teeth a full three times), and they left with Spencer leaving another somewhat worried, somewhat pissed message for Brent.
Fifteen minutes in, he pushed through the door, eyes wide. “Am I late?” he asked, as everything ground to a halt.
Incredulously, Spencer said, “Are you late? Just a little, where’ve you been? Is everything cool?”
Sheepishly, Brent tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, everything’s cool. I lost track of time.”
“Next time, don’t,” Spencer replied, voice clipped, and immediately started tapping out the beat for their next warm-up song before Brent or anyone else could speak.
By the time they were done, and had gone to start getting ready for the show, the tension was so thick that Brendon felt claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure why, but he hadn’t told any of them about Audrey yet, and it was gnawing at him, along with the stupid silk scarves that Ryan had had to go and buy. Brendon wasn’t going to be able to stop being afraid of a repeat of Other World Ryan’s performance.
It was ridiculous, he knew, but the last straw came when he was dressing and realized that he couldn’t find the tie that he wanted. Piled on top of all the stress that had been building up, he just…snapped.
Brendon knew everyone’s eyes were on him as he huffed out a frustrated groan and kicked the couch squeezed into the corner, and made it into the bathroom before he could break down in front of all of them. He’d lost Ryan, his family, and his girlfriend, almost lost his bassist, he’d thrown up today, and now he couldn’t find his fucking tie. Childishly, he kicked the sink, and bit down on his lip as he hopped around afterwards.
Someone knocked on the door, and Brendon stilled as he heard Ryan calling, “Bren, are you okay? Are you sick again?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, “I’m not sick.”
“Well, can I come in?”
Brendon hesitated. He didn’t really want to let Ryan in, but if he didn’t, they would probably cancel the show or something, and he didn’t want to let down the fans, or make the other bands have to scramble to play more songs in order to fill in. “Fine,” he said, and pulled the door open just wide enough for Ryan to slip in.
“What?” he asked after a minute, crossing his arms. Ryan was just staring at him thoughtfully with an unreadable expression on his face.
Finally he said, “Did you and Audrey break up?”
Brendon blinked, mouth dropping open. “How did you…?
“I just thought that might’ve been it.” Ryan moved closer, sympathetically putting a hand on Brendon’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m-” Brendon started to say that he was fine, thanks, again, but the combination of everything that had been building up, and now Ryan’s stupid beautiful eyes, filled with concern, was too much, and he gasped out a shaky breath instead, eyes filling without his consent.
Ryan didn’t even comment, just wrapped his arms around Brendon as Brendon pressed his face into Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Ryan said, “She wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”
“Shut up,” Brendon muttered, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Just shut up,” Ryan, you don’t even know-”
Then something happened. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but one second he was glaring at Ryan, eyelashes still coated in tears, and frustrated with Ryan’s inability to be actually comforting, as Ryan looked down at him, eyes wide, and then the next second they’d both surged forward the last few inches between them and were kissing. Hard.
Ryan’s mouth was so familiar against Brendon’s that he almost wanted to sob again. They’d never kissed quite like this before, though, and he was reminded of Pete and Mikey’s desperation after they’d been fighting. Brendon and Ryan’s kisses before had always been sweet and romantic-the difference between fucking and making love.
Brendon pressed forward harder, and Ryan let him, curling his hands into Brendon’s shirt as he backed up into the wall.
Then someone knocked on the door, and they both sprang apart instantly as Spencer called, “Are you guys okay? Brendon, can you play the show?”
Ryan was looking at Brendon like he really wanted to say something, so Brendon waited, but finally Ryan just said, “Give us a minute, and we’ll be out. We can still play, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, sounding like he wanted to disagree, “Oh, and Brendon? I think one of your ties ended up with my shit. I have it out here if you wanted it.”
Mouth still tingling he replied, “Okay, thanks.” Then, more quietly, he said, “Listen, Ryan…”
Raising a hand, Ryan stopped him and said, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go play the show, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed, and then, impulsively, darted forward to hug Ryan. Ryan melted into it, resting his head on Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon had to swallow hard when they broke apart.
It wasn’t a great show by any means, and afterwards Brendon surrendered to William’s friendly arm around his shoulder and followed The Academy Is… back to their bus to get completely wasted. Jon Walker, the really awesome tech who Brendon hung out with whenever he got the chance, was finally the one to take Brendon’s drink away and hand it off to Tom as he passed by.
“Alright, young Urie, that’s enough,” Jon chided mildly, and Brendon pouted. He was half-lying-down on the couch in their front lounge, with Sisky beside him. Sisky was cool, and despite being younger than Brendon, far superior when it came to holding his liquor. Brendon guessed it had to do with living with the rest of his particular band.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, smiling up at Jon, but Jon shook his head.
“Let’s get you back to your bus,” he said, holding out a hand. Brendon grabbed for it and missed, ending up tumbling onto Sisky’s chest.
Both of them giggled, staring at one another, and Brendon didn’t really mean it when he slurred out, “Oh, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Sisky told him, reaching up behind his head. Brendon was drunk, but he wasn’t stupid, so he got it when Sisky tangled his fingers there. Obligingly, he bent to press their lips together wetly.
Suddenly another hand was on him, and this time it belonged to Jon, hauling him off. “Definitely time to go,” he was saying, but Brendon could barely hear him, because now that he was upright, all the alcohol was setting in with a vengeance. “I’m going to puke,” he told Jon, confidentially. To Jon’s credit, he was fast, and managed to get both of them off the bus before that happened.
When Brendon straightened up, the world was spinning, making Brendon was dizzy as hell. “That’s the second time today,” he said, and Jon clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“I’m going to pick you up now,” Jon informed him, and then lifted Brendon carefully off his feet. A second later he chuckled and said, “No wonder you’re such a lightweight with alcohol. You weigh pretty much nothing, dude. Aren’t they feeding you?”
Brendon was really tired, and cuddling up to Jon’s chest felt amazing. He wanted to tell Jon about how awesome his band was, even Brent, who’d been late today, but his tongue felt gross and thick, so he settled for, “Audrey and I broke up today.”
“Ahhh,” Jon replied. Brendon thought he sounded understanding, and it was encouraging.
“Ryan’s going to be mad,” he said to Jon’s bicep, which his mouth had somehow ended up against, “He doesn’t like drinking. Only scarves. The fucking scarves.” The whole world was spinning, and Brendon thought he could almost reach out and his Ryan would be there. “I miss Pete and Mikey and Ryan,” he told Jon, and then he passed out.
In the morning, as he nursed his hangover, he reflected that it was a good thing that he’d been drunk enough to pass out, because it took all credibility out of what he’d told Jon, and made it into just wasted ramblings.
Ryan brought him coffee, and then let Brendon curl up in his lap after he’d finished drinking it, slowly petting his hair. “That was stupid,” he said mildly, though Brendon could hear the undertones of displeasure.
“I know,” Brendon replied, and wormed his nose into the space between Ryan’s knees. “Can you forgive me?”
“Don’t be too fucked up to sing tonight,” Ryan said, which wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was close enough that Brendon didn’t complain.
After all of that, things seemed to speed up: Brent was around less and less, and Jon was always ready in case he ever actually didn’t show up, Europe was blowing by as their CDs sold, and they stopped being the last billed on the tour. He and Ryan did not talk about what had happened in the bathroom, and they also didn’t talk about the way that Brendon kept tagging along to the TAI… bus parties.
Being drunk was a pretty new thing, and despite how awful hangovers were, they were worth it for the time that Brendon could spend just not thinking about the hard things. William was certainly delighted that Brendon kept showing up, and Brendon suspected that Spencer was keeping his peace because Jon kept acting as an escort.
The day that Brent actually didn’t show up, and Jon actually did have to fill in, Brendon went to TAI’s bus with the purpose of getting utterly smashed, not just drinking with them for fun. Four beers and a shot of something in, he’d loosened up enough that when Sisky wandered over and dropped down next to him, Brendon leaned over and rested his head on Sisky’s shoulder, saying, “Hi, hi, Adam T. Siska, Sisky Business, Siskyyy.”
Sisky peered and him and said, “Dude, you’re so wasted.”
With a solemn nod, Brendon said, “I will not try to deny the truth. You should be wasted with me.”
“Oh, I am,” Sisky replied, laughing again.
Then he grabbed Brendon’s chin and kissed him, right on the mouth. It wasn’t like the first time, with someone there to pull them apart immediately, and Brendon was pretty sure he wasn’t in danger of throwing up, either. He was able to just enjoy it when Sisky sucked on his lower lip, eyes shut and hair everywhere.
“Mmm,” Brendon breathed, and Sisky’s hands started to travel lower, off of his face, and down his front until he was pressing the heel of one against the front of Brendon’s pants. Brendon wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t tell it was a bad idea to do this in a room full of band/tourmates, especially when William was one of them, so he grabbed Sisky by the belt and said, “Bunks?”
“Bunks,” Sisky agreed, and let himself be pulled along.
Before they actually made it there, they veered into a wall, and Brendon took advantage of the opportunity to kiss Sisky again, both of them rubbing up against each other and moaning shamelessly. There was no way that people hadn’t seen by now, but Brendon was starting to care less and less.
Sisky had just started working Brendon’s belt open, which Brendon was so on board with, when the room quieted enough for him to hear, “Where is my lead singer?”
Immediately, Brendon and Sisky recoiled-Spencer’s bitchface and angry voice generally had the power to make that happen-and Brendon tried to edge into the shadows a little more. It was too late, though, because someone had already pointed him out with a not-so-subtle snicker. Brendon really did feel for Sisky, though, because he was the one who was going to get shit from William later. There were few fates worse than that.
As it turned out, apparently Brendon had stumbled into one. Not only was Spencer there, but Ryan was just outside, skinny arms wrapped around himself protectively. Without even waiting for the door to shut, Spencer started in.
“Brendon, what the fuck do you think you were doing? Brent disappeared today, do you realize that? We need to talk about what the fuck we’re going to do-you know, like throw him out of the band-but by the time we get back to the bus you’ve already been there and gone to go drinking. That’s so mature, Brendon, really. Didn’t you think that maybe, given the earlier events of today, we might be a little bit concerned? And what the fuck, you were hooking up with Sisky? What the fuck, Brendon?”
Brendon shrank down a little, the calming effects of the alcohol evaporating and just leaving him miserable and fuzzy-headed so it was hard to think straight. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I was trying to not have to think about it.”
“Well, I hope that worked out for you,” Spencer snarled, and then turned to head back for the bus.
Ryan was already gone.
In the morning, Brendon absolutely did not want to get out of bed and face the world. Or at least, the part of the world that consisted of Spencer, Ryan, and probably all of Fueled By Ramen, by now.
He was spared the necessity by Ryan opening his bunk curtain and standing with his hands on his hips. Without any kind of lead-up, Ryan said, “You told me you weren’t gay.”
“What?” Brendon blinked. Ryan was talking really loudly, and it made his headache that much worse.
“You said you weren’t into guys, Brendon,” Ryan said, “Why did you lie about that?”
“I…” Brendon tried to recall if he’d ever actually said that, and couldn’t bring to mind any time. Crossing his arms, he protested, “I never said that. It’s not true, I do like guys.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. Ryan didn’t know what a privilege he had.
“No, you did,” Ryan insisted, “You did. That day, in Spencer’s bedroom. When I tried to-well, you know, you said you weren’t interested in guys.”
Oh. Brendon knew, technically, that he’d made it sound to Ryan like that’s what he’d been saying at the time, but that wasn’t it at all, as a matter of fact. “No,” he told Ryan, “I didn’t. I just didn’t want that to happen, then.”
Ryan stepped back as though he’d been slapped. “Oh,” he said, voice tight, “I see.”
Brendon felt too shitty to figure out what Ryan was actually saying, so instead he asked, just as stiffly, “How did you think I didn’t like guys? We kissed, remember that?” He knew he was breaking an unspoken pact by bringing that up, but he did it anyway, deliberately.
“I thought you just needed someone to be there. You’d just broken up with your girlfriend,” Ryan replied, “Excuse me if I didn’t realize that that meant you were gay for me.”
“Who said I was gay for you?” Brendon shot back, and then, when Ryan recoiled fiercely again, realized he had gone too far. He held up his hands. “Look, Ryan. We just…can’t, okay? It’s not like I don’t-we just can’t.”
Despite Brendon’s words, Ryan was already backing away, curtain clinging to his shoulder until it could finally pull free and swing shut. “You should have told me,” Ryan was saying, “Next time just tell me, okay? I don’t care, I just want to know.”
“Next time I turn bi?” Brendon retorted, climbing out of his bunk and following Ryan. He stopped Ryan with a hand on his shoulder, and reluctantly Ryan turned to face him. “Hey,” Brendon said, “Look. It’s not like I’ve never thought about it, or wanted it, or anything. That’s not it at all. I can’t really explain it. But it just…wouldn’t work.”
Ryan kept looking him directly in the eye as he nodded and said, “Yeah, I don’t think so either.”
Brendon wanted to call him on the lie, except that that would defeat the entire purpose of the conversation, unless he wanted to explain the entire thing. Obviously that wasn’t an option, so he just nodded and said, “And I’m going back to bed-my head is killing me. You want to come snuggle?” He was always up for snuggling, especially with anyone in his band. Especially when it was a kind of peace offering that he was making so that hopefully he wouldn’t estrange one of his best friends.
For a minute he thought Ryan was going to say no, but then he bit down on his bottom lip and quietly replied, “I’m pretty tired anyway, so, I guess.”
That was all the encouragement Brendon needed to duck back into his bunk, dragging Ryan in by his (far-too-skinny) wrist. They took a few minutes to get settled, shifting uncomfortably, and Brendon had to force himself not to think about how his headache was going to explode his brain every time he bumped into the wall, or Ryan elbowed him in the chest. Finally they were arranged with Ryan on his side, and Brendon curled around spooning him, even though Ryan was the taller of the two. It felt amazing.
Just before he drifted off, he murmured into the dip between Ryan’s shoulder blades, “We good, Ross?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied, “We are.”
When he tightened his arms around Ryan, Brendon realized that he wasn’t sure anymore who it was that he was in love with.
Someone stopped outside the bunks, and then Brendon heard Spencer mutter, “Thank god,” before walking away again. Brendon fell asleep to the smell of Ryan’s hair in his face, and dreamed about the ocean.
“Jesus, weren’t we just touring?” Brendon flopped down across the couch in the front lounge, clapping the back of his hand over his eyes dramatically.
Spencer snorted. “No one believes you, Brendon. Everyone knows how much you love touring.” He held his coffee out of reach as Brendon made grabby hands for it, sticking out his tongue and then taking a long drink.
“Jon does,” Brendon insisted. “Jon loves me, right Jon?”
In reply, Jon grinned and tossed over a sealed package of Poptarts, which Brendon caught one-handed with a whoop.
“You know that there’s a difference between ‘loving’ and believing,’ right?” Spencer drawled, and Brendon wrinkled his nose.
“Shut up. No Poptarts for you.” He tore the pack open with his teeth and took a huge bite, making sure to chew with his mouth open right in front of Spencer. Spencer punched him in the arm, and Brendon rubbed at the spot as he asked, “Hey Spence, where’s your BFF, anyway? Shouldn’t we all be bonding on the first day of the new Summer Tour?”
With a shrug, Spencer said, “I think he’s in the bathroom.”
Brendon, in reality, was already coursing with energy, thinking about the tour, and he jumped up immediately and ran to the bathroom door, which was shut. “Ryan! Ryan Ross!” he yelled, pounding his fist against it, “Hurry up, we’re bonding, and you’re missing out!”
From within there was some shuffling, and an irritated, “Go away, I’m busy.”
At that, Brendon burst out laughing. “You’re busy in the bathroom? Oops, so sorry to interrupt.”
“Not like that, asshole,” came Ryan’s voice, and then, slowly, the door cracked open. “I’m done now anyway,” he said, stepping out with his eyes downcast and his bangs covering one eye shyly.
Brendon’s eyes went wide. “What-are you wearing?” he managed to get out before he started giggling. “We have a show and a photoshoot, and-just what, Ryan?”
Ryan sniffed, and looked up haughtily. “I just got it,” he said, but Brendon, distracted, had to gape again at the jagged design drawn under one eye in white and yellow makeup. It was a little bit shakily done, but it made Brendon’s stomach swoop a little bit, regardless. He focused instead on the ridiculous outfit that Ryan was wearing, mainly because it consisted of a vest of roses.
“Jon! Jon, Spencer, you guys have to see this!” Brendon announced, pushing Ryan before him into the bus lounge, despite his protests and fighting back.
Ryan waited it out until they were all done laughing, then told them, “I have outfit ideas for you guys, too. And also…” Brendon was still the one closest to him, so his cupped Brendon’s face between his hands and said, “Makeup, I think.”
“Oh no,” Jon replied immediately, “I put my foot down at makeup.”
Brendon shivered and said nothing, because that was something he wouldn’t ever be able to say no to, he knew.
At first he thought the dream speech was Ryan’s idea of a sick joke, until he remembered that, oh yeah, Ryan has a girlfriend now. It was still far too easy to let the words roll off his tongue as he gestured wildly for the crowd.
The Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour was by far the most fun Brendon had ever had onstage. The Lucent Dossier troupe was just so awesome-not to mention incredibly talented. Brendon’s love of taking on a stage persona was amped up even further now, because what they had was just so much bigger than anything he’d ever thought he’d be part of. Plus, they had been so much more cohesive in the months since Jon had officially joined. Brendon could caper over to his side of the stage when he wasn’t busy bugging Ryan, and Jon, with his easy smile, was completely willing to go along with it.
Things were going well with Ryan, too-they were slowly learning to be able to drape over each other without being seconds away from one of them trying to kiss the other (or at least, Brendon was working on that). The fact that Keltie was there, and Ryan clearly adored her, helped. Brendon liked her too. Not as much as he liked Haley or Cassie (or Katie Kay, or Dusty, or Amanda Palmer), but then again, she hadn’t been around as long. That was probably it.
Making Ryan happy was important, and she was doing it.
As the tour thundered towards its finish, though, Brendon could tell that they were all starting to get a bit tired. Ryan took his mind off of it by learning more make-up tricks from the Lucent Dossier girls, and making his designs more outrageous all the time. Jon was always cool about rolling with the punches, and Spencer took out stress and frustration on his drum kit. Brendon was alright too.
Still, when they started cautiously tiptoeing around the topic of taking a long break and starting a new album, he was ecstatic, to put it mildly. It just got better when he realized that they’d be taking a break to go to a cabin away from civilization to write the songs, and just be together as a band, not obligated to meet any deadlines or worn out from traveling constantly. It was exactly the kind of thing that he thought they all needed.
When they actually got there, Brendon was practically bouncing off the walls. They made s’mores the first night (in the microwave, because to all of their disappointment there was no fire pit), and ate them sprawled out at the edge of the swimming hole. After that, they fell into an easy routine of waking up midday, noodling around in the studio sometimes, or else just relaxing and hanging out, and staying up way too late playing video games, having movie marathons, and, on a particularly memorable occasion, playing a rousing game of Dare that ended with a completely sober Brendon stripping and running out to jump into the water as Spencer and Ryan laughed hysterically and Jon cheered.
It was pretty great, at least at first. Once they started trying to actually settle in and work, it became less so.
Brendon was willing to admit that it was partly his own fault, even though Ryan certainly wouldn’t admit that mostly, it was his. For one thing, his lyrics made no fucking sense. Brendon wasn’t sure how he was expected to really sing something if he didn’t have a clue what it was about, but Ryan never actually stopped to give a good explanation, just waved a vague hand and told Brendon that he needed to be more. That he didn’t get it.
“No shit I don’t get it!” Brendon screamed back, about a week before they left for Atlanta. Infuriatingly, Ryan didn’t raise his voice at all, just flatly said, “Well, you’re not trying hard enough.”
It was all driving Brendon crazy, and just to make it that much worse, he was so badly stressed that he couldn’t even sleep, most of the time. Being so tired on top of stressed on top of it being that much worse just because it was Ryan, who messed with his head without trying, was too much. “Well, maybe if we hadn’t turned into the Ryan Ross band, I would want to try harder,” he accused, lips turning into a pout without him trying.
Ryan glared back. “I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my vision,” he replied, and Brendon snickered.
“Didn’t you hear Pete’s comment? Even he didn’t get your ‘vision.’ A ‘musical about wolves,’ if I remember correctly,” he sneered.
Ryan threw up his hands. “What do you want me to do, Brendon?” he asked, obviously exasperated, “We have to make an album! Do you want to just throw out everything we’ve done here?”
“Everything you’ve done,” Brendon shot back. “It’s not even about us anymore. You talk to Keltie whenever you have reception, and this was supposed to be about band time, not girlfriend time. Then you hide in your room and write obscure poetry that you expect to be able to put to music, and none of us have any clue what the fuck is going on.”
Jon and Spencer had been silent up until this point, as they usually were during Ryan and Brendon’s fights (except the time Spencer had thrown his sticks at both of them and told them to shut the fuck up and start working again or he was quitting), but now Jon put in mildly, “You know, I’m willing to play this stuff, but I don’t really get it either, Ry.”
Brendon could see Ryan deflate a little, and he cautiously unballed his own fists. Ryan looked over to Spencer, whose lips were pressed into a tight line that made Brendon suspect that he and Jon had an agreement not to get involved in these arguments. At Ryan’s pleading eyes, Spencer shrugged. “I’m with Jon,” he said, and Ryan tensed up again, just like he always did when he didn’t have Spencer’s express approval.
“Fine,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “Let’s scrap it then. We’ll start over. Together.”
There was a stunned silence, until Spencer ran a hand over his beard and said, “Wait, you’re serious?”
There was all kinds of hurt in Ryan’s hunched shoulders, and even though Brendon was still mad, it made him want to hug Ryan. “Yeah,” Ryan said, “It’s supposed to be a band thing. If it’s not, then it’s pointless.”
No one stopped him as he walked quickly out of the room.
Getting high wasn’t all fun and games to Brendon. Sure, he enjoyed it-he liked how giggly it made him, how willing to cuddle it made Spencer, how it made Jon even more laid back, and how it made Ryan even more of a font of SAT words and wild ideas.
Mostly, though, Brendon liked how when he was high, he felt like could slip-slide between realities with far more ease. It made his mind fuzzier and disconnected from where he actually was, especially in the sticky-hot summer weather, while things were still sickeningly tense. He liked being high, caught in between here and there, because he didn’t really want to stay in either. Sometimes he thought he’d rather step back into that world, except that Ryan wasn’t there, either.
Lately, Ryan had been writing a lot while he was high, more than before they’d scrapped the first second album. He wasn’t showing any of it to the rest of them, though. It was driving Brendon crazy, because hadn’t the whole point of getting rid of the first set of songs been to give them a platform to work together on the album? No one else was saying anything about it, though, so it fell to Brendon.
“Hey guys?” he asked at breakfast at one point, “Could we maybe just go jam today? We haven’t played just for fun in ages.”
A round of glances circled the table, until Jon smiled at Brendon and said, “Yeah. I’m game.” Ryan cracked his knuckles and nodded agreement, and Spencer looked up long enough to throw a dry piece of cereal at Brendon. He was holding back a smile, though, so Brendon took it as agreement with his brilliant plot.
“Great!” he told them, beaming, and then snuck a Red Bull out of the fridge while no one was watching. He was probably going to need it.
They all entered the practice space hesitantly, slowly dispersing to their instruments and settling in with caution. Brendon was the first to do anything-he started plucking at his guitar and humming the brightest pop song he could bring to mind. When the rest of them started groaning and Ryan flicked his knee, Brendon pulled his mouth to one side, making an exaggerated face, and shrugged helplessly. “It was stuck in my head!” he protested.
Then Jon started strumming the bass part of a Smashing Pumpkins song, and the rest of them picked it up, playing what they knew and making up what they didn’t. When it came to ice-breakers, Brendon was glad he had no shame.
There weren’t any windows in the practice space, or clocks, so they didn’t bother even trying to set a specific stopping time, just kept right on playing. Familiar songs gave way to half-formed melodies, and the fact that they were playing together, withno arguing that wasn’t good-natured, and coming up with new stuff, even if none of it was cleaned up enough to write down, was such a rush that Brendon didn’t ever want to stop.
Having no sense of time had Brendon prickling with a strange sense of déjà vu, and when Ryan looked up from a rift, Brendon smiled impulsively. Immediately, Ryan’s features softened, and even though they were only sitting a few feet apart on the floor at this point, Ryan scooted closer, and then lay down with his head in Brendon’s lap-an easy familiarity that Brendon had been afraid they had lost.
Looking up at Brendon, Ryan mused, “Your features look all skewed like this.” In response, Brendon puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes. With a laugh, Ryan scrunched up his nose and said, “Yeah, creepy, Brendon. Creepy huge eyes.”
Jon, apparently deciding that their break was going to last for awhile, set his bass aside, asking, “What time is it, anyway?”
Cracking his knuckles and rolling out his shoulders, Spencer shrugged. “Who knows?” he replied, “Late afternoon, I guess? Three. Five. Fucking seven. I haven’t a clue.”
“Pretty sure it’s not seven,” Jon said, “I don’t think that still counts as afternoon.”
“Technically, seven o’clock does fall after noon,” Spencer replied primly, and then Brendon stopped listening, because Ryan had started humming.
When he caught Brendon looking, Ryan started tapping a light beat against his own stomach, singing under his breath, “It’s nine in the afternoon, your eyes are the size of the moon.” Slowly, a smiled bloomed over Brendon’s face, and he reached over Ryan for a guitar.
“Keep going,” he said, and Ryan hummed a little more, then sat up abruptly.
“I need to get my notebook,” he announced.
Writing for the first album had never been this fun-this easy. Since the first song, they were all just channeling the music they’d always wanted to write. They’d even convinced Ryan that he should sing on this album.
That was what got Brendon thinking. He had a handful of lyrics that had come to him, and honestly, he’d gone over them again and again to polish them and make them perfect. Originally, he hadn’t even been planning to show them to anyone, other than Shane and Regan, but everything was going to smoothly and so well that he couldn’t help wanting to share them with Ryan.
When he had read through the two songs again, painstakingly rethinking every word, he grabbed two glasses of iced tea and went to find Ryan, who ended up being outside on a lounge chair that he’d dragged into the shade of a couple trees.
“Hey!” he said brightly, holding out one of the glasses. Ryan blinked slowly as he looked up, and Brendon realized that Ryan must have been drifting off.
“Hey,” he replied, voice sounding a little thick, but took the glass gratefully anyway. “What’s this for?” he asked with a small smile.
“Do I have to have a reason?” Brendon teased, sitting down on the edge of the chair and running his fingers along the folded edges of the paper that he was clutching. He could see the exact minute that Ryan noticed them.
Cocking his head, he asked, “What’s that?”
Brendon sucked in his cheeks. This was a lot less daunting before Ryan’s mild, curious face had been right in front of him. “Uhh…” he said, and then figured may as well just go all in, “They’re some lyrics I wrote. I thought that maybe we could use them.” Quickly, before he could change his mind and laugh it off as a joke, he held out the two pages for Ryan to take, and didn’t miss the instant of hesitation before Ryan took them.
“You…wrote lyrics?” Ryan asked, long fingers skimming the pages. He sounded like he didn’t quite believe it, and Brendon swallowed hard as he nodded. Shane’s girlfriend was clearly evil for encouraging him to show Ryan. Shane himself, too.
Fidgeting, twining his fingers together, Brendon said, “Well…yeah. I mean, it was just in my head, and I thought...I kind of wanted to see what you thought, and all.” He tried to play it off, make it sound like not too much of a big deal, as he watched Ryan’s eyes skimming over the page. Over Brendon’s words and innards, which were all plainly there on the page. He felt naked, but also a little bit excited, because no matter how nervous he was, he was also pretty proud.
Then Ryan looked up and said, “Cool. But…what do you plan to use them for?”
Brendon froze. With a huffed laugh, he said, “You know…we’re writing this thing called an album? Usually there are songs with lyrics on those?”
Ryan’s eyes were completely blank as he said, “You’ve never written lyrics before.”
The inflection on the first word was almost nonexistent, and someone else might not have realized it was even there, but Brendon heard it, and knew exactly what it meant. “You’ve never sung on an album before,” he replied, trying not to sound like he was attacking back, “I mean, it’s only the second time we’ve done this, and I had some ideas.”
“I see. Have you talked to Spencer or Jon about this yet?”
Brendon stared, and then said, “No. I came to get your opinion, which is obviously pretty clear.” Standing, he walked quickly away, back to the house, blinking rapidly.
Part 3