BBB: Like or Like-Like (3/8)
Part 3
February
Brendon is pleasantly surprised when Jon and Tom make good on their offer to have him come to band practice. They even seem excited about it.
At least Jon does, Brendon is finding that Tom isn’t really one to get visibly excited over things. He suspects that it might have something to do with an unspoken code of stoner cool.
Tom could go on about the music that his band makes for hours, but Brendon doesn’t know that much about the actual band part of Tom’s band, other than that Jon plays the bass, Tom plays the guitar, and it isn’t technically Tom’s band.
It’s actually a guy named Mikey’s band. Or a guy named Mikey and a guy named Nick’s band, depending on how Mikey tolerant is feeling at any given practice. This Brendon learns while sitting in the passenger seat of Tom’s car on the way to practice. That bit of information is followed by a warning not to take Nick too seriously, and to not judge the rest of them by their continued association with him. The last is added by Jon Walker, who abandons his mellow sprawl in the back to lean over the front seat to add in his two cents.
Brendon isn’t exactly sure what to expect of their band practice. Ryan had never allowed an audience to watch. Not that there had been anyone interested in being an audience, but still. He has a pretty good guess that, for him, it will involve a bunch of sitting around and watching other people make music, which was sounding less and less appealing as the car ride drags on.
Whatever, he can handle it. He’d been invited, and he isn’t about to say no to people who are quickly becoming actual friends. Plus, it might be nice to be around real musicians again. Brendon is intensely glad that Ryan will never know that he’d called him a real musician, even just in his own mind.
Tom parks the car, and he and Jon grab their guitar cases from the back while Brendon tries not to look too much like he doesn’t belong here. The band, 5o4plan he’s learned they’re called, has an actual practice space, complete with soundproofing and actual doors and everything.
The three enter the squat brick building and take an immediate right down a long hallway with closed doors lining either side of it. Jon stops at one of the doors, switches his guitar to his left hand and pushes it open.
Brendon, having never been inside an actual practice space, tries to take in everything all at once. He notes the padded walls, the usual mess of amps and wires and guitar stands, the mini-fridge in the corner and the dilapidated couch against the far wall. It’s sort of grungy and definitely run-down, but it feels like the kind of place where Musicians practice.
Brendon doesn’t want to knock Spencer’s grandma’s living room, but it seriously can’t even compare.
In his second sweep of the room, he takes in its occupants. There is a scowling brunette girl curled up in the corner of the couch, and two guys are sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, the skinny one is poking listlessly at the carpet with a drumstick and the other is focusing intently on tuning his guitar.
Drumstick notices them first. Or at least acknowledges them first, because Brendon is pretty sure that guitar guy had deliberately notched up his look of deep concentration when they’d entered the room.
“Hey look, the boys are back!” Drumstick shouts, something that is completely unnecessary in the insulated room.
Tom just gives him a faintly puzzled look and asks, “Back from where? We were here last night.”
Drumstick waves his hand dismissively and jumps to his feet, pulling Tom and Jon to his side in one smooth motion. “Details. Introduce me to pumpkin over there.”
Brendon can only assume that he is pumpkin. He really hopes that doesn’t stick.
Tom shrugs off the guy’s arm and shuffles a few feet closer to Brendon. “Brendon, this is Nick Scimeca. Nick, Brendon.”
“He’s the one we warned you about,” Jon pipes up, still trying to extract himself from the guy’s -Nick’s- octopus grip.
“Like I’m such a nightmare.” Nick’s eyes go a little wide and googly as they set on Tom. “I remember the good old days when you suffered from a pretty debilitating case of hero worship, Tomrad. I’d never been stalked before. It was kind of flattering once I got past the creepy.” The last is directed at Brendon, those lemur eyes trained on him, waiting for his reaction.
Brendon is not intimidated. He’d spent a large part of his adolescence around Spencer Smith. This guy is a bunny rabbit compared to Spencer’s barracuda.
He just shrugs and says, “Well, that’s kind of what I ended up on after he followed me home.”
That gets a laugh from Nick. “Oh, I like you. Don’t know why I doubted I would, Tom’s got fantastic taste.” He wiggles his fingers in front of him in a disturbing parody of jazz hands.
Jon slips away to set up his bass while Nick is distracted.
The guy still on the floor chooses that moment to speak up, responding to Nick’s last comment. “And if we had any luck at all, Tom would have ditched your body in a cornfield ages ago so that we could actually get some practice in.”
Nick’s laugh is dry as the desert. “Ha ha. I’d like to see you practice without me.” He jerks his thumb at the other guy, and shakes his head despairingly at Brendon. “That ball of sunshine is Mikey, and apparently his band has to practice now.” Brendon is sure that no one in the room misses where the emphasis was in that sentence.
Tom nods Brendon toward the couch where the still-nameless girl sits. Jon shoots him a wink from his place to the left of Mikey as the band finishes setting up.
Brendon takes the opportunity to introduce himself to the brunette, but only gets an, “I’m Mikey’s girlfriend” in response. She doesn’t sound particularly happy about that fact, so Brendon lets it go.
Prior to coming to practice, Tom had told him that they were a pop-punk band, but that could really mean anything these days. Ryan categorized their band as pop-punk too, and Brendon has never heard anything else quite like it.
After a few test runs, Mikey calls something out, and the guys launch into a song.
It’s an upbeat, guitar gangling tune that has the band practically vibrating around their instruments. Brendon can’t understand every word that Mikey screams into the microphone, but from what he can piece together, the song is simple and self-conscious. It’s about music and a scene that Brendon doesn’t really understand.
The lyrics aren’t Ryan Ross lyrics-for one, Mikey is actually able to take a breath between words-but they are sincere, and not bad at all.
Tom stands opposite Jon on Mikey’s other side, and once Brendon catches a glimpse of him, it’s hard to look away.
The Tom that’s playing the guitar is not the Tom that took him to listen to records, or ever the Tom that drove him to practice. The Tom playing the guitar is electric.
His brow is furrowed in concentration, and his left hand is gripping the neck of the guitar like more than just the next note depended on his playing.
As Brendon watches, Tom’s hair grows damp with sweat, and his flannel shirt clings to his front.
He’s fucking gorgeous, and Brendon has a huge problem.
-
When the band starts to wrap up their set, Jon invites Brendon over from his seat in the audience to show Jon ‘what he can do’ on the bass.
Normally Brendon would be reluctant, the bass guitar is one of the instruments he’s weaker at -he’s really still learning and he hasn’t practiced in a few weeks-but after watching that practice, he is more than ready to play something, anything.
He’d been afraid that watching the other guys practice would make him feel depressed and homesick, and while he feels that a little, mostly he is just pumped. He’s around music again.
He sits on the floor near Jon-because apparently that is where Jon chooses to play the bass when he isn’t acting as part of a band-and takes the instrument carefully from Jon’s blunt-fingered hands.
Brendon settles the bass on his lap and plucks out a few discordant notes, just getting the feel for the instrument. At Jon’s prompting, he launches into the last thing he’d worked on with his band, something he’d been helping Brent figure out the week before his life imploded.
When he finishes running through the song, Jon just tilts his head slightly, says, “Huh. And you said you’re still learning? I’d love to see what you’re like when you’ve mastered the freaking thing.”
Brendon isn’t usually shy, especially not about music, but the faint praise in Jon’s voice has him ducking his head and coloring like a third grader with a crush. Which is stupid, because Jon isn’t really a problem.
“That was pretty sweet,” Tom says from somewhere behind him.
Brendon wills himself not to tense, instead plucks another few notes on the bass strings. Right there is Brendon’s big problem.
“I didn’t recognize the tune. What was it?”
It can be pretty hard to recognize a song from the bass part alone, especially a Ryan Ross original that has previously only been heard by an audience of three.
“Just a song my band-my old band-was working on.” And that stings like a bitch to say.
He is incredibly grateful when Tom doesn’t press him further, just lays a hand briefly on Brendon’s head, ruffling his hair before going to talk to Nick.
“Hey, guys!” Mikey calls out from where he’s relaxing on the couch next to the sullen brunette. “We should talk about a few things before we take off.”
“Yes, comrades. Our appointed leader has called this meeting to order.” Nick wanders across the room to collapse at Mikey’s feet, gazing up at the other guy with a look of rapt attention.
Jon coughs discreetly into his hand, but Brendon can see his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Tom crosses the room and takes a seat on the floor next to Brendon.
In the midst of his concern over the rapidly increasing flow of blood pumping to his heart, Brendon wonders whether he should leave the band to have their meeting. It only takes one look at Mikey’s girlfriend’s disinterested face to make his decision. Since she makes no move to leave, Brendon figures that it doesn’t really matter that he’s there.
God, how different it is from a meeting run by Ryan.
Once he is sure that he has everyone’s attention, even Nick’s (after a tiny whap on the head from Jon), Mikey begins to talk about The Future of the Band.
“We’ve been working on the new stuff a lot lately, and I think that we should be ready to record soon. It would be nice to have a full-length album when we do Warped this year.”
Jon nods his agreement, Nick gives Mikey a look that screams ‘way to state the obvious’, and Tom stares off into space. Brendon is thoroughly confused.
Brendon can only think of one thing that Warped could mean. But wait, what?
“Wait, what?”
Mikey looks kind of miffed at having a non-member interrupt a band meeting. Clearly it is okay so long as they are seen and not heard. It reminds Brendon of Christmas at his grandparents’ when he was little.
Tom swivels his head in Brendon’s direction in a move that is oddly spooky, and is strangely reminiscent of a b-horror movie with claymation special effects. “Oh, that’s right. I didn’t tell you.” Brendon waits for more, but nothing else seems forthcoming.
Jon lets out a sigh from beside him, and continues on in place of Tom. “We did a few dates on Warped tour last summer, and they asked us to come back and do more this year.”
“Wow,” Brendon exhales sharply, “that’s huge.”
And it is. Everyone on the planet has heard of Warped Tour. Real bands play Warped. Actual, legitimate bands, made up of actual legitimate musicians with actual albums play Warped Tour. Which, apparently, 5o4plan is, and has.
Brendon is a little overwhelmed. Tom is only in high school, and he and Jon have already been on tour. A major tour. Because they are Musicians. Brendon is seriously not cool enough to be hanging out with these guys. Not even weird Nick Scimeca.
“Yeah, it’s huge,” Mikey repeats, his voice thick with sarcasm. “If you’re done…? Good. So we’ll schedule some studio time in the next month or so. And we’ve got a few gigs coming up in a couple of weeks, so we can’t slack off now.”
The meeting continues with only the occasional interruption from Nick, as he makes valid and completely off-topic points. Eventually they wrap it up, and they all head to the parking lot.
Brendon is still feeling kind of dazed. They’re already a block away from the practice space by the time Brendon has collected his thoughts enough to think of something coherent to say.
“So, this isn’t just a hobby for you guys or anything. You’re actually going to make it. As a band.” His words are stilted and he sounds kind of dim-witted, but he thinks he gets his point across.
Tom’s eyes flit to the rearview mirror and then back down to the road. Jon turns in the passenger seat, regarding Brendon over the back. “Well, yeah. That’s the plan.”
And of course that’s the plan. It had been Brendon’s plan too. And Ryan’s, Spencer’s and Brent’s. It had never been just a hobby for any of them either. It had just never seemed quite this real. They’d never even played a show before, but Tom’s band has been on tour.
Brendon blurts out the first thing that pops into his head. “What about college?”
Tom flicks another quick glance to the mirror, but let’s Jon answer this question as well.
“Uh, well, I got into school here, and I’m probably going to take some classes next year,” he says.
Of course he is. Because you don’t just not go to college based on the possibility of your band making it, no matter how likely that possibility seems.
“I didn’t apply. I already know what I’m going to do for the rest of my life,” Tom says, then after a moment adds, “and more school isn’t going to teach me how to be in a band.”
A large part of Brendon, a part that sounds disturbingly like his father, is horrified at the idea of someone taking a chance that could so easily end with them spectacularly crashing and burning. But another part of Brendon, a small but very firm part, is just impressed.
Tom is like an actual grown up, he’s making his own decisions about his life, damn the consequences. Brendon can’t even bring himself to think as far as college yet. Not when he isn’t sure if his parents will even lay claim to him in a year’s time or whether his band will find suddenly their groove with experimental pop, negating the necessity for a vocalist/pianist.
Tom makes hard choices, and does what he wants. The biggest choice that Brendon has ever made was to join a band, and while that was huge for him, he still hadn’t been able to do anything about it when his parents decided to rip him away from it.
Brendon’s life is depressing. And Tom Conrad is maybe his hero a little bit.
-- --
After dropping Jon off to get ready for a date with Cassie, they stop to grab a quick bite at the diner that he and Jon have been going to since middle school. As he watches Brendon try to dejectedly shove the greater part of a deep-dish vegetarian slice into his mouth, Tom has an awesome idea.
“Hey, so you’re from Vegas, right?”
Brendon nods, his mouth too stuffed with cheese and bell peppers to form actual words.
“I know what we should do next,” Tom says, scooting to the edge of the plastic seat of the diner’s bright red booth.
Brendon raises a brow in question.
“You’ll see.” Tom isn’t really one for surprises, and it really isn’t much of a surprise, but he thinks Brendon will enjoy it.
They toss their trash and wipe the grease from their fingers with thin paper napkins before heading east toward the city’s meager collection of high-rises.
It’s about a thirty-minute walk, and the streets are bright with lights even as the sun sinks below the horizon. They talk about TV shows and favorite bands as their shoes eat up the pavement.
Tom has to stop Brendon no less than three times form walking blithely out into a busy intersection. It’s kind of a unique situation for him, as he’s usually the one to have others telling him to ‘pay attention, Tom’.
After heading east for a bit, they finally reach their destination.
“So,” Tom says, raising one arm in an absent gesture, “we’re here.”
They’d left the glaring streetlights blocks behind them, and the night around them seems much darker in their absence.
“Um, not to be a buzzkill or anything, but what am I supposed to be looking at?” Brendon sounds cautious, as if he’s afraid of hurting Tom’s feelings. He’s a nice kid.
“C’mon.” He takes Brendon’s arm and pulls him across one final crosswalk. He only comes to a stop when he feels cold sand sneaking up over the tops of his sandals and between his toes. He gestures to the water again, putting a little more emphasis in the motion this time.
“You took me to see a lake? In the middle of winter?” Brendon sounds more amused by it than anything.
And Tom is beginning to feel a little embarrassed about the whole thing.
“I guess,” he says shortly.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s great. A little strange, but great.” Brendon looks up at him with big, earnest eyes.
Tom scratches ruefully at his chin. “I only thought, since you come from Vegas, you didn’t really get to, y’know, see water all that often. What with it being a desert and all.”
He can feel Brendon’s eyes on him, scrutinizing him as he concentrates on the feel of the grains of sand under his littlest toe.
“God, I am such a jerk,” Brendon says. “This is actually kind of amazing, Tom.” Tom is startled when Brendon loops his arm through his own and pulls him to face the view of the water.
They stand watching the lights of the city reflect off of the calm surface of the lake, the far-away sound of traffic providing a fitting soundtrack to the view. Tom doesn’t usually go for things like scenic views, but Brendon is right, it’s kind of amazing.
Brendon breaks the silence after a few minutes, and Tom isn’t really surprised -he’d figured out pretty early on that Brendon isn’t really a sit-still-and-appreciate-the-moment-with-reverential-silence kind of guy. “It’s really pretty,” he pauses. “Even if it is fucking freezing.”
Brendon shivers against him, his arm still threaded through Tom’s. Ignoring personal space is one of Brendon’s many quirks.
Tom just let’s Brendon burrow in a little closer. “Yeah, I guess so.”
They stay a few minutes longer, then head back to the well-lit streets. Tom doesn’t usually go for public transportation, but Brendon seems to be flagging with every step, their linked arms pulling Tom forcibly back in step with him every few strides.
He leads them to the nearest El stop, and they catch the red line to make their way home to Rogers Park.
Brendon sags against him on the platform, and then gives up all pretense of trying to stay upright once they take their seats in the car. Tom stays perfectly still as Brendon huddles down against him, whispering a barely audible “warm” against his shoulder.
He settles a little deeper into his seat and concentrates on the line map across the aisle, counting off the stops to the sound of the wheels clacking underneath his feet.
-- --
It’s after midnight when Brendon gets back to his aunt’s. He glances down at his watch, which he’d only recently changed from Pacific time, and decides that ten o’clock is not too late to bother a true friend like Spencer Smith.
Spencer is not in total agreement. “You’re a jerk,” his voice is muffled, as if he’s speaking with his face pressed into his pillow.
Brendon grins.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is it really that late? I wouldn’t know. Apparently I’m the type of boy that stays out until all hours of the night.”
“Jesus, what time is it there?” Spencer doesn’t even try to sound like he isn’t speaking through several layers of cotton. Brendon forgives him; he doesn’t have an exciting social life like Brendon does.
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometime in the AM.” Brendon tries his best to sound worldly. He thinks he manages it nicely.
“We’ll see how chipper you are in a few hours when you realize that you have school,” Spencer grumbles, there is the sound of sheets rustling in the background. “Okay, get on with it. Tell me what you called to tell me so that at least one of us will be bright eyed and bushy-tailed for Chemistry tomorrow.”
“I don’t have Chemistry tomorrow,” Brendon says smugly.
He can practically feel Spencer losing his patience, so he stops his joking and shares his awesome night.
“So he basically just took you to band practice and to look at the scenery?” Spencer does not sound suitably impressed.
“He showed me a lake! It was great.” He isn’t even being defensive. It was great. Spencer is just a stick in the mud. And lame.
“The lake was great? Isn’t it, like, below freezing there?” Spencer asks skeptically. There is a long silence on the line, then, “Oh my god. You totally have a crush on him!”
“Do not!” Now that is a little defensive.
“Yeah, you do!” Spencer exclaims the words into the mouthpiece like a victory cry. “You totally want to hold his hand in the halls and make out with him at Lookout Point or whatever.”
“Totally. Because this is Mayfield, not Chicago.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Brendon had maybe spent an inordinate number of nights in his youth watching Leave it to Beaver reruns on TV Land.
“You still get the gist.” He hates that he sounds like he’s pouting, but if anyone can bring that out in him, it’s Spencer. That’s is yet another way in which the world is grossly unfair.
“Don’t get pissed at me just because you’ve got a crush on a psycho.”
Spencer is a smug little brat who should remember that he is younger than pretty much everyone, and respect his elders.
“He’s not a psycho!” Brendon says. He realizes a little too late that he hadn’t denied the crush part of Spencer’s assertion. Spencer is tricky like that. “Dammit.”
“Ha! That’s what I thought. So, tell me more.” There is no hint of sleep in Spencer’s voice now.
“Like does he have a car?” The line flies from Brendon’s lips without his consent. Damned love of musical theater.
“No, like are his eyes dreamy?” Spencer counters.
“I wouldn’t know. He’s just a friend. I don’t look into my friend’s eyes like that.” He will admit to nothing.
Spencer snorts at that. “Sure. He’s just a friend that you’ve made out with.”
On the rare occasion that Brendon won an argument with his older siblings, his mother used to say that gloating was unbecoming. He totally gets that now. “Whatever. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you how much fun I was having without you.”
Before hanging up, Spencer says, “Don’t have too much fun, Brendon, I don’t want you to get bored when you’re back home living the dull life in suburbia again.”
Brendon takes that as the declaration of friendshipy love it’s meant as and hangs up the phone.
-- --
"I like Brendon."
Tom is supposed to be in Mrs. Krenshaw's English class right now, but instead he's sitting on the floor in the janitor's closet flicking the ash of a blunt into a dustpan. He's always thought it's kind of absurd that the school has anti-smoking posters practically wallpapering the classrooms, but only has smoke detectors in the bathrooms. Yeah, that and a dated 18x12 picture of Uncle Sam warning kids about the dangers of smoking dope is going to keep them from finding a way to get high on school grounds.
Tom blows a stream of smoke very deliberately at the air vent overhead, blatantly ignoring Jon as he repeats his appreciation of Brendon Urie.
He and Jon have had a standing appointment to meet for a smoke this period all semester. Having the forethought to leave photography class until his senior year, Jon -the bastard-has a relatively easy time sneaking away to meet up. Tom isn't too much worse off. Krenshaw, in the way of a teacher who has been around since the kids in The Outsiders were in school, is all too willing to accept excuses of visits to the nurse and forgetting books in lockers to explain away Tom's long absences from class.
It's already a month into the second semester of their senior year, and it has taken about that long for Jon to stop making cheesy jokes about not being 'the type to hang out in a janitor’s closet with dangerous boys’. He still giggles like a loon whenever Tom sticks his head out into the hall to check that the coast is clear before heading back to class.
But at the moment, Jon seems to be finding something else disproportionately hilarious. Namely his unwelcome prying about Brendon.
"He's kind of a funny kid." Jon talks on, heedless of Tom's lack of participation in the conversation.
He finally turns to Tom, taking a drag of his own cigarette, and asks, "Don't you think?"
And that's Jon asking a probing question. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he's subtle. As most subtlety is lost on Tom, he knows that when he can spot someone attempting it, they've got to be failing at it pretty spectacularly.
"Yep, he's a funny kid." Tom agrees placidly.
"Seeing him soon?" Jon prods.
"Yes, actually. Tomorrow," Tom pauses. "In the class we have together."
"Not after school? I know you do some days." Jon makes his own deliberate pause. "Most days."
Tom just shrugs. "Don't have any plans."
He doesn't think that it makes him a bad friend to revel a little bit in Jon's obvious mounting frustration.
He can feel Jon studying him, taking in his casual lean against a shelf of cleaning products. He eventually seems to catch on, and blows out a sigh of defeat. "This really stops being fun for me when you just decide to play dumb," Jon says.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom responds, willing to drag this out a little longer. Sometimes being viewed as obtuse has its advantages.
"Yeah, sure." Jon gives him an unimpressed look. Okay, it has its advantages around people who aren't Jon. His tone is searching when he continues, "What's up with you guys anyway?"
Tom gives up all pretense of ignorance when he answers. "Nothing is up with us."
He doesn't really think that that deserves the scoff he gets in return. "Yeah, Cassie and I totally cuddle in public because nothing is up with us, either."
Tom is about to refute Jon's backward accusation, but he gets sidetracked in wondering which instance of supposed cuddling Jon had been witness to. Brendon is a very touchy dude, and he does it so innocently that Tom can't really bring himself to take issue with it.
It's actually kind of nice. He'd figured he was well past the age where a hug could ever make him feel better, but Brendon has since proven that assumption wrong.
"It's nothing," he insists. "He's a hugger. He likes hugs."
Jon's snort turns into a cough as he inhales a breath of smoke.
"No really, he's like, a cuddly dude. He's the same with you. Don't even try to deny it, Walker." Some of the severity of his statement is lost when he takes the offered joint from Jon.
"Alright," Jon gives in. "He's affectionate. It's nice." He doesn't sound defensive so much as quietly delighted by Brendon. That's been his take on the other boy pretty much since day one. "But you do spend almost every waking hour with him."
Tom looks pointedly around the closet, as if for Brendon, and then raises an eyebrow at Jon.
Jon flaps his hand vaguely in concession. "Okay, obviously not right now."
Tom doesn't want to admit that Jon maybe has a point. He's been kind of caught up lately in getting Brendon to help him nail this one chord progression and catching the Saturday midnight showing of Fight Club at the Plaza. Brendon's easy to hang out with, and Tom's found that he actually hasn't been thinking all that much about Danielle since they broken up because he's been so busy. He just happens to have been so busy with Brendon.
"I'm just saying, Tommy. He's kind of awesome. So, whatever..." Jon gets distracted by the kicking his foot at a collection of disembodied mop heads, leaving Tom to draw his own conclusions.
Tom concludes that Brendon is his friend and Jon is a pain in the ass.
"You're high," he mutters.
Jon swings his head slowly back to Tom. "Doesn't mean I'm not right," he says with great dignity. Or as much dignity as a guy who lost one of his flip-flops to a pile of dirty yarn can manage.
"Yeah, 'whatever'." Tom pushes himself to his feet, using the cinderblock wall at his back for leverage. "I've got to get back to class. Wouldn't want to miss any more of those drama kids going on about how timeless the Bard is."
He offers Jon a hand up, leaning against on the metal shelves as he waits for Jon to put out the joint. The shelf gives an angry groan and then an ominous creak before toppling under his weight. Tom is left on the floor, covered in bottles of industrial strength cleaning solution, the breath knocked out of him.
He blinks in confusion and utters a heartfelt oath as something pink and sticky seeps out onto his jeans. Jon has collapsed against the wall and is sniggering to himself.
He gasps out a thrilled, “Guess it’s a good thing that Brendon isn’t around all the time.”
Tom thinks he’s more than justified in just leaving him there.
He smells like window cleaner for the rest of the day.
-
March
The first time Brendon gets high with Jon Walker, he makes the mistake of telling him that he thinks Tom is cool. Jon doesn’t stop laughing for several minutes.
Once he gets himself back under control, he takes one look at Brendon’s face and realizes that Brendon is completely serious. It’s a while before Jon stops laughing after that.
“You think Tom is cool?”
Jon Walker is awesome and all, but Brendon is having a little trouble liking him at the moment.
“Yes. He’s all stoic and zen and stuff. He’s totally at peace with the universe… or whatever.” Brendon presses a little harder into the box spring at his back, liking the feel of the metal edges digging into his spine.
Jon is shaking his head in disbelief, and still falling into quiet giggle fits every few seconds.
“I hate to break it to you, man, but Tom Conrad is not cool. And he is definitely not stoic.” Jon struggles up to a seated position from where he was reclining on his bed. His hand goes to his mouth with the blunt, taking another drag before continuing. “I love the guy, but he’s kind of a total weirdo. I mean, he followed you home.”
Brendon takes the offered roach from Jon’s dangling hand. “Yeah, but he didn’t mean anything by it. And I think he is cool. He just does things his own way.”
At the sound of Jon’s amused snort, he gets the feeling that he should have quit while he was ahead. Or behind.
Brendon is taken mildly by surprise when Jon Walker’s face pops into view, disrupting his perusal of the bookshelf across the room. Brendon hadn’t really gotten a good look at Jon’s place the first and only time he’d been here. He’d kind of had other things to occupy him, so he’s taking everything in this time.
He thinks he’d spotted a Hardy Boys mystery stuck between a crime novel and an old Biology text before Jon’s head got in way.
He blinks his eyes a few times to bring Jon back into focus. The other boy’s head is hanging off of the bed inches in front of Brendon’s own, his hands clinging on to the comforter in an effort to keep from toppling to the floor.
“Wait a minute.” Jon moves in a little closer to Brendon, as if the lesser distance will give him a better view of Brendon’s soul or something. “Do you like Tom?”
“What? No! We’re friends. I’m Tom’s friend.” Brendon flaps his hand in dismissal, the blunt in his hand waving wildly through the air.
“Yeah, but -“ Gravity finally catches up with Jon, causing him to tumble to the floor and land in a heap half on top of Brendon.
“Hey!”
Once Jon gets his limbs back under control, he leans back against the dust ruffle and continues on as if nothing had happened. “But you guys have already gotten to -I don’t even want to know what base. So it’s not like you aren’t attracted to each other.” Jon pulls a face as he seems to realize just how much like a teen magazine he sounds.
Brendon is not supposed to talk about that. Still, he’s glad that if anyone has to know about it other than him and Tom, at least it’s only Jon Walker. Plus, he got to tell Spencer, so it’s only fair that Tom told Jon.
Jon reclaims the bud from Brendon’s limp grasp. “And you think Tom is cool,” he says around an exhale of smoke. Judging by the slightly dopey smug look on his face, Jon seems to believe he’s making some kind of point with that statement.
“So what if I do?” It would be a lot easier to sound indignant if he weren’t feeling so pleasant right then. Brendon bets Ryan could manage it, he can do indignant even with a monotone. “Tom and I had fun at the party, but it’s pretty obvious that was a one time thing. We’re friends now. It’s different.” He’s impressed that he manages not to sound completely despondent about that fact.
Brendon is baked, but he’s not about to admit that he’d be all over that in a heartbeat if there were any sign that Tom thought it was more than a one-time thing…and if they weren’t friends now.
“Okay, okay. I get it.” Jon’s smile is wide and pacifying.
If it weren’t too much effort to work up a glare, he’d be in big trouble. Jon Walker sucks.
They fall into a comfortable silence after that, passing the blunt back and forth between them.
“Do you think you could maybe not tell Tom we talked about this?” Brendon wasn’t even planning to say that, but there it is.
Jon scoots a little bit closer and bumps his shoulder lightly against Brendon’s. “’Bout what?”
Jon Walker is the best.
-- --
When Tom asks Brendon to come see his band’s next gig, he actually sounds kind of nervous, like he’s afraid that Brendon is going to say no. Which, seriously, what?
Brendon is about as likely so say no to that as he is to say no to anything that Tom asks him to do. Probably even less likely because Jon Walker’s also involved.
Brendon’s discovered in the short time that he’s known him that he has an almost compulsive need to make Jon Walker happy. Tom assures him that it isn’t really all that uncommon where Jon is concerned. He kind of ruined it by following that up with the comment that all of Jon’s middle school girlfriends had been like that in the beginning. Brendon doesn’t even think that Tom had been kidding about that.
As much as he loves music, Brendon hasn’t actually seen all that many live shows before. That bands that come to Vegas are almost always mainstream and play to crowds of thousands for ridiculously priced tickets. Brendon couldn’t exactly tell his parents that he spent his allowance on tickets to a Gwen Stefani concert. And there weren’t really many venues for local bands at all, which was something that Ryan could go an hour-long rant about.
This will be the first small show he’s ever been to, and he’ll even be able to say that he’s with the band.
Brendon locks the front door behind him and makes his way down the front steps, looping his scarf around his neck. He drops down on the bottom porch step to wait to be picked up, his arms going around his knees to conserve the warmth of his body heat.
Tom said that he could catch a ride to the show with the band. Nick had added that what Tom meant by catch a ride, was that Brendon could help unload their gear and generally be their bitch. Mikey muttered something about how he had to pull his weight somehow. Brendon mostly chooses to ignore Mikey.
Brendon jumps to attention at the sound of tires screeching around the corner. The noise is followed by the sight of a dark van barreling down the street toward him.
He remembers watching Law and Order: SVU in Spencer’s basement, and Spencer marveling at why no one is ever suspicious of unmarked conversion bans, as they always seem to be the vehicle of choice for rapists. And pop-punk bands, apparently. Brendon’s laugh gathers as condensation before his face.
The door to the van swings open, with Jon and Tom spilling out onto the sidewalk at Brendon’s feet. Jon grins a greeting up at him, idly wiping at the wet spots on his knees from where he landed on the pavement. Tom seems to be content to remain seated on the cold, wet ground for the moment, all of his attention focused on glaring at Jon.
Brendon lets out another laugh, his hand reaching automatically to help pull Tom to his feet. Tom’s attention swings up to Brendon, his eyes squinting in an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace.
“Hey,” Tom says with a small nod.
“Hey.” Brendon can feel his own grin in the tingling of his cheeks. Or maybe it’s the cold. Jesus, he needs to get a hold of himself.
Jon draws his attention away from Tom with a companionable slap on the back. Brendon studies Jon for a moment, noting the high color in his cheeks, the faintly manic look of excitement in his eyes. He thumps Brendon’s back once again, and smiles showing all of his teeth. “You ready?”
Brendon doesn’t really know what the hell Jon is talking about. His gaze swings over to Tom, who is already looking right back at Brendon, as if waiting for something. “Um, yeah? I’m ready?”
He really wishes that was one thing he hadn’t picked up from Tom, the whole talking in questions thing is seriously such a pain in the ass.
“C’mon, Bden. Say it like you mean it!” Jon shakes his head disappointedly at Brendon while Tom furrows his brow and squints even harder.
It isn’t exactly a hardship to give Jon what he wants and show a little enthusiasm. “Yeah. Totally ready. You guys are going to be awesome.”
That gets another fierce grin from Jon, and a huge bear hug. Brendon meets Tom’s small smile over Jon’s shoulder with one of his own.
“Yep. We are going to be awesome.” Jon brushes his knuckles over Brendon’s hair, the gesture both familiar and affectionate.
Jon breaks away as Mikey honks the horn, leaning over Nick to shout out the window, “As touching as all this is, we kind of have somewhere to be. So if you could move it along, ladies.”
“You’re the one with your panties in a bunch, Russell. We’re coming. Way to ruin a moment.” Jon circles his arms around Brendon and Tom, pulling them toward the van.
Brendon tosses a quiet ‘hey’ to Nick up in the passenger seat. He takes a seat between Jon and Tom on the suspiciously sticky floor of the van, his arms resting lightly on his knees to avoid having to touch the mat under his butt.
Mikey tears away from the curb, and seems intent on hitting every pothole from Brendon’s place to the venue. Brendon’s arm jostles against Tom’s leg with a particularly large bump. Tom breaks off his conversation with Jon to glance down at Brendon. The passing streetlights catch on the dirty blond streaks of Tom’s hair, throwing shadows on his face as he shoots Brendon one of his goofy half-smiles before turning back to Jon.
Brendon drops his head against his arm, tunes out the raised voices of Nick and Mikey in the front seat, Jon and Tom’s conversation fading into a soothing bass rhythm in the background as he tries to listen hard to see if he can actually hear the pick up in his heartbeat.
Earlier when Jon asked if he was ready, he’d seemed to be asking Are you ready to do this with us? Brendon has never been great at reading social cues, hasn’t ever really made friends as easily as everyone seems to think he is supposed to. But he thinks he understands what Jon was saying, what Tom had echoed with his silent looks. Brendon is becoming part of their us.
Brendon burrows his face a little further into his arm, hiding the sudden pink in his cheeks. When Mikey sails over a speed bump, Brendon’s arm brushes against Tom’s leg once again. He just presses his forearm to Tom’s shin a little harder. He could almost swear that he can feel Tom push back.
-
He doesn’t know what he was expecting of the venue, but the dirty alley where they park had not been a part of it.
Tom rounds the open doors at the back of the van, stopping in his tracks to take in Brendon’s expression. He lets out a little huff of a laugh.
Brendon scowls at him, “It’s not that funny. Can you even imagine how many scene girls have disappeared in this alley? Tons, I’d bet.”
Tom sidles up next to him, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Don’t worry little scene girl. We’ll protect you.”
Brendon backs away from Tom, his hands going up in front of him protectively. “You are such a creeper, Conrad.”
He may also mumble something under his breath about not being a scene girl, but he makes sure that Tom doesn’t hear that. He hardly wants to talk more about Tom referring to him as a girl. That is a subject that Brendon would prefer never be broached.
“Think fast!”
A guitar pedal flies out of the back of the van. Brendon’s hands reach up just in time to avoid a broken nose and possibly having to eat his meals through a straw for the next few months.
“Jesus, warn a guy!’ Brendon thinks he sounds more startled than angry, which is something he should maybe work on.
Nick beams at him fro his perch atop a pile of sound equipment. “I did. That’s what ‘think fast’ means.”
Just like that, Tom leaves his side, diving into the back of the van after Nick. But Nick is quick as an eel and Tom usually can’t work up more than a steady ramble. Nick is away in a flash, his guitar waving madly in front of him as he cackles back over his shoulder.
Brendon shakes his head, completely used to their antics by now, and moves to help the other guys get their stuff inside.
When Brendon gets to the alley door with a snare drum clutched to his chest, he half expects the bouncer stationed there to take one look at his skinny jeans and purple scarf and decide that he doesn’t belong-and then kick his ass on principle. But the guy doesn’t even bat an eyelash, just nods Brendon on when he lingers in the doorway too long.
This is seriously the coolest thing ever.
He doesn’t see Tom again until he’s almost finished setting up Mikey’s mic stand. Tom stands behind him for a few minutes just watching him work.
It doesn’t really bother Brendon anymore, the feeling of having Tom’s eyes glued to him. But if Brendon’s learned anything, it’s that Tom can keep it up for a while unless someone stops him. He straightens, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. The whole roadie thing is surprisingly hard work.
He quirks a brow at Tom, follows it with a, “What’s up?”
Tom answers, his eyes not leaving Brendon’s face, “Nothing. We go on in about twenty.”
Brendon’s been trying hard not to pay too much attention to the rapidly filling bar, or the increasing number of people pushing closer and closer to the stage as if they’re only moments away from things getting ugly.
When Tom doesn’t elaborate, just stands there looking uncharacteristically vulnerable with his toes curling up in his flip-flops, Brendon takes it upon himself to prompt him once more. Tom is such a total weirdo. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Tom says, after a slight pause.
The words shouldn’t feel intimate, not with the noise of the bar crowd or Tom’s bandmates only a few feet away. But with Tom maintaining eye contact like the freaking snake from the Jungle Book, it kind of is.
And while Brendon has become accustomed to the tricks of handling Tom Conrad, sometimes it really fucking sucks. Because Brendon knows that it would be easy to forget all of that and just take what Tom is saying to mean that it’s somehow special to Tom that Brendon’s there, that Brendon means something special. But Brendon can’t afford to do that, not when he knows better, and not when it’s so important to him to keep being Tom’s friend.
It takes all of his self-control, never all that strong to begin with, not to respond with a joke and make it that little bit easier on himself. Instead, Brendon just pulls his lips into a smile and says, “Me too, Tom.”
Tom continues with his unwavering stare thing for a while, then nods and wanders away to help Nick with his drums. Brendon stands there for a long moment before Mikey interrupts his reverie to demand his help with something else.
For some reason, that still feels like it was the wrong answer.
Part 4
Master Post